Today is Oct. 20, 2013 and it has been a beautiful Sabbath Day.  I am the Sunday School Teacher
in the Loma Rica Ward here in California.  The lesson was on doing our genealogy and temple work
for our ancestors.  So I decided to start trying to look up some of our relatives.   I am so excited to
learn more about how to do things on all the different sites that I am finding.  My sister Michelle
and brother in law Aaron have this site and it is so neat.  I have been reading all the stories that they
have added to this site.  I am also starting my pedigree chart again and try to fill in my lines and my
husband Kevin Nichols lines.  This is going to be alot of fun.  Kevins Dad passed away 5 years ago
and we need to do alot of genealogy on his side too.  But I think the pictures and the stories of our
relatives lifes is a great way to connect and get excited about.
     I will learn how to put photos on and continue to add what I can to this site.
I will return later.
  Leah Warren Nichols

Eulogy for Grandma Grace Nicol

D. Earl Hurst Remarks at Funeral Services

for

Sister Grace Nicol

New Orleans Ward Chapel

29 January 1975

I feel most inadequate with the responsibility of offering a eulogy that could in some way be representative of the greatness of character of the person about whose remarks are intended.

This is a sad moment for all of us when we see our loved ones depart.  We, not members of the family, sense your feelings…likewise, sense your loss.  Sister Grace was in a very true sense a very intimate and dear part of each of us.

We know that in the last days, weeks and months of Sister Grace’s life she wasn’t able to be the Sister Grace like we knew and want to remember.  We know the suffering and pain she endured at the end…and now we’re relieved to know that this mortal anguish and vicissitudes can grip her no more… that pain is gone forever.  I noted how peaceful she looked last night at the viewing.

It is unfortunate that no single person can stand her and extol all the virtues of the good life Grace led…not all 77 years of it, but we are not here to convince those in attendance here today of Sister Nicol’s accomplishments; but rather we are here to honor her and in whatever way to reinforce this family in their dark hour.  The accountability for Sister Nicol’s life has long since been recorded in the Lamb’s book of life…and nothing we say here will be long remembered nor will influence what is written here.

One of the notable claims I have in my life is that I belong to the same vintage era that Grace did…that of the era of the “old B.K.A. days.”  And while I was only a part of it for 3 or 4 years of that 25 years era, none-the-less I was there…and on center stage of everything that was going on was this Grace Nicol.

I met Grace 27 years ago up on the infamous third floor of the BKA Hall one Sunday morning.  I was a fresh, young college graduate and knew almost everything there was to know.  I was an ordained Elder and too proud to admit I knew almost nothing about the doctrines of the church, but I was about to learn.

That first Sunday morning John Nugent was conducting Sunday School, and his sister, Grace Nicol, was the Sunday School teacher.  Perhaps we could add here…she was also President of the YWMIA, a Counselor in the Relief Society Presidency, and if memory serves me right, ran her own home Primary.  But she totally disarmed me…and I found myself listening and asking questions about the Book of Mormon for the first time in my life.  I was admitting my ignorance and she was teaching me…and all of us know in what high esteem we hold someone who teaches us something.  To this day, I considered Grace Nicol one of the great local authorities on the Book of Mormon.

Like many others who came to New Orleans to live shortly after the end of World War II, I found no difficulty finding fault with the city and I soon realized that, with her, I was stepping on “sacred ground.”  I never really knew whether it was because she so strongly despised her homesteading nightmare in the Montana wilderness or whether she just loved New Orleans independently, but there was no greater champion.  Unintentionally, I occasionally reduced her to tears saying unkind things about the city.

Those BKA Hall days were great!  There was a spirit of closeness and camaraderie that we don’t see in the larger units of the church today.  Frequently, after Sunday School, all the members would join together in City Park for a picnic lunch.  We all felt very close and dependent upon one another.  The Nicols, the Fifes—Walter and Helen, Joseph and Dee—the Ruperts, the Nichols, the Butlers, the Larsons, the Guilotts, and many others regularly gathered there…and with that closeness to Fifes, it was not at al hard to understand how she might have had a slip of the tongue one day in fast and testimony meeting with all her exuberance that she always displayed, declared “And I know that Joseph is a Prophet of God.”  It sounded so natural and appropriate that no one notices the slip until moments later.

We called Mae and Bob Evans last night to tell them of Grace’s passing and after a stunned silence, Bob declared, “My heavens, Grace was an institution.  I also called Mayola Miltenberger and she said almost the same words as Mae and Bob…”Never has anyone worked so hard and so faithfully to make something go as Grace Nicol…never a more dependable and forthright person ever!”

And while this chapel is full, the travesty of all this is that the people she has influenced for good could fill an entire stake.  To think that this little branch which had an attendance of 25 or 30 people has been the embryo of this entire stake…and she, more than any single person, caused it to proper and grow.  Three people at the viewing last evening told me that the first church member they met when they came to New Orleans to live was Grace Nicol.  She was close to being omnipresent.

Helen Fife was there last night and she recalled an everlasting memory about Grace coming to her house to an M.I.A. function dressed as a little Dutch girl with blond hair and pigtails just to reinforce the point of the function…and that was travelling from Arabi to Jefferson and probably on public transportation.

It seemed altogether fitting and proper that she should serve in the earlier days in the New Orleans Stake Presidency.  I’m sure the only female in the church to serve as the Historical Clerk…Hysterical Clerk as she called herself.

But her great work was her family as testified by their presence here today…all responsible citizens, raising families.  I can still see the Nicols coming in by streetcar from Arabi to the BKA Hall; and on those few occasions that they didn’t make it, attendance dropped 40%.

Two weeks ago our visiting General Authority was ElRay L. Christiansen.  In the few moments before his plane departure, he wanted a nostalgic run by the site of the old BKA Hall.  While it was gone, all else was the same…the old City Hall, Lafayette Square, even the Carnival atmosphere of Mardi Gras parade bleachers.  It was there he turned to me and asked, “How is Grace Nicol?”  My wife was up on the situation and responded, “She is not well!”  “I’ll never forget that great spirit,” he said.

When Sister Grace was privileged to go to the Salt Lake Temple to receive her endowments, she was greeted by some anti-Mormons just outside the walls of Temple Square and they queried her in a snide manner, “Sister, are you saved?”  To which she responded, as only Grace Nicol could, “I don’t know.  I haven’t endured to the end yet.”

Well, I submit that now she has endured to the end.  She has fought the good fight.  She has finished her course.  She has kept the faith.  How very grateful we are as we stand here that she has not only endured with us, but has blessed the lives of everyone of us here—for which we shall forever be in her debt.

In the name of Jesus Christ.  Amen.

Floyd Warren - Early years of working

When dad was in his early teens he worked feeding the chickens for the family.  His pay was that for every thousand chickens there were, he would get a hundred of those.  He figured out a way to neuter some of them and noticed that when he neutered the males that they would grow to be about 15 pounds when normally they would only grow to be about 3.5 pounds.  When a buyer came to buy some of the chickens he asked Dad about purchasing the bigger ones (I can't remember what he called them).  Dad said, "What are you willing to give me?" and he found out he was willing to give a dollar a pound for them.  Dad was thrilled with this new found way of earning more money.

Before Dad's mission he bought 15 piglets from the money he had earned during his other money making ventures.  I can't remember how much he said that cost him but he did say that those pigs, when they were full grown would sell for $40 each.  The cost of his mission was $40/month.  During his mission his mother took care of his pigs and would sell them when they were ready and put the money into Dad's account.  This money sustained him for his entire mission.

Floyd Warren - 8 years old

When my Dad was 8 years old, he decided he needed to purchase a big Schwinn bicycle with a basket in front.  He needed it to get to school and for his paper route.  He came up with a plan of payment and went down to the bike shop to negotiate his plan.  He told the bike owner that he would give $5 as a down payment and then would pay $5 every month until the bike was paid off.  The owner went to talk to someone and then came back and agreed to the plan.  He left with a brand new Schwinn bicycle and used that to do his paper route and get to school.  He would stack his school books in the basket and put the rolled up newspapers on top.  By the time he got to school the papers would be gone and he would go to school.  His mother later told him that the Bike shop had called her to ask if she was okay with him buying the bicycle.  She told them that if that's what Floyd decided to do, that would be fine.  This was the beginning of my Dad's cycle of work.  At this time he had no idea that his father would be in a mining accident, be injured and later die from the injuries.  At 13 year's of age he would need to help provide for his family by working.  He was always given many opportunities to earn money that helped out with the family budget.  He worked harvesting sugar beets, which was a Utah resource at the time for making sugar.  He also raised cattle, pigs and chickens.  When I have some more time I will include some more about his working experiences.

Pictures from Delchamps reunion in Alabama

This is Alexa and Kathryn on the airplane on our way to the reunion, flying into Lousiana. We weren't able to land in Mobile due to weather, so we landed in Baton Rouge, Lousiana and then went back. This week was the anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, so we were a bit freaked out!

Standing is Pat Ethington, she and her husband provided the place for the reunion, Battleship Alabama. Her husband is a retired commander of that facility.

John Julius Delchamps - Will

I, John Julius Delchamps, of the city and county of Mobile, State of Alabama, being of sound mind and disposing memory, and in good health, of body, after mature deliberation and without suggestion from or knowledge of anyone, do make, declare and publish this as my last will and testament, revoking any and all others that I have made.
1st - During my lifetime, and in fact previous to my making this my last will, I have provided for and given to each of my children liberally, or otherwise according to their wants, needs and desires, which gifts I consider and hold to be taken and considered as their advancement so that neither or none of them has any right to make any claim on my estate after my death.
2ND - For reasons sufficient unto myself, I name and constitute my son, Willie Boyles Delchamps (and in the event of his death, his children) my sole heirs, devising and bequeathing to him as my legatee the entirety of my estate, real and personal, that I may have at the time of my death.
3rd - To my son, John J. Delchamps, I leave nothing, though he had had but little advancement due to his unfortunate infirmity, but commend him to the care of his brother, Willie B.D., whom I enjoin to see that John's needs are provided for should he survive me.
4Th - I name and constitute and appoint my son, heir and legatee, the above named Willie Boyles Delchamps, the executor of this my last will and testament, exempting him from giving any bond in acting as such.
5Th - I charge my above named executor with all lawful debts that I may owe at my death, funeral expenses (which I desire as simple and inexpensive as possible) and all just charges against my estate, which being done, the residue if, any, to be held and enjoyed by him, the said Willie B.D. as above set forth.
Made in duplicate for greater safety, either copy to be of full and equal value and effect.
Witness my hand and seal hereto set and affixed this twenty second day of August A.D. 1900-
Witnesses
H.O Haynie
Geo. K. Sossaman John J. Delchamps (L.S.)

Signed sealed, declared and published as and for his will and testament, in our presence by John J. Delchamps, In witness whereof, we the undersigned in his presence and at his request and in presence of each other, hereunto set our hands and signatures this 22ND days of August -A.D 1900.
H.O. Haynie
Geo. K. Sossaman

Codicil
I, J.J. Delchamps, the within named testator, do hereby make and publish this, my codicil to my last will and testament bearing date of Aug. 22ND, A. D. 1900.
I hereby reaffirm said will as made as above to be and remain good and valid, in its entirety, the reason of my making this codicil being that I now have and probably shall have at my demise monies in Essie and in posse, which I did not have when I made my will, wherefore, I make the following requests, to wit:

J.E.D. To the children of my son Julius E. Delchamps I will and bequeath
William $100.00
Newton $100.00
Charles $100.00
Grace $100.00
Mary $100.00
Maud $100.00

To be paid to them ($100 each) personally by Willie B. Delchamps, my executor, as soon after the probate of my will as possible.
To my son, Julius E. Delchamps, as trustees for his children, Laura and May, I leave and bequeath $200 to be held or expended by him for their benefit.

Edwin A.D. To the children of my son, Edwin A Delchamps, I will and bequeath.

Annie $100.00
Sadie $100.00
Corinne $100.00
To be paid to them individually as above.

To Edwin A. Delchamps for his other children viz: - John Julius, Edwina, Marguerite, Curtis, I bequeath $400 to be held and expended by him for their benefit.

Grace D. - To the children of my beloved daughter, Mrs. Grace D. Hopper, I bequeath.

Durand $100.00
William $100.00
To be paid to them individually as above.

To my executor, W.B. Delchamps, as trustee for the other children of Grace, viz; Hugh, Malcolm, Annette and Avis, to be held for this benefit until maturity or marriage, I bequeath $400, i.e. $100 for each, Provided that my daughter Grace should become a femme sole, by death or process of law, the sum $400 shall be turned over to her at once by my executor, to be held or disposed by her for the benefit of her said minor children at her discretion.

John J. D. For the benefit of my unfortunate son. John J. Delchamps, I leave my executor W.B.D. $300 to be expended from time to time as may be needed for the benefit of said J.J. Delchamps.

Harold H. I request my executor to purchase of the value of $75 and his and my name to be inscribed therein to give my grandson Harold Hopper, son of my daughter Sarah, as he is well. I need not leave him any money.

To Mary B.D. To my daughter, Mary, wife of my son, W. B. Delchamps, I leave and bequeath $100 to be expended by her for trinkets, jewelry or otherwise, to be given to her children as mementos of their Grandpa.

Aug. 30, 1904 - AD. John J. Delchamps

Witnesses

Geo. K. Sossaman
H. O. Haynie

Joseph William Delchamps

Joseph William Delchamps
16 July 1845 – 27 May 1863

Joseph William Delchamps, eldest child of Sarah Elizabeth Bancroft and John Julius Bancroft, was born July 16, 1845 in Mobile, Alabama. He is the first known Delchamps to give his life in the War between the States. The story is told of his mother, Sarah Elizabeth, riding a street car in which the gentleman sitting next to her was reading a newspaper. She asked the gentleman, who evidently was acquainted with the Delchamps family, if he would be so kind as to allow her to read the newspaper when he was finished reading it. He had just read the news of her son, Joseph William Delchamps, being killed in the battle of Vicksburg. He “accidently” allowed the newspaper to fly out the window and then apologized for allowing that to happen.

The following is the obituary of Joseph William Delchamps published by the Order of the Working Brothers:

Obituary, May 27, 1863. "Joseph William Delchamps was killed in battle at or near Vicksburg, on the 27th of May, 1863. At the time of his death he was only seventeen years, ten months and eleven days old. Thus the hand of friendship is called upon to add one more bright name to the long list of those who have willingly given their lives in the defense of their country's most sacred cause--who have died on the field of freedom, fame and blood.

His young heart keenly sensible of his country's wrongs, early in its great and dreadful struggle for liberty and separation from a hateful and tyrant foe, enlisted in its defense and marched forth to avenge the wrongs and achieve its liberties. In the fearless and noble discharge of the patriotic duty, the cruel missiles of the barbarous foe pierced his young heart, and he seals his devotion in the cause he had espoused with his last drop of blood.
"If there lie on this earthly sphere,
A boon, an offering Heaven holds dear,
'Tis the last libation Liberty draws
From the aliens that bleeds and breaks in her cause."
the life and death of this young martyr should inspire the hearts of his surviving comrades with fresh courage--with a more determined will to strike a deadlier blow to the heart of the invading foe. Whilst the loss to parents and near friends is sad and irreparable, yet let them be consoled with the reflection that their son and friend fell in a cause worthy of the sacrifice. Still the voice of nature will utter its syllables of mourning for one who had been reared with care and tenderness, and who had already given cheering evidences of superior intelligence and future usefulness. But, let the sad and heavy heart be cheered with the consoling thought that a far brighter gathers around the name of this youthful hero, than had he died full of years and crowned with a life of purity and usefulness. He sleeps well.
"No more he charges with the host,
The thickest of the battle field;
No more join in victory's boast,
No more to see the vanquished yield."

Whereas it has pleased Almighty God in the mystery of life providence, to remove from earth to Heaven, Joseph William Delchamps, eldest son of our esteemed Brother, J.J. Delchamps, whilst valiantly fighting for his country's religious and political freedom, Therefore be it

Resolved 1st: That we as friends of John J. Delchamps, Esq., and as members of the "Order of Working Brothers," hereby most earnestly tender our esteemed Brother, and through him to his wife and family, our sincere condolences in the bereavement of his son, Joseph William Delchamps, who suffered martyrdom for his country's sake near Vicksburg, on the 27th of May, 1863.

Resolved 2d, That whilst a void has been made in the family circle which earth can never fill, and the loss irreparable--still one consoling thought comes to light the gloom, that this son and brother, this hero and martyr shed his blood in his country's most glorious cause.

Resolved 3d, The Order of Working Brothers cause to be published a suitable Obituary in memory of the deceased.

Resolved 4th, That a copy of these proceedings be presented in the name of this Order to the family of the deceased.
W.B."

John Julius Delchamps wrote a play, “Love’s Ambuscade, or The Sergeant’s Stratagem” which was performed several evenings to a full house at the Mobile Theatre in 1863, the same year of the death of Joseph William Delchamps.

The play is included herein as a tribute to his son, Joseph William Delchamps:

LOVE’S AMBUSCADE;
OR
THE SERGEANT’S STRATAGEM

A WAR DRAMA
In Three – Acts
By J. J. Delchamps.
AS PLAYED ON SEVERAL EVENINGS, FULL HOUSE
AT THE MOBILE THEATRE.
~~~~~~~~~~

MOBILE;
A. G. HORN, CONTI STREET
1863



Dramatis Personae:
Edward Delafield, O. S.’ Corporal Pat McDonald, the Wild Irishman; ‘Squire Gaston; Capt. Thomas, Quarter Master Dept.; Mrs. Delafield;
Mrs. Olivia Walton; Mrs. Hester Gaston; Carrie Gaston; General;
Staff Officer; 1st Lieutenant; 2d Lieutenant; Soldiers.
~~~~~~~~~~~

ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I.

[‘Squire Gaston’s house—Edward, ‘Squire G., Mrs. G. and Carrie knitting and sewing.]
‘Squire.—So, Edward, you are about to leave us for the battle field?
Edward.—Yes, Squire, our company is organized, and we did not volunteer to stay at home and watch hen roosts.
S.—Right, my boy! If fight is the word, the sooner you get at it the sooner it will be over. But my heart bleeds when I think how much of the best and bravest of our Southern blood may be shed before it is ended.
E.—Let it be shed, if the sacrifice be needed, sweet as is life to me, and fair as the future appears to my young eyes, freely will I lay it down to shield my country from the hateful tyranny of the Yankee scum that dares to threaten our subjugation.
Mrs. Gaston.—But, Edward, there are enough of others who can better afford to volunteer than yourself, and who have less excuse for remaining at home. Your mother and sister---
E.—[Rising] And Squire Gaston’s cozy fireplace, and Aunt Hester’s nice buttermilk and Miss Carrie to accompany to church, and---, plenty of excuses for me, or for anyone who seeks excuses to shirk his duty from cowardice or any other cause. I need none, want none. My country needs strong arms and stout hearts to defend her from the impious Puritans of the North. Strong arms I have, and though the stoutness of my heart is yet untested, I think, when the trial comes, I shall manage to keep my legs from running it off the battle field.
E.---I trust, Squire, your help will not be needed. The youth of our land will prove a match for the blood thirsty hordes of the North, numerous as they are. When we are laid low it will be time for the old fathers to take the field.
S.---And they will do it ere the fair South be yielded a prey to the informal fanatics of Yankeedom. If it take every man, old and young, let the last one march to the field of slaughter, and when the foe overruns our country, let him find none but infants and children left in it.
Carried.---And think you, Father, that the Southern women would submit to an inferior race which even our negroes despise and hate?
Mrs. G.---Tut! tut! pretty talk, indeed! A fine country this would be when all the men were killed off, and great things the women would do, I warrant! Carrie, mind your needle and let war talk alone!
Heigh ho! I wish Yancey and Davis and the rest of the hot heads had let well enough alone, and not made all this bother.
S.---Hester! Hester! You mind your needle and let me never hear such sentiments expressed under my roof again. Yancey is a patriot, and so is Davis, and I will not hear them sneered at because they, and others like them, were more far seeing than their neighbors. Would that their warnings had been heard years ago instead of being scoffed at! We should have been better prepared now. The bother, as you call it, is due to the canting hypocrites of New England who, for years, have played upon the ignorant selfishness of the North. Let not the blame of their villainies be cast upon our noble Yancey and Davis.
Mrs. G.---Well, I don’t understand such matters, but it is hard to see so much suffering brought upon our people
(Edward and Carrie retire to one side and converse apart.)
Squire.---Yes, old woman, it is hard, but we must suffer, and should bear it cheerfully. No people is worthy to be free that is not willing to pay the price of liberty.
(Outside, whoops are heard.)
Hilloo! Hilloo! is the garrison all dead be jabbers!
S.---Edward, there is that wild Irishman of yours, bellowing like a mad bull.
(The Window opens, and Pat McDonald springs through it, armed and equipped.)
Pat.---I demand a surrender.
Mrs. G.---(Tartly.) Mr. McDonald, if you had looked, I think you would have found a door.
Pat.---The last war I was in, Ma’am, our orders were to go in at the embrasures, and open the gates from the inside.
Edw.---McDonald, are you drunk?
Pat.---Drunk is it! Bedad, and that’s the very question you asked me this morning, and again at noon; and did ye ever know Patrick McDonald to get drunk three times the same day?
S.---No! I’ll be bound for you, Pat; but you manage to make one drunk last you a good twenty-four hours.
Edw.---You’ve been drinking?
Pat.---Drinking! And I as dry this blessed minute as if I’d been in the rain all day. Sorrow the drink I’ve had since---since---
S.---Since when, Pat?
Pat.---Why, since the last, sure; and Captain, do you mind now, that in an hour we must be at the rendezvous. Make your adoos to Miss Carrie of moderate length, and when I’ve shaken hands with the Squire, and apologized to Mrs. Gaston for breaking her window, it will be time to march.
S.---So, Pat, you join our boys as a volunteer?
Pat.---And shure I do Squire I do Squire. D’ye think Pat McDonald would let the Captain leave him behind. No, faith! Besides, I’ve a little account of my own to settle with the Yankee naggers who have ruined the blessed country. The devil catch the thieves of the world! When the South calls on its sons to rally, Patrick McDonald is not the boy to stand back.
S.---Spoken like a true-hearted Irishman. Here’s my hand on it. [Shakes his hand.] Whatever may be said of your countrymen, they have ever been noted for their fidelity to the land of their birth or their adoption. The Nugents, of France; in Spain, the O’Reillys; the brave Montgomery of our own revolutions, have made the Irish name proverbial for its loyal devotion to the land whose cause they espoused.
Mrs. G.---Pshaw! Everybody knows that an Irishman is ever ready for a spree, and whether its fight or frolic; whether he gets drunk on war or whisky---
Pat.---Whisky!---Ouch, don’t mention it, Madam; and Pat McDonald’s canteen’s as full of nothing this blessed minute as a Yankee is of meanness!
Mrs. G.---Pity it shouldn’t stay so! But I reckon you have nobody to blame for that but yourself, Mr. McDonald.
Pat.---And the war, Ma’am! Sure war is a good, that is a necessary thing, sometimes, and so is whisky, but faith I like to have them mixed a little. I don’t like the idea of fighting dry so well.
[S.G. while he speaks, gets a jug from a cupboard, and quietly fill Pat’s canteen.]
S.---Nor shall you, Pat, while I can help it. [Pat watches him till the canteen is full.]
Pat.---Hillo! Blood and ? What are you doing to my Acconterments?
S.---Be still you grump!
Pat.---Stop, sir! A soldier’s duty requires him to let no man medille with his arms.
[Takes the jug, looks at this canteen and corks it, squints in the jug, smells of it, tastes it twice, and smacks his lips scrutinizing.]
Prime Cognac by the saints!
Squire, I’ll give you sentiment: here’s to the sunny South! May she never lack brave sons to defend her, nor fair daughters to provide them! [drinks]
Squire, you health! [Drinks]
Captain, your health! [drinks]
Edw.---Mac!
Pat.---Ladies your health! [drinks]
Edw.---Why, Mac!
Pat.---There, Captain, you hurried me so that I was guilty of drinking two ladies’ health at once ---only half a health a piece, as I’m a sober man.
Edw.---Never mind that, but stop drinking.
Pat.---If you order it I’m bound to obey, but bad luck to me, I forgot Pat McDonald entirely, shure!
Edw.---You will find an occasion, I warrant; but I insist that you drink no more now.
Pat.---A soldier’s duty is to obey; (sets the jug aside) well, by the grass, I’ll drink no more until there is a necessity.
[Squire retires and converses with Mrs. G.]
Pat.---Captain, bedad, we must be marching or we’ll be late.
Edw.---Yes, in a moment, Mac. Carrie, I must say farewell! [Shakes hands with her.]
By the bye---[resumes his conversation.]
Pat.---That’s the tenth or twelfth time that he has said farewell. Och, that will never do; he’ll never get off by shaking hands. What’s to be done? Patrick McDonald are you a born fool? (Whistles a slow tune.) Faith and I’m puzzled entirely. [Looks at his canteen.] I think there’s a necessity. [Looks round to see if no one is watching him, takes a drink and meditates.]
I have it! There’s nothing like it to brighten an Irishman’s intellect. I have it!
[Walks up to Squire G.]
Ahem! I say Squire, that’s a beautiful fine lot of grass ye have down yonder.
S.---Down yonder, torninst the bars; the lot of grass where the cows were as I came in.
S.---Cows! The devil! Have the infernal curses got into my rye patch?
Pat.---The thunder you say! I can’t stop to apologize. [Starts off in haste.]
Pat.---[Holds him.] Oh, never mind; it won’t hurt them.
S.---I hope it’ll kill them; let me go. Why the blazes didn’t you tell me at once? [Hurries off, Pat following and pretending to detain him.]
Pat.---[Outside] Very well, Squire; much obliged to you; while you are gone I’ll catch the hens. [Re-enters] Mrs. Gaston, I’ll find Bob in the yard to help me run down the hens?
Mrs. G.---What hens, Mr. McDonald?
Pat.---Oh, only a few fat hens the Squire’ll be after giving us boys to make a parting feast, on seeing that for some time we are likely to be better acquainted with short rations than with fat poultry. I’ll just pick out a half dozen or so of the best laying hens.
Mrs. G.---Laying hens, Mr. Mac!
Pat.---Yes, Ma’am; roosters are too tough and dry-meated, and pullets lack richness to suit the palate of a epicure; a good, fat laying hen is the only sort fit to be eaten; but I must hurry.
Mrs. G.---I’ll go myself. Mr. McDonald. [Aside.] I’d look pretty to trust such a wild Irishman among my poultry. [rising and going to the door; Pat gets ahead of her.]
Pat.---But, my dear Madam---
Mrs. G.---[Passes by him.] Mr. McDonald---
Pat.---I tell you, Madam, I can pick out the laying hens.
Mrs. G.---Laying hens, indeed! [Hurries out, followed by Pat.]
Pat.---[Reappears at the window.] Hist! Captain, Hist! It’ll not take the Squire long to get the cattle out of the rye patch---the small part of them that’s in, I mean. If you have anything very particular to say to Miss Carrie, be quick about it.
Edw.---Thank you for the hint, Mac. [Advances with Carrie.] Well, dearest, I go; when I shall return, who can tell? Will Carrie remember me when I am gone?
Carrie.---Oh, Edward, can you doubt it? When I think you may never return--[weeps.]
E.---Weep not, dearest; the war will not be long; I shall return.
C.---But, perhaps, maimed, a cripple, broken in health.
E.---And will Carrie love me less that I have lost my health, my limbs, in the defense of my country and the dear friends I leave behind?
C.---Oh, Edward! But I cannot bear to think of it; you, so young, so comely--to think of you as a poor, maimed cripple! It’s horrible!
E.---Pshaw, love! Why indulge in such fancies? Cheer up, and look at things in a brighter light. Think of me returning in the full vigor of my life and limbs, crowned with honorable laurels, to claim my bride.
Love, take this and wear it in remembrance of me, and give me that one that I may have something of yours to cheer me in the toilsome march and the long watches of the night. [they exchange rings.]
C.---Take it, Edward, and think of me as I shall of you.
E.---I hear Mac; your mother is returning. Carrie, one kiss, only one, the last, perhaps, forever. [Kisses her.]
[voices outside.] I tell you. Mrs. Gaston!
---I tell you, Mr. McDonald!---
[Enter Mrs. G. and Pat]
Mrs. G.---You get the Squire neither, shouldn’t touch one of my laying hens--
Pat.---madam I wouldn’t touch one of your roosters---
Mrs. G.---Roosters or none, Mr. McDonald.
Pat.---Hens or none, Mrs. Gaston.
Mrs. G.--Nary hen, that’s that, sir.

Pat.--Nary rooster, that’s Pat Ma’am
[Enter Squire G., puffing.]
S. --- You infernal villain! A pretty dance you led me about all those cattle in my rye patch!
Pat.---All! And who the dance said all, faith?
S.---Well, you said part of them was in.
Pat.--- Sure, and so there was; I’ll kiss the cross on it.
S.---Why, there was not one in! What part did you see in, now?
Pat.---Their heads, to be shure, as they were looking over the fence at the beautiful grass!
S.---Confound your picture!--
[Pat sidles up to him, and in a half-whisper, hunching him]--
Pat.---I say, Squire, and were ye never young?
S.--I suppose so, but it’s been so long ago that I can scarce remember.
Pat.--And did ye never have a sweetheart?
And did ye never part from her?
S.--what the deuce are you driving at?
Pat.--And when you parted, did you find it quite convenient to have a couple of old folds and a wild Irishman all at your elbow like? [Looks towards Edward and Carrie.]
S.--Ha! Ha! Ha! Sold, by Jupiter! Ha! Ha! Ha! Well, pat, I forgive you. Ha! Ha! Ha! I suppose I was young once, wasn’t I, old lady?
Mrs. G.--I think, at any rate, you ought to be old enough now not to be giving my chickens away to Mr. McDonald.
S.--Chickens! Why not if he wants any for the boys to take away?-- poor fellows!
Mrs. G.--I wouldn’t mind a dozen or so of young roosters.
Pat.--Much obliged, Mrs. Gaston; they do look very nice, but I remember, now, Mrs. Delafield and Mrs. Walton have had ever so many cooked for us, and I do believe every man in the company has a dozen, boiled, baked or broiled.
Mrs. G.--Well, Mr. McDonald, I have a nice pig cleaned for tomorrow’s dinner; you shall take that.
Pat.--Thank you kindly, but--
Mrs. G.--No buts; I insist on it.
Pat.--Well, Madam, Patrick McDonald is not the man to say nay to a lady. But Captain--
CONTINUED…
E. ---You are right, Mac. Carrie, we must say farewell. Good-bye, Squire; good-bye, Aunt Hester.
Mrs. G.---Edward, here are some socks and mitts, and a comfort, I have knit for you; you'll need them where you are going.
E.---A thousand thanks.
Mrs. G.---Here's aset Carrie knit; they'll do for Mr. McDonald. [Hands them to pat; Edward exchanges bundles, unseen by Mrs. G.]
Pat.--- [Aside.] Divil a bit; I'll have to put up with the old woman's knitting after all. Well, good-bye, all. [Shake hands.]
S.---Where's my coat, Hester? I'll walk down with the boys.
C.---Can't I go, too, Pa?
Mrs. G.---Tut! Tut! Go in the dairy, and see to the milk pans.
S.---Hetty, let the girl alone. Come along, Carrie, if you wish.
Mrs. G.---Well, I don't go, that's sure. Good-bye, Edward; good-bye, Mr. McDonald. I wish you both well, and hope to see you back safe. I must attend to my kitchen work. Exeunt Omnes

Scene II.
Mrs. Delafield's. and Mrs. D., Spinning, Mrs. Walton, sewing
Mrs. W.---I cannot blame them, mother; were I a man I should have labored like them or the independence of the South.
Mrs. D.---I am no politician, Olivia, but me-thinks, we could have lived in peace and union as our fathers did, and, by compromises, have avoided a fratricidal war.
Mrs. W.---Compromise! what compromise has the South made by which it was not swindled, or which did not serve to excite Northern fanatics to more arrogant demands?
Mrs. D.---You may be right, but it is hard for a mother to see her son torn from her arms, though it be to battle in his country's cause. Oh, that this war had never been!
Mrs. W.---Oh, that fanaticism had never existed, that a Yankee had never lived! that the Mayflower with its infamous crew had been engulphed in mid-ocean, ere she landed the nefarious race she bore to be a pestilence to the new world. Oh! that they had never been united to us by any bonds, but since they are, welcome the war that alone will sever them.
Mrs. D.---War at best is a fearful thing, and a terrible one threatens our poor country.
Mrs. W.---Yet will it come out triumphant. The fanatics of the North will learn the invincible strength of a united people; every man, yes every woman is nerved by the hope of liberty--of independence.
Mrs. D. ---Ah! Olivia, what can weak woman do to aid in repelling the myriads which our foes are marshalling against us.
Mrs. W.---Do, mother! much, if nerved by a proper spirit. They can toil and endure; do as we are doing, spin, weave and knit, that their brave defenders may be provided against the winter's frost and the summer's sun. They can teach their infant sons that "resistance to tyrants is obedience in God!" and imbue their tender minds with an unquenchable hatred of the Puritan race that would enslave their fathers and their mothers.
[While she speaks enters Squire G.]
Squire.---Right, girl! Spoken like a true Southern matron. Yes, it is not our armies alone the North will have to overcome, but the incomparable spirit the animates every woman and every child.
But I have come for your Edward is at the rendezvous, and you will have short time for bidding him good-bye.
Mrs. D.---Thank you, neighbor Gaston. I've told the boy to harness up. I have but to get a bundle for Edward--you'll excuse me [goes out.]
Mrs. W.---Mr. Gaston, you must not think me an Amazon, for all my bold talk.
Squire.---No, Livy, that is unless, there be a necessity, then I trust all our women will prove Amazons.
[Enter Pat McDonald.]
Pat.---Good evening, Mrs. Walton, and where is Mrs. Delafield?
Mrs. W.---Good days, Mr. McDonald; mother has just gone to her room, she will be back in a minute.
Pat.---You are going to see your brother off, of course; make haste, time will soon be up.
S.---Why, Patrick, I thought you were on your way to the rendezvous.
Pat.---And so I am.
S.---Why did you leave Edward and Carrie? I thought you were going with them.
Pat.---They won't miss me. D'ye see, Squire, two talkers and one listener constitute what we call in domestic English, a d___d awkward squad, (begging your pardon Madam,) and so I concluded it was best for all parties that I should call round and offer you my assistance.
[Enter Mrs. D]
Mrs. D.---I'm all ready, Livy, get your bonnet, dear. The horse must be in the wagon.
Pat.---Yes, Madam, I saw to that as I came in.
Mrs. D.---Good afternoon, Mr. McDonald; excuse me, I had not seen you.
Pat.---No excuses, my dear Madam, if you are all ready we shall start, the Squire will drive you over, and I'll be proud to accompany Mrs. Walton by the near path.
Mrs. W.---But if Mrs. Walton don't care to walk, Mr. McDonald?
Pat.---Oh, Madam, you wouldn't be so cruel; only think it may be the last time that I'll have the honor of gallanting a lady, or the last time that I'll have the honor of gallanting a lady, or the last that you'll have an opportunity of teasing me with you pretty little ironical speeches.
Mrs. W.---That last argument is convincing. We'll walk then.
Pat.---Allow me; 9offers his arm0 come. Squire, you'll have to whip up or we'll get there before you.
S.---Never mind me; but, Pat, is your canteen already empty, or have you fallen out with it?
Pat.---Oh, bad luck to you; Would you have me enjoy all the good things of life at once? I keep that for consolation in the absence of the ladies. Come along, we have no time to lose.
Exeunt Omnes

SCENE III
A rendezvous by the road. Edward, Squire, Mrs. D., Mrs. We., Pat. McDonald, Soldiers, Women and Children.

Mrs. D. -- It is hard to give you up my poor boy.
Edward. --Be of good cheer, dear mother, the war will not be long.
Mrs. D.-- Oh! my son, it is but just begun. How it may end, or when, God alone can know.
Edw.-- In his hands be it. Let the sons of the South do their duty and leave the event to his kind providence. He will not forsake our people, or permit those to triumph who scorn His holy word and seek to trample upon right and justice.
Mrs. D.--True, Edward, but many a noble form will be laid low; many a hearth rendered desolate ere the battle shall be won and right shall triumph. Oh, should I lose you, my son!
Edw.--Weep not, mother dear.
Mrs. W.-- Mother, you would not have brother stay at home to be pointed at with scorn, while his companions are rushing to their country's defense?
Mrs. D.-- No, Olivia! nor could I expect it of his father's son, but a mother's heart bleeds at parting with her boy, perhaps forever.
Edw.--And my heart, too, is it not sore at leaving you? but I have a holy duty to perform, and with God's help manfully will I perform it. I leave you but a boy, yet trust to return to you a man that you shall not be ashamed of.
Mrs. W.-- Dear brother, we have always been proud of you.
Mrs. D.---Yes, Edward, you have been a good son and a good brother. Oh, my heart breaks to think that we may lose you!
Edw.-- Don't yield, dear mother, to such sad fancies. Squire, I leave mother in your car, she will often need your help, I fear.
S.-- Tut, tut; not half so often as I shall be pleased to offer it. Not another word, boy, we understand one another. [shakes his hand.]

Pat.-- [Seated alone]--(aside.) Well, this is sad. Every body crying and Patrick McDonald so dry that he can't shed a tear [wipes his eyes.] Hang it, it won't do.
Edw.-- Carrie, you must see mother often; home will be lonely to her.
Carrie.--Mother and I shall do so we shall feel lonely, too.
Pat.-- (aside.) Oh hang it! Now the young ones are going to blubber. [Rises and approaches the group.]
Gentlemen and ladies; ladies and gentlemen, I mane. I wish you all joy; receive my congratulations.
Mrs. W.--Day! Congratulations! What do you mean, Mr. McDonald?
Pat.-- And are ye not about to be rid of a great nuisance? and that's myself sure; Pat McDonald, the wild Irishman; and that's myself again, the plague and pest of the whole country, when ye're all been wishing more or less to the devil for the last five years?
Mrs. W.-- Mr. McDonald, I take it all back; I must confess I never thought I should feel half so aorry at seeing you go away.
Pat.--That's what we call in the old country a sort of a back handed compliment; thank you all the same.
Mrs. W.-- Well, Mr. McDonald, I am sorry; here's my hand on it. I wish you well from my heart, and hope that you will return safe and sound.
Pat.--And do ye now, for all my deviltry?
Mrs. W.-- Yes. I do.
Pat.-- Well, I'll do my endeavors to please you in that. Never fear but Pat'll take care of himself for his own sake, if it is to be done at all, at all.
Mrs. D.--And my boy, Patrick, you'll watch over him?
Pat.--What! the captain? and what the deuce else am I going for? Never fear, Madam.
Mrs. D.-- Don't let him want if you can help it, Patrick.
Pat.--I'll share my last biscuit with him; I'll give him the whole of it, Ma'am.
Mrs. D.--Keep him from bad habits; don't let him drink.
Pat.-- Sorra the drop; I'll attend to that department myself. [aside.] It's not likely there'll be any more drinking to do than I can attend to.
{Squire conversing with a group of soldiers.]
Mrs. D.-- Oh, Patrick! Watch over my boy, and I'll pray for you day and night.
Pat.-- never doubt but I shall, my dear Madam; I'll take care of him and bring him back to you a Mafor, a general, if the war lasts long enough.
Mrs. D.-- God grant it may be short, so he come back safe and sound, we ask no more. [Soldiers break out into roars of laughter.]
1st Soldier.-- Pat where the nation were you brought up?
Pat.--Where they raise men, boy.
1st Sol.-- A fine education you got, not to know a rye field from a grass lot. [turns to soldiers.].
I wonder, boys, if the cattle Pat saw in the Squire's lot, warn't of the breed called Irish bulls. [Soldiers laugh.]
[While soldier speaks, pat picks up a handkerchief and pins it to his breech.]
Pat.--I say sonny, ye're not long from school, I should say. Tell me if you're not forgotten what rhymes to grass.
[Soldiers laugh.]
1st Sol.-- What rhymes to grass!
2d Sol.-- Give it up Bob; Pat has done it to you now.
1st Sol.-- Done what?
Pat.--Finished what nature had well begun.
1st Sol.-- And what's that pray?
Pat.-- made an ass of you to be shure.
1st Sol.-- How so?
pat.--find out Sonny, and ye'll have another tail to laugh about.
[Drum beats.]
Pat.-- Good-bye sweethearts! farewell friends! "it is our country's call.
Edw.-- Fall in boys, we must join the company.
[Soldiers bid a hurried adieu to friends and form.]
Edw.-- Good-bye, mother, dear! Good-bye sister! Carrie, farewell! Good-bye Squire.
Attention squad; in two ranks, form company; forward, march.
[Soldiers march out followed by their friends.]

Exeunt Omnes.
(End of Act 1st.)


ACT THE SECOND
SCENE I

Night-- An advanced Post in the Woods- Remains of a Fire-- A canteen hanging on a bush--Enter three prisoners followed by pat.
Pat.--Halt! ye murdtherin' villains. Now take a seat on the floor, and pack up close, belly to back, so that one bullet will do for the pair and a half of yez, when I make up my mind to shoot yez.
[To Irish prisoner.].. You fighting divil sit between them.
[Prisoners sit down in rear of one another.]
Pat.--Stretch out your legs, pack up like Dutch herrings, you sardines-- so, now ye're comfortable for shooting, and my mind's at ease. You can practice saying your prayers, if you know any, you heathens, while I warm my feet.
[Approaches the embers and holds his feet over them.]
Well, a man never knows the value of new shoes till he has to tramp over frozen ground in a pair of worn out ones. I wonder, ye divils, if ye haven't among yez a better pair than these. [Examines prisoners feet.] By the Lord Harry! ye're shod like the Pope's mule--begging the beast's pardon for likening him to brutes like you - these will about fit, I believe. I say, bluebelly, off with them.
Y.P.-- Neow, you don't mean to take my shoes, I guess?
Pat.--A d--n bad guess ye've made for the first. Off with them; they're contraband of war, and shan't pass my blockade. [Pulls them off of Yankee and puts them on.] Now, that's comfortable. Here, a fair exchange is no robbery--take mine. [Kicks them to Yankee.]
Y. P. --Well, I sweow! there's no sole to them.
Pat.-- No more than to a Yankee, but they once had them, which you never did.
Y.P.--My feet will freeze.
I.P.-- Sarve them right. If you had been a man instead of a cowardly cur, Dennis O'Rouke had not been a prisoner to the enemy this blessed night.
D.P.-- Yaw. yank van great big coward, be no fight.
I.P.--An' divil the bit of that same ye did yourself, shure.
D.P.-- Nein, me no fight ven me shleep.
I.P.-- Be my sowl, an' did ye want the whole night to wake yourself in, while I was being murdthered entirely. Shure, the Yankee bellowed loud enough to wake the seven sleepers.
Y.P.-- Och, holy Moses! 'an did ye expect me to have a corporal all be meself, 'na me nothin' but a private, faith!
Pat--Speak lower, you may quarrel to your heart's content, so you make no noise.
Y.P.-- My toes are tarnation cold. I wish Mister Davis had given you better shoes.
Pat.--If you call President Davis out of his name again, you blackguard, I'll stick my bayonet in you. How the dence can the government find its soldiers in shoes as fast as they have to wear them out, running after your cowardly troops, over this stony ground? I buy my own shoes. That pair cost me fifteen dollars.
Y. P.-- Fifteen dollars! du tell! well now, I swan!
Pat.-- Yes; I found the leather, that's $5, and $10 for the making.
I.P.-- Bedad, 'an shure me cousin was a cobbler in the old country. Ten dollars for the making! Plaza the Saints, and I'll go South.
Pat.--You will, you spalpcen!
Y.P.--Ten dollars a pair! Now deow tell! I worked in a factory three months down to Salem. I guess I'll go South of winters when the yellow fever ain't about.
D.P.--Zhen dallar! Mein Got! Ich bin shumaker. Ish vill South gehen. Yaw!
Pat.--You'll all go South, will yez? ye murdherin Abolition blackguards! If I thought there was any danger of that I'd run my bayonet through you this very instant. What! and do you think the people whom you are seeking to rob and enslave will receive you and the likes of you among them? You whose hands are wreaking with the blood of their brethren slaughtered in this unrighteous war, begotten by Yankee malice and cupidity? If they were base enough to allow it, do you think that the brave Southern soldiers, who are manfully defending their country against your thieving, negro-stealing hordes will bear patiently to see such as you growing rich from its labor to their detriment. Out on you!
[Enter Edward and two soldiers.]
Pat-- Halt! who comes there?
Edw.-- Friends to the South!
Pat.--Advance one friend and give the countersign.
[Edward advances.]
Pat.-- Is it you, my boy? Well, ye've had a long scout of it, and I had grown tired of waiting for you.
Edw.-- And whom have we here?
pat.--A brace and a half of Yankee Abolition Rips.
I.P.--Plaze yer honor, I'm an irishman.
Pat.--Hush ye blackguard (sotto voce) 'an would ye be after disgracing the old country? Three Yanks, sure I got them all out of one nest.
I.P.-- Be jabers, if ye be after miscallin' me a Yankee again, I'll throw me those at ye, if I die for it. Bad luck to ye're slanderous tongue!
Pat.-- Well, if there's so much decency left in you I'll respect yer faylins. Ye shall be a Hottentot, mind ye now.
I.P.-- Seein as ye have the disadvantage of me, ye may jist call me anything ye plaza barrin a Yankee, Be the Saints? I'll not stand that shure.
Edw.-- Mac, how did you come by these? Tell us now; we are all anxiety to know! Eh boys?
Soldier.-- Yes, Pat, out with it.
Pat.-- Well, if you must know--here, hold my gun for a minute. [Edward takes it.] Now, let us see what luck I've had. [Applies one canteen to his lips]. Och, mucdher! which of ye villians has been carrying this stuff to poison an honest soldier? [To Yankee.] It's you, you skunk!
Edw.-- Why, Mac, what is it?
Pat.-- Water! The cheating scoundrel! [Pours it over him.] I baptize you, though there's no making a christian out of one of your breed.
Y.P.-- Now don't-- don't rot it. I'll freeze.
Pat.--Never fear but ye'll thaw fast enough when you get to where you belong, you mean livered cur that can't even sear like a white man. [Throws canteen away.] Let's try this. [Puts second canteen to his lips and makes a face.] Dutchy, this lager is yours. Well, it's not as bad as water, it'll do when there's nothing else. Now for number three! [Sings] "Oh! there's luck in odd numbers says beld Rory O'More." [Drinks.] Hottentot, I partly forgive you; you might have been a christian were it not for the company you keep.
I.P.-- That's my cantane ye're makin so free wid; just be after handin' it over here.
Pat.-- Not I faith. It's contraband of war lawfully seized and confiscated.
Irish.-- Well let us have a drap, jist a wee drap, now won't you?
Pat.--Divil the drap. Set your mind at ease on that me lad.
I.--The back of me hand to ye for luck then.
Edw.--But, Mac, you forget the story, low let us into the secret of your adventures.
Pat.-- Well, Captain, I got tired watching the embers and waiting for you, so, as my canteen was empty, I concluded to go on a small scout of my own, and see if I could not find a full one. I had not got far before I found three.
Edw.-- Where Mac?
Pat.-- Why slung to these three fellows' neck to be sure. I came on them sudden from the top of a rock, to the lea of which they were lying. Yankee set to bellowing like a bull-calf, and when Hottentot and I had settled a little difficulty we had, Dutchy woke up to find me master of the position. I brought the canteens along and these fellows too, though I don't know what's to be done with them. hadn't we best hang them and put them out of suspense?
Pat.--Good for you, my boy--I owe ye one. yes, you scamp, I reckon you must hang if it be but for the jike of the thing.
Yank.-- You don't mean to, do ye? Please let me off neow. I guess you ain't in earnest? I be tarnation sorry I ever came this far South. [crying.]
Pat.-- Hush your blubbering, you Yankee dog. ye'll have to hang some day, and ye'll hang more comfortable now than when you are dressed in a suit of tar and feathers. What way you, Hottentot?
I.P.-- Hang and be d__d, and don't be after calling names. Ye're taken the last drap I had in the world, bad luck to the likes of ye--and I care into a he'penny what else you do to me.
D.P.--Ish bin prisoner von war. You nicht muss hang prisioner von war.
Pat.--Prisoner of war! prisoner of Morpheus you mean. Divil a bit of fighting you did; you were asleep all the time of the scrimmage.
Edw.--Mac, we'll take them to camp--they'll keep till morning--and can hang then if we so make up our minds.
Pat.--Ned, these precious rascals are anxious to go South.
Edw.--And why, pray?
Pat.--To work and make money!
Edw.--To work, indeed!
I.P.-- Yis, to be sure; ye'll have work enough to do when the war is over, if ye be only after repairing the destruction that it has made.
Y.P.-- I can... to most anything, I guess, and if I bring my notions out from hum, I can work some cheaper than your own folks. Cousin Zebulon used to do it, and a part business he carried on.
D.P.-- Yaw! Ich bin schumaker. Ich will South gehen. ZZehn daller! Mein got!
Edw.-- Go South! Work cheaper than our workmen! Bring out your notions with you! Dare you harbor such a thought? Even now plotting to rob our own citizens of the labor that of right is theirs. Great heavens! ye that have laid waste our fields; laid our houses in ruins; made our homes desolate; slaughtered our brethren, and outraged the noble women of the South! Think you the brave soldiers who have defeated your plunder seeking hordes will bear to see you enjoy the wealth producing labor they have shed their blood to save; that brothers, whose brothers have fallen on the field of slaughter; fathers who have lost their sons, the pride and hope of their declining years, will suffer the insult of your presence, and forget their oaths of vengeance? If your thieving brethern come on Southern soil they will come as Pariahs whom all abhor--as outlaws, who can hope for no legal protection, their carcasses will strew the streets of our cities, and dot the bosoms of our rivers; those who would countenance them, if any be so base, will be made to adorn the lamp-posts of our cities. Mark well my words, and tell them to your sneaking hordes, caitiffs and villains, that you are!
Sol.-- Mr. Delafield, let us run the scoundrels through.
Edw.-- No! they are prisoners, though I am not in favor of taking many, we must regard them as such when captured. Let us to camp.
Pat.-- Edward, my boy, stay here with me, I have something to tell you. The boys can take the prisoners in. Boys, if there's a row, run Hottentot through the gizzard at once, there's fight in him; as for the Yankee, he is an arrant coward, like all his breed; and dutchy is so slow, he'll never get ready to fight till it is all over. By-the-way, get word to the-General at once, that we have important information to communicate, and shall be at the ford in less than an hour, he can send there for us, or meet us as he sees fit.
Edw.--Ah! Let us in at once and give it.
Pat.-- Be still now will ye! Now, boys, hasten in and look out for Hottentot. Give them their orders, Edward.
Edw.-- Well, men, do as Mac has told you.
[Exeunt soldiers guarding prisoners.]
Edw.-- Mac, have you learnt anything of really great importance?
Pat.--And what were ye sent out for? Did you find out nothing?
Edw.--Yes, I discovered some movements of the enemy that may be worth telling.
pat.--Added to what I have seen, it should be worth a captaincy.
Edw.-- Then let us in at once and make it known.
Pat.-- No, you shall see for yourself, so that you can tell it yourself.
Edw.-- Why not you?
Pat.--I don't know; I've forgotten. No, lad, no tricks on an old soldier. Come along and I'll show you and freshen my memory, otherwise I know nothing, and shall go to camp mum as a herring.
Edw.-- Have your way then, for a hardheaded Paddy as you are.
Pat.--This way, then, and be cautious.

Exeunt Omnes.

SCENE II.

Woods near a ford-- Enter General, Staff Officer, and Soldier

Gen.-- In an hour it will be day; this is the spot. Delafield should be here; I trust no harm has befallen him; a better soldier and more trust-worthy scout there is not in the army. He said he had important information to communicate?
Soldier-- Yes, General; that is not he exactly; it was the Irishman, pat McDonald, sho said so.
Gen.-- It's all one; the two speak from one mouth, and it is generally pat's. Whichever said it, it must be worth attention. Between them they manage to gather more useful knowledge than any other ten in the army. More diligent and trusty scouts or better soldiers I never wish for.
Officer-- That Irishman is a rare bird; his flow of spirits is inexhaustible, and the blue-devils are banished from his regiment the moment he shows his face.
Gen.-- He is a character certainly; but what has often surprised me is his chamelion changes. One moment you would take him for a perfect bog-trotter, while the next he assumes the bearing and the language of a perfect gentleman.
Officer-- As circumstances seem to require. Have you ever seen anyone so devotedly attached to another as he to young Delafield?
Gen.-- Their friendship is mutual. By-the-by, is it true that he refused the lieutenancy of his company because Delafield would not accept the captaincy?
Officer-- So 'tis said, and I should not wonder if it were true.
Soldier-- Yes, General, with your permission, it is true. I am a member of their company. We elected Delafield captain in his absence and pat first lieutenant. Delafield on learning it, peremptorily refused to fill the position, on the ground of his youth and in-experience, and Pat resigned him.
Gen.-- Well, it is refreshing to know that there is one modest man in the army. Go on.
Soldier-- We then offered the first lieutenancy to Delafield, and Pat agreed to take the second, but Edward again refused. That was the only time Pat was ever known to be angry with him. He abused him roundly, and left the company, sending us all to the devil from captain down.
Gen.-- Well, how did he get back?
Soldier-- He returned the next day swearing that Edward was such a natural d__d fool that for his mother's sake he would not allow him to go off without a guardian. Delafield had finally consented to be orderly sergeant, and Pat accepted a corporalcy.
Gen.-- i know more than one company that would lose nothing by having either of them at its head. However little Delafield might have known of military tactics when he joined, I doubt if any man has learned faster. As for McDonald, he is an old soldier, and has seen fire before.
Soldier-- General, here they come.
[Enter Edward and Pat.]
Gen.-- Friends, welcome. We have been expecting you. Have you succeeded in obtaining a clue to the enemy's designs?
Edw.-- In an hour we shall be attacked.
Gen.-- Ah! say you so? Well, let them come. Proceed.
Edw.-- The attack will be on the left wing, which they hope to outflank and surprise, by a movement around the swamp, while a faint will be made probably at this very point, to be turned to a vigorous attack if they find us unprepared.
Gen.-- How know you that? Speak out, man.
Edw.-- We have seen their troops in motion--their artillery is even now wending its way to gain a commanding position among the cliffs.
Gen.-- [To officer.] At once to the left! Let the troops be drawn back to the line designated in these orders. I suspected as much! They will be finely fooled. Let the strictest silence be preserved. Haste, sir, there is no time to lose. [To Edward.] We owe you a debt that shall not be forgotten.
Edw.-- Say, General, to Corporal McDonald, who saw all this.
Pat.--Oh! botheration, and didn't you not ace it yourself?
Edw.-- Yes, but-----
Pat.-- Oh! confound your buts. You saw it, and I saw it, and when the General doubts your word it'll be time enough to mix Corporal McDonald in your palaver.
Edw.-- General, I assure you, that if it had not been for Mac______
Pat.-- Och! to the divil wid ye for a long-winded natural. Will ye be after keepin' the General here until the enemy is upon us,wid yer nonsense about Corporal McDonald? General, if you'll allow me, I can tell you in two minutes all that the Captain (that is, Sergeant Delafield) and the squad under his command discovered.
Gen.-- Do so, if you have more to tell.
Pat.-- Excuse me then. [Beckons him to one side.]
Soldier.--Mr. Delafield, you have received news from home. Good ones, I hope.
Edw.-- All are well; your folks, my sister mentions particularly.
Soldier.-- God grant my wife and little ones will not want for bread!
Edw.-- While there's an ear of corn in our crib, or a pound of meat in our house, you know, Smith, they will not.
Soldier.-- I know it, Mr. Delafield, but I hope it will not come to that. Susan and the boys will manage the crop if they have health.
Edw.-- And if sickness befall them, Squire Gaslon and my folks will not forsake the families of their friends who are fighting in their defense.
Soldier.-- I know it, yet I long to be at home once more.
Edw.-- It is natural, but you would not desert your country in her hour of peril?
Sol.-- While a cursed Yankee in arms threatens her, I'll stick to our flag if the war lasts ten years. Susy's children shall be freemen, or I'll die fighting for them.
Edw.-- Well said, brother soldier! I have no family of my own, nor do I ever expect to have; but I'll fight to the last for our dear mother land.
[General and Pat advance.]
Gen.-- You have done good service, and I thank you both. I suspect, after all, the credit is to be divided between you, spite of your mutual disclaimers. Settle it between you as you please; I shall hold you both in remembrance. Do you return to camp?
Pat.-- If you do not object, General, we will loiter here; it will not be long, probably, before the enemy is in sight, and my musket will tell the tale.
Gen.-- As you please. I must hasten
[Esaunt all but Edward and Pat.]
Pat.-- Well, I've earned a right to enjoy a seat on the ground. [Seats himself.]
[Edward seats himself and muses, sighs.]
Pat.--Here's your health my boy. [Drinks.]
Edw.--I thank you. [Abstractedly - sighs.]
Pat.-- That be d__d!
[Edward rises and walks about pensively]
Pat.--An' what the divil ails ye now?
Edw.-- [Comes and sits by him.] Mao, my friend----
Pat-- Well, what is it?
Edw.--Mac__
Pat.-- Eh!
Edw.-- Were you ever in love, Mac?
Pat.-- Muther! ask that again, now will ye?
Edw.-- Did you ever love?
Pat.-- Och, murther! Here's your health. [Drinks.]
Edw.-- But no answer to my question.
Pat.-- Hold on a bit. Now my throat's in ordher, I'll answer them both. Was I ever in love? Did I ever drink? Say, Now?
Edw.-- Yes! confound you for a regular Paddy, when you try to be.
Pat.-- Then I've answered both, Irish fashion. Love is it! Why more times than you've fingers, boy, aye, and toes too, for the matter of that. Why, there was Kathleen O'Flynn--
Pat.-- As you like. She jilted me for the Squire. Then there was Bridget M'Dermot--
Edw.-- Confound Bridget M'Dermot.
Pat.-- I'm consenting; she ran off wid the Major. Then there was Judy-- no, the next was Moll---
Edw.-- [Rises.] The devil catch Juldy and Moll and all the rest of them; be done with your nonsense. [Walks off and stands pensively.]
Pat.-- [Watches him, rises, approaches him and puts his arm gently round his shoulder.] Well, what is it, lad, not down-hearted, eh? Come, cheer up, lad! I'm serious as a meeting house. What ails my boy?
Edw.-- My friend, I'm sick at heart. 'Tis hard to be forgotten by those we trusted to remember us longest.
Pat.-- A little jealous is it? Think that Captain we read of is getting rather too familiar, eh?
Edw.-- Ah! How know you of him? It is so, then, since the report has reached even to your ears.
Pat.-- And why not to mine? Think you none get letters but yourself? Well, now, out with it. How stands the case?
Edw.-- I have just received a letter from my dear mother in which she candidily informs me of Carrie's demeaner; speaks indignantly of her heartless conduct, and counsels me to forget her.
pat.-- Which advice you have not taken.
Edw.-- But I must and shall.
Pat.-- Never a bit! Well, is that your only letter?
Edw.-- No, I have one from sister who, stating the same facts, speaks more leniently and regards Carrie's levity as the mere exuberance of girlish spirits.
Pat.-- A sensible woman, that Mrs. Walton.
Edw.-- At any rate, it proves that Carrie loves me not; never did love me, and I must tear her image from my heart.
Pat.--Oh! bother! Come. Edward. be a man, a sensible one, and don't go into the melo-dramatic line.
Edw.-- What would you have me do?
Pat.-- Have faith in your sweetheart, faith in yourself, eat your rations like a man, fight the Yankees like a true Southern boy, and when the war is over, we'll go home, shoot the Captain, marry your lady-love, and have many a good laugh over the matter. That's the Irish way in such cases. I recommend it to you.
Edw.-- [Sighing.] If she loves me not, I must forget her, and bid her farewell forever!
Pat.-- Nonsense!
Edw.-- Well, we'll say no more about it, my friend. I'm sick at heart. This day, I have a presentiment, may be my last in life--
Pat.-- Oh! d___n your presentiments; nothing so bad for a soldier on the eve of battle. Come, lad, keep a stiff upper lip. You've smelt powder before.
Edw.-- It is not that. I'll do my duty, Mac, never fear me. but one word more, my friend.
Pat.-- Well, what is it? but no croaking.
Edw.-- Be serious. If I fall, my friend, promise me that you will take this ring to Miss Gaston, and say to her that my last thoughts were of her--my last breath was breathed out in prayers for her happiness.
Pat.--Confound it, ye'll go back an' tell her so yourself.
Edw.--If I fall, you promise, do you not?
Pat.-- Yes, I'll promise anything, if you' stop that vein.
Edw.-- My mother, Mac; comfort her in her old age, soothe her grief, and be to her a son in my stead.
Pat.-- Edward, my boy, if you fall and I survive, (which I don't promise, mind ye,) I'll do as near to shat you have said as lies in the power of Patrick McDonald
But, lad, cheer up, don't let a cloud fall upon you. What! for a few lines in a letter! Pshaw, boy it won't do! Now, mark me, I have my presentiment as well as you. We'll both come out all right; I'll live to see you a General yet, and we'll go home to-
Edw.-- Be brothers in peace as we have been in war.
Pat.-- Yes, my boy, that's the right tone, but-ahem- I say, Ned, "Variety is the spice of life."
Edw.--What is it, Mac?
Pat.-- Ned, we've been brothers sometime. Now for a charge like; would not brother-in-law do as well?
Edw.-- What mean you? [Surprised.]
Pat.--- Mrs. Walton is a sensible woman--a very sensible woman--
Edw.--Ah? sits the wind in that quarter? Here's my hand on it, my friend. [Shake hands.]
Pat.---And you would not be ashamed to have an Irishman in your family?
Edw.-- How, Mac! Do you know me so little? A man is to be judged by his actions, not by his birth-place or his profession. Be he Jew or Gentile, native or foreigner, the man who is worthy of esteem shall have mine, let fools act otherwise if they will; and where is the man to whom I owe so much as to you, Mac- who is entitled to more of my respect and affection?
Pat.-- I've done nothing for you, Edward, to speak of, no more than I would do tenfold for my friend.
Edw.-- Thank you, Mac; you and sister understand one another?
Pat.--Why, yes, I suppose so- that is, I understand myself and--
Edw.-- You have her consent? Why, Mac, did you not tell me before?
Pat.-- At least, I have my own consent, the rest will follow.
Edw.-- Why, man, this is an Irish way of doing business with a vengeance.
Pat.-- Irish is it? then the Irish way is rather fashionable; look ye, boy, does our General ask the enemy's consent when he takes a fancy to one of his trains or a battery of his? Answer me that
Edw.-- No! decidedly not; but where's the parallel?
Pat.-- A woman's heart is a castle to be stormed, and he will be most likely to possess it who attacks it with a strong faith in his ability to carry the position.
Edw.-- At any rate, you have my best wishes for your success. Here's my hand on it [Shake hands.]
Pat.-- Say no more, but leave me to manage the widow,
Day will soon dawn and the enemy must be near at hand. Let us reconnoitre his position, then to our posts in the regiment.
Exeunt Omnes.

SCENE III

{A wood-- Sound of firing cannon, &c. Enter Soldiers running in confusion.}
1st Sol.-- They are too many for us; our regiment scattered everywhere.
2d Sol.-- The slaughter is dreadful.
3d Sol.-- Let us keep on; I have enough of fighting.
[Enter Edward and Pat}
Edw.-- Halt! men; for God sake stand and don't flee like coward from the field.
Sol.-- It's of no use; our regiment is cut to pieces.
Edw.-- Are you cut to pieces?
Pat.-- No, faith! and they have no mind to be.
{Enter soldier with flag, running.]
Sol.-- I've saved the flag.
Edw.-- [Snatches it from him.] Better it were bravely lost than to be saved by cowardly flight. In my hands it will suffer no dishonor. Back men, for shame! and wipe out this disgrace upon your manhood? Back! and strike one brave blow in defense of your bleeding native land!
Sol.-- We would, but we have no officers to lead us.
Edw.-- I'll lead you till we find better. See that battery dealing destruction on our struggling ranks. Why might we not carry it by a sudden and unexpected charge, or, at least, make a diversion? Why say you, Mac?
Pat.-- Divil a word, Captain; if you lead a charge against the gates of Hell, Patrick McDonald'll be at your elbow when ye knock at the door.
Edw.-- Come on, then, and let cowards hang back if they will.
1st Dol.-- Lead on; I'll be the third.
2d Sol.-- Count me in.
3d Sol.-- And so are we all. {All Hurrah! for the Sunny South.}
Pat.-- [Shouts.] Follow me, and forward; somebody'll get hurt soon!
{Exuent all, Edward leading.]

Scene IV.

Woods and Rocks-- Two young Lieutenants, 2d and 3d.
2d. Lieut.-- We have gained the day after all.
3d Lieut.-- Our men have stormed the battery, and the enemy are retreating. Shall we advance?
2d Lieut.-- Perhaps it is best not to be in a hurry. We are not needed.
[Enter Soldiers bearing Edward on a litter.]2d Lieut.-- Halt! where are you going? Put down that man and go back.
Sol.-- We have done our duty like men, and beaten the enemy from his stronghold. We will not leave our friend to perish.
[Enter Pat, hatless and bleeding, and his bayonet all bloody.]
3d Lieut.-- Back and secure prisoners
Pat.-- I've secured mine.
Lieut.-- Where are they?
Pat.--Ask my bayonet. Come on, men, bear him gently.
Lieut.--Stop? this won't do, leave him here. Back! I tell you!
Pat.-- Back, yourself, boy! Out of my way! [Threatening with his bayonet]
Lieut.-- Do you dare?
Pat.--Dare, is it? Attempt to stay me, an' ye'll have what Patrick McDonald dares--
[Edward faintly, Mac! Mac! you must obey orders; leave me]
Pat.-- Ordthers be d___d! Leave you, Ned? Not if the blessed Saints themselves were to say it. Edward, my boy, how fares it-- better, eh? Here, taste a dhrop from my cantane. [Puts it to his lips and bathes his forehead] Oh! my dear boy, after what you have done this day, shall you be left on the field to perish like a worthless dog. No, never!
Edw.-- I've done my duty. I had a presentiment.
Pat.-- And so had I, and mine will yet come true.
Edw.-- My mother! Mac-- Carrie! [Sinks back.]
Pat.-- He'll bleed to death; come, men, let's hasten!
2d Lieut.-- You must leave him.
3d Lieut.-- Yes, leave him here with us, and go back to your company.
Pat.--[Threatening.] Back, yourselves! [Fiercely.] Clear the way, I tell yez, or ye'll rue it!
Sol-- Take care, sir, his blood's up. We've seen him use the bayonet; he's dangerous. [Lieutenants fall back hurriedly. Enter General and officer.]
Gen.-- What have we here?
Pat.-- A man who never turned his back on friend or foe! and what's left of as brave a lad as ever planted his country's flag over an inemy's battery.
Gen.-- Ah! the gallant soldier who, with a handful of stragglers whom he had rallied, drove the enemy from the battery which was dealing destruction to our ranks, and had maintained its position against our utmost efforts.
Pat.-- Aye! and whom for his service to his country, these boys, who kept their precious carcasses our of harm's way, would have his leave to be trodden under foot of man and horse.
Gen.-- It shall not be. [Bending over him.]
How fares it with you, my friend?
Edw.-- Poorly, General, my leg is shattered and my arm too; but I have done my duty, and am willing to die.
Pat.-- But I ain't, though, and I'm d---d if you shall!
Gen.-- Be of good cheer, our country could ill spare a man like you. Take him to the hospital, and let every attention be paid him. I'll see to it myself hereafter. [To Pat.} but, you, too, are wounded, my friend.
Pat.-- Scratches, Gineral, nothing but scratches. An old soldier don't mind such little trifles.; its that, that hurts me, [points to Ned] and here (Puts his hand on his heart.)-- Come, boys, we'll see him in safe hands, then back for vengeance.
[Exeunt pat and Soldiers.]
Gen.--[To Lieutenauts.] And you, sirs, what do you here?
Lieut.-- We are sending stragglers back, General.
Gen.-- Sending! By your uniforms I would think it your place to lead them. Young Delafield did not send his fellow-soldiers to take the battery. Follow me, I'll try to find something for you to do, where you may be useful as well as ornamental.
Exeunt Omnes.
(End of Act IID.)
ACT III.
Scene I.

[Squire Gaston's House.]
Carrie.-- [Solus] I would I knew where he is, how he is. Not a line from him since before the battle in which he was wounded. He has forgotten me. Perhaps it's best it should be so; he could not expect to hold me to my promise under present circumstances. Yet, I can never love any one else, I'm sure. [Wipes her eyes] If it was only his arm now, but the idea of a man hobbling on a wooden leg; oh! horrible!
Poor Edward! I feel for him. He might send me word how he is and what he is doing. Not a word of anything definite since Mr. McDonald wrote father that the Surgeons had decided that one of his arms must be amputated and that even if his leg were not, it would be bent and useless, and he would have to wear a wooden leg.
I wonder Edward has not come home long ago. i've tried to find out something from Mrs. Walton; but all she answers to my questions is, that Edward is as well as his friends could expect. I expect she wrote him a highly colored account of what she is pleased to term my flirtations with the Captain. I wonder, now, if she expects me to stay cooped up the house all the time. I suppose I must treat every gentleman rudely she chooses to call at our house. I don't think she ought to mis-represent me to him, however, and try to make him think ill of me. Heigho! what difference does it make, however? I can't be anything more to Edward now, I'm certain.
[Enter Mrs. Gaston.]
Mrs. G.-- Carrie, my dear, your father has received a letter from that Irishman, Patrick McDonald.
Carrie.-- What does he say of Edward, mother? he is well, I hope?
Mrs. G.-- I hope so, too, my dear; but Edward Delafield can't be anything more to you than any other acquaintance, after what has happened.
Carrie.-- Why, mother, Edward and I were raised together, and I am sure I shall always feel an interest in his welfare.
Mrs. G.-- But nothing more, Carrie. I feared that natural friendship and kind feeling might be mistaken in you for a more tender sentiment, which would be very much out of place now.
Carrie.-- I shall ever regard Mr. Delafield as a friend, but nothing more, mother.
Mrs. G.-- I am glad to hear it. Edward in a helpless cripple; and even were he to expect it, no girl of sense would be excusable in sacrificing herself to a mistaken sentiment.
Carrie.-- You don't think, mother--
Mrs. G-- No. Carrie, I don't think anything, and I am glad to find you think as I do. However, as I said before, Mr. McDonald has written to your father, and in it he makes some allusion to the visits of Capt. Thomas, and to your riding out with him.
Carrie.-- I knew some one had made it their business to let every body have a full description of my every movement.
Mrs. G.-- I think people should attend to their own affairs , instead of meddling with those of their neighbors. But, it's well as it is. If Edward Delafield indulges in any ridiculous expectations, the sooner he finds out they are useless. the better ti will be for all parties; but , my dear. i hear your father. Dis not Captain Thomas promise to call for you to-day?
Carrie.-- Yes, mother, but I don't care about going to ride.
Mrs. G.-- Pshaw! go and get yourself ready. [Enter Squire Gaston.]
Mrs. G.-- Carrie, go and do as I told you.
[Exit Carrie.]
Squire.-- I've been over to Mrs. Delafield's, Hester.
Mrs. G.-- Have they heard anything?
Squire.-- It seems not. McDonald writes as usual, that Edward is well, but less cheerful than he would like to see him.
Mrs. G.-- Poor fellow! he must feel deeply his loss; but why does he not come home?
Squire.-- In his letter to me, McDonald says they both volunteered for the war, and so long as there is any position in which they can be useful, they mean to remain.
Mrs. G.-- Edward has no one to blame but himself, if he is a cripple.
Squire.--I think more of Edward Delafield, however crippled he may be, than of all your holiday soldiers, without a scar or scratch. There's that fellow, Thomas--
Mrs. G.-- I'm sure Captain Thomas is a gentleman, and I don't see why you should call him a fellow.
Squire.-- Captain or no Captain, I think more of his room than of his company. Ned Delafield is worth a hundred like him.
Mrs. G.-- Why, Squire, how you talk! Edward is nothing but a soldier.
Squire.-- I warrant that's more than your fine Captain ever will be, for all his gold lace. I wish he'd keep outside of my house more than he does. I've often had a mind to tell him so.
Mrs. G.-- Mister Gaston, would you insult a gentleman in your own house?
Squire-- Umph! Had it not been for that, I should have given him a broad hint long ago; but I do wish you women folk would not have him hanging round here all the time.
Mrs. G.-- For my part. Mr. Gaston, Captain Thomas will always be welcomed by me, so long as he acts the gentleman.
Squire.-- Hang your gentleman! He'd better go to the army and prove himself a man, instead of dancing round you women's petticoats all the time.
Mrs. G.-- Law! Mr. Gaston, you don't suppose Capt. Thomas comes to see me do you?
Squire.-- No, he might come to see you as much as he liked and welcome; but I suspect he comes to see Carrie.
mrs. G.-- What if he did?
Squire.--What if he did! Hester, I don't meddle with you women's secrets; but I had an idea that there was some understanding between Carrie and Edward when he left.
Mrs. G.-- Pshaw! I suppose Carrie always thought well of him as a friend, nothing more. Besides, if there had been, Edward Delafield is nothing but a poor, helpless cripple.
Squire-- A cripple! D___n it! madam, how came he, for what, for whom did he sacrifice his limbs? In the defence of his country, for me, for you, madam! He has a heart left in him yet, and that's more than I would say for all your fair-weather, gold-laced Captains. If I thought a daughter of mine would wrong a noble fellow like Edward Delafield for such a dandified puppy as that Thomas, I'd drown her.
Mrs. G.-- Aint's you ashamed to talk so? Get in a passion, swear, now, will you?
Squire-- No, madam, I'm not ashamed! I'll get in a passion if I like! I'll get in a dozen passions and never get out of one! I'll swear as much as I please! I'll practice swearing, and when I get my hand in, I'll give your fine Captain the benefit of it, if he pesters me much more. You can tell him so, if you like.
Mrs. G.-- Who ever heard such a hullabaloo! A gentleman can't be polite to a young lady, I suppose, without wanting to run away with her, nor can she receive his visits without being dead in love with him. I'm ashamed for you, Mr. Gaston, if you ain't for yourself.
Squire.-- Captain Thomas may be as polite as he pleases-- d___d polite-- but nothing more about these diggings.
Mrs. G.-- He's never been anything but polite to any one here, though I can't say you have been as much towards him.
Squire.-- Nor do I mean to be. i've had a mind to set the dogs on him more than once.
[Enter Servant.]
Servant.-- Captain Thomas is coming in, madam.
Squire.-- There, now; d___n him!
Mrs. G.-- Mr. Gaston! remember this is your own house, and treat your guests as a gentleman should.
Squire.-- I wish it wasn't for ten minutes. If he's coming, I'm off, for I'm blessed if I could hold in. [Exit.]
[Enter Captain Thomas.]
Capt.-- Good afternoon, Mrs. Gaston, I hope this charming weather has relieved you of all traces of your neuralgia.
Mrs. G.-- Thank you, Captain, I am quite well; pray be seated. [They sit.] have we any news to-day?
Capt.-- None of moment. The war is virtually ended, and our absent friends are hastening home from all quarters.
Mrs. G.-- Thank Heaven! but there's many a brave soldier that will never more return, and thousands that will come home more wrecks of what they were.
Capt.-- It is the fate of war, my dear madam, all cannot escape the perils of the battlefield. How is Miss Gaston to-day?
Mrs. G.-- She complains of a slight headache. I'll tell her you are here.
Carrie.-- If she is indisposed, pray do not disturb her.
Mrs. G.-- Oh! it's nothing; girls will sit moping till they fancy themselves sick. Excuse me a moment, I'll call her. [Exit.]
Capt.-- What the deuce ails the old codger? I've been here a hundred times and found him in but twice; spite of my exertions to form a friendly acquaintance, he is distant and rather short in speech. He was here when I was announced. I wonder, now if the old chap ran off...?? Well, I can get on, him to the contrary, notwithstanding. The old lady and I are chums, and Miss Carrie I don't think very averse. she is a fine girl, and an only child. The old codger's estate will be no bad prize of itself--Egad! I hardly know which of the two, the lass or the land, is most worth attention; but united they form a magnet of irresistible power. By Jove! I hope the old fellow is not going to put in a careat. If he does, I'll have to run off with his daughter, and trust that the property to follow in due time. Here they are.
[Enter Carrie and Mrs. G.]
Capt.-- Miss Gaston, I trust I havn't kept you waiting.
Carrie.-- Not at all, Captain. I fell no inclination to ride to-day.
Mrs. G.--- Tut! tut! a ride will do you good. you must not mind her, Captain. Capt.-- I should regret the disappointment exceedingly. But a little exercise will no doubt dipel your head-ache.
Mr. G.-- Certainly it will. Go, Carrie, dear.
Carrie.-- Well, since you insist on it--
Capt.-- We shall take but a short ride, and be back in an hour. Until then, Mrs. Gaston, adieu!
[Exit Captain with Carrie]
Mrs. G.-- Mr. Gaston may say what he pleases, Capt. Thomas is a perfect gentleman, and will be a better match than any common soldier; let him fume as he will, I'll have my way in this matter, at any rate. [Exit.]

ACT III.

SCENE II.

[This and the preceding Scene should be transposed.]
[Mrs. Delafield's House.]

Mrs. D.-- Neighbor Gaston, we feel more than thankful for your many kind services, and shall ever remember them with gratitude.
Squire G.-- Pshaw! my dear madam, its not worth mentioning.
Mrs. Walton.-- You have been very kind, indeed, and without your assistance we would have had hard work to manage our plantation.
S.G.-- Not a bit--a mere trifle!
Mrs. D.--- It has taken much of your time, neighbor.
S.G.-- Only a little spare time, that's all; besides, if it had, I promised Edward that I would look after your business for you, and I was not going to forfeit my word. But where is Edward?
Mrs. W.-- He was still with the army when he wrote.
S. G.-- What the deuce is he doing there? Why does he not come home?
Mr. D.-- Heaven only knows; how I long to embrace him once more. Poor boy!
S.G.-- What can detain him? What can he be doing?
Mrs. W.-- Why, Squire, he would not leave Mr. McDonald; besides, they wrote that if they could not be useful in one thing they might in another, and as long as there was anything to do we must not expect them.
S.G.-- The war is over, and they may be expected at any moment. But how is he?
Mrs. W.-- McDonald writes that Edward is well, but very low in spirits.
S.G.-- Poor fellow! Well, we'll cheer him up. They have almost stopped writing to me.
Mrs. W.-- There may be reasons for that Squire.
S.G.-- Why, yes. I suppose Edward, poor fellow, has not yet learned to write left handed, but Pat does all his writing. However, that confounded Irishman has such a talent for writing without saying anything, that hand me if I know anything definite about Edward since the letter announcing that he was wounded so desperately. Hang all this mystery!
Mrs. W.-- We can't tell you any more, Mr. Gaston, than you already know. But have you seen the Smith's to-day?
S.G.-- Yes! They are better, and bid me thank you for your kindness in sending them a servant to help them while they are sick.
Mrs. D.-- Neighbor, please see that they want nothing. Edward requests particularly that the wants of the families of his comrades be provided for. He is the more particular, now that he is not with his old company.
S.G.-- Don't fret about that, madam; while there is a pound of meat or a bushel of meal in my house, the families of the brave men who are fighting to save my property shall share it with me.
Mrs. W.-- Yes, Mr. Gaston, but we are able to do our part, and wish to do it.
S.G.-- All right--we won't quarrel about it. It will be all one in the end, I suspect. But I must ride down and see what the boys are doing. Good day!
Mrs. D.-- Good morning, Mr. Gaston.
Mrs. W.-- Good day, Squire.
[Exit Gaston.]
Mrs. D.-- He is a good man, Olivia, and loves your brother as a son. I regret that Carrie has acted in so heartless a manner.
Mrs. W.-- Why, mother, what has she done? Almost any young girl in her situation would have done just as much.
Mrs. D.-- Not all. Would you, Olivia?
Mrs. W.-- I think not; but it's more her mother's fault than her's. Do not judge them too harshly.
Mrs. D.-- I judge no one, Livy. My duty, as a christian, forbids it; but as she was engaged to your brother, she should not have received such marked and constant attentions from any one else. Poor Edward! he feels it deeply.
Mrs. W.-- Ell, I have faith in Carrie still, in spite of appearances. Poor girl, I think she is to be pitied too. We shall see how it will end.
Mrs. D.-- My son is too high-minded to waste his affections on any woman who does not love him too truly to forget him under any circumstances, nor would you have him do so, Olivia
Mrs. W.-- No mother I would not, but----
Mrs. D.-- Say no more; I must go and see how Sally is getting on, and do you tell Jim to take a load of wood down to the Smith's.
Exeunt Omnes.

Scene III.

[Before Mrs. Delafield's House.]

[Enter Edward Delafield, left knee in a wooden leg, right sleeve armless, black patch over left eye.]
Edw.-- Home, dear home! What memories come crowding up at the sight! Home! mother! sister! Where is Olivia? She must be expecting me. Let me see. [Whistles low and retires one side.] [Mrs. Walton comes from the house.]
Mrs. W.-- I thought I heard a signal. Was it but the fancy of a mind excited by expectation? Yet, he cannot delay long.
Edw.-- [Advancing.] Livy!
Mrs. W.-- Brother! [Runs to him]
Edw.-- How have you been?-- how is mother?
Mrs. W.-- Well, all well, and now that you are returned to us thankful and happy. [Looks at Edward and laughs.
Eds.-- Do you laugh at me? How do I look?
Mrs. W.-- I won't flatter you you are a perfect fright. [Laughs.]
Edw.-- Such as no woman can be expected to love.
Mrs. W.-- Such as I would scarce expect a woman to fall in love with, but whom if she had truly loved before---
Edw.-- She would not reject when he had become so in his country's defense--that is the point!
Mrs. W.-- Ned, I believe that Carrie loved you loves you still that her affection will stand so severe a test, I will not say.
Edw.-- If it will not I shall know it, and there' an end to it.
Mrs. W.-- Be not too confident, my poor brother; indulge no hope that may be blasted and turn your heart to bitterness and grief.
Edw.-- I have none, Olivia. If what I have heard be true. Carrie has never loved me. I shall see her, note her every word and look, release her from her vows and strive to forget that she ever held the dearest place in my heart.
Mrs. W.-- My prayers are with you; but come in.
Edw.-- No, Livy, not thus. I'll go to Squire Gaston's first, and shall be back in an hour; but tell me all about Carrie and her flirtations.
Mrs. W.-- Pshaw! Come in and see mother.
Edw.-- No, not now; I would rather not.
Mrs. D.-- [From the house,] Livy, who is that you are talking with?
[Edward whispers to Mrs. W.]
Mrs. W.-- A soldier from the army, mother
Mrs. D.-- [From the house.] Ask him if he knows anything of your brother?
Mrs. W.-- He says he belongs to the same company.
Mrs. D.-- Ask him when he will be back. Never mind, I'll come out and see him myself.
Edw.-- You have got me in a scrape.
[Mrs. D. comes out knitting.]
Mrs. D.-- You say you know Edward Delafield?
Edw.-- [Disguising his voice.] Yes, ma'am, we came together; he'll be home in an hours.
Mrs. D.-- Come in my good man, and rest yourself, and take some refreshments, while you tell me all about him.
Edw.-- Thank ye, ma'am, I've just had some; I'm much obliged to you, I can't stop now.
Mrs. D.-- Olivia, go in and bring something out then. Is my son well? [Looks up and recognizes him.] Edward! [Falles in his arms-
Edw.-- Dar mother!
Mrs. D.-- Edward, my son, do I clasp you once more? Did you think a mother would not know her boy? Come in! come in!
[Mrs. D. and Edward go in, Mrs. We. following. Pat McDonald steps up, catches her by the arm and draws her back. They advance to the front.]
Pat.-- Now, you and I for it.
Mrs. W.-- Well!
Pat.-- Well!
Mrs. W.-- What do you want?
Pat.-- You!
Mrs. W.-- Fiddlesticks! let me go!
Pat.-- Not yet. Come, now, I'm too dry to talk much, and I suppose you have talked with the Captain till you are tired of palavering, so let's cut it short. What do you say?
Mrs. W.-- Nothing!
Pat.-- That won't do.
Mrs. W.-- Well, what must I say?
Pat.-- Whatever you like, my darling, suit yourself.
Mrs. W.-- Oh, go along!
So I shall, as soon as I have heard what you have to say.
Mrs. W.--Let me go; they are waiting for me in the house.
Pat.--Why the deuce do you keep them waiting? Come, out with it, and you can go.
Mrs. W-- Oh! let me be!
Pat.-- Yes, as soon as you speak out. Come, now, yes or no?
Mrs. W.-- i havn't time now.
Pat.-- Yes or no? It don't take long.
Mrs. W.-- Be still, they'll hear you.
Pat.-- [Raising his voice.] Yes or no! speak out, or I'll hollow. Yes or no!
Mrs. W.-- [Struggling to get away.] Yes!
Pat.-- [Kisses her and waves his cap.] Victoria! That's the confederate style of storming a position.
Mrs. W.-- You tormenting tease, I meant, No!
Pat.-- Oh! darling, you may mean all the meanness you please now, but I hold you to your word.
Mrs. D.-- [From the house.] Olivia! why Livy!
Pat.-- I'll change my base! [Runs off.]
Mrs. W.-- I'm coming, mother. [Hurries in]

[End of Scene III.]

SCENE IV.

[Squire Gaston's. Carrie alone.]

Carrie.-- He has arrived. He may be here at any moment-- or will he disdain to see me? No, he will come; my heart tells me so. Yet why should he? Can he expect me to be his wife, maimed, disfigured, a cripple?
Poor Edward! why would he go to the war? yet I honor him for it, and could not had he acted otherwise. He should be here even now. No, he'll not come. I have not received a letter from him for many, many months; he has forgotten me, scorns me. His heart has been set against me. Yet I have done nothing wrong. He would not expect me to avoid all company, and shut myself up like a nun. Perhaps, though, it was not right to receive attentions from anyone else; but it was not all my fault. If he knew all the facts, he could not blame me so much. His mind has been prejudiced against me. Yet I have loved none but him. [Weeps.] Loved him? Yes! But can I love him now? Can I be his wife? I wonder when he will come? Not to-day; perhaps to-morrow.
[Steps heard outside of a wooden leg.]
Oh! what is that? [approaches the door]. 'Tis he--oh! that horrible sound. [Retreats from the door, her eyes fixed on it, covering her ears with her hands.]
[Edward enters arm in sling, &c. Carrie at the sight smothers a scream, and hides her face in her handkerchief.]
Edw.-- [Approaching.] Carrie!----Miss Gaston! [He draws near slowly and deliberately.] Miss Gaston, I have come to see you even as I am. The enemy's bullets have spared my life, but I have not escaped the fate of war. Such as I stand before you, I cannot expect to appear a fit object for woman's love. I come to look on you once more-- to part from you forever! [Sarrie sobs and becomes violently agitated.] This ring, that I have worn next to my heart in sickness and in health, that has been my solace in the lonesome watch, my companion on the wounded pallet, I return to you. You are free. May you be happy. [Puts ring in her hand.] You have mine still, I pray you return it to me [Carrie returns him the same, still hiding her face.]
Edw.-- Miss Gaston!
Carrie.-- Oh! no! no!
Edw.-- You are free. I release you from your vows.
Carrie.-- [Starts back and looks on him.] Edward! our vows were mutual. I have not released you from yours.
Edward.-- Ah! when they were made, I was not what I am. Disfigured, maimed, could you consent to marry me, an object of compassion?
Carrie.-- Nay, of pride! for I could point to your honorable scars, and boast that they were earned in defense of your native land; lean on your manly arm feeling that its mate was lost shielding the women of the South from slavery and dishonor. Yes, Edward, while your body contains your noble soul, I am yours, if you but claim me.
Edw.-- How about the wooden leg? You have a horror of that?
Carrie.-- [Shudders.] I'll get used to that. Even now, I don't mind it so much; the worst is over.
Edw.-- But I thought there was a Captain Thomas in the case.
Carrie.-- [Hides her face in her handkerchief and weeps.] Oh! Edward, forgive me- I did not think-- I could not be made-- I was not all to blame. It was not of my own free will. Edward, I have loved none but you.
Edw.-- Carrie, can you, do you love me even as you behold me? Search well your heart and analyze your feelings; is it love or is it pity? Take car, lest regret might follow your decision.
Carrie.-- It is not pity.
Edw.-- And--
Carrie.-- None other would I ever wed. Edward; I am yours, if you love me still, and deem me worthy of your affection.
Edw.-- [Throws off his disguise and embraces her.] Thus do I clasp you mine, my own dear Carrie, my true hearted, faithful love. [Carrie looks up amazed, screams, and hides her face on his breast.]
[Enter Mrs. Gaston.]
Mrs. G.-- Carrie, what's the matter? [Sees Edward.] Why, sir, what are you doing?
Edw.-- Hugging your daughter, mother.
Mrs. G.-- I think you could be better employed. [sharply.]
Edw.-- I don't. It's a tie between us; Carrie must give the casting vote. [Approaches Mrs. G.] Well, aunt Hester. [Takes her hands.]
Mrs. G.-- Mr. Delafield, I'm glad to see you but--
[Enter Squire Gaston.]
Squire.-- Why, Edward, my boy! [Runs to him and hugs him.] Ha! ha! Edward, my boy! [Starts back in astonishment.] Hello! how is this? I say, where's that one arm of yours?
Edw.-- Here's one, Squire. [grasps his hand] and here's another, both at your service.
Squire.-- I'm glad of it. Ha! ha! I'm glad of it. But where's that wooden leg?
Edw.-- [Picks it up.] Here it is, will it be of any use to you?
Squire.-- No, hang it! Yes! [Takes it.} you confounded imposter. I'll teach you to play tricks on honest folks.
Edw.-- [Retreats behind Carrie.] Carrie, protect your property.
Carrie.-- Please, pa!
Squire.-- Well, I'll only knock off one leg, that's no use in hugging.
Carrie.-- Now, pa, you know how I hate a wooden leg.
Squire.-- Well, I suppose I must let him off; but he played me a scurvy trick.
Edw.-- [His arm around Carrie.] Now, Squire may I have Carrie peaceably, or must I run her off ri et armis!
Squire-- Leggibus, you mean; so, that's what she did not wan't your leg smashed for is it? Humph! you dog, you fake first, and ask afterward, do you?
[Enter Servant.]
Servant.--Captain Thomas, ma'am.
Mrs. G.-- [In a fret.] Ask him to take a seat in the dining room. I'll be there in a moment.
Squire.-- Tell him to go to the devil.
Edw.-- Show him in. I have a curiosity to see this Capt. Thomas. [Carrie struggles to get away.] No, Carrie! unless you regret your decision.
[Enter Captain Thomas.]
Capt.-- Mrs. Gaston, you servant. [Sees Edward and Carrie.] (Aside.) The devil! Here's a position for a military man! Both wings turned and the centre pressed. I see nothing left for it but a graceful surrender. [Advancing.] Mr. Delafield, I presume?
Edw.-- [coldly] At your service, sir!
Capt.-- I am not blind. sir. Allow me to congratulate you. Though, as I freely admit, things have not turned out according to my expectations, I wish you joy with all my heart. [Offers his hand.]
Edw.-- [Taking Capt. T's hand.] Captain I feel assured that our acquaintance will not belie my prepossession in your favor at our first meeting.
Capt.-- I thank you for the compliment. If I be deemed worthy of the honors of war, I beg have to stipulate for an invitation.
Edw.-- [To Carrie.] Did he make a good fight-- did he court hard?
Carrie.-- You did not get back any too soon.
Edw.-- [Laughing.] Captain, the honors are yours, you have deserved them.
Capt.-- When did you get back?
Edw.-- Less than two hours ago.
Capt.-- By Jove! you made good use of your time. How did you manage? I must take lessons.
[Enter Pat McD. and Mrs. W.]
Edw.-- I'll show you. [Puts on his disguise.]
Capt.-- [Laughing.] I see it all. Sympathy versus stripes, a woman the umpire; the odds were against me, I could not but lose.
Pat.-- [Re-enforcing.] And so, Captain, you thought it a fine thing to run away from the war, play quarter master at home, and steal our sweethearts.
Edw.-- Mac!
Capt.-- [To Edward.] Excuse me. [To Pat.} And you are Patrick McDonald, I suppose?
Pat.-- Pat or Mac to my friend, sir. Mister McDonald or Captain McDonald to the rest of mankind.
Capt.-- I beg your pardon, Capt. McDonald. In answer to your innuendo, allow me to remark that if I ran away from Granada, I did not run at Shiloh, having done my duty on the battle-field, if not with distinction, at least without dishonor, and having seen the elephant to my satisfaction. I did not deem it incumbent on me to prefer the irksome monotony of camp to an easier and less unpleasant field of duties when the opportunity to choose presented itself. As to stealing any one's sweetheart, it don't appear that I have accomplished much in that line. At any rate, Captain, I will answer for my sins of intention to the parties interested when they demand it.
Pat.-- [Runs up to him.] My dear fellow. I'm wrong. I owe you an apology, accept it and my hand. [They shake hands.] I'll make you a thousand when I have time. We'll drink it out together. You shall dance at my wedding, and kiss the bride. Then if you are not satisfied, I'll give you satisfaction. I'll fight you any way you please.
Capt.--[Laughing.] By your leave I'll stop at the kissing.
Pat.-- Not too long, though, mind you.
Capt.-- Oh, certainly not; but are you, too. going to commit matrimony?
Pat.--Shouldn't wonder. Yes? She said I might.
Capt.-- She! and who is she pray?
Pat.-- Oh! that's telling. Do as I did-- find out for yourself.
Capt.-- Well, I'll be patient; but, Captain McDonald - -
Pat.-- Oh! d___n it, call me Mac or pat, as you like. I count any man my friend whom I offer to shake hands with, drink with, or fight with.
Capt.-- Thank you; but I was about to observe that you have got the advantage of your friend.
Pat.-- How?
Capt.-- Thank you: but I was about to observe that you have got the advantage of your friend.
Pat.-- How?
Capt.-- You are a Captain, while he is nothing but a Sergeant.
Pat.-- Nothing but a sergeant, sir!
Edw.-- Mac.
Pat.-- Nothing but a Sergeant! I warrant you, sir, such another Sergeant is not to be found in the Confederacy. A Sergeant-ahem--yes! But as to that, Captain, you must admit, that a broken arm and a shattered knee are not likely to help a man much in climbing the ladder of military promotion.
Capt.-- Certainly, I understand it all.
Pat.-- [Aside.] I'm glad you do, for hang me if I understand my explanation so well myself. If I only had had my old canteen, I might have made a better one.
Edw.-- Squire, you look comfortable, while I feel half smothered in my great coat.
Squire.-- Pull it off, lad! It won't be the first time Carrie's seen you in your shirt sleeves, nor is it likely to be the last.
Edw.-- [Throws off sergeant's great coat, and appears in a Colonel's uniform.
Carrie.-- Whose coat is that?
Edw.-- Mine; that is mine and Mac's
Pat.-- Pshaw! yours and yours alone; you won it like a man.
Edw.-- Mine and Mac's, or rather his than mine. To him I owe it, nor that alone, my limbs, my life, I owe, under a kind Providence, to his valor, skill, and brotherly devotion. While pressing on the foe, whom we had driven from his battery, my arm was shattered, and still pressing forward, I fell with a ballet in my knee. The cowardly eurs seeing me fall, rallied and rushed on me to secure the flag I held in my grasp, but my fallant friend, who had never left my side, stood over me and so plied his bayonet that I was nigh being smothered under the heaps of Yankee corpses he piled over me. What with furious fighting and most outlandish Irish cursing, he held a host at bay till our men came up and drove the scoundrels again in impetuous fight.
Squire.-- 'Twas nobly done, McDonald.
Pat.-- Oh! yes, it sounds well enough the way he tells it.Edw.-- Nor was this all. He bore me from the field despite all opposition and regardless of his own wounds, thought only of my safety. The Surgeons decided that I must lose both limbs, which Mac would not listen to, insisting that the double amputation must prove fatal, which they indeed, admitted, yet insisted on operating as a forlorn hope. Mac cursed them roundly for a set of ignoramuses, sent them body and soul to a very warm region, and swore he would disect, with his own instruments, whoever attempted to put a knife to my limbs. They shrugged their shoulders and walked off. Mac set my arm and leg with his own hands, nursed me for weeks as he would a child, and by his skill restored me to health and the use of my limbs, though for months I feared my knee would remain bent forever. Yet here I am. To him I owe it all.
Mrs. W.-- And so, Mr. McDonald, you did resume your old profession of a surgeon after all.
Pat.-- What could I do? After promising to bring him back safe and sound, I could not let him return minus an arm or a leg. The next time he may mend them himself though.
Carrie.-- And so you are a Colonel, Mr. Edward Delafield?
Edw.-- Just so, Miss Carrie Gaston.
Carrie.-- Then I am not bound by any pledges.
Edw.-- How so?
Carrie.-- They were made to Sergeant, not Col. Delafield.
Capt. T.-- [Laughing] You are right, Miss Gaston, may I put in a plea for a re-hearing?
Carrie.--By no means. having suffered a Captain's addresses, and listened to a Sergeant's distresses----
Edw.-- [Catching her.] Will have to yield to a Colonel's compresses.
Carrie.-- but I should like to know how a Colonel courts.
Edw.-- I shall teach you, never fear. But, Olivia, where's mother?
Mrs. W.-- I left her preparing for church, to render thanks for a worthless boy who will not think to render thanks for himself.
Edw.-- We could not do better than to follow her example; what say you all?
Capt. T.-- Such was my intention, but I have lost my partner.
Mrs. W.-- [To McDonald.] Will you go too?
Pat.-- To church? Yes, some day when I have business there. Not to-day. I haven't been home yet. [Aside.] Come, there's Capt. Thomas, he'll gallant you. I'm afraid to trust you with him.
Mrs. W.-- [To Captain T.] Well, Captain, as we are both lefts, if you'll accept me as a substitute---
Capt. T.-- You honor me; I'll do my best to be agreeable.
Mrs. W.-- You can amuse me by reciting all the fine speeches you had prepared for the occasion.
Capt. T.-- Be merciful. Besides, I have no mind to be broad-sworded, pistoled and bayoneted, now that the war is over. [Pointing to pat.]
Squire.-- A hit, a palpable hit. Well thrust and well countered. Come, old lady, where's my coat? We shall all go.
Mrs. G.-- Don't get into a fidget, there's plenty of time. Let us have tea first.
Pat.-- By all means. This love-making always gives a man an appetite-- that is, when he is of sound mind and body, and well out of his teens.
Squire.--And an Irishman. Eh! my ex-surgeon?
Pat.-- I suppose so. Well, fall in, I'll march you to the supper room. Captain, will you do me the honor to escort Mrs. Walton?
Capt. T.-- With the greatest pleasure. [Offers her his arm]
Pat.-- In two ranks form company! [They form at a right face.] Quick step--forward-- march! Halt! Front! Colonel, two paces to the front-- march! [Edward advances.] Ned, my boy, old friends may regard your nonsense with a partial eye; others may not be so lenient. [Looks at audience.] You had best beg off before you run.
Edw.-- You are right, Mac. [To audience.] Kind friends, may we presume to ask that you will regard, with a lenient eye, our deeds and misdeeds, which, without your permission, we promise not to repeat, and to hope that, on account of our good intentions, you will be pleased to forgive the "Sergeant's stratagem."