Tom [to the audience.]—Ladies and gentlemen, you see it is useless for me to attempt to proceed, and I trust you will excuse me from performing my part. [Bows, and withdraws.]
Sam.—Yes, I hope you will excuse him, ladies and gentlemen. The fact is, he means well enough; but, between you and me, he doesn’t know a wheelwright from a right wheel. I’m sorry to say, his education has been sadly neglected, as you all perceive. He hasn’t enjoyed the advantages that I have for learning good manners. And, then, did you ever hear such a ridiculous spouter! He might make a very decent town crier, or auctioneer, or something of that sort,—but, to think of Tommy Trotter pretending to be an orator, and delivering a funeral oration over Cæsar! O my! it’s enough to make a cat laugh! And, now, ladies and gentlemen, as the interruption has ceased, I will proceed with my part:
“My name is Norval; on the Grampian Hills
My father feeds his flocks——”
And—and—and—[aside, to a boy near him]—what is it?—[to the audience]—“feeds his flocks”—and—and—and—there! I’ll be blowed if I haven’t got dead stuck, a’ready! Just as I expected, that lubber that came to bury Cæsar has bullied all the ideas out of my head! [Beats an inglorious retreat, with his hands over his face.]
How the hearts of the young authors beat, as, concealed from the audience, behind the spruce boughs on the stage, they watched the progress of the piece, and trembled lest, after all their pains, it should prove a failure! But their anxiety was needless. The lads who took the parts acquitted themselves admirably, and the whole assembly seemed to join heartily in the applause which followed its conclusion.
After a few more addresses from gentlemen present, the assembly was dismissed for one hour. The older people scattered themselves over the grounds, in little groups, while the children, pleased with the successful issue of their part in the entertainment, made the woods ring with their merry voices, as they bounded through the grove. Clinton and Whistler received many congratulations for the success of their dialogue and the excellence of their speaking. Among those whose commendation was most hearty, was young Mr. Walker, whom they had not seen, till now, since the memorable morning when his passion so completely overmastered him. The sight of him stirred up the sense of injury which was still rankling in Clinton’s heart, and he tried to avoid him. Mr. Walker, however, was now as calm as a summer’s day, and seemed to have entirely forgotten the character of that interview. Familiarly slapping the boy on the back, he said:
“Clinty, they say you composed that dialogue; is that a fact?”
“Willie and I wrote it, together,” replied Clinton.