[Enter Mr. White.] Mrs. B. What gentleman were you speaking to just now? Mr. White. O, he, he—was a stranger. Mrs. B. Well, what is his name? Mr. W. I really do not know-as I ought to-in fact, I do not exactly think it will do Mrs. B. Ŏh! but you must tell us; only us; it shall go no further, I assure you. Mr. W. I should like to tell you; but, really, there are some peculiar circumstances, which Mrs. S. But you certainly would not hesitate to inform us. I have not the least curiosity in the world, but I merelywish to know, that's all. Mr. W. He has a very hard name. Mrs. S. Hard name— what, is it Stone? Mr. W. Oh! no; Harder. Mrs. S. Mr. W. Harder than stone? then it is Iron, I suppose. Harder than iron? impossible!Adamant ? Mr. W. Harder still. Mrs. S. Harder than adamant! I cannot imagine what it is. Mr. W. I do not feel at liberty to tell; but, if you can guess, I shall not be responsible. So good-morning, ladies. [Exit White.] Mrs. S. What can it be,-harder than adamant ? Miss W. [With a sigh.] You do not mean, pray, that the heart is harder than adamant ? Mrs. B. I speak in a spiritual sense. nature, totally depraved, and until Miss V. Wonder if it is not Pharaoh ? The heart is, by Miss W. I have got it; I bet his name is Diamond. [Enter Betty.] Miss V. What's the matter now, Betty?—what has sent you over here all out of breath? - speak-tell! Betty. Nothing, only that strange man, you are so anxious about -at- our house Miss V. You don't say he honored us with a call!— did you not invite him in, and tell him to be sure to stop until you could run over for your mistress? Betty. O no! that was not what I wanted to say. I was going to say, as he was passing our house, I saw this letter drop, when he went to get his handkerchief, and I ran and got it, and have brought it right straight to you. passed to Miss Vinegar.] [The letter is Miss V. [Glancing at the superscription, while all rise and press with eager expectation around her.] Well, we have it at last-the mystery is solved. I knew I should find it out. Mrs. S. and Mrs. B. [Together.] What is it? — read, do read it! Miss V. [Holding the letter up, reads the superscription.] TO WILLIAM HARDER, ESQ., Dealer in Second-hand Clothing, Brattle-st., Boston! FORTUNE-TELLING. J. A. FLETCHER. SUSAN, EVELINE, SARAH, AND MARY ANN. Susan. Come, girls, let us go and have our fortunes told. Eveline. Oh! I should like it, of all things. Where shall we go? Sarah. Let us go to old Kate Merrill's. They say she can read the future as we do the past, by hand, tea-cups, or cards. Come, Mary Ann. Mary Ann. Excuse me, girls, if I do not go with you. I do not think it is right to have our fortunes told. Susan. Not right? Why not? Mary Ann. Because, if it had been best for us to know the future, I think it would have been directly revealed to us. Susan. Oh, but you know this is only for amusement. Eveline. Of course, we shall not believe a word she says. Mary Ann. If it is only for amusement, I think we can find others far more rational and innocent. But depend upon it, girls, you would not wish to go, if there were not in your minds a little of credulous feeling. Susan. Well, I am sure I am not credulous. Mary Ann. Do not be offended, Susan; I only meant that we are all of us more inclined to believe these things than we at first imagine. Sarah. I think that you are right in this respect. I am sure I would not go if I did not think her predictions would come to pass. Mary Ann. Certainly; I could not suppose you would spend your time and money to hear an old woman tell you things you did not believe. Eveline. Well, I am sure I do not see any harm in having a little fun once in a while. Susan. No; and I think it is very unkind in Mary Ann to spoil all our pleasures with her whims. Mary Ann. I hope I should be willing to give up a mere whim, for the pleasure of those I love so well. But this is not a whim; it is a serious conviction of duty. Susan. Well, I thought you always pretended to be very obliging. Mary Ann. I have no right to oblige at the expense of what I deem duty. Our own inclinations we should often sacrifice, our prejudices always, but our sense of duty never. Sarah. I agree with you in this respect perfectly; but then I wish you would tell us what harm you think it would do to go. Mary Ann. Well, girls, I think, by trying to look into the future, we are apt to grow discontented and restless, and to forget that we have duties to perform in the present. Then, if we do not believe in it, it is a waste of time and money, which might be better employed in relieving the suffering of the poor around us. But the greatest evil of all is, that we should believe even a part. She would, of course, tell us many little circumstances which would be true of any one; thus we might be led to believe all she said; the prediction would probably work out its own fulfilment, and perhaps render us miserable for life. Susan. Oh, fudge! Mary Ann. This is altogether too bad and ungenerous in you. In the first place, the few cents we give, bestowed as they are on a poor old widow woman, are not wasted, in my opinion, but well spent; and if I spend an evening, granted to me by my parents for recreation, in listening to old Kate, it is no more wasted than if I spend it with the girls in any other social way. And when you connect fortune-telling and our duties in the present, you make it too serious an affair. Remember, this is all for sport. Mary Ann. It may be so with you, Susan; but there are those who seriously believe every word of a fortune-teller. The contentment and peace of many young minds have been utterly lost, sold for the absurd jabbering of old, ignorant, lowbred women, who pretend to read the future. [In a livelier tone.] But just say, girls, do you believe there is any connection between tea-leaves and your future lives? Eveline, Sarah, Susan. Why, no! Mary Ann. Do you believe that our fortunes are marked on the face of cards? Eveline, Sarah, Susan. Certainly not. Mary Ann. Well, do you believe, if the secret events of the future should be intrusted with any of our race, it would be with those who have neither intellectual, moral, nor religious education who can be bribed by dollars and cents to say anything? Sarah, Eveline. No, indeed! Mary Ann. [Turns to Susan.] You do not answer, Susan. Do you suppose Kate Merrill believes that she has a revelation from God? Susan. No, Mary Ann. Mary Ann. Do you suppose she thinks you believe so? Susan. Why, yes, I do. Mary Ann. Then, is it benevolent to bestow money to encourage an old woman in telling for truth what she knows to be false? Susan. I doubt whether it is really benevolent. Mary Ann. And if old Kate speaks falsely, and knows she does so, and you know it, yet spend your time in listening to what she has to say, what good can come of it, to head or heart? Susan. None at all. It is time wasted, and I am convinced that I have been doubly wrong, in wishing to go, and in being angry with you. I hope you will forgive me. Mary Ann. Certainly, Susan. And now, if you wish for amusement, I will be a witch myself, and tell your fortunes for you. Susan. Oh, do tell mine! and be sure you tell it truly. What lines of fate do you see in my hand? Mary Ann. [Takes her hand, and looks at it intently.] (To Susan.) Passions strong my art doth see, Thou must rule them, or they rule thee. Sarah. Now tell mine next. (To Sarah.) Too believing, too believing, Eveline. Now tell me a pleasant fortune. (To Eveline.) have Lively and loving, I would not chide thee; Do thou thy duty, and joy shall betide thee. Susan. Thank you, Mary Ann, for the lessons you given us. We can now, in turn, tell your fortune, and that is, Always be amiable and sensible as now, and you will always be loved. OFFICERS AND SOLDIERS OF THE KING. SCENE I. An uneven country—at early eve. [Enter Catharine and Elizabeth.] Catharine. This sure is not a dream to mock our wretched No! Elizabeth, we are as free as the rills that leap About our path. Which of our brasen Bosomed keepers thought their doves, so safely mewed Or one among his minions, can be at ease When once it be known that Catharine is free. [ness! Cath. Why speak you thus? the king himself declared That I again might go forth. Eliz. Said he so? You might go forth? His meaning, Then, was not what words import. Sooner than you Should leave lone Cremlitz, except upon your bier, He would himself pace nightly on your guard. You might soon go forth? In death, he surely meant. [ness Cath. These are strange words. Why is there such keen In thy hatred to the king? His conduct tells Another tale than that he seeks the life His royal brother entrusted to his care. Eliz. His conduct!-art thou then deceived? |