An Ethiopian Sketch.

BY C. D. BRANDT.

Scene.—A Street. Enter Pompey, R. H., with saw and sawbuck.

Pompey. Well, I has been trabblin’ up de street, and trabblin’ down de street, all day long, and hasn’t had a single job yet, and ain’t got de fust red cent. I do’ know how I’ll get a quarter to go to de grand bobilition ball to-night; dere isn’t much chance for a nigger to git any wood to saw dese hard times. Dare’s too many ob dem Dutch fellars dat ’nopolize de bisness—works under price, and all dat. Dat won’t do for dis child. I tink I’ll leabe de carpenter bisness fur a while, and maybe I may be ’pointed to de office ob inspector ob wood-sawyers. But I’se bound to go to de ball to-night, anyhow. [Enter Jim Brown, L. H., who walks across the stage past Pompey, and is going off. Pompey sees him.] Hello, Jim! How is you to-day?

Jim. Look here, colored man, don’t be too familiar, if you please. ’Tis accessory dat you should know one ting prebious to your succeeding any furder in your observations.

Pom. What is dat?

Jim. I will instruct you to know dat I hab been appointed to office. I am ’pointed trabblin’ agent fur de Bobilition Society.

Pom. Trabblin’ agent? Well, s’pose dat means to go afoot—ha—ha—ha—ha! Dare’s one ting mighty sartin, honey—you won’t trabble bery fast if you tote dem heels wid you!

Jim. Look here, Pompey, I has always had considerable respect for you, ’cause I beliebe you has some literary ’quirements; but you ’sociates too much wid dem low class ob white folks. You see, I’se one ob dem kind ob colored indiwiduals who tinks dat a white man’s just as good as a nigger so long as he behabe himself.

Pom. De Lord!—has you spoke? Jim, I guess you changed yer ’pinion de odder night when dat white fellar knocked you off de sidewalk.

Jim. Yes, I have a striking remembrance. I sued dat fellar, I did; and if I’d had a good witness, dey would ha’ fined him for manslaughter.

Pom. Ha! ya! Honey, I was to de trial, and I seed mighty soon how ’twas a goin’ wid you. When de judge axed de fellar what knocked you down: “What for you knocked dat colored man down?” de man didn’t say noffin, but he gib de judge de sign; and when I seed dat, I knowed he was one ob dem mason fellars; and when he gib de judge de high sign, de judge let him go free gratis fur noffin’. Look here, Jim, you goin’ to de bobolition ball to-night?

Jim. Yes, sir; widout prevarication.

Pom. Well, I s’pose you will take some ob de fair sex wid you?

Jim. Yes, sah; I will hab de extreme honor of perambulating dar wid de lubly Miss Araminta Peachblossom.

Pom. I s’pose de young lady will take her heels wid her, won’t she? Just you take my advice, Mr. Jim Brown, and when you’re dancing, jus’ mind how you swing dem comers, or you’ll trip up eberybody dat comes widin free feet ob you. Ha, yah! [Exit laughing, L. H. Jim is going off, R. H., when he is met by some negroes, who thrust him off, L. H., crying: “Come, go ’long; we is gwine to de ball, we is!”

Scene II.—Another Street, or a Park, with set House, L. H.

[Enter Jim, R. H., with banjo.

Jim. Hang dese low niggers! dey are always in de way ob dere superiors. [Looks at his watch.] My gracious! it’s nearly time to get ready fur de ball; so I’ll just slamanade Miss Araminta a little before I go.

[Sings. Air.—“Oh, hush.”

[Araminta appears at a window and sings.

[Scene changes, as Jim is kneeling and Araminta is closing the window to a plain room.

[Enter Pompey, L. H., cautiously.

Pom. Nobody here—dat’s good. Ha—ha! golly, I got into dis ball pooty cheap. I come up to de door, and I didn’t see nobody dar; so I toted myself right in. Dar’s nobody come yet, so I’ll just sing a little.

[Sings. Air.—“Brave Old Black Oak.”

Pom. (Voices heard outside.) Hello! here comes de guests to de ball. I’ll just step out ob de way, until some ob dem come in. [Exit R. H. Enter a number of wenches and sing; then Pompey comes in.] How are you gen’lemen and ladies? I hope I see you all ’joyin’ good health. [Looks off, R. H.] Hello! here comes Mr. Jim Brown, Esquire, as he told me to call him; and he’s got Miss Peachblossom wid him.

[Enter Jim Brown and Araminta. They are the bon-ton; all the characters bow to them, and shake hands after business. Four dance, etc.

Jim Brown. [To Pompey.] Pompey, I tole you once dat I was a fernologist.

Pom. A what?

Jim. A fernologist.

Pom. What’s dat?

Jim. Tell de bumps on de head.

Pom. No! but are you?

Jim. Yes, sir. Just you sit down and I’ll ’zamine you.

Pom. Bery well. [Sits in C.

Jim. All ready?

Pom. Yes.

[Recites the following lecture:

Jim. You know as the tree is bent so is the twig inclined. In de fus place, fustly, dis little nigga’s head am like a monkey’s, only de monkey’s head am much littler dan dis, and dis am as much biggerer dan de monkey’s, consequently dey must both be ob de same size. In de fust place, secondly, I’se gwan as far forward as de back part ob de head, dat dey call de frontal bone; ’tain’t because it is all bone—oh, no, ’tain’t that—but because it is as far from de mouf as de calf of de shin, and dat is why dey call it de frontal bone. Dar—dar, dar’s a bump; dat’s what dey call de bump of combativeness; under dat bump dere is a large bladder ob dandriff, and when de nigga gets a little ’zaggerated, de bladder splodes; de cold air rushes into de vacum, and de nigga gradually subsides into his former situation. Dar, dar’s anoder bump—oh, golly, what a big bump!—dat’s what dey call de bump ob music; any nigga dat has dat bump any way permanent or largely deweloped, can play any tune on de fiddle—dat is, if he know’d how to play it afore. And now I hope I’ve satisfied you dat I know something about dis science. For de present, Ecce sigmum, hoc vobis cum, quantum suff.

Pom. Well, you can suffer just as much as you please, but I won’t let you make me suffer; so just take dat!

[Hits Jim.

Jim. A blow! and from a low wood-sawyer!

Pom. Yes, sir-ee! And dar’s anoder! [Both fight. Pompey floors Jim; wenches faint, and a regular Sixth Ward fight all around, as the curtain goes down.