A DRAMA COMMENCED.

131

In spite of the gay life which we led in the French metropolis, my habits of study were not wholly abandoned. An Italian teacher paid me visits every morning, and the previous night's dissipations never prevented my taking a lesson before breakfast. Nor did I cease to find pleasure in writing. I commenced a little drama in six acts, (the peculiarities of the plot made five, as I thought, an impossible number,) designed for private representation. We were to give a fête on our return to America, and the play was to be enacted at Melrose by my sisters and myself. It was written in blank verse, (or, at least, what I imagined to be blank verse,) the scenery was painted by Parisian artists under my direction, and some of the principal dresses, which were exceedingly rich, were made by Parisian costumers. The play was entitled Gulzara, or the Persian Slave. It was nearly completed when we left Paris.

At Havre we took passage in the ship Ville de Lyons, under the command of Captain Stoddart, and sailed for America.

CHAPTER VII.

A Play without Heroes. - Rehearsals. — Incident in the Barn. – Gulzara, or the Persian Slave. Publication of Play.- Critique from New World. Fondness for Speculations. - Loss of Property and utter Ruin. — Musings in the Arbor. - My Sister Charlotte. A Project. — Preparations for a new Career. last Farewell to a beloved Home.

The

OUR sojourn in a foreign land had not rendered America less dear. Our own home never looked to me more beautiful than when, as I leaned from the carriage window, I beheld it through the long avenue of trees, after our fifteen months' absence. I pass over the joyous greetings of kindred and friends, and come to the fête which was to celebrate our return. The play was rapidly completed; but I had had some formidable difficulties to overcome in its construction. We objected to admit gentlemen into our corps dramatique, to say the least, their presence was an inconvenience, yet our youthful company wished to avoid assuming male attire. I must write them a play without heroes. To suit these caprices I invented a plot, the scene of which was laid within the walls of a harem. Sultan Suliman, the hero, is absent in the wars, and though he in reality plays an important part in the drama, and is kept constantly in the minds of the audience, he never appears. His newly-purchased slave Gulzara is the heroine. The other characters are his are his daughter Zulieka, Fatima, her companion, Katinka, an attendant, and

INCIDENT IN THE BARN.

133

Ayesha, the villain of the piece, who has received a great wrong at the hands of the sultan, and, during his absence, seeks revenge. The only male character is that of the sultan's son Amurath, a boy ten years old. This character was written for little Julia, and I expended all the ability I possessed in making the part one that would afford ample scope for the display of her brilliant talents. It was a part in which she could fairly compete with Gulzara, (which I enacted,) and, as the sequel proved, could bear away the palm.

To facilitate rehearsals, our little corps dramatique were invited to take up their residence with me for a month previous to the representation of the play. Many an amusing incident broke in upon our preparations. During the rehearsal of certain scenes, we were invariably interrupted by sudden fits of laughter from the actors, and I could never get them through other scenes (one in particular) without allowing them to pause and weep; and these were not stage tears, but genuine outbursts of girlish feeling.

Screaming musically and fainting gracefully, we at first pronounced impossible accomplishments- heights of histrionic excellence not to be reached! To avoid alarming the rest of the family, we practised these portions of our art in an old barn at a distance from the house. Each one in turn would give a long, loud shriek, and the clearest sound was to be imitated by the character who had to scream. Then the fainting must be practised. We could fall upon beds of hay, but dared not trust ourselves to sink into each other's arms, for fear of a fall indeed. Amid shouts of laughter, we were one day making experiments in the most effective manner of becoming insensible, when an unexpected

peal of merriment, mingling with ours, sounded above our heads! We looked up and beheld in the haylofts an assemblage of laborers, who had been enjoying unperceived our dramatic exercises, and could no longer restrain their mirth. With one accord our whole party took flight, and were seen in the barn no more.

It was my desire that the fête should be given upon our father's birthday; but as Flatbush was four miles from New York, we were obliged to wait for moonlight nights, that our guests might not have a country drive in the dark.

Our Parisian scenery worked admirably. It was changed for each act. The most critical observer could hardly have found fault with the miniature theatre. We had all the appurtenances of the stage, even to footlights, and the regulations I instituted were tolerably systematic. I seemed to possess some intuitive knowledge of the mysteries of stage management. The night before that on which the play was to take place we had a dress rehearsal, and every one was, in stage parlance, "dead-letter perfect" in her part.

The fête day came. With the assistance of my young dramatic company, the house was profusely decorated with garlands of flowers. Bowers were formed out of forest trees cut down for the purpose, and vases, placed in every possible and impossible niche or corner, were filled with the plunder of the greenhouse and garden. Numerous friends contributed largely to this floral exhibition. When we commenced our labors in the morning, several tables were literally heaped with mountains of flowers. At night the avenue of trees leading to the house was brilliantly illuminated, and the moon we had politely waited for, in return,

courteously lent us her light. The guests assembled at an early hour, and were received by their host. The hostess was busied transforming herself into a Persian slave, and adorning the other inhabitants of the seraglio.

At the hour designated in the programme, which had been enclosed in every invitation, an overture was played by a full band of music stationed in the hall. (We had to alter the usual locality of the orchestra.) The curtain rose upon a chamber in the harem, where sat Zulieka, embroidering, and Fatima at her feet. It seemed to me five minutes, though probably it was not more than one, before our Zulieka (my sister May) could gain courage to utter the first words of her part. When at last she spoke, it was in a low and trembling voice, scarcely audible. I held my breath until the sound fell on my ears, and drew it again with a sensation of inexpressible relief as her self-possession gradually returned. There was no laughing as at our rehearsals; and, when the actors persisted in crying, the audience kindly kept them company, and I did not chide as on former occasions. yond my expectations, but the gem of the evening was the exquisite performance of little Julia as the sultan's son Amurath. Almost every sentence she uttered drew down genuine bursts of applause; and with the skill of a thorough artist, she made us laugh or weep at will while she retained her own composure. I exerted myself to the utmost in scenes where we played together, but my judgment told me that Amurath threw Gulzara into the shade.

Every one played be

As I stood upon the stage, the audience were so near us that I could see my father's noble form, his majestic