THE OCTOROON.

ACT I.

Scene I.—A view of the Plantation Terrebonne, in Louisiana.—A branch of the Mississippi is seen winding through the Estate.—A low built, but extensive Planter's Dwelling, surrounded with a veranda, and raised a few feet from the ground, occupies the L. side.—A table and chairs, R. C.

Grace discovered sitting at breakfast-table with Children.

Enter Solon, from house, L.

Solon. Yah! you bomn'ble fry—git out—a gen'leman can't pass for you.

Grace. [Seizing a fly whisk.] Hee! ha—git out! [Drives Childrenaway; in escaping they tumble against and trip up Solon, who fallswith tray; the Children steal the bananas and rolls that fall about.]

Enter Pete, R. U. E. [he is lame]; he carries a mop and pail.

Pete. Hey! laws a massey! why, clar out! drop dat banana! I'll murderthis yer crowd, [He chases Children about; they leap over railing atback. Exit Solon, R. U. E.] Dem little niggers is a judgment upon disgeneration.

Enter George, from house, L.

George. What's the matter, Pete.

Pete. It's dem black trash, Mas'r George; dis ere property wants claring; dem's getting too numerous round; when I gets time I'll kill some on 'em, sure!

George. They don't seem to be scared by the threat.

Pete. Top, you varmin! top till I get enough of you in one place!

George. Were they all born on this estate?

Pete. Guess they nebber was born—dem tings! what, dem?—get away! Born here—dem darkies? What, on Terrebonne! Don't b'lieve it, Mas'r George; dem black tings never was born at all; dey swarmed one mornin' on a sassafras tree in the swamp: I cotched 'em; dey ain't no 'count. Don't b'lieve dey'll turn out niggers when dey're growed; dey'll come out sunthin else.

Grace. Yes, Mas'r George, dey was born here; and old Pete is fonder on 'em dan he is of his fiddle on a Sunday.

Pete. What? dem tings—dem?—getaway [makes blow at the Children.] Born here! dem darkies! What, on Terrebonne? Don't b'lieve it, Mas'r George,—no. One morning dey swarmed on a sassafras tree in de swamp, and I cotched 'em all in a sieve.—dat's how dey come on top of dis yearth—git out, you,—ya, ya! [Laughs.]

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