DRAMAS FOR EVERY-DAY LIFE.

The following drama is upon a subject that will come home to the heart and tongue, the lungs and the lips, the epiglottis and the affections, of every Englishman. There is not a theme in the whole range of every-day life, that so frequently furnishes the matter of conversation, and there can be none, consequently, so universal in its interest, as the one which forms the subject of the drama we are about to present to our readers. In every circle, at every hour of every day, the first point started by every one meeting with another, and taken up by that other with the keenest relish, is—The Weather. The title may not appear at first sight a promising one, for the purposes of the dramatist; but if he can succeed in presenting to his countrymen a type of a drama for every-day life, divested of those common-places which long habit and an apparent exhaustion of the theme may have thrown about it, he will be content to hang up his harp on the first hat-peg of "Tara's," or any one else's "hall," and repose, as well as such a substitute for a mattress will allow him, upon his already-acquired laurels. But without further prologue, we will "ring up," and let the curtain rise for the drama of

THE WEATHER.

Dramatis Personæ.

Mr. Muffle An old friend of the late husband of Mrs. Yawnley.

Mrs. Muffle Wife of Mr. Muffle.

Mrs. Shivers A casual acquaintance of Mrs. Yawnley, and knowing incidentally a little of the Muffles.

Mrs. Yawnley A widow, whose late husband was a friend of Mr. Muffle.

Servant to Mrs. Yawnley.

The Scene passes in the drawing-room of Mrs. Yawnley. The Stage represents a handsome drawing-room, elegantly furnished. There is a door at the back opening on to a hall in which is hung a weather-glass.

Mrs. Yawnley (in a morning dress) discovered seated in conversation with Mrs. Shivers, who wears her shawl and bonnet.

Mrs. Y. It is indeed! the winter, as you say, Has now set in with great severity.

Mrs. S. Not that I think we've reason to complain. This is December, we should recollect.

Mrs. Y. We should indeed—a very true remark: And one that never struck me till you made it.

Enter Servant, announcing Mr. and Mrs. Muffle.

Mrs. Y. (rising.) Dear Mrs. Muffle, this is very kind, To come to see me on a day like this. Which I and Mrs. Shivers (whom you know) Were just remarking was extremely cold.

Mr. M. Cold—do you think!

Mrs. Y. Yes—pray come near the fire.

Mrs. M. Oh! Thank you—no—I'd really rather not. I'm very warm with walking.

[Sits at a distance.

Mrs. S. Probably. But walking somehow never makes me warm.

[An awkward pause, during which Mr. Muffle puts his fingers between the bars of a parrot's cage, as if playing with the bird, receives a savage snap, but says nothing, as the affair is not remarked by any body.]

Mrs. Y. What think you, Mister Muffle, will it rain? You gentlemen can always judge so well.

Mr. M. (Walking to the window, partly to conceal the pain of his finger.) Why, that depends a good deal on the wind.

Mrs. S. They say that when the smoke is beaten down, Rain may be looked for.

Mrs. M. I have often heard That if the birds fly very near the ground, Wet is in store. Look at that sparrow now, He's fairly on the ground, so it must rain.

Mrs. Y. But now he's off again, and so it won't, Those adages, I think, are often wrong.

Mr. M. One rule I've always found infallible.

Mrs. S. Pray tell us what it is.

Mrs. Y. Do—I entreat. It would be so convenient to know. Some certain rule by which to guide one's self. My glass deceives me often.

Mrs. M. (in a mental aside.) Rather say Your glass tells often some unpleasant truths.

Mr. M. My weather-glass, dear madam, is my corn.

Mrs. M. Why, really, Mister M., you're quite absurd; Have we the means of guidance such as that? You're positively rude.

Mrs. Y. (laughing.) Oh, not at all; He's trod upon no tender place of mine.

Mrs. S. I've heard some story of the tails of cows 'Tis said that when to the wind's quarter turn'd, They augur rain. Now tell me, Mr. Muffle, Do you believe in that?

Mr. M. I'd trust a cow's, As well as any other idle tail.

Mrs. Y. That's saying very little. Tell me, now, (For your opinion, really, I respect,) Are mackerel-looking clouds a sign of wet?

Mr. M. I think it probable that mackerel clouds Betoken wet, just as a mackerel's self Puts us in mind of water.

Mrs. S. Are you joking Or speaking as a scientific man?

Mrs. Y. You're such a wag, there's never any knowing When you are serious, or half in jest. Dear Mrs. Muffle, you that know him best, Shall we believe him?

Mrs. M. Oh, I can say nothing,

[All laugh for some minutes, on and off, at the possibly intended wit of Mr. Muffle; and the tittering having died off gradually, there is a pause.]

Mrs. M. (to Mrs. Y.) Have you been out much lately?

Mrs. Y. No, indeed, The dampness in the air prevented me.

Mrs. S. 'Tis rather drier now.

Mrs. Y. I think it is. I hope I shall be getting out next week, If I can find a clear and frosty day.

Mr. M. I think 'tis very probable you will.

Mrs. Y. I'm quite delighted to have heard you say so; But are you quizzing us. You're such a quiz!

Mr. M. (with serious earnestness.) Believe me, Mrs. Yawnley, when I say I've far too much regard—too much esteem— For one I've known as long as I've known you, To say a word intending to mislead; In friendship's solemn earnestness I said, And say again, pledging my honor on it, 'Tis my belief we may, ere very long, Some clear and frosty days anticipate.

Mrs. Y. I know your kindness, and I feel it much; You were my poor dear husband's early friend.

[Taking out her handkerchief. Mrs. S. goes toward the window to avoid being involved in the scene.]

I feel that though with cheerful badinage You now and then amuse a passing hour, When with a serious appeal addressed, You never make a frivolous reply.

Mrs. M. (rising, and kissing Mrs. Y.) You do him justice, but we must be going.

Mr. M. (giving his hand to Mrs. Y.) Good morning, Mrs. Yawnley.

Mrs. Y. Won't you wait, And take some luncheon?

Mr. M. Thank you; no, indeed; We must be getting home, I fear 'twill rain.

Mrs. S. I think you go my way—I'm in a fly, And shall be very glad to set you down.

Mrs. M. Oh, thank you; that's delightful.

Mrs. S. (to Mrs. Y.) So, I'll say Good-by at once.

Mrs. Y. Well, if you will not stay.

[Mr. and Mrs. Muffle, and Mrs. Shivers, exeunt by the door. Mrs. Yawnley goes to the bell. Mr. Muffle taps on the weather-glass; the bell rings; and the glass, which is going down, falls considerably at the same moment as the curtain.]

A JUVENILE PARTY.

First Juvenile.—"That's a pretty girl talking to young Algernon Binks." Second Juvenile.—"Hm—Tol-lol! You should have seen her some seasons ago."