_Dramatis Personæ_, GENTLEMEN. LADIES. HORSES AND POLICEMEN.
A superb carriage, made out of the lounge with bandbox-lid wheels, and drawn by a span of spirited bay gentleman, is discovered; an elegant youth is seated on the box driving, whilst the carriage is filled with a gay and festive party of youthful ladies and gentlemen.
Presently the horses become restive, plunge wildly about, and, in spite of all the efforts of the driver, dash the vehicle against a post; the inmates scream and tumble out. Enter two policemen, who seize the horses, put the driver on his legs, and carry the rest of the party to the hospital on stretchers made of the clothes-horse.
Those tranquil moods to which allusion has already been made on several occasions, have now become a decided feature in our character. There is certainly something very charming in the society of well-bred women. However, we hope before long we need not be forced from home to find that enjoyment. We have discovered the object of Nix's recent gifts of Brahminical works. It was a ponderous roundabout species of humor peculiar to Nix, the works in question being supposed to furnish appropriate study for a person in our presumed position as admirer of Bud (or Boodh).
Nix has for some time past made himself very wearisome with continual allusions to Vishnu, Siva, Buddhism, and so forth. We gained one idea, however, from his jest. We have written a Hindoo play, the plot of which turns on the love of a devout Brahmin. The play is entirely finished save the last act, which is complete up to the point where Neer Je Haun declares his love for the Unblown Rose.
We took our play to the Adams' to-night, and told Bud that it was nearly completed, but we were in some embarrassment how to conclude it. We had consequently come to consult her on the subject, begging at the same time she would give it her most careful attention, as her decision was of vital importance. We were alone. We had read the whole play through with the utmost care, till we came to the final sentence in our manuscript, where the hero declares his passion for the Unblown Rose. It runs thus:
_Neer Je Haun._ "Light of my soul, whose voice is sweeter than the murmur of the Ganges, whose name is incense to my nostrils, whose eyes are brighter than the fire-flies by night--my highest ambition is to be thy slave, my greatest hope to guard thee from harm, to bask in the radiance of thine eyes. For thee I would sacrifice all other earthly happiness. When I pray thee to share my humble fortunes, turn not away thy proud head; parch not my soul with scorn, though well I should deserve such a fate for my temerity."