kind of life you must have led that poor, unhappy, misdirected baby? Do you think I don't know what a woeful day it was for the soft little creature when you first came in her way-smirking and making great eyes at her, I'll be bound, as if you couldn't say boh! to a goose. Miss M.-I never heard anything so elegant! Aunt B.-Do you think I can't understand you as well as if I had seen you, now that I do see and hear you-which I tell you, candidly, is anything but a pleasure to me? Oh, yes, bless us! who so smooth and silky as Mr. Murdstone at first! The poor benighted innocent had never seen such a man. He was made of sweetness. He worshiped her! He doted on her boytenderly doted on him! He was to be another father to him, and they were all to live together in a garden of roses, weren't they? Miss M.-I never heard anything like this person in my life. Aunt B.-And when you had made sure of the poor little fool, God forgive me that I should call her so, and she gone where you won't go in a hurry-because you had not done wrong enough to her and hers, you must begin to train her, must you? Begin to break her, like a poor caged bird, and wear her deluded life away in teaching her to sing your notes? Miss M.-This is either insanity or intoxication, and my suspicion is that it's intoxication. Aunt B. (not heeding interruption).-Mr. Murdstone, you were a tyrant to the simple baby, and you broke her heart. She was a loving baby-I know that; I knew it years before you ever saw her-and through the best part of her weakness you gave her the wounds she died of. There is the truth for your comfort, however you like it. And you and your instruments may make the most of it. Miss M.-Allow me to inquire, Miss Trotwood, whom you are pleased to call, in a choice of words in which I am not experienced, my brother's instruments? Aunt B. (unheeding Miss M.).—It was clear enough, as I have told you, years before you ever saw her—and why in the mysterious dispensations of Providence you ever did see her, is more than humanity can comprehend-it was clear enough that the poor, soft little thing would marry somebody, at sometime or other; but I did hope it wouldn't have been as bad as it has turned out. That was the time, Mr. Murdstone, when she gave birth to her boy here, to the poor child you sometimes tormented her through afterward, which is a disagreeable remembrance, and makes the sight of him odious now. Aye! aye! you needn't wince! I know it's true without that. And now, good-day, and good-bye! Good-day to you, too, ma'am. Let me see you ride a donkey over my green again, and as sure as you have a head upon your shoulders I'll knock your bonnet off and tread upon it. [Miss M. places her arm through her brother's and they walk haughtily out of the door.] David.-Oh, aunt, I thank you very, very much, and I shall try hard to be a good boy and give you no trouble. [Places his arms around his aunt's neck and kisses her. Mr. Dick laughs heartily, jingles his money, and shakes hands with David.] Aunt B.-You'll consider yourself guardian, jointly with me, of this child, Mr. Dick? Mr. Dick. I shall be delighted to be the guardian of David's son. Aunt B.-Very good, that's settled. I have been thinking, do you know, Mr. Dick, that I might call him Trotwood? Mr. Dick.-Certainly, certainly. Call him Trotwood, certainly. David's son's Trotwood. Aunt B.-Trotwood Copperfield, you mean. Mr. Dick.-Yes, to be sure. Yes. Trotwood Copper. field. Aunt B.-And the suit of new clothes which I shall purchase this afternoon shall be marked in indelible ink--and in my own handwriting-Trotwood Copperfield. Moreover, I shall put the boy to school and give him an education. Henceforth, Trotwood (kindly and proudly), you are to be my boy, and no murdering Murdstones will have a chance to practice on you again while Aunt Betsey Trotwood holds a place in this world. [CURTAIN.] Dramatized by MRS. J. W. SHOEMAKER. THE MURDER OF THOMAS À BECKET. EFFECTIVE EITHER AS A READING OR A DIALOGUE. Thomas à Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, was a man of ⚫great talent and fearless courage, but he unwisely set himself against all propositions of the King tending to regulate, or make ecclesiastical authority subservient to civil power. So determined was he in his opposition, that finally Henry, though one of the Archbishop's firmest friends, in a fit of impatience, was led to exclaim: "Is there no one of my subjects who will rid me of this insolent priest ?" Four knights, enemies of à Becket, construing this as a command, proceeded to the residence of the prelate, and pursuing him into the Cathedral, barbarously slew him before the altar A. D. 1170. DRAMATIS PERSONE. THOMAS À BECKET, Archbishop of Canterbury. GRIM, a monk of Cambridge,} Friends of a Becket. JOHN of Salisbury, SIR REGINALD FITZURSE, SIR WILLIAM DE TRACY, SIR HUGH DE MORVILLE, The four knights of the King's house hold and enemies of à Becket. For costumes, consult history and historic scenes of the time of Henry II. SCENE. Altar and chancel of a Cathedral. A concealed chorus of voices indicative of monks chanting the service. Entrance right and left. Becket (entering, forced along by John of Salisbury and My lord, we force you from your enemies. As you would force a king from being crown'd. We must not force the crown of martyrdom. Monks. [Service stops. Enter Monks Here is the great Archbishop! He lives! he lives! When you so block the entry? Back, I say! How can I come Go on with the office. Shall not Heaven be served Tho' earth's last earthquake clash'd the minster. bells, And the great deeps were broken up again, And hiss'd against the sun? [Noise in the cloisters Monks.The murderers, hark! Fly, fly, my lord, before they burst the doors! Becket. [Knocking. Why, these are our own monks who follow'd us! To the choir, to the choir! [Monks divide part to the right, part to the left. Becket The rush of these last bears Becket along with them some distance, where he is left standing alone. Shall I too pass to the choir, |