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                        ALL THE WORLD’S A STAGE.

                                  THE
                                AMATEUR
                                 DRAMA.

                               GENTLEMEN
                              OF THE JURY

                                BOSTON:
                          GEO. M. BAKER & CO.,
                         149 Washington Street.

  Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873 by GEORGE M.
   BAKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.




                       SPENCER’S UNIVERSAL STAGE.

 _A Collection of COMEDIES, DRAMAS, and FARCES, adapted to either Public
     or Private Performance. Containing a full description of all the
                       necessary Stage Business._

             _PRICE, 15 CENTS EACH.    No Plays exchanged._


 1. =Lost in London.= A Drama in Three Acts. 6 Male, 4 Female
    characters.

 2. =Nicholas Flam.= A Comedy in Two Acts. By J. B. Buckstone. 5 Male, 3
    Female characters.

 3. =The Welsh Girl.= A Comedy in One Act. By Mrs. Planche. 3 Male, 2
    Female characters.

 4. =John Wopps.= A Farce in One Act. By W. E. Suter. 4 Male, 2 Female
    characters.

 5. =The Turkish Bath.= A Farce in One Act. By Montague Williams and
    F. C. Burnand. 6 Male, 1 Female character.

 6. =The Two Puddifoots.= A Farce in One Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 Male, 3
    Female characters.

 7. =Old Honesty.= A Comic Drama in Two Acts. By J. M. Morton. 5 Male, 2
    Female characters.

 8. =Two Gentlemen in a Fix.= A Farce in One Act. By W. E. Suter. 2 Male
    characters.

 9. =Smashington Goit.= A Farce in One Act. By T. J. Williams. 5 Male, 3
    Female characters.

 10. =Two Heads Better than One.= A Farce in One Act. By Lenox Horne. 4
    Male, 1 Female character.

 11. =John Dobbs.= A Farce in One Act. By J. M. Morton. 5 Male, 2 Female
    characters.

 12. =The Daughter of the Regiment.= A Drama in Two Acts. By Edward
    Fitzball. 6 Male, 2 Female characters.

 13. =Aunt Charlotte’s Maid.= A Farce in One Act. By J. M. Morton. 3
    Male, 3 Female characters.

 14. =Brother Bill and Me.= A Farce in One Act. By W. E. Suter. 4 Male,
    3 Female characters.

 15. =Done on Both Sides.= A Farce in One Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 Male,
    2 Female characters.

 16. =Dunducketty’s Picnic.= A Farce in One Act. By T. J. Williams. 6
    Male, 3 Female characters.

 17. =I’ve written to Browne.= A Farce in One Act. By T. J. Williams. 4
    Male, 3 Female characters.

 18. =Lending a Hand.= A Farce in One Act. By G. A. A’Becket. 3 Male, 2
    Female characters.

 19. =My Precious Betsy.= A Farce in One Act. By J. M. Morton. 4 Male, 4
    Female characters.

 20. =My Turn Next.= A Farce in One Act. By T. J. Williams. 4 Male, 3
    Female characters.

 21. =Nine Points of the Law.= A Comedy in One Act. By Tom Taylor. 4
    Male, 3 Female characters.

 22. =The Phantom Breakfast.= A Farce in One Act. By Charles Selby. 3
    Male, 2 Female characters.

 23. =Dandelions Dodges.= A Farce in One Act. By T. J. Williams. 4 Male,
    2 Female characters.

 24. =A Slice of Luck.= A Farce in One Act. By J. M. Morton. 4 Male, 2
    Female characters.

 25. =Always Intended.= A Comedy in One Act. By Horace Wigan. 3 Male, 3
    Female characters.

 26. =A Bull in a China Shop.= A Comedy in Two Acts. By Charles
    Matthews. 6 Male, 4 Female characters.

 27. =Another Glass.= A Drama in One Act. By Thomas Morton. 6 Male, 3
    Female characters.

 28. =Bowled Out.= A Farce in One Act. By H. T. Craven. 4 Male, 3 Female
    characters.

 29. =Cousin Tom.= A Commedietta in One Act. By George Roberts. 3 Male,
    2 Female characters.

 30. =Sarah’s Young Man.= A Farce in One Act. By W. E. Suter. 3 Male, 3
    Female characters.

 31. =Hit Him, He has No Friends.= A Farce in One Act. By E. Yates and
    N. H. Harrington. 7 Male, 3 Female characters.

 32. =The Christening.= A Farce in One Act. By J. B. Buckstone. 5 Male,
   6 Female characters.

 33. =A Race for a Widow.= A Farce in One Act. By Thomas J. Williams. 5
    Male, 4 Female characters.

 34. =Your Life’s in Danger.= A Farce in One Act. By J. M. Morton. 3
   Male, 3 Female characters.

 35. =True unto Death.= A Drama in Two Acts. By J. Sheridan Knowles. 6
    Male, 2 Female characters.




                         GENTLEMEN OF THE JURY.

                                A Farce.


                            BY THE AUTHOR OF

                          “Sylvia’s Soldier,”
         “Once on a Time,” “Down by the Sea,” “The Last Loaf,”
 “Bread on the Waters,” “Stand by the Flag,” “The Tempter,” “A Drop too
 Much,” “We’re all Teetotalers,” “A Little more Cider,” “Thirty Minutes
     for Refreshments,” “Wanted, a Male Cook,” “A Sea of Troubles,”
          “Freedom of the Press,” “A Close Shave,” “The Great
            Elixir,” “The Man with the Demijohn,” “Humors of
               the Strike,” “New Brooms sweep Clean,” “My
                Uncle the Captain,” “The Greatest Plague
                   in Life,” “No Cure, no Pay,” “The
                       Grecian Bend,” “War of the
                         Roses,” “Lightheart’s
                              Pilgrimage,”
                                  “The
                               Sculptor’s
                             Triumph,” “Too
                          Late for the Train,”
                       “Snow-Bound,” “The Peddler
                       of Very Nice,” “Bonbons,”
                  “Capuletta,” “An Original Idea,” “My
                Brother’s Keeper,” “Among the Breakers,”
             “The Boston Dip,” “The Duchess of Dublin,” “A
         Tender Attachment,” “Gentlemen of the Jury,” “A Public
      Benefactor,” “The Thief of Time,” “The Hypochondriac,” “The
    Runaways,” “Coals of Fire,” “The Red Chignon,” “Using the Weed,”
         “A Love of a Bonnet,” “A Precious Pickle,” “The Revolt
                    of the Bees,” “The Seven Ages,”
                             &c., &c., &c.


                                BOSTON:
                         GEORGE M. BAKER & CO.,
                         149 WASHINGTON STREET.




       Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873 by
                            GEORGE M. BAKER,
       in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.


                _Rand, Avery, & Frye, Printers, Boston._




                         GENTLEMEN OF THE JURY.

                                A FARCE.

                       FOR MALE CHARACTERS ONLY.


                              CHARACTERS.

PELEG PRECISE, Foreman. JOB TIMOROUS, JACOB DOUBTFUL, ABEL STRONGFIST,
  JARVIS JOLLY, SOLOMON SNOWBALL, DENNIS O’ROURKE, NATHAN SHORT, ENOS
  PAUNCH, BRAZEN BLOWER, PETER PUNSTER, SIMEON SLOW, Jurors.


SCENE.——_A Jury Room. Table_, C., _with paper, pens, ink, &c. Twelve
        chairs around stage._

_Enter from_ R. _all the characters, in the order in which their names
  are written, single file, across Stage, and face Audience. Door at_
  R. _is slammed and locked_.

_Timorous._ Good gracious! we’re locked in! (_Rushes across stage to_
R.) Here, officer! officer!

_Slow_ (_at extreme_ R., _catching_ TIMOROUS _by arm, and swinging him
round_). Stop that. It’s all right, you know.

_Timorous._ No, I don’t. I’m afraid of fire——

_Punster_ (_swinging him round to next man_). _What er_ that?

_Timorous._ And subject to fits——

_Blower_ (_ditto_). You’re no _fit_ juror.

_Timorous._ I must have air——

_Paunch_ (_ditto_). Where _air_ you, now?

_Timorous._ Or smother——

_Short_ (_ditto_). Take him to his mother.

_Timorous._ What do you call this treatment?

_O’Rourke_ (_ditto_). The movement cure, bedad.

_Timorous._ It’s outrageous——

_Snowball_ (_ditto_). Da’s a fac’, da’s a fac’, honey.

_Timorous._ Diabolical——

_Jolly_ (_ditto_). Ha, ha! now you go ag’in.

_Timorous._ Infamous!

_Strongfist_ (_ditto_). Move on, stupid.

_Timorous._ I won’t stand it.

_Doubtful_ (_pushes him into chair_). Then sit down.

_Precise_ (_at table_). Gentlemen, be seated. (_All sit._) Before we
discuss the case with which we have been intrusted, perhaps we had
better take a vote.

_Short._ My idea exactly.

_O’Rourke._ Begorra, let’s take something cowld.

_Precise._ We have been instructed to bring a verdict, “Guilty or not
guilty.” Please write your verdict. Here are slips of paper. (_Passes
them round. All write, some on the table, some on chairs_; SNOWBALL
_writes his against the wall_.)

_O’Rourke_ (_approaches_ SNOWBALL). Whist! I say, d’ye write Guilty wid
a G or a J?

_Snowball._ Ob course not. Write him wid a pencil——so.

_O’Rourke._ O, be jabbers! It’s yerself’s a heathen——you ignoramus.

_Precise._ Now, gentlemen, if you are ready. (_Collects votes, spreads
them on table, and assorts._)

_Timorous._ I want a glass of water——I’m faint.

_Strongfist._ Shut up. Don’t disturb the meeting.

_O’Rourke._ Bedad, it’s a glass eye ye’ll be wantin’ if yer do.

_Punster._ His eye waters at the thought.

_Precise._ Gentlemen, the vote stands, six “Guilty,” six “Not guilty.”

_Jolly._ Hallo, a clean cut!

_Short._ Six mules in the crowd, certain.

_O’Rourke._ A majority on both sides, d’ye mind.

_Snowball._ Major who? Major who? Dar ain’t no sogers here, hey, I ax
you?

_Precise._ Well, gentlemen, there’s work before us; and, that we may
know each other, I propose that those who voted “guilty” take seats on
the right, those who voted “not guilty,” on the left.

_Short._ Good. I’m for the right.

_Jolly._ I feel decidedly _guilty_.

_Slow._ And so do I.

_Strongfist._ Right face. March!

_O’Rourke._ Begorra, captain, I’ll train in that company. (_They all
pass to_ R. _as they speak_. DOUBTFUL, TIMOROUS, SNOWBALL, PAUNCH,
PUNSTER, _and_ BLOWER _pass to_ L.)

_Punster._ Though on the left, we’re in the right.

_Paunch._ Well, look here, I’m getting hungry. Ain’t we going to have
our dinner?

_Blower._ You’re always thinking of eating.

_Snowball._ By golly, da’s a fac’. Dat ar Mr. Punch hab an appetite
like an earthquake.

_Paunch._ Bah! what do you know about it? Well, wake me up when you’re
through. (_Tips his chair back against wall, throws his handkerchief
over his face, and falls asleep._)

_Snowball._ Dar, de old man gwine for Morphine.

_Precise._ My vote was “Guilty,” and of course I belong with the party
on the right.

_O’Rourke._ Thrue for yez, honey; and ye’ll find it the party that’s
always right, jist.

_Snowball._ Hold yer hush, hold yer hush!

_O’Rourke._ Vat’s that, ye heathen? I’d jist like to pound that thick
pate till I had yer spachless——so I would. Begorra, ye’d cry Guilty
then.

_Timorous._ O, come, let’s have peace.

_O’Rourke._ Pace, is it? Ye’ve had a pace of my mind, onyhow.

_Precise._ No quarrelling, gentlemen. The quicker we decide this
case the better. The government has charged one Peter Popgun with an
attempt to defraud the revenue of the manufacturer’s tax on gunpowder.
Its secret agents, suspecting said Popgun, made a descent upon his
establishment, which is a country store, seized certain articles, such
as saltpetre, sulphur, and charcoal, which they found in a certain
little back shop, said articles being, in their opinion, used by said
Popgun in the manufacture of gunpowder. The said Popgun denies the
manufacture of gunpowder, and sets up a defence that the said articles
are used by him in concocting a certain patent medicine, known as the
“Medical Dead Shot.” Evidence has been produced on both sides. We
have been charged to bring in a verdict on the evidence alone. I am
quite convinced, by the testimony, that said Popgun did manufacture
gunpowder, and evade the tax. Still, I should like to hear a free
expression of opinion.

_All_ (_jumping up_). Mr. Foreman.

_Precise._ Stop, stop. One at a time.

_All._ Yes, yes; one at a time, Mr. Foreman.

_Precise._ Stop, stop, I say. We can never settle it in this way.

_Strongfist._ Of course we can’t. Let us six fight the other six. That
will settle it.

_O’Rourke._ True for yez. A fray fight. I’m wid yer. (_About to remove
his coat._)

_Precise._ Silence. There can be no fighting here. You all want to
speak. I will call upon each juror, giving both sides equal advantages
of time and opportunity. Is not that fair?

_All._ Certainly. Of course. Go on. Go on.

_Precise._ Very well. I will first call upon Mr. Timorous.

_Timorous_ (_rising_). Mr. Foreman, and gentlemen of the jury. (_Very
low._) I rise——I may say——yes, I rise——

_O’Rourke._ Louder.

_Strongfist._ Speak up like a man.

_Timorous._ I said——I rise——to say, if I may say——I rise to say——

_O’Rourke._ O, be jabbers, you’re all out to say.

(_The party on the_ L., _with the exception of_ PAUNCH, _rise
indignantly_.) Mr. Foreman, Mr. Foreman!

_Precise_ (_pounds on table_). Silence! Order, gentlemen, order.

_Blower._ Mr. Foreman, this attempt of the party on the right to
intimidate the party on the left is unjust.

_Punster._ Far from being righteous or courteous.

_Snowball._ Am we jurors, or am we not jurors? I ax you?

_Precise._ The interruption shall not occur again. Go on, Mr. Timorous.

_Timorous._ If you please, Mr. Foreman, I only rose to say——that, if I
might be allowed to say it——that——I’ve got nothing to say.

_Party on right._ Shame! Humbug! Put him out!

_Precise._ Order, gentlemen.——Have you no reason to give for your vote
of “Not guilty”?

_Timorous._ O, yes; lots. I voted “Guilty,” no, “Not guilty,”
because——well, because——Popgun don’t look like a man who would concoct
such a sanguinary mixture as powder. He hasn’t the air of a ruffian.
His thoughts don’t run in that explosive channel. I’m something of a
physiognomist.

_Snowball._ Mahogany! What’s dat?

_Timorous._ A physiognomist. I judge by the face——

_Party on right._ O, humbug!

_Blower._ Mr. Foreman, I protest. This attempt to stifle the voice of
Justice is a high-handed crime.

_Snowball._ Yes, sar; it’s bigamy, kleptomania, arson.

_Precise._ Order, gentlemen.——Go on, Mr. Timorous.

_Timorous._ But then I haven’t any particular opinion in the matter;
and if you want me to change——

_Blower._ Silence, traitor!

_Snowball._ Shut up yer tater trap.

_Punster._ Suppose you sit, for a change. (_Pulls him down to seat._)

_Timorous._ Anything to oblige.

_Precise._ Mr. Jolly.

_Jolly_ (_rising_). My turn, hey? Mr. Foreman, and gentlemen of the
jury,——

        To make or not to make, that is the question.
        Whether ’tis better to let Popgun suffer
        The law’s full penalty for mixing powder,
        Or to take arms against this awful tax,
        And by our verdict free him.

Gentlemen, Popgun is a dangerous man. I am for his annihilation. He
is a second Guy Fawkes. Behind his shop are concealed those explosive
materials destined to spread havoc and destruction in an innocent
neighborhood. We might spare him if the possible destruction of a
thousand or two of his immediate neighbors was the only consequence
to be feared. But he’s a sneak; he dodges the tax. That we must not
suffer. The medicine story won’t do; the dose is too heavy; it won’t
stay on the stomach. That gun recoils upon Popgun, who is too heavily
charged by the evidence to be discharged by this jury. (_Sits._)

_Precise._ Order, gentlemen. Mr. Doubtful.

_Snowball._ No, sar, no, sar. I move we lay him onto de table, _sinner
die_.

_O’Rourke._ Die, is it, ye black sinner? Howld yer pate, or you’ll die
jist.

_Doubtful_ (_rising_). Mr. Foreman, and gentlemen of the jury, there’s
one p’int in this evidence I want cleared up.

_O’Rourke._ Is it a pint of whiskey, I donno?

_All._ Order, order.

_O’Rourke._ That’s what I’d like to do, and drink it, too.

_Doubtful._ If that air Popgun made gunpowder, why didn’t somebody see
him do it? Cause a man’s got saltpetre in his house, and sulphur and
charcoal, it doesn’t foller that he’s going to make gunpowder. I’ve got
charcoal in my house——kindle the fire with it; sulphur to bleach with;
saltpetre for curing purposes. But nobody ever said I made gunpowder.
It’s rediculous. Popgun’s got eggs in his store. Why don’t you say he
hatched _them_? (_Sits._)

_Snowball._ Da’s a fac’, da’s a fac’. Second de motion.

_All._ Order, order.

_Precise._ Mr. Strongfist.

_Strongfist._ Well, you’re a pretty set of sneaks over there, you are.

_All._ Order, order.

_Strongfist._ O, I know what I’m about. I’d like to get in among you.
I believe in justice. I believe in any man’s having his say in this
world; but I don’t believe in arguing about a matter that’s as plain as
the nose on your face. The man made gunpowder, and sold it, didn’t pay
the tax, and you fellows over there know it. You’re a set of obstinate
fools; and it’s the duty of all loyal citizens to stand by the
government and punish traitors. The government’s been insulted by this
contemptible Popgun, and you fellows on the left uphold him. Our duty
is clear, to bring you to your senses. (_Takes off coat._) So, come on.
(_Squares off._)

_O’Rourke._ I’m wid yez. Fag a ballah! Erin come unim.

_All._ Order, order.

_Precise._ Gentlemen, peace, I pray. Mr. Strongfist, your argument is
very weak.

_Strongfist._ Is it? Well, my fist is strong; let me try that.

_Precise._ No, sir; you will please be seated. Mr. Paunch.

_Snowball_ (_shaking him_). Here, Mr. Punch, Mr. Punch.

_Paunch._ Hey? O, yes. Mr. Foreman, I’ve got precious little to say.
I’m hungry; I’ve had nothing to eat since morning. I was invited out
to dinner at five o’clock with Alderman Cross. Fine leg of venison and
native tomatoes, sliced, stewed, and broiled. The alderman is a capital
eater, weighs three hundred and fifty, and has the best hogs——

_Precise._ Won’t you confine yourself to the question, Mr. Paunch?

_Paunch._ O, yes. Hogshead of Madeira you ever tasted. It’s capital.
Then his cheeses! Good gracious! they’re mighty——

_Precise._ Mr. Paunch, Mr. Paunch!

_Paunch._ They’re mighty fine. What did you say, sir?

_Precise._ Will you give your reasons for voting “Not guilty”?

_Paunch._ Certainly. Stop. Did I vote “Not guilty”? I don’t remember.
It don’t make any difference. Settle it as you please, only remember I
must dine with Alderman Cross at five. (_Sits and goes to sleep again._)

_Snowball._ Question, question! We’ll all dine with Cross, hey! I ax
you.

_Precise._ Mr. Slow, you next.

_Slow._ Hey? Yes. Well, I don’t know. Popgun did make gunpowder, I
guess, cause he had a little shop. (_Pauses._)

_Precise._ Well, go on, Mr. Slow.

_Slow._ Yes. Well, he had a little shop, Popgun had, and he made
somethin’ in that shop; and if he didn’t make gunpowder, he made
somethin’ in that little shop that he didn’t pay no tax onto. And so
he’s guilty er somethin’ or other in that little shop. So long’s he’s
caught, what’s the odds, as long as you’re happy. (_Sits._)

_Snowball._ Doubted, doubted.

_All._ Order.

_Precise._ Mr. Blower.

_Blower_ (_rises, flourishes his handkerchief, blows his nose,
strikes an attitude_). M-r-r-r-r. Foreman, and gent_ee_lmen of the
jury, it is with spontaneous emotion that I rise to address you. You,
genteelmen, with me, have looked upon a touching scene to-day. We have
seen an enlightened citizen of this great republic, which, like the
light of yonder firmament, attracts the attention of the whole world.
We have seen him dragged from the bosom of his family and placed at
the bar, at the bar, gentlemen, there to answer to grave and serious
charges. It is evident that in the mysterious depths of that little
back shop something has been concocted. The government says “Powder;”
the defendant says “Shot.” Powder and shot! “Powder” _or_ “shot,”
in this case. One possesses the power to blow the human frame into
infinitesimal particles; the other cures all ills that flesh is heir
to. Can we pause and deliberate? Look at that man, dragged from the
bosom of his family; his wife and children——

_Jolly._ Beg your pardon, Blower. Popgun is single.

_Blower._ Hey? Dragged from the paternal mansion. Hear the cry of
the agonized and aged mother of the prisoner, as she stands upon the
doorstep and screams, “My child! Bring back my little Popgun!”

_Jolly._ Wrong again, Blower. He’s neither father nor mother.

_Blower._ Hey! Poor orphan! without a friend in the world! Can we turn
our backs upon him? No. Let us be merciful. Let us indorse his patent
medicine, and carry from this room a verdict of Not guilty. Then shall
the tears of the orphan be squelched in gratitude, and the blessings of
future generations of Popguns follow us.

_O’Rourke._ Begorra, that’s a teching appeal.

_Precise._ Now, Mr. O’Rourke, your turn.

_O’Rourke_ (_rising_). I ax yer pardon, judge, Mr. Foreman, and
gintlemen all. Wid the blood of forty ginerations of O’Rourkes a
seethin’ with patriotic emotion in me bosom, d’ye mind; with faylings
of gratitude for the fray gifts of life, liberty, and the pursuit of
happiness, guaranteed by this moighty republic, which, as I look back
into the future, is iver prisint in all its glory, d’ye mind. Could
I be so base as to dash myself foreninst those illigant laws that
crush the wake and guard the strong? By the grane sod of ould Ireland,
niver! If that thaif of the wurld, Popgun, has transgressed the law,
let him swing. And what for would he be mixing saltpatre and——and——and
brimstone, and——and charcoal, if not to blow up somebody. Medicine, is
it? It’s my opinion that we’d better bring in a verdict of Guilty, and
hang him, wid a recommendation to mercy, provided forty doses of his
Medical Dead Shot bring him to life afther he’s been dead and buried
siven days. Thim’s my verdict, judge. (_Sits._)

_Jolly._ That’s a reviving verdict.

_Precise._ Mr. Punster.

_Punster_ (_rising_). Mr. Foreman, and gentlemen of the jury, the
party popularly known in this suit as Popgun is a small affair, but I
do not wonder that he kicks against this attempt of the government to
charge him with powder he never made. How would you like it yourselves,
gentlemen? Imagine yourselves Popguns, and happy in the disposing of
butter, cheese, and——and hairpins to a needy community. Upon a luckless
occasion, you sell ten cents’ worth of powder to a red-headed urchin
on the eve of our glorious independence. The awful crime is repeated;
and, by the power of government, you innocent Popguns are incarcerated
on a grave charge. You hear nothing but powder; you are loaded with
reproaches and powder; it is rammed down your throats, until, like
Popgun, you burst with indignation. Have we not heard from the lips
of competent witnesses the amazing power of his Dead Shot? An old
man had suffered forty years with influenza; the Dead Shot stopped
it forever. An old lady, bent double with the rheumatism, was made
straight by its power. A young mother, whose tender infant had wailed
night after night, was loud in its praises. Gentlemen, this suit comes
from the malice and jealousy of an envious rival. Gentlemen, this is a
conspiracy. Let us clear Popgun of the charges under which he labors