[1] It was always my impression that that was what
the horse was there for, and I know that it was also
the impression of at least one other of the command,
for we talked about it at the time, and admired the
military ingenuity of the device; but when I was out
West three years ago I was told by Mr. A. G. Fuqua,
a member of our company, that the horse was his, that
the leaving him tied at the door was a matter of mere
forgetfulness, and that to attribute it to intelligent
invention was to give him quite too much credit.
In support of his position, he called my attention
to the suggestive fact that the artifice was not employed
again. I had not thought of that before.
In three acts [1]
Mr. Stephenson. Margaret
Stephenson.
George Franklin. Annie
Stephenson.
William Jackson. Mrs. Blumenthal,
the Wirthin.
Gretchen, Kellnerin
Scene of the play, the parlour of a small private
dwelling in a village. (Margaret discovered
crocheting—has a pamphlet.)
Margaret. (Solus.) Dear, dear! it’s dreary
enough, to have to study this impossible German tongue:
to be exiled from home and all human society except
a body’s sister in order to do it, is just simply
abscheulich. Here’s only three weeks of
the three months gone, and it seems like three years.
I don’t believe I can live through it, and I’m
sure Annie can’t. (Refers to her book, and rattles
through, several times, like one memorising:) Entschuldigen
Sie, mein Herr, konnen Sie mir vielleicht sagen, um
wie viel Uhr der erste Zug nach Dresden abgeht?
(Makes mistakes and corrects them.) I just hate Meisterschaft!
We may see people; we can have society; yes, on condition
that the conversation shall be in German, and in German
only—every single word of it! Very
kind—oh, very! when neither Annie nor I
can put two words together, except as they are put
together for us in Meisterschaft or that idiotic Ollendorff!
(Refers to book, and memorises: Mein Bruder hat
Ihren Herrn Vater nicht gesehen, als er gestern in
dem Laden des deutschen Kaufmannes war.) Yes, we
can have society, provided we talk German. What
would conversation be like! If you should stick
to Meisterschaft, it would change the subject every
two minutes; and if you stuck to Ollendorff, it would
be all about your sister’s mother’s good
stocking of thread, or your grandfather’s aunt’s
good hammer of the carpenter, and who’s got it,
and there an end. You couldn’t keep up
your interest in such topics. (Memorising:
Wenn irgend moglich—mochte ich noch heute
Vormittag Geschaftsfreunde zu treffen.) My mind is
