class="smcap">l. c., left of centre; r. d., right door; l. d., left door; UP STAGE, towards the back; DOWN STAGE, towards the audience.

APRIL FOOLS.

Scene.—Dunnbrowne's parlor. Entrances r. and l. Table, c. Chairs r. and l. of table. Newspaper and letters on the table.

Dunnbrowne. (without) Well, good morning, my dears, (shows himself in the doorway r.) Don't be away all the morning, and do be merciful in your purchases. (enters r.) Happy is the man who is not troubled with a trio of beautiful daughters, who are incessantly going out shopping. My daughters seem to take a delight in spending my money. I suppose they act upon the principle that, if a thing is worth doing at all it is worth doing well, and as shopping is their chief and only occupation, they strive, and I may add, succeed, to do it as well as any young ladies in this mundane sphere possibly could. (sits r.) I find it of no use whatever to expostulate with them about what I consider their extravagance in dress, for they argue that as they do all the buying and I do all the paying, it is nothing but a right and proper division of labor. Now let me see what trouble has come to me through that prodigious engine of commerce, the post office, this morning. (opens a letter) Another bill from Messrs. Newshape and Whitestraw, the milliners! It is only two weeks since I paid them $25. (looks at the bill)—$37.50 for millinery! Enough to provide me with hats for twenty years. (opens another letter) More bills! This is Mrs. Goodfit's bill for dressmaking: forty dollars. (throws the bill on the table) Oh, this is going a little beyond all reason. The fact of the matter is, I shall be ruined if this sort of thing is not stopped. (walks across the room two or three times—then pauses) I wish some kind, upright and steady young men of affluent means would come forward and take one or two of my daughters off my hands. I'm sure they would make excellent wives. (sits r.,—takes another letter) I am almost afraid to open this one; but I may as well know the extent of my trouble at once—suspense is useless—so here goes. (opens the letter) What's this? (reads it over rapidly in silence) How opportune! This is precisely what I have long been wishing for. (reads) "Dear sir,—For a long period of time I have fondly and madly loved your daughter Fanny, with a passion that would require the prolific brain of a poet to describe, but I have never had the courage to declare my passion to her." Well, that is astonishing. If I had known of this before I should have avoided paying some of her bills, for I would have had them married long ago. (reads) "My object in writing you is to inform you that I shall call upon you to-morrow morning, when I trust you will favor me with an interview." An interview! I'll favor him with forty interviews if he will only take one of my daughters off my hands. (reads) "My means are amply sufficient to justify my taking a wife, so I trust you will not throw cold water on my hopes, but make me eternally happy by giving your consent to our union." Throw cold water on his hopes! By no means. If warm water will help to bring about the desired effect he shall have gallons of it. (reads) "Hoping you will carefully consider this matter and ultimately arrive at a favorable decision, I am yours respectfully, John Smith." (folding the letter) John Smith, umph! Now, the question that arises is, who is this John Smith? John Smiths are almost as numerous as flies around a sugar-bowl, but I don't happen to be acquainted with any of them. However, I shall not be any wiser by wondering who he is, so I shall wait patiently until he calls. In the meantime I will take a walk around the garden, (goes to door r.—calls) Jane, I am going into the garden. If anyone calls, show him in here and let me know immediately. (goes to the table) By-the-bye I must put these bills out of sight. If John Smith chances to see them they might set him thinking of what he will have to pay when he gets married, and be the means of making him alter his mind. (puts the letters in his pocket) Exit l.

Enter, James Smith, r.

Smith. (speaks at the entrance) Very well. I'll find a seat if you will find your master. (Enters—looks around—sits, r.) I wonder what sort of a fellow this Dunnbrowne is. I don't know anything about him, but he knows something about me or how would he be aware of the fact that I am in want of a mare. I hope there is no blunder about the affair. I don't see how there can be, though. The letter is addressed to me all fair and square, and this is the address the letter is dated from (takes a letter from his pocket and reads) "2, Belverley Terrace, Hedgetown, March 31st. Mr. Smith. Dear sir,—A friend of mine informs me that you are in want of a good mare, so I take the liberty of writing you to say that I wish to dispose of my thoroughbred dark bay mare Fanny. She has splendid action, and is in good condition. If you think she may suit you, I shall be at home in the morning, and will be glad to see you and give you any information respecting her soundness, &c. Yours truly, Peter Dunnbrowne." Oh, it's all right. There cannot be any error about that—of course not. I am rather fond of the name of Fanny. I had a mare of that name some years ago, and she was a perfect stunner. (replaces the letter in his pocket) I wonder what price he wants for her. I am not particular to a few dollars if she's a good goer. (takes up the newspaper) What is there fresh in the paper this morning? Ah, another breach of promise case, I see. $500 damages. Poor fellow. Nobody will catch me at that game. Marriage is out of my line altogether. I always drive clear of the ladies. (turns the paper over—reads)

Enter, Dunn., l.

Dunn. (aside) So this is John Smith, my would-be son-in-law. He appears to make himself quite at home. (coming to the front, aloud) Good morning, sir. Mr. Smith, I presume. (extending his hand. Smith hastily puts the newspaper down—rises and shakes hands)

Smith. Good morning, Mr. Dunnbrowne, how do you do, sir; how do you do? Delighted to make your acquaintance, sir. Fine morning this, isn't it? Very fine morning indeed.

Dunn. (aside) He doesn't seem at all bashful.

Smith. I beg your pardon? Ah, I thought you were speaking. You are well, I suppose?

Dunn. Ye—yes, I am quite well, thank you, Mr. Smith, how are you?

Smith. I'm very well, sir, very well indeed; in fact I am never troubled with any complaint excepting the complaints of my groom, and he is