With a form of faultless grace,
With a wreath of golden hair.
Sang with heart by grief untried-
Sang with no regretful past:
"Safe into the haven guide;

Oh, receive my soul at last!"

"Other refuge have I none—
Hangs my helpless soul on Thee,
Leave, ah! leave me not alone-
Still support and comfort me !"
Sang a mother while she bowed
O'er her baby as it lay
Wrapped within its snowy shroud
On a dreary autumn day,-
Sang of hopes forever flown,

Sang of eyes that could not see:
"Leave, ah! leave me not alone-
Still support and comfort me!"

"All my trust on Thee is stayed

All my help from Thee I bring;
Cover my defenseless head

With the shadow of Thy wing!"
Faint and weary in the race,
In death's winter-evening gray,
With a sweet, angelic face,

Dreamed a woman.

Far away,

As the feeble twilight fled,

Angels seemed with her to sing:

"Cover my defenseless head

With the shadow of Thy wing!"

"Jesus, lover of my soul,

Let me to thy bosom fly,

While the raging billows roll,

While the tempest still is nigh!" Ah! how soon our hopes decayWe must suffer and endure; Strive and struggle as we may,

Life is short and death is sure.

We may hear the anthem roll

Through the starry realms on high: "Jesus, lover of my soul,

Let me to Thy bosom fly!"

SARAH'S PROPOSAL.*-CHARLES BARNARD.†

NOTE.

A MONOLOGUE IN THREE SCENES.

CHARACTERS OF THE STORY.

RETURN SLOW BODY, Sarah's next door neighbor.

MISS EFFIE BREEZIE, a summer boarder.

MISS SARAH GREEN, a summer boarding-house keeper.

The last character is to be taken by the performer. The other characters are assumed to be present when she speaks to them.

The stage or platform should be set for a simple interior or be arranged to represent a room by means of curtains or screens. Furniture, properties and costumes for each scene should be used where indicated. If not convenient to use a curtain, the performer enters and leaves the stage at the beginning and end of each scene.

SCENE I. Sarah's front porch and yard. Entrances at right and left. A chair near left entrance. Plain morning dress with sun-bonnet. After rise of curtain enter at left; pause at door; shade eyes and look off to right.

The stage from the depot has just driven up from the postoffice. Wonder if any of my folks will come to-day-it's Fourth of July on Monday,--most time for summer boarders to be coming along. Well, I'm all ready for 'em. New hair mattress in the spare-room and I've turned the rag carpet in the south garret. Guess I can make 'em comfortable. (Sit and take out glasses and a letter.) I must read Jediah's last letter once more. (Put on glasses.). I sha'n't have a minute's peace when the boarders are here. (Look at letter.) What a mercy it was I happened to read the Missionary Journal last Christmas. It told how the poor in Boston did suffer for fool-and salt pork and potatoes in my cellar. I declare it just touched my heart and I sent a quarter to the editor and told him to give it to some starving family. The editor was real thoughtful and gave the letter to Jediah and since that I've sent money regular every week-for the poor. (Read from the letter.) "The gift you sent to the Lord saved seven

*Written expressly for this Collection.

Author of "The County Fair," "The Country Circus," and other highly suc» cessful dramas for the stage. Also, the very amusing play in No. 14, entitled “He was never Known to Smile," and the superior prose readings "The Telegraphic Signal," French by Lightning," etc. in this Series.

families from starvation." (Consider a few seconds.) Let me see. It was two dollars. (Look off to right; hastily put letter in pocket; rise and cross to right.) There's Returu Slowbody with my letters. I'll go meet him.

[Exit, right. (After a few seconds, re-enter at right with another letter in hand; appear to be talking to some one; slowly cross to left while talking.) If it is another boarder, I shall not be able to take her in. Every room is engaged. (Look at letter then at the person supposed to be present.) From a man? How do you know the letter is from a man? Oh! The handwriting. (Look at letter; appear pleased; put it in pocket.) Going to read it? Why, how silly you are. Of course I'm going to read it-soon's I get a minute's peace. How you do talk, Return Slowbody. Don't you be so curious. Why-yes. If you must know, it's from the Reverend Jediah Hopkins. He's a missionary to the poor, in Boston. No, he doesn't want board. He couldn't leave his work in the city. He said in his last letter that he could not leave his flock to visit―to visit the country. (Angry.) Well, why shouldn't I write to him? I guess it's perfectly proper, seeing he's a minister. You're real inquisitive, Return Slewbody, and I shall not tell you 'nother thing about him. (At door, left; quite angry.) No, I'm not making him a pair of slippers. I don't know his size. [Exit quickly, left.

(Re-enter immediately, at left; look about; appear surprised.) Why! Where's Return? I thought he was coming in. He always stops in for a minute when he brings my mail, and has a slice of mince pie or some jelly cake. (Vexed.) I declare he made me so (In changed manner.) I wish he hadn't been in such a hurry. It was real unkind in Return to go off in a pet like that. (Sit; take out glasses and the last letter.) Second letter Jediah has sent this week. I wonder what he can want now. (Look at letter, quickly.) Why. (Surprised, and then pleased.) Oh! I'm all of a flutter. Why. What will Return say now? (In changed manner.) Well, I don't know that it makes

any difference to me what Mister Slowbody thinks. He's nothing to me. (Look at letter.) Oh! Jediah! Jediah! Oh! (Kiss letter quickly; look about to see if observed; begin to put letter in bosom of dress.) Oh! Jediah, Jediah! [Quick curtain.

SCENE II. Sarah's best room. Table at right of centre, with writing materials. Chair at table. Other simple furniture appropriate to a parlor in country house. Pictures and ornaments may also be provided if desired. Entrances at sides and at back. Nice home dress suitable for evening. Lamps lighted on table. Time, evening of the next day. After rise of curtain enter at right; go to table; take up writing materials.

now.

Suppose I ought to answer Jediah's letter. I'll do it (Sit by table; begin to write on notepaper.) Dear Jediah (Stop and look at it.) That sounds very cold. (Begin to tear up paper; stop and tear off half sheet.) Can't afford to waste paper-at seven cents for twelve sheets. (Write.) My Dear Jediah: That sounds better. (Write.) Your letter finds me well and hope you are the same. (Stop.) What shall I say? First love letter I've had since poor Timothy was took away-when I was seventeen. Oh, Jediah! If you only knew how much I-(Look off back; hastily begin to cover up papers.) Somebody at the front door. (Rise and move up.) Wonder who it can be? [Exit, back.

(Re-enter at once; speak off back.) Ask the man to wait a minute. I'll bring the money right out. (Open drawer in table; take out purse.) Can't see who it can be sending me a package by express. (Count money.) Five dollars to pay on it. (Put back purse; move up.) Express-man wouldn't leave it till he is paid. [Exit, back.

(Re-enter at once carrying large portrait of some noted person, well-known to the audience and in a very cheap frame. The portrait to be wrapped up in paper. Examine package; read directions on it.) Miss Sarah Green. Glass, handle with care." It's for me. (Begin to open

package.) Oh! It's from Jediah. I wonder if it is his picture. He wrote he should send it. (Open package and place portrait in chair so as to be seen by audience.) Oh! I knew it was from Jediah. (Look at edge of portrait.) It's writ here. (Read.) "To my dear friend Sarah Green, from the Reverend Jediah Hopkins." (Admire picture.) It's his picture. I knew from his letters he must be good-looking, but I'd no idea-how intellectual he does look! Oh! Jediah, I aint worthy such a saint as you are. (Look in wrapping paper; find note in it.) Oh, here's a letter! (Read it.) "Dear Sarah-" (Hold letter in hand.) How much he does care for me. (Look at portrait.) He's a saint on earth, anybody can see that. (Look at letter; read.) "I send my portrait all framed." (Look at portrait.) Oh! yes, yes. To be sure--of course. How thoughtful in him! Of course, I wouldn't have him pay for the frame. (Examine frame.) Five dollars is considerable for that frame. Suppose such things come high in Boston. (Stop and look off back; turn picture with back to audience.) Hope that isn't Return. (Move up.) YesI'm coming. [Exit, back.

(Re-enter at back. Appear to speak to some one who has en tered at same time, vexed and ill at ease.) Yes, as you say Mr. Slowbody, it's a very pleasant evening--considering the rainy weather. Well, I didn't say it rained very hard. Of course, I know the roads are dusty. Won't you sit down, Mr. Slowbody. Sit down or stand up or go home or do something. I declare, Return, you make me so fidgety I don't know what I'm saying. (Look at picture.) That! Why-it's a portrait. (Gather up wrapping paper; put it on table while talking.) Whose portrait ? Why, how curious you are, Return. Deceiving myself? What do you mean? Oh! about Mr. Hopkins. I tell you I know all about him. He's told me everythingin his letters. Besides, he's asked me to-to come to the city. Yes that's what I said. He's asked me to be his wife. A minister's wife is about as lofty a position as a woman can be called to. Why, Return Slowbody!