BOSTON THEATRE.No. 2.
A Drama,In two Acts.
SAMUEL WOODWORTH, ESQ.
WILLIAM V. SPENCER,
128 WASHINGTON ST., CORNER OF WATER.
Forest Rose. Properties.
THE FOREST ROSE ;
This drama was originally produced at the Chatham Theatre, New York, in 1825, and was received with favor. The original Jonathan was Mr. Simpson ; and the author, in a preface to the book, published after its representation, says, Simpsons Jonathan was every way equal to my hopes and wishes. Mr. Thayers Bellamy is also commended, and we are not surprised at it, for, in delineating fops ( and Bellamy is not an indifferent one ), he had no equal on the American stage, in his time ; indeed, we fear we shall never look upon his like again. In the piece originally produced, numerous songs, duets, etc. etc., were introduced by several of the characters. The pruning knife, so much in vogue with stars of the present day, has, however, been freely used in the Forest Rose, and anything calculated to place any of the performers, except the magnet, in a too prominent position, is cut. As it is now played, we give it to the profession. It, was produced in London by J. S. Silsbee, who played Jonathan for over one hundred consecutive nights. In California it has been played by Mr. Louis J. Mestayer, for forty or fifty nights, with great success. Mr. George E. Locke, John Weaver and other Yankee comedians, have rendered the hero successfully throughout the country.
BOSTON, November, 1854.
The stage directions are a bit of a mystery to me. For reference, here are the explanations of the stage directions for a different play, The Young Widow,:
First would be downstage, toward the audience, immediately behind the proscenium. Second would be bit further back. Upper is upstage, toward the back. A door in the Center would be all the way in the back, built into a flat.
FOREST ROSE ;
A M E R I C A N F A R M E R S
SCENE I. Distant view of a village spire, on which the
Har. This may all sound very well in song, Lydia ; but, for all that, I should like to have an opportunity of judging for myself.
Lyd. So you are sighing for a city life?
Har. I will confess, Lydia, that I should like to see the city, and not remain altogether ignorant of the polite world.
Lyd. Just so I once thought, and dearly have I paid for the experiment. Let my example be a caution to you, my dear friend ; for, depend upon it, that poet is correct, who says, When ignorance is bliss, t is folly to be wise.
Har. Why, surely it does not necessarily follow, because you placed your affections on an unworthy object, that every country girl who goes to town must do the same !
Lyd. Nay, Harriet ; that is unkind. I have yet to learn that Mr. Blandford is unworthy.
Har. That man cannot be otherwise, who will first win the affections of an artless girl, and then doom her to wear the willow ; singing every hour of the day ( Sings. )
Though mourning like a mateless dove.
Lyd. That was his favorite song. But you should recollect the circumstances of our separation. I could not consent to his wild scheme of a secret marriage ; and so we parted ; for mystery and concealment, in such cases, can never be productive of good. ( Aside. ) I dare not tell even Harriet that I wear his miniature in my bosom a keepsake with which I most solemnly promised never to part.
Har. Had you been a girl of spirit, like me, you would have taken him at his word ; and might now, perhaps, have been rolling in your coach in the great city, instead of being secluded, like a nun, here in the country. I wish I could have such an offer.
Lyd. And I might, on the other hand, have been an unpitied beggar, destitute of that consoling consciousness of duty which now supports me. Besides, could you be happy as the wife of a man whose haughty relatives affected to despise your plebeian blood?
Enter WILLIAM. R. H. U. E.
But I will not detain you from your morning task, and here comes my gallant brother to attend you. Breakfast will be ready by the time you have finished milking.
( Exit into the cottage. R. H. )
Har. Your sentiments are doubtless very correct, Miss Lydia ; but still I should like to live in the city one whole year.
Wil. A whole year, Harriet ! How would you contrive to pass your time?
Har. As other people do, to be sure, in seeing the fashions, and the Park, and the Battery, and Castle Garden, and the Museum, and the Theatres, and Chatham Garden, and the Circuses, and the
Wil. Why, what the deuce is the matter with you, Harriet ?
Har. Please mend your manners, sir, and address me as Miss Miller.
Wil. Ha, ha, ha ! Miss Miller ! Ha, ha, ha ! I say, Miss Mil Ha, ha, ha ! You recollect the milkmaid in the
Har. I was only jesting, William. But, seriously, I intend to see the City, that is poz.
Wil. Indeed ! When do you propose going?
Har. As soon as I can find a beau with gallantry enough to take me there.
Wil. Then, fare you well ; for here comes a verification of the old proverb the very thing you are speaking of a scarecrow from the city. I say, Harriet, let us have a little sport with him.
Har. A scarecrow ! Why, he is a genteel, delightful looking fellow, neat as a starched tucker fresh from a bandbox. Why do you call him such names?
Wil. Because he frightens the birds without killing any of them. Depend upon it, all the game he carries home will be brought down with silver shot, as it is said they shoot witches.
Enter BELLAMY, with a
Wil. I say, Harriet, he is as gaunt about the waist as your fathers greyhound.
Har. Or little Caesars fiddle.
Wil. Or Deacon Forests
Har. I wonder he did not speak to me.
Wil. Speak to you ! Why, he did not see you.
Har. Then he shall hear me. ( Sings. )
Enter BELLAMY. R. H. U. E. ( Listening. )
Bel. Damn fine girl, pon honor.
( Eying her through his glass. )
( HARRIET sings again. )
Bel. Tolerable voice, but damnd little science. Wonder who she is. ( Aside, leaning over the fence. )
Wil. He seems to like your singing, Harriet.
Har. ( Singing louder. )
A sprightly girl of gay sixteen
neer spurns a saucy lover.
Bel. ( Aside. ) Then you will not spurn me, my charming little songstress ; for bashfulness is not one of my failings. Who can the bumpkin be? ( Surveying WILLIAM through his glass. ) By his dress, I take him to be damnd low.
( Comes through the gate, and advances slowly down. L. H. )
Har. I must pretend not to observe him. I say, William, tell me something more about the city. Did you say the houses all joined together? ( Affecting simplicity. )
Wil. To be sure they do, Harriet, just like our
Bel. ( Aside. ) A mere clodhopper, that fellow. I will astonish him directly.
Har. Is it possible? How I should like to go there !
Bel. ( Aside. ) Sweet simpleton ! How I should like to take you there ! I must speak to her, and dash the native. Pardon me, miss ; I thought I heard a nightingale ; but I now perceive that it was a bird of paradise, pon honor.
Har. Where, sir? Pray dont shoot it till I see it.
Bel. So far from my harming the lovely songstress, miss, it has deeply wounded me, although it seems somewhat alarmed at my presence.
Wil. I suspect, sir, that the birds, in your walks, are generally more scared than hurt.
Har. Wounded you, sir? You speak in riddles.
Bel. Which your
Har. I do not understand you, sir. But, William, as, you were saying if the houses in New York are so close together, where do they keep their creatures the geese, the calves and the pigs?
Bel. Permit me to answer that question, if you please, miss ; for, though I have been but a short time in America, I am just from the city, and flatter myself that I know something about it. ( Aside. ) What a charming little Forest Rose it is ! I must take her under my protection.
Har. Well, sir.
Bel. The geese, you must know, are mostly seen, in
Har. You spoke of donkies, sir ; does that mean the same thing as dandies ?
Bel. ( Aside. ) Humph ! Not quite so simple as I imagined. Perhaps you, sir, can answer the ladys question.
Wil. The two words, I believe, are derived from the same root. The real genuine dandy, however, is an imported animal ; and, the breed having been crossed in this country, the
Bel. Ha, ha, ha ! Tolerably fair, pon honor ! Dem me, if the clodhopper has nt astonished me ! ( Aside. ) But, come, my dear, if you are so anxious to become acquainted with the city, place yourself under my protection, and you shall be there tomorrow. You shall, indeed, my dear, pon honor.
Wil. ( Aside. ) My dear ! That s plaguy familiar, though.
Har. ( Aside. ) Poor William is getting jealous. Now I have a great mind to tease him a little.
Bel. What say you, sweet girl, to my proposition?
Har. If my father will give his consent.
Wil. And if your father should consent, Harriet, would you go without me ?
Bel. ( Aside. ) So, so ! I shall have a rival to contend with, I perceive. I must observe this native.
Har. Go without you ! Is not one protector enough for any reasonable girl ?
Enter MILLER, L. H.
O, father ! I am so glad you have come ! I have such a favor to ask of you !
Mil. You had better go and finish milking ; it is time the cows were turned to pasture.
Har. I will go in a moment, sir. But first hear my request. This gentleman, who is all the way from London, and, for aught I know, a prince or a nobleman, has kindly offered to take me to New York with him, free of all expense. Will you give your consent?
Bel. Her simplicity will ruin all, split me ! ( Aside. )
Mil. Take you to New York ! What does this mean, sir?
Bel. ( Confused. ) O nothing, sir or merely this : your daughter expressed a strong desire to see the city ; and, as I happen to be a resident there, common courtesy, you know, would not allow me to do leas than make a tender of my services. That is all, sir, pon honor.
Mil. ( Sarcastically. ) You are very kind, sir.
Bel. Not at all, sir. Pray donly t name it. Such a compliment, in my country, is thought nothing of. But excuse me ; it is now near breakfast time, and I shall be waited for at the tavern. I will see you again in the course of the day.
( Exit, L. H. )
Mil. Your coquetry, Harriet, displeases me, and evidently distresses William. To be so familiar with,a stranger !
Har. But, then, you know, father, he is a sportsman, and a foreigner, and dresses so very genteelly.
( Looking at WILLIAMs dress. )
Wil. I understand you, Harriet ; and if you are so easily dazzled with outside show why consult your own happiness, thats all. ( Comes C. )
Har. Now, William, you are jealous.
Wil. You will never find a truer friend, however showy he may be.
Mil. If I thought her in earnest, William, I should regret that you ever bestowed a thought on so worthless an object ; for the girl who would reject the honest heart and hand of an American farmer for a fopling of any country, is not worthy of affection or confidence.
Har. When I thought I loved you, William, I had not seen this handsome Englishman.
Wil. Very well, Miss Miller. Your father has been a kind guardian to poor Lydia and me ever since we lost our parents, for which I hope we are not ungrateful. I shall be of age next month, and if my farm be small
Mil. Spurn her coquetry, William, and not encourage it by such submissive tones. When you have more experience, you will know that it is the vice of her sex to torture those they love. But let me caution you, Harriet, against indulging this dangerous propensity. Learn to restrain it, or you may repent it when it is too late.
( Exit into the cottage, R. H.. )
Wil. I shall always rejoice to see you happy, Harriet, however much my own heart may ache.
Har. And if ever I am happy, while your heart feels a pang, William, spurn me as a wretch unworthy of your regard.
Wil. Are you in earnest ? Now you have made me so happy, Harriet ! That for the English dandy, ( Snapping his fingers, ) with his squinter ! Ah ! pon honor. ( Imitating. ) But come, old Brindle is waiting to fill your pail, and I am waiting to bring it home for you.
Har. You run and let down the bars, and I will be with you in a moment.
( Exit WILLIAM, L. H.)
( Exit, R. H. )
SCENE II. An apartment in Deacon FORESTs house. A door in the centre of the flat.
Enter JONATHAN, R. H., hastily crossing the stage.
SALLY following him, calling.
Sal. Jonathan ! Jonathan ! Stop a moment, till I say one word more.
Jon. ( Returning. ) I dont calculate, Sal, that you can say anything to convince me that I did nt see Tom Clover kiss you last night, in the
Sal. Tom Clover kiss me ! Ant you ashamed of yourself, Jonathan, to tell such a story ?
Jon. It is no story, because it is true. I saw him make believe whisper to you, and then I heard him smack you right on the cheek. There, deny it if you can.
Sal. Can you swear to it?
Jon. Yes, on the Big Book.
Sal. Then you would perjure yourself ; for it was I that smacked him. Ha, ha, ha !
Jon. So much the more shame for you. It is treating me like a brute. I would nt serve a negro so.
Sal. La, Jonathan ! what harm is there in a kiss ?
Jon. I tell you there is harm in it. After keeping company with me, you had nt ought to let another man touch you.
Sal. Then, I am afraid, I should be doomed to lead apes ; for you dont come within arms length of me, for fear I should bite you.
Jon. Cause you are always playing tricks on me, if I offer any sich thing ; but Tom may do what he pleases, and you like him the better for it.
Sal. Now, Jonathan, did nt I sit on your knee last Sunday evening ? Answer me that.
Jon. And, cause I happened to get asleep, did nt you get up softly, and put the big
Sal. Ha, ha ha ! Now, Jonathan, what difference can it make, to a man that is fast asleep, whether he is hugging me or a
Jon. I wont be friends with you, for I see plain enough what your drift is. Everybody says you are only running after me cause I got a shop. But I guess you ll find yourself mistaken, for I know how the cat jumps, and will sooner burn my shop, pack up my duds, and go back to Taunton to catch herrings for a living.
Sal. O, Jonathan, now dont be so unforgiving ! You know I dont care a fig for any other man. Come give me a kiss.
Jon. May I, though ?
Sal. Certainly you may. But stay ; you are so apt to blush, let me cover your eyes with my shawl, for Love, you know, is blind as a bat. ( Enter ROSE, R. H. D., in flat. ) There, now, step a little this way, because the window is open. ( She places ROSE between herself and JONATHAN. ) Now ! I am ready. Give me a good hearty squeeze. ( JONATHAN embraces and kisses ROSE. )
Jon. Now, that s a dear, sweet, kind, good girl ! Will you always love me so ?
Rose. Yes, Massa Jonathan, me lub you berry bad.
Sal. ( Taking the shawl from his eyes. ) There, Jonathan, is not that better than the
Jon. Darnation ! If I have not been bussing Lid Rose ! Now, Sal Forest, that is too bad ! I would not serve a negro so.
( Exit SALLY, R. H. )
Rose. But you did serve poor negro so, and ax me to lubber you, and now you desert me.
( Exit R. I. E. )
Jon. Be off with you,
( Exit L. H. )
SCENE III. A wood.
Enter BLANDFORD, with his gun, R. H.
Bland. I can neither find my companion nor the road which leads to our lodging. No wonder. One subject alone occupies all my thoughts, and I struggle in vain to dissipate the mental abstraction. Cruel, cruel Lydia ! to leave me without a single clew to discover her retreat. Ignorant even of her guardians name and place of residence, I vainly wander about these rural scenes, making myself ridiculous by inquiries which none can answer. O, could I but once more meet her, and find her still the same, these hours of misery should be repaid with years of joy. One smile from thee, my dearest Lydia, would cause this desponding heart to throb again with rapture. ( Hums an air. )
Enter JONATHAN, R. H. 2. E.
Jon. That s a darnation queer kind of a tune. I wonder if I could play it on my
Bland. ( Aside. ) It is a vain pursuit, and I will return to town.
Jon. ( Aside. ) Too darned proud to speak to a body in a homespun coat. This must be one of them city chaps that come over here a gunning. I say, mister ! Servant, sir.
Bland. Tell me, my good fellow, how far am I from the Eagle Tavern ?
Jon. You dont belong to these parts, I calculate?
Bland. Of course I do not. Will you answer my question ?
Jon. Maybe you are from New York? How does buckwheat sell ?
Bland. Will you direct me to Major Butlers, who keeps the
Jon. You ant acquainted with the major, are you ? He trades at my shop. If I may be so bold, sir, what may I call your name ?
Bland. Stupid ! Pshaw ! I will keep my temper.
Jon. Stupid Shaw. Spose you ant any ways related to Squire Shaw, of Taunton, are you ? he that married the widow Lovett, mother of Ichabod Lovett, who was tried for
Bland. ( Aside. ) I must humor this fellow, or find the Eagle Tavern myself. No, sir, I have not the honor of an acquaintance with any member of the family you mention.
Jon. Then maybe you are related to the Shaws of Hackensack, here in the Jarseys?
Bland. Perhaps so our family is very numerous. But, if I may be so bold, sir, what may I call your name ? ( Imitating JONATHANs manner. )
Jon. Jonathan Ploughboy, at your service, formerly of Taunton, in the state of Massachusetts.
Bland. Do you live hereabouts ?
Jon. I guess you d think so, if you saw my name on the shop, down by the bridge.
Bland. So you are
Jon. A little in the merchant way, and a piece of a farmer besides.
Bland. What do you sell ?
Jon. Everything ; whiskey, molasses, calicoes,
Bland. With which you contrive to shave the natives ?
Jon. No, sir ; everybody shaves himself here. There is no barber nearer than Paris.
Bland. You dont understand me. By shaving I mean making a sharp bargain, or what your parson or deacon might denominate cheating.
Jon. Me ? I would nt serve a negro so. But as to the parson or deacon, folks say they are pretty cute that way themselves.
Bland. Are there any pretty girls in your neighborhood ?
Jon. He, he, he ! I guess you d think so, if you saw Sally Forest and Harriet Miller.
Bland. I dare say that your Sallies and your Harriets are very fine girls. But do you know of any one called Lydia ?
Jon. Lydia? O, yes ; but in the country here we call her Lid. You can see her any time at Deacon Forests.
Bland. Her other name ?
Jon. Think of the sweetest flower that blows. ( Aside. ) Darnation take the garlic, I say.
Bland. Gracious heavens ! Should it be the same ! What is her age, size, complexion ? Has she black hair, dark eyes, pouting lips ? Describe her person.
Jon. I take her to be about eighteen or nineteen.
Bland. Just the age. Her size?
Jon. Not very tall nor very slim.
Bland. It must be she ! Her hair and eyes?
Jon. Black, I reckon ; but I am not sure.
Bland. I live again ! Her teeth, breath, complexion ? There are none like them on earth !
Jon. I dont believe there is ! and as ibr the pouting lips you mentioned, just see her mad once that s all.
Bland. Mad !
Jon. Was you ever in Wethersfield ?
Bland. No. Why do you ask ?
Jon. Then you know nothing about her breath. Have you ever seen the ace of spades ? That s enough !
Bland. Of whom are you speaking ?
Jon. Lid Rose Deacon Forests negro wench. They call her The Black Rose.
Bland. Confound your stupidity, or shrewdness, I know not which to call it ! The sweetest bud of hope has withered in a moment.
Jon. Bud of hope ! Darn me, if I dont think she s more like a clove of garlic. But come,
( Crosses, L. H. )
Bland. I thank you for the offer ; but business calls me to my lodgings the Eagle Tavern.
Jon. Why, thats right on the road.
Bland. You will not direct me wrong ?
Jon. Me ! I would nt serve a negro so.
( Exeunt, L. H. )
SCENE IV. The
Enter LYDIA, from the cottage.
Lydia. Harriet is absent, all are engaged, and I can now enjoy one moment in contemplating features which are so deeply impressed on my heart. ( Takes a locket from her bosom, which she presses to her lips, gazes on it a moment, and then conceals it. ) Ah, Charles ! Charles ! Why did we ever meet ! And yet I would not, if I could, forget the past, although I must look to the future without hope.
( Exit into the cottage. )
Enter BELLAMY, L. H.
Bel. I must have another interview before I meet the moralizing Blandford. How shall I manage ? Old Squaretoes must not suspect ; and as for the bumpkin, her lover, he must take his
( Bellamy knocks at the cottage door, which is opened by LYDIA. He seizes her in his arms. She screams and attempts to escape. In the struggle a locket falls from her bosom. )
Bel. Listen to me a moment, sweet girl ! I swear to Heaven I love you to distraction, and have no desire but to make you.happy. The moment is propitious ; fly with me to a scene where wealth and pleasure await you. ( She breaks from him, and enters the cottage. ) This is strange ! Can her coyness be real ? Perhaps my visit is
( Exit, L. H.)
Enter HARRIET. and JONATHAN., R. H..
Har. Well, Jonathan, what is it you wish to tell me ?
Jon. Why, Miss Harriet, Granny Gossip and I had a long talk about it last night ; and she said how
Har. She said how ! Then what did you say ?
Jon. ( Confused. ) I said how
Har. Well ? You both said How ! What next ? Go on.
Jon. Why, darn it ! you wont let me tell.
Har. You are so long about it. Dont you know that a smart girl like me wants everything done quick ?
Jon. That s just what Granny Gossip said, by the hokey ! She told me, says she
Har. Indeed ! Then what did you tell her ?
Jon. I said, says I No ; Granny Gossip said, says she Harriet Miller is the smartest girl in all the country, be the other who she may.
Har. I am very much obliged to the old lady. Then, what did you say ?
Jon. I said, says I, so she is ; for, says I, she can milk a cow, make a cheese, and boil a pudding, with any girl In the world, says I.
Har. That was certainly very kind of you.
Jon. Was nt it now ? Then says she to me, says she, Why dont you strike there, instead of running after the deacons Sal, who dont care three skips of a flea for you, only for your money ? Why dont you strike there ? says Granny Gossip to me, says she.
Har. Strike ! Where ?
Jon. Here you !
Har. Strike me !
Jon. No no ! She meant, why did n I court you ? He, he, he !
Har. O, that alters the case ! What reason did you give for not courting me ?
Jon. I told her I was afeard. But, after talking a good while longer about it, I thought, thinks I to myself, there can be no great harm in axing the question ; and if I get the sack, says I to myself, I shant be the first that s got it by hundreds.
Har. That is true, Jonathan ; and you wont be the last by thousands.
Jon. And so, as you are to have a dance
Har. The old lady is certainly a very considerate woman.
Jon. Arnt she, now ? She always has an eye to the main chance, as she calls it. So she says to me, says she, Harriet Miller has got something to make the pot boil, says she, and the deacons Sal has nt got a second
Har. Stay a moment. May I depend upon your intentions being honorable ? I hope, sir, that you dont mean to impose upon my youth and inexperience, to win my virgin heart, and then take advantage of my unsuspecting innocence. You do not mean to ruin me ! O ! ( Weeps. )
Jon. Me ! Ruin you ! I wouldnt serve a negro so. Now, dont take on so ; pray dont.
Har. Ha, ha, ha ! Well, I believe I may trust you. But do you know what to do next ?
Jon. No, I dont, but if you will tell me, I am a cute fellow to learn.
Har. You must tell me all about my beautiful eyes, auburn hair, rosy cheeks, pouting lips, and ivory teeth.
Jon. That s just what a fellow said
Har. Then you must drop upon one knee, and swear that you love me better than all the world.
Jon. I never swear, Miss Harriet, nor tell fibs neither ; so dont insist upon my going on in that way.
Har. Without swearing, then, tell me exactly how much you do love me.
Jon. I I I never can talk about love, Miss Harriet ; I always stutter when I try to speak about it.
( Clock strikes twelve. )
Har. Go, then,
Jon. May nt I come to the harvest bee
Har. No you shant ! So there !
Jon. Then I ll have a little bit of a hop now, for here comes the
Enter MILLER, WILLIAM, FARMERS, LADS, LASSES, &c.,
then LYDIA from the cottage.
Mil. How soon will dinner be ready ?
Lydia. In a quarter of an hour, sir.
Mil. In the mean time, we will rest ourselves in the shade of these venerable elms. Now, the rest of you may amuse yourselves as you please.
Jon. Let s have a dance, then.
( BUS. with ROSE.. Country Dance. )
( Quick Drop. )
END OT ACT I.
SCENE I. An apartment in the Eagle Tavern.
Enter BLANDFORD and WAITER, L. H.
Bland. Has Mr. Bellamy returned?
Waiter. No, sir.
Bland. The moment he comes, tell him I wish to speak with him.
Waiter. Yes, sir.
( Exit WAITER, L. H. )
Bland. Where can he linger? ( Musing. ) Yes, I will return to town, and once more try if business will not drive away the sad reflections which pleasure cannot dissipate. And yet I know the attempt will be vain ; for there is but one charm that can ever restore peace to this harassed bosom, and that is the smile of affection from her I adore.
Enter BELLAMY, L. H.
Bel. Still in the dumps, Charles ! Cheer up, man, and thread the thicket, as I do. Theres plenty of game, my dear fellow, there is, indeed. ( Playing with the locket, which is now suspended to his neck. )
Bland. You are in spirits, I perceive.
Bel. To be sure I am, and I have reason to be ; for ( Sings, )
Bland. Are you ready to return to town?
Bel. To town ! Are you mad, Charles ? We are just beginning to enjoy ourselves. Dont think of returning this month.
Bland. I shall go immediately.
Bel. I am very sorry that I cant have the pleasure of accompanying you ; but I shall soon follow, with one of the sweetest little Forest Roses that ever graced a sportsmans bosom. True, pon honor.
Bland. A Forest Rose?
Bel. Ay, man ! Blushing like Innocence, and smiling like Venus. A woman, you sly one, or rather an angel in petticoats.
Bland. Pshaw ! This is another of your empty boasts ; and I can forgive all your imaginary sins, Edward, numerous as they are.
Bel. You may judge for yourself, Charles, whether this be an empty boast, or an imaginary sin. When a lover wears a ladys favor in his bosom, it generally means something. Look at this, and convince yourself. ( Displays the locket. )
Bland. ( Aside. ) Gracious Heaven ! It is it is the very trinket which she vowed to wear forever for my sake ! Where is she ? Lead me to her instantly !
Bel. Excuse me, Charles ; I shall not consider it friendly in you to interfere in this affair ; and must, therefore, decline giving you an introduction.
Bland. Interfere ! Grant me patience, Heaven ! Do you say dare you swear that that that she consented ? No it is impossible the thing is impossible ! That locket has been lost, and you found it, Bellamy.
Bel. I say, Waiter ! Go call a Justice of the Peace, and I will immediately swear that the lovely wearer of this trinket was in my arms
( Exeunt, L. H. )
SCENE II. The
( The village clock now indicates a quarter past four oclock in the afternoon. )
Enter WILLIAM., L. R., and HARRIET., from the cottage.
Har. Where did you leave your sister?
Wil. In the orchard, conversing with Dobson, who has just arrived from Goshen with all the documents respecting my fathers estate, and is ready to put us in possession immediately. O, Harriet, you will be delighted with the situation !
Har. How do you know that I will ever see it?
Wil. Because it shall be yours, or I will never see it again.
Har. Well, I will think of it, while you return to the orchard, and tell Lydia I wish to speak with her. Go that s a good fellow.
Wil. Will you remain here?
Har. To be sure I will. Are you afraid that some magician will bear me off to his enchanted castle?
Wil. No but that English dandy is in the next field ; and I thought you would not like to be left alone.
Har. Go along, you jealous fellow !
( Exit WILLIAM, L. H. 2 E. )
I wonder if the old saying be true, that love and jealousy always go together ? I think I should be convinced, if I saw William very particular to another girl.
Enter BLANDFORD and BELLAMY, L. H. 2 E.
Bel. ( Apart. ) That is she, Charles. Is she not an angel ? Stay, lovely girl, one moment, until I apologize for the alarm which my
Har. I do not understand you, sir.
Bel. ( Apart to Blandford. ) You see how it is, Charles ; the sly thing wont confess before you. I say, my dear, say what you please before this gentleman. He is our mutual friend, I assure you. He is indeed, my love, and will assist us to deceive old Squaretoes.
Har. I am still at fault, as you sportsmen would say ; just as I was this morning respecting a bird of paradise.
Bel. You see, Charles, she pretends to know nothing about me. You had better retire, and leave us alone. You had, indeed.
Bland. Pardon me, Miss Miller ( for that I understand is your name ) pray inform me, if you have not, this morning, lost a trinket a locket ? ( Crosses, L.. )
Har. I have not, sir. I never owned one, or had one in my possession.
Bel. ( Aside. ) Never Split me ! but she plays her part divinely. She does, indeed.
Har. Never. Do you doubt my word?
Bland. Do not be offended, Miss Miller. I am particularly interested in this inquiry.
Bel. You need be under no restraint on this subject, as no one is present but ourselves. My friend is in my confidence, and may be trusted ; he is acquainted with every circumstance. He is, indeed, my dear.
Har. Then he has the advantage of me, sir ; for I am totally ignorant of any circumstance connected with the subject of your inquiry.
Bland. Perhaps, Miss Miller, in the alarm which this gentlemans sudden appearance gave you being alone
Har. You labor under a mistake, sir. His appearance was not sudden neither was I alone ; nor did I feel alarmed. Did I appear frightened, sir, when I was asking you about dandies, sad donkeys, and calves? Ha, ha, ha !
Bel. My friend alludes to our second interview. ( Aside. ) No city belle could perform better.
Har. This is our second interview ; for I have not seen you since you took so hasty a leave of my father this morning.
Bel. Not when you opened the door to see who knocked ? I hope, however, that you will excuse that act of apparent rudeness, when you recollect that I am yet almost a stranger to the manners and customs of this country, being but recently imported.
Har. Then I forgive you everything, in consideration of the benefit you have done our revenue ; for a heavy duty, I am told, is paid on all articles the principal ingredient of which is brass.
Bel. She is only throwing dust in your eyes, Charles. She is indeed, pon honor.
Enter WILLIAM and JONATHAN, L. H.
Jon. Darn it, Bill ! if there isnt the very fellow that axd me so many questions about Lid Rose.
Wil. The other is the English dandy I was telling you about. See ! he is honoring us with a squint through his quizzer.
Har. Have you any more questions to ask, gentlemen?
Bel. ( Apart to BLANDFORD. ) She is now throwing dust in the eyes of her rustic lover there.
Bland. To come to the point at once, Miss Miller, do you, or do you not, know the owner of this trinket ?
Har. I do not, indeed, sir. I never saw it before.
Jon. Nor I neither, if I did darn me ! There s a C for cows ; and B for bulls ; and L for lambs ; and R for rams. What a curious thing it is !
Bel. ( Surveying JONATHAN. ) Split me ! but here s a clodhopper that knows his letters. Been to
Bland. Let me entreat you, madam, if a glow of compassion ever warmed your bosom, to tell me how this locket came into your possession ?
Har. Into my possession, sir ! Have I not solemnly assured you that I never saw it before ?
Bland. Nor this ?
( Presses a spring, which opens the locket, and exhibits a miniature. )
Har. No, sir. But I now perceive that it is a very striking likeness of yourself.
Bland. Then, Bellamy, I demand an explanation of you.
Bel. Upon my honor, Charles, I have told you all I know upon the subject. I found that trinket, this morning, in the manner I described, and if it did not fall from this ladys bosom, it must have dropped from the moon. It must, indeed.
Jon. I would as soon believe the moon was made of green cheese.
Wil. It is, certainly, very singular ! How can you account for it, Harriet?
Har. Indeed, I dont know.
Bland. She must be in this neighborhood, and, by Heaven, I will find her, if I have to search every house in the county. I will neither taste of food, nor sleep until I can call her mine, or ascertain that she has ceased to love me.
( Exit, L. H. )
Bel. Stay, Charles, one moment.
Jon. Poor fellow ! He is a little cracked, I calculate.
( WILLIAM and HARRIET confer apart. )
Bel. You calculate, do you, sir?
Jon. I guess I do, a little, in the way of trade.
Bel. And might one calculate on your assistance and fidelity, in an affair of importance ?
Jon. I take it he can, if he pays me well.
Bel. In that respect you shall be fully satisfied. You shall, indeed. Step this way, and I will explain.
( They retire up the stage. )
Enter LYDIA, L. H.
Har. O, my dear, you know not what a treat you have lost, by being absent for the last quarter of an hour !
Lyd. Nay, Harriet, you know not what a treat I have enjoyed, by being absent ; and you cannot know, until you have, like me, been for five years absent from your paternal home.
Har. But I can guess. You have seen Dobson !
Lyd. Yes and have strayed with him, in imagination, through every corner of our little farm. Everything, William, is pretty much as it used to be, when we lived at home and were so happy. Even the old
Wil. What is there about the old place that I do not recollect, Lydia ? The
( During the song, BELLAMY is seen conferring with JONATHAN, and finally gives him a purse, which the latter accepts reluctantly. BELLAMY then gazes a moment at LYDIA, appears to ask JONATHAN some questions respecting her, and, on receiving his answer, retires precipitately, L. H. JONATHAN examines the contents of the purse, puts it in his pocket, and advances just as the song is concluded. )
Wil. How now, Jonathan ? What have you done with the dandy ?
Jon. Darn me, Bill, if that fellow ant a little cracked too.
Wil. Not about the middle, I hope, or he will certainly break off.
Har. ( In reply to Lydia. ) Yes and would insist upon it that I was the owner, as one of them said he found it here by our door.
Lyd. A locket ? ( Feeling in her bosom. )
Har. Yes ; containing a miniature likeness of the other gentleman. ( Lydia shrieks, and rushes into the cottage. )
Jon. Ill be darned if she ant a little cracked too.
Har. Lydia ! Lydia ! What is the matter ? ( Runs after her. )
Jon. She s cracked too, by hokey !
( Exit into the cottage. )
Jon. That s very pretty manners, to be sure ! Darn me if they ant all cracked. I would nt sarve a negro so. Now, darn me if I tell him a word about what s going on twixt me and the dandy. He may cut him out in welcome. Shut the door in my face ! I would nt serve a negro so. ( Exit, L. H. )
SCENE III. A Wood.
Enter BLANDFORD, R. H.
Bland. Involved in the mazes of this intricate forest, every step increases my perplexity, and adds to my fatigue. I must rest awhile upon this bank. ( Throws himself down. ) Fool that I am, to engage in such a
( Report of a gun, R. H. )
Bland. That must be Bellamys piece. So, ho ! ho ! halloo ! Bellamy ! Halloo ! halloo !
( Exit, L. H. U. E., and is heard shouting behind the scenes. )
Enter JONATHAN, R. H.
Jon. I dont calculate I feel exactly right about keeping this purse ; and yet I believe I should feel still worse to give it back.
( Exit, L. H. )
SCENE IV. An apartment in Deacon FOREST.s house.
Enter JONATHAN and SALLY.
Jon. Now, darn it, what s the use of plaguing a body so ? Why cannot you say yes, at once ?
Sal. Because I dont mean to say yes at all. I wont dance with any fellow
Jon. Darn Tom Clover ! So, you wont go along with me, hey ?
Sal. No, I wont.
Jon. Very well, Miss Sally. I calculate that I can find a girl that will go with me, and then we shall see which of the company will display the prettiest locket. ( Showing it. )
Sal. O, Jonathan ! What is that ? Let me see it ! Whose is it ?
Jon. It is for my partner to wear at the dance, this evening.
Sal. Is it though ? Well, then, let s have it.
Jon. Let you have it ! Catch me that fellow ! Just now I want good enough for you !
Sal. Pshaw ! You know, Jonathan ! that I was only jesting. I never intended to dance with any one but you.
Jon. No no ! That cock wont fight, Sal. Remember the
Sal. Go, then, you cruel, unfeeling monster, and see if I dont make you smart for your falsehood and villany ! I will sue you for a breach of promise, so I will ; for reputation ; for keeping me in suspense ; and see what will become of your shop then, when I recover nine thousand dollars, which is the price everywhere. You know it is, you dear deceiver ! O ! O ! ( Weeps. )
Jon. O ! Sally ! now dont take on so, and Ill do anything for you in the world.
Sal. Ha, ha, ha ! You will ? Well, come now, what will you do ?
Jon. Ill marry you
( Shows the purse. )
Sal. O, what a beautiful purse that is ! Where did you get it ?
Jon. If you like the outside so well, what do you think of the lining ? ( Puts the money into her hand. ) There s five guineas, and as many half dollars.
Sal. Now you are a dear, good Jonathan ! Where upon earth did you get guineas, though ?
Jon. I will tell you, Sally, and then take your advice upon the subject. Sally, what do you think ! I have promised to act like a damned scoundrel for that money.
Sal. Then take it back, and restore it to the scoundrel who gave it you. Jonathan, you would nt keep such a promise as that, would you?
Jon. Me ? no ! Sally, I would nt serve a negro so. But cannot you contrive some method by which I can keep the purse instead of the promise ?
Sal. Who gave it to you ?
Sal. And what was you to do in such an affair ?
Jon. Only to decoy her into some private place, where two men were to wait for her, and conduct her to the sloop which is lying at the landing.
Sal. Sloop, did you say ?
Sal. What a
Jon. Then I must return the purse, you know. You are always ready enough to play tricks on me ; now, cant you contrive some method to quiz the dandy, and yet make him believe that I tried to do all I promised ? Then, you know, we can keep the purse with a good conscience.
Sal. Let me see. We cannot deceive him with the
Jon. Darn the
Sal. I have it. Ha, ha, ha ! That will do.
Jon. What is it ?
Sal. No matter. Go and tell your employer that Harriet has consented to accompany him on board the sloop, and that while the dances are going on this evening, she and you will slip away, and run to the
Jon. Why, what do you calculate to do, Sally ?
Sal. Perhaps I calculate to take Harriets place, and visit the city myself.
Jon. What ! with that fellow ?
Sal. Think what a chance there would be for you to immortalize yourself, Jonathan. Just as the villain had seized me in his arms, a blow from my lovers hand lays him prostrate in the dust. O, wouldnt that be delightful ?
Jon. So it would, by the hokey ! But would it be right to knock a man down who has given me
Sal. Not unless you value me at more than
Jon. Me ! I would nt serve a negro so.
( Exeunt opposite. )
SCENE V. The
( The village clock now indicates twenty minutes past seven in the evening. )
Enter HARRIET and SALLY, L. H.
Sal. O, Miss Miller, I have prepared such a treat for you in the little willow grove ! You must come and enjoy it.
Har. What is it, Sally ?
Sal. I wont tell you, for that would spoil it all. But come, get your hat and veil, and go along with me, and see for yourself. It is something that will please you.
Har. Well, I suppose that I must humor you. ( Goes into the cottage, and returns with a hat and veil. ) I cannot be gone a moment, for it is now sundown, and the company will soon be here.
Sal. My entertainment shall not detain you long. Come.
( Exeunt, L. H.)
Enter MILLER, BLANDFORD, WILLIAM and LYDIA, R.
Bland. Believe me, sir, the transport of this moment is a rich recompense for the months of misery I have endured. Where is your friend, Harriet, my love ?
Lyd. We left her here but now.
Mil. O, she is not for off, I warrant you. William, here, will find her directly. He is never at fault in such a pursuit.
Enter at the top of the stage, youthful villagers of both sexes,
followed by JONATHAN and SALLY.
Jon. Ill be darned, now, if there be nt the very
Sal. We must make the best of it, Jonathan.
Jon. Well, I guess I am cute enough to do that in the way of trade. I say, Mister, you hant lost nothing nowhere, have you?
Bland. Yes, the trinket you saw me have
Jon. Not that curious thing with C for cows, and B for bulls, and L for lambs; and R for rams ?
Bland. The same. Have you found it ?
Jon. What will you give the finder, and no questions axd
Bland. A generous reward. Where is it ?
Jon. There, on Sal Forests neck ; and all the reward I ax is the privilege of her wearing it this evening.
Bland. What say you, Lydia ? It is your property.
Lyd. Let her wear it by all means ; and
Sal. Thank you, maam. Now, Jonathan, to the willow grove,
( Exeunt JONATHAN and SALLY. )
Mil. And now, as there is not a sad countenance present, let the sports commence. Find Harriet, William, and let us have a dance.
( Exit WILLIAM, L. H. )
( The characters form a rural dance, which continues some time, when it is suddenly interrupted by a violent shriek from without, L. H. SALLY rushes in and exclaims )
Sal. Run ! Fly ! Save Harriet Miller ! or she will be lost forever !
Omnes. Harriet Miller ! Where is she?
Sal. There ! There ! In the
Mil. Follow me !
( Exit MILLER, followed by the others. )
( SALLY whispers to LYDIA, who remains. )
Enter JONATHAN, L. H.
Enter MILLER and WILLIAM, dragging in BELLAMY, followed by ROSE, closely veiled, BLANDFORD, and all the rest.
Bland. From this moment, Bellamy, our acquaintance terminates.
( LYDIA whispers BLANDFORD. )
Mil. What have you to say, sir, in palliation of so base an attempt ? What blacker crime is there in the whole catalogue of human depravity, than to force an artless, innocent girl from the home of her infancy, and the arms of doting parents, in order to initiate her into a life of vice and infamy ?
Wil. How can you answer this outrage to me, sir, knowing, as you did, in what relation I stood to the intended victim of your depravity ?
Sal. How can you answer it to me, sir ? She is my particular friend.
Jon. Or to me, sir ? She is a customer to my shop, and I consider it a very black affair.
Bel. Go on, ladies and gentlemen. Have you all done ? Then I will condescend to explain. I have committed no outrage ; but appeal to this sweet, trembling girl, if she did not voluntarily put herself under my protection. Speak, lovely creature, and do me justice. Did you not willingly consent to accompany me to New York?
( ROSE bows her head in token of assent. )
Mil. How ! Harriet ! Speak, and explain this mystery ! Did you consent to abandon us all, and follow this foreign adventurer ? this libertine in principle and practice ?
( ROSE nods assent. )
Wil. And leave me, too, Harriet ?
( ROSE nods assent. )
Bel. This lady is doubtless her own mistress ; and, since she prefers me to you, sir, I cannot see by what right you seek to control her actions. Permit me to remove this veil, lovely girl, that they may all see on whom you look with the eye of affection.
Rose. ( Throwing aside the veil. ) On you, Massa Bellamy ; cause you kissee me so sweet, in the grove, just now.
Omnes. Lid Rose ! Ha ! ha ! ha !
Bland. This, then, is the Forest Rose, that was to grace a sportsmans bosom Ha ! ha ! ha ! Love in the dark ! Hey, Bellamy ? Ha ! ha ! ha !
Bel. ( Looking at ROSE through his glass. ) A damn black affair, sure enough ! The bumpkin is right.
Mil. Ha ! ha ! ha ! But where is Harriet?
( Enter HARRIET from arbor. )
Har. Here she is, safe and sound. What, William, were you jealous again ?
Wil. Forgive me, Harriet.
Mil. Let us all forgive and forget ; and, to prevent any further jealousies, William, there, take my daughter ; and may you both be as happy as you deserve ! As for you, Mr. Bellamy, let your present mortification teach you never again to endanger the happiness of an affectionate family for the gratification of a selfish passion.
Bel. Old Squaretoes turned preacher, too, split me ! I say, Charles, I give you joy of your rustic alliance. I shall return to town immediately, and quit this country of savages in the packet which sails the ; I shall, indeed ; but I will not fail to notice you all when I publish my Three Months in America.
Wil. And dont forget to notice the beauty and fragrance of our black roses ! Ha ! ha ! ha !
Bel. Fragrance, you creature ! Strike me, exquisite, if all Roussells perfume would annihilate the cloud of odors with which that caricature upon humanity has impregnated my glove.
( Exit, L. H. )
Jon. How dye like onions ?
Mil. Now resume your amusements until the
Any of the following stanzas may be omitted, at the discretion of the Manager.