—The Garden of MISS OPHELIA'S House in Vermont.

Enter OPHELIA and DEACON PERRY , L. 1 E.

  Miss Ophelia, allow me to offer you my congratulations upon your safe arrival in your native place. I hope it is your intention to pass the remainder of your days with us?

  Well, Deacon, I have come here with that express purpose.

  I presume you were not over-pleased with the South?

  Well, to tell you the truth, Deacon, I wasn't; I liked the country very well, but the people there are so dreadful shiftless.

  The result, I presume, of living in a warm climate.

  Well, Deacon, what is the news among you all here?

  Well, we live on in the same even jog-trot pace. Nothing of

  Poor soul! I pity you, Deacon.

  Thank you. You perceive I bear my loss with resignation.

  How you must miss her tongue!

  Molly certainly was fond of talking. She always would have the last word—heigho!

  What was her complaint, Deacon?

  A mild and soothing one, Miss Ophelia: she had a severe attack of the lockjaw.

  Dreadful!

  Wasn't it? When she found she couldn't use her tongue, she took it so much to heart that it struck to her stomach and killed her. Poor dear! Excuse my handkerchief; she's been dead only eighteen months.

  Why, Deacon, by this time you ought to be setting your cap for another wife.

  Do you think so, Miss Ophelia?

  I don't see why you shouldn't—you are still a good-looking man, Deacon.

  Ah! well, I think I do wear well—in fact, I may say remarkably well. It has been observed to me before.

  And you are not much over fifty?

  Just turned of forty, I assure you.

  Hale and hearty?

  Health excellent—look at my eye! Strong as a lion—look at my arm!! A No. 1 constitution—look at my leg!!!

  Have you no thoughts of choosing another partner?

  Well, to tell you the truth, I have.

  Who is she?

  She is not far distant. [Looks at OPHELIA in an anguishing manner.] I have her in my eye at this present moment.

  [Aside.] Really, I believe he's going to pop. Why, surely, Deacon, you don't mean to—

  Yes, Miss Ophelia, I do mean; and believe me, when I say— [Looking off, R. 1 E.] The Lord be good to us, but I believe there is the devil coming!

TOPSY runs on, R. 1 E. with bouquet. She is now dressed very neatly.

  Miss Feely, here is some flowers dat I hab been gathering for you.

  That's a good child.

  Miss Ophelia, who is this young person?

  She is my daughter.

  [Aside.] Her daughter! Then she must have married a colored man off South. I was not aware that you had been married, Miss Ophelia?

  Married! Sakes alive! what made you think I had been married?

  Good gracious, I'm getting confused. Didn't I understand

  Only by adoption. She is my adopted daughter.

  O—oh! [Aside .] I breathe again.

  By Golly! dat old man's eyes stick out of 'um head dre'ful. Guess he never seed anything like me afore.

  Deacon, won't you step into the house and refresh yourself after your walk?

  I accept your polite invitation. [Offers his arm.] Allow me.

  As gallant as ever, Deacon. I declare, you grow younger every day.

  You can never grow old, madam.

  Ah, you flatterer! [Exeunt, R. 1 E.

  Dar dey go, like an old goose and gander. Guess dat ole gemblemun feels kind of confectionary—rather sweet on my old missis. By Golly! she's been dre'ful kind to me ever since I come away from de South; and I loves her, I does, 'cause she takes such car' on me and gives me dese fine clothes. I tries to be good too, and I's gettin 'long 'mazin' fast. I's not so wicked as I used to was. [Looks out, L. 1 E.] Holloa! dar's some one comin' here. I wonder what he wants now.

  By chowder, here I am again. Phew, it's a pretty considerable tall piece of walking between here and New Orleans, not to mention the wear of shoe-leather. I guess I'm about done up. If this streak of bad luck lasts much longer, I'll borrow sixpence to buy a rope, and hang myself right straight up! When I went to call on Miss Ophelia, I swow if I didn't find out that she had left for Vermont; so I kind of concluded to make tracks in that direction myself and as I didn't have any money left, why I had to foot it, and here I am in old Varmount once more. They told me Miss Ophelia lived up here. I wonder if she will remember the relationship. [Sees Topsy.] By chowder, there's a darkey. Look here, Charcoal!

  [Comes forward .] My name isn't Charcoal—it's Topsy.

  Oh! your name is Topsy, is it, you juvenile specimen of Day & Martin?

  Tell you I don't know nothin' 'bout Day & Martin. I's Topsy and I belong to Miss Feely St. Clare.

  I'm much obleeged to you, you small extract of Japan, for your information. So Miss Ophelia lives up there in the white house, does she?

  Well, she don't do nothin' else.

  Well, then, just locomote your pins.

  What—what's dat?

  Walk your chalks!

  By Golly! dere ain't no chalk 'bout me.

  Move your trotters.

  How you does spoke! What you mean by trotters?

  Why, your feet, Stove Polish.

  What does you want me to move my feet for?

  To tell your mistress, you ebony angel, that a gentleman wishes to see her.

  Does you call yourself a gentleman! By Golly! you look more like a scar'crow.

  Now look here, you Charcoal, don't you be sassy. I'm a gentleman in distress; a done-up speculator; one that has seen better days—long time ago—and better clothes too, by chowder! My creditors are like my boots—they've no soles. I'm a victim to circumstances. I've been through much and survived it. I've taken walking exercise for the benefit of my health; but as I was trying to live on air at the same time, it was a losing speculation, 'cause it gave me such a dreadful appetite.

  Golly! you look as if you could eat an ox, horns and all.

  Well, I calculate I could, if he was roasted—it's a speculation I should like to engage in. I have returned like the fellow that run away in Scripture; and if anybody's got a fatted calf they want to kill, all they got to do is to fetch him along. Do you know, Charcoal, that your mistress is a relation of mine?

  Is she your uncle?

  No, no, not quite so near as that. My second cousin married her niece.

  And does you want to see Miss Feely?

  I do. I have come to seek a home beneath her roof, and take care of all the spare change she don't want to use.

  Den just you follow me, mas'r.

  Stop! By chowder, I've got a great idee. Say, you Day & Martin, how should you like to enter into a speculation?

  Golly! I doesn't know what a spec—spec—cu—what-do-you-call-'um am.

  Well, now, I calculate I've hit upon about the right thing. Why should I degrade the manly dignity of the Cutes by becoming a beggar—expose myself to the chance of receiving the cold shoulder as a poor relation? By chowder, my blood biles as I think of it! Topsy, you can make my fortune, and your own, too. I've an idee in my head that is worth a million of dollars.

  Golly! is your head worth dat? Guess you wouldn't bring dat out South for de whole of you.

  Don't you be too severe, now, Charcoal; I'm a man of genius. Did you ever hear of Barnum?

  Barnum! Barnum! Does he live out South?

  No, he lives in New York. Do you know how he made his fortin?

  What is him fortin, hey? Is it something he wears?

  Chowder, how green you are!

  [Indignantly.] Sar, I hab you to know I's not green; I's brack.

  To be sure you are, Day & Martin. I calculate, when a per-

  And did he make the money?

  Sartin sure, and no mistake.

  Golly! now I thought money always growed.

  Oh, git out! You are too cute—you are cuterer than I am—and I'm Cute by name and cute by nature. Well, as I was saying, Barnum made his money by exhibiting a woolly horse; now wouldn't it be an all-fired speculation to show you as the woolly gal?

  You want to make a sight of me?

  I'll give you half the receipts, by chowder!

  Should I have to leave Miss Feely?

  To be sure you would.

  Den you hab to get a woolly gal somewhere else, Mas'r Cute.

  There's another speculation gone to smash, by chowder! [Exit, R. 1 E.