and you can not reproach me with breaking faith, him and obtain a sitting from him. anyway." On the way from head-quarters to the station there was an immense amount of cheering from the soldiers, who, as usual, seemed wild with delight at seeing the President. Occasionally we heard them cry, "Three cheers for Mrs. Lincoln!" and they were given with a will. Then, again, the men would cry, "Three cheers for the boy!" This salute Tad acknowledged, under instructions from his mother, and entirely unabashed by so much noise and attention. One soldier, after the line through which we were passing had given three cheers "for the next fight," cried," And send along the greenbacks!" This arrested the attention of Tad, who inquired its meaning, and, when told that the army had not been paid for some time, on account of the scarcity of greenbacks, he said, with the true spirit of an inflationist, “Why does n't Governor Chase print 'em some, then?" In the October number of The Century Magazine another incident in which Tad took part is narrated in a letter from Mr. Alexander Starbruck, of Waltham, Mass., as follows: "About the last of February, 1865, Mr. H. F. Warren, a photographer of Waltham, Mass., left home, intending, if practicable, to visit the army in front of Richmond and Petersburg. Arriving in Washington on the morning of the 4th of March, and finding it necessary to procure passes to carry out the end he had in view, he concluded to remain there until the inauguration ceremonies were over, and, having carried with him all the apparatus necessary for taking negatives, he decided to try to secure a sitting from the President. At that time rumors of plots and dangers had caused the friends of President Lincoln to urge upon him the necessity of a guard, and, as he had finally permitted the presence of such a body, an audience with him was somewhat difficult. On the afternoon of the 6th of March, Mr. Warren sought a presentation to Mr. Lincoln, but found, after consulting with the guard, that an interview could be had on that day in only a somewhat irregular manner. After some conversation with the officer in charge, who became convinced of his loyalty, Mr. Warren was admitted within the lines, and, at the same time, was given to understand that the surest way to obtain an audience with the President was through the intercession of his little son Tad.' The latter was a great pet with the soldiers, and was constantly at their barracks, and soon made his appearance, mounted upon his pony. He and the pony were soon placed in position and photographed, after which Mr. Warren asked Tad' to tell his father that a man had come all the way from Boston, and was particularly anxious to see 'Tad' went to see his father, and word was soon returned that Mr. Lincoln would comply. In the meantime Mr. Warren had improvised a kind of studio upon the south balcony of the White House. Mr. Lincoln soon came out, and, saying but a very few words, took his seat as indicated. After a single negative was taken, he inquired: Is that all, sir?' Unwilling to detain him longer than was absolutely necessary, Mr. Warren replied: Yes, sir,' and the President immediately withdrew. At the time he appeared upon the balcony the wind was blowing freshly, as his disarranged hair indicates, and, as sunset was rapidly approaching, it was difficult to obtain a sharp picture. Six weeks later President Lincoln was dead, and it is doubtless true that this is the last photograph ever made of him." Later, Tad figured with his father in one more historic scene. It was on the night of April 11, 1865, when the President made his last long speech. The news of the fall of Petersburg and Richmond, and the flight of Lee and Davis had come to Washington. On that night the White House was illuminated, and there was great joy throughout the land, for we had begun to feel that the war was nearly over. Outside of the house was a vast crowd, cheering and shouting with a roar like that of the sea. A small battery from the Navy Yard occasionally rent the air with a salute, and the clamor of brass bands and the hissing of fire-works added to the confusion and racket in front of the mansion. Lincoln and a few friends lingered at the dinner-table until it was time for him to begin his speech. As the little party mounted the stairs to the upper part of the house, there was a tremendous din outside, as if roars of laughter were mingling with the music and the cheers. Inside of the house, at one of the front windows on the right of the staircase, was old Edward, the conservative and dignified butler of the White House, struggling with Tad and trying to drag him back from the window, from which he was waving a Confederate flag, captured in some fight and given to the boy. The crowd recognized Tad, who frantically waved the flag as he fought with Edward, while the people roared with delight. "The likes of it, Mister Tad," said the scandalized butler-"the likes of a rebel flag out of the windows of the White House! Oh, did I ever!" Edward conquered, and, followed by a parting cheer from the throng below, Tad rushed to his father with his complaints. But the President, just then approaching the center window overlooking the portico, stood with a beaming face before the vast assembly beneath, and the mighty cheer that arose drowned all other sounds. The speech began with the words, "We meet this evening, not in sor row, but in gladness of heart." As Lincoln spoke, the multitude was as silent as if the court-yard had been deserted. Then, as his speech was written on loose sheets, and the candles placed for him were too low, he took a light in his hand and went on with his reading. Soon coming to the end of a page, he found some difficulty in handling the manuscript and holding the candlestick. A friend who stood behind the drapery of the window. reached out and took the candle, and held it until the end of the speech, and the President let the loose pages fall on the floor, one by one, as fast as he was through with them. Presently, Tad, having refreshed himself at the dinner-table, came back in search of amusement. He gathered up the scattered sheets of the President's speech, and then amused himself by chasing the leaves as they fluttered from Lincoln's hand. Anon, growing impatient at his delay to drop another page, he whispered, "Come, give me another!" The President made a queer motion with his foot toward Tad, but otherwise showed no sign that he had other thoughts than those on reconstruction which he was dropping to the list- and lighted with the fantastic colors of fire-works. eners beneath. Without was a vast sea of upturned faces, each eye fixed on the form of the President. Around the tall white pillars of the portico flowed an undulating surface of human beings, stirred by emotion At the window, his face irradiated with patriotic joy, was the much-beloved Lincoln, reading the speech that was to be his last to the people. Behind crept back and forth, on his hands and knees, the boy of the White House, gathering up his father's carefully written pages, and occasionally lifting up his eager face, waiting for more. It was before and behind the scenes. Sometimes I wonder, when I recall that night, how much of a father's love and thought of his boy might have been mingled in Lincoln's last speech to the eager multitude. The dark and dreadful end was drawing nigh apace. Within a few days after that memorable night, the beloved Lincoln fell by the hand of an assassin. Amid the lamentations of a stricken nation, his form was carried back to Illinois to be buried near the spot where little Willie had been laid to rest. Soon afterward, the stricken family left the gloomy White House, and the sound of Tad's merry voice was heard no more in the mansion of the people. After his father's death, Robert took charge of his brother's education until the lad went to Europe with his mother, in 1869. Sobered and steadied by the great tragedy through which he had passed, Tad applied himself diligently to study, and made such progress that his friends cherished for him the brightest hopes. He was a self-reliant boy, firm in his friendships, cordial, modest, and as true as the needle to the pole whenever principle and justice were called in question. Under the tuition of a careful instructor in Germany, he quite overcame the difficulty in his speech which had burdened him from childhood. He was disciplined by an English-speaking German teacher, who required him to read aloud, slowly and distinctly, as a daily exercise. By this simple means he finally learned to speak plainly, but with a slight German accent which came from his practice in reading. Returning home with his mother in 1871, he was taken with a severe illness, and after enduring with manly fortitude months of great pain, he passed away July 15, 1871, being then only a little more than eighteen years old. It was well said of him that he gave to the sad and solemn White House the only comic relief it knew. And, in justice to the memory of the boy whose life was but a brief and swiftly passing vision of a cheery spirit, it should be added that his gayety and affection were the only illumination of the dark hours of the best and greatest American who ever lived. [THIS Masque is designed to precede the Christmas tree at a Christmas party. Its action may call for the help of the entire company to assist at the choruses. All the children in the room may, if desired, be massed on the stage, and the chorus of parents may be given by the audience from the seats they occupy, provided they are led by a few ready voices near the piano. No special decoration is needed for the stage. The action should take place near the Christmas tree, which should, if possible, stand behind a curtain, or be screened by the folding-doors, until the end of the Masque, when it should be suddenly disclosed with all its blaze and glitter. The "properties" are simple and none of the costumes need be elaborate, but the setting can be as greatly diversified and elaborated as the inclination and facilities of the managers permit. Let the choruses and speaking parts be rendered with spirit. Much of the text can be sung to familiar airs, which will readily suggest themselves to the musical directors.] MR. MONEYBAGS may be a “ grown man," or a big boy. May be dressed in street costume at first. When he appears as the FALSE SIR SANTA CLAUS he should wear full-dress suit, of fashionable cut, with opera hat, white kids, big watch-chain, trim white wig, white mustache and side-whiskers - —as great a contrast as possible to the conventional Santa Claus. SANTA CLAUS should be made up, as customary, "in fur from his head to his foot, a bundle of toys flung on his back," etc. Another 'grown man" or big boy should be selected for this part. JACK FROST.-Boy of fifteen. Pretty ice-and-snow suits of white HIS WIFE.-Girl of thirteen. Canton flannel and swan's-down trimming, sprinkled with silver powder, and silver wands. JACK O'LANTERN.-Agile boy of twelve, in tight-fitting fancy or Jester's suit. THE FAIRY BOUNTIFUL.-Girl of sixteen; fancy white dress, wings, and spangles, silver wand. RED RIDING-HOOD'S WOLF.-Boy of sixteen, in fur robe or coat, with wolf's-head mask, and movable jaws, if possible. THE BIG BUGABOO.-Tall youth of sixteen or eighteen, with demon's mask or some ugly face. Dressed in close-fitting red suit. THE WHOOPING-COUGH MAN.-Boy of sixteen, doubled and bent, with basket and crook, whitened face, and light clothes. THE WANDERING JEW.- Big boy in old black suit, shocking bad hat, and bag full of "old clo'es." DICK.-A bright boy of fourteen. ETHEL-A bright girl of twelve. CURLY-LOCKS.-A pretty little girl of six or eight. THE FALSE SIR SANTA CLAUS. [As the curtain rises, the children rush in pell-mell, singing: Moderato. Christ-mas has come, and we children are glad. CHORUS OF INDULGENT PARENTS (in audience). Shout it out! Sing it out! Clear voices ring it out! Ring out your glee, every lassie and lad. Under the holly, now, sing and be jolly, now; Christmas has come and the children are glad! CHORUS OF CHILDREN. Hurry all! Scurry all! We 're in a flurry all! We're in a flurry, with happiness mad. Gayly we sing to you; welcomes we bring to you; Christmas has come and we children are glad! [Enter MR. MONEYBAGS, account-book in hand. He shakes his fist at children, and says, sharply: MONEYBAGS. What a rumpus! What a clatter! Why, whatever is the matter? All this rout and shout and riot is distracting to my brain. You've disturbed my computations With your singing and gyrations, And you've mixed my figures up so, I must add 'em all again. ETHEL. Oh, stupid Mr. Moneybags, where are your senses, pray, sir? DICK. Why, don't you know-of course you dothat this is Christmas Day, sir? CURLY-LOCKS. 'Tis Christmas, sir — the children's day! ETHEL, DICK, AND CURLY-LOCKS (shaking their fingers). And please to understandALL THE CHILDREN. We 're waiting here for Santa Claus to come from Somewhereland. CHORUS OF INDULGENT PARENTS. Don't scold them, Mr. Moneybags, for, please to understand, They're waiting here for Santa Claus to come from Somewhereland. MONEYBAGS (much disgusted). For what? For who? For Santa Claus ? 'Tis past my comprehension That, in this nineteenth century, Such foolishness finds mention! For Santa Claus? No bigger fraud Has ever yet been planned! THE CHILDREN (lifting hands in dismay). No Santa Claus ! CURLY-LOCKS (tearfully). I never did-did you? ETHEL (to children, hands lifted). No Santa Claus! THE CHILDREN (lifting hands solemnly). No Santa Claus ! ALL (in audible tears). Boo-hoo, boo-hoo, boo-hoo! ETHEL (dejectedly). It seems to me, The Children (incredulously). That's-quirky! CHILDREN. All right! Who 'll pull it? THE CHILDREN. Now, pull! [DICK and ETHEL snap the wish-bone. ETHEL. Dick's got the lucky end, boys! CHORUS OF CHILDREN. (Try, for air, “Nelly Bly.") CHORUS OF INDULGENT PARENTS. Santa Claus! Santa Claus! Jolly old Saint; ETHEL (surveying him curiously). We, Mr.-Indiarubber! JACK O'LANTERN (laughing derisively). Ho, ho, ho! With a clash and a clang, and a rattle-te-bang, With a jounce and a bounce, Santa Claus I announce! [Enter MONEYBAGS as the FALSe Sir Santa ClAUS, dressed in fulldress suit, as indicated in costume directions. The children start back, surprised at seeing a person so different from their idea of Santa Claus in dress and appearance. MONEYBAGS surveys them through his eye-glass, sourly. MONEYBAGS (gruffly). Heigho, there, you youngsters! Well, how do you do? H'm-what did you say? ETHEL (timidly). Oh, we only said ·O0-00-00! MONEYBAGS. Well, why this surprise? Why this staring and stir? CURLY-LOCKS (showing him her toy book). We looked for that kind of a Santa Claus, sir. MONEYBAGS (taking book and examining it critically through eye-glass). Hey? what kind? Oh, that! Ah! permit me to look ; Why, Santa Claus, child, does n't live in a book! [Reading quickly. H'm-"little old driver"— Pshaw! -"sleigh full of toys "Down the chimney"- that 's nonsense, you know, girls and boys. [Reading again. "He was dressed all in furs, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, Oh, that's nonsense, I say: I have n't looked that way for many a day! I dress in the fashion; I'm solemn in speech, And detest all the folly that fable would teach. |