"lM5 Pi" Hollinger Corp. pH8.5 599 5 NEW "DRTJRY LANE" VERSION. PEEP O' DAY- OE, SAVOURNEEN DHEELISH. %n Jfnslj Eomantk £kanra, IN FOUR ACTS. (Derived from " The Tales of the O'Hara Family." By EDMUND FALCONER, Author of " Inshavogue," "Extremes," " Buy Bias" " Outlaw oftJie Adriatic," etc., etts. FIRST PERFORMED AT THE LYCEUM THEATRE, LONDON, ON MON- DAY, NOVEMBER THE 11th, 1861, AND AS PRODUCED, WITH ALTERATIONS, FOR THE MODERN STAGE, AT DRURY LANE THEATRE, LONDON, UNDER THE MANAGE- MENT OF MR. F. B. CHATTERTON, ON MONDAY, FEBRUARY THE 28th, 1870. TO WHICH IS ADDED ▲ DESCRIPTION OF THE COSTUMES — CAST OF THE CHARACTERS EN- TRANCES AND EXITS — RELATIVE POSITIONS OF THE PER- FORMERS ON THE STAGE, AND THE WHOLE OF THE STAGE BUSINESS NEW YORK: ROBERT M. DE WITT, PUBLISHER No. 33 Rose Street. PEEP DAY. CAST OF CHARACTERS. Lyceum Theatre, London, Drury Lane Theatre, Nov. 11, 1861 Harry Kavanagh (Lead) Mr. H. Vezin. Stephen Purcell (Heavy ) Mr. G. Spencer. Rev. W. O'Cleary (1st Old Man) Mr. Addison. Mr. Grace (2d Old Man) Captain Howard (Light Comedy) Mr. "Walter Lacy Lieut. Graham (Utility) Black Mullins (2d Heavy) Mr. Chas. M'Intyre. Mr. W. Selby. Barney O'Tooie (1st Low Comedy) Mr. E. Falconer. Mr. J. Reynolds London, Feb. 28, 1870. Mr. J. B. Howard. Mr. Lewis Nanton. Mr. Barrett. Mr. J. Neville. Mr. F. Charles. Mr. C. Moore. (Irish. Red Murtoch Blind Paddy (to Sing) Dermot Phadrig Connor Phelim Andy the Post Paddy the Piper Billy o' the Bowl J (& , < Tim with the Woodenleg. | i aancerh > \ Lieut. Starlight Sergeant Moonshine Peasants, Soldiers, Peep o' Day Boys. Kathleen Kavanagh (Lead) Mrs. D. P. Bowers. Mary Grace (Walking Lady) Miss Clara Weston. Molshee (2d Old Woman) Miss Michells. Widow Kavanah (1st Old Woman) Mrs. Barrett. "Widow Mahone ) , T t«ij+„% Blind Paddy's Wife | ( utul W Shelah (Danseuse, to speak) . Peasant Girls. Mr. Cullen. Mr. J. Morris Mr. W. F. Vokes. Mr. F. Yokes. Miss Edith Stuart. Miss Amy Roselle. Mrs. Hudson. Miss Rosina Vokes. SCENERY {Irish. Mumter Co., 1798.) ACT I.— Scene I. — A Landscape and front of Cottage, in 5th grooves. Hills on flat. 4th e., a platform with set rocks, steps from it at c, and off l. 4. e. Rocks and trees l. side. Cottage r. 1 and 2 e. 's ; trees and rocks r. Porch to cottage overgrown with ivy. Sunset and twilight effect. Moon to rise, transparency in flat. ACT II. — Scene I. — Wood in 1st grooves. Scene 11. — Holy Well and Landscape in 6th grooves. R. 1 and 2 E.'s, ruins of church with open archway. 4th groove, a platform crossing the stage, its front masked with rocks and bushes, with steps to stage at c. L. 2 e. , a well. ACT III.— Scene I. — Room in a large house, in 3d grooves. Entrances open R. aud l. Door l. in f. Gas is down in this Scene. A table up r. c, and chairs. Scene II. -Wood in 1st grooves. Scene III. — Wood in 2d cut of 1st grooves, with the front of a cabin painted on l. side. G*FT .EST. OF 4 H. CORNING JUNE -20. 1940 Scent IV.— An unworked Quarry and view of distant hills, in 6th grooves (or set as deep as the stage permits.) -6g. Closed in. A "& E i* a 'I On flat, view of distant hilltops, with moonlight on them ; the upper entrance ia lighted with a pale blue tinge in the light. A, A, are cliffs, built as high as the space permits, connected by a bridge, B. , which swings on hinges at *F., so that when its connection with the r. cliff is severed, the bridge falls downwards and hangs by its other end. C, rocky steps leading from cliff top to the stage level. Gr, a row of rocks. R. on flat, a mountain torrent. H, H, set rocks, six to eight feet high. L. side, the top of the cliff is continued to the front where it forms a platform, from which the top of a tree, t K, can be grasped, which tree bends with the weight of a man, so as to enable him to swing himself down to c. or l. c. D, a set rock. E-, a trap, open, to represent a grave, with mound of earth beside it, and a few shovol- fuls of earth in it, to be dug up out of it. The moonlight at first falls upon the Lop of R. cliff, and gradually is turned so that, at the end of the scene it lights ail of L. side, and falls on l. c. front. ACT IV. — Scene I. — A Wood in 1st grooves, same as Scene 77, Act III. Scene II. — A Wood scene and Landscape by Moonlight, morning twilight and sunrise, in 3d or 4th grooves. A rocky ledge running along across in the upper en- trance, to bear the weight of twelve or fifteen persons. Sky sinks and borders. Trees and rocks for wings, distant hill-tops on flat in distance. COSTUMES {Irish 1798.) Harry Kavanagh. — Act I. : Dress of a well-to-do farmer, long frieze coat, long waist- coat, drab cord breeches, gray stockings, shoes, black hat. Act III. : Dark suit, long black coat, black hat. Act IV. : Green coat, cut in French military style of the period, laced with gold, white waistcoat and breeches, black high boots, black hat, sword, sash, long cloak, as before. Stephkn Purcell. — Act I. ; Walking-dress. Act II. : Change, leather rich dress. Act III. : Same as last dress. Act IV. : Change. Captain Howard, Lieut. Graham. — Scarlet coats, trimmed with gold lace, cocked hats, edged with white ostrich down, with clasp of English royal arms, swords gold swdrd knots, riding-boots. 4 TiEP DAY. Mr. Grace.— Act I. : Dress of a well-to-do iurnier. Aged about fifty ; walks with a cane. Rev. W. O'Cleary.— Priest's dress. Cane to strike with. Barney O'Toole.— This character muso speak witn tne brogue which may be less perfect in the other characters, x" easant uress, pipe. Black Mullins.— Ragged dress, biack breeches, red shirt, ragged fancy waistcoat battered black hat ; pipe, lucifer match-box. Bed Murtoch.— Wild looking peasant, Shock wig, carrotty. Short sleeves, so that his arms are bare from tlie elbow down. He carries a long knife. Blind Paddy.— Tattered dress. He sings with the cracked, forced voice of an old man who is not a trained vocalist. Billy o' the Bowl.— He must be able to coil up his legs under him so as to be car- ried on and off in a large wooden bowl. Tim with the Wooden Leg.— He bends one leg and has a wooden stump stiapped to it when he enters, but he removes it shortly afterwards. The Others. — Dress as Peasants, with variety in colors of dress, gray, blue and red being the common hues. Act //.Scene last: All have cudgels. Soldiers.— English granadier uniforms. Scarlet with buif facings, white breerbfs, white cross-belts, black cartridge-boxes, guns and bayonets. Kathleen Kavanagh.— Act /. • Neat peasant's dress. Act //. • Somewhat ragged and faded dress, black cloak. Act ///. : t~ame as Act II. Mary Grace.— Act I. : Girl's short dress of good quality. Acts /I. and IV. : Walk- ing-dresses, pretty straw hat, trimmed to match dress. Molshee. — Plain dress, colored petticoat, scarlet cloak. Widow Kavanagh.— Old woman. Plain dress, cap, white apron. Peasant Girls.— As usual. PROPERTIES. ACT /.—Scene 1st: Stool, R. c, up; pipe for Barney; bucket to well; b?,nk-notes in wallet for Pur cell ; pistol for Pun cell to fire ; guns for Soldierb ; lighted rushlight in a rude candlestick. Act //.—Scene 1st: Cane for O'Cleary Scene 2d: Stalls and booths, with slips of calico and other prints, fancy goocfs, eatables, liquors, fried cake stand r. 1 e. Act ///. — Scene 1st: Letter, bank-notes in it. Scene 2d : Knife for Murtoch ; pistols for Kavanagh ; report of pistol ready, l. Scene Sd : Leather bag full of letters. Scene 4th : Lighted, candle. Scene 5th ; Spade. Act IV. — Scene 1st : Guns .for Soldiers as before. Scene 2d: Weapons for Peasants, mostly pikes ; guns for Soldiers ; two pistols, on?, to fire. TIME OF PLAYING-THREE HOURS. Music— The overture is a medley of Irish airs, chiefly revolutionary as, " The Shan Van Voght," " Wearing of the Green," u Garry Owen," "Who feaxe to calk of '98 ? " etc. The other illustrative music will also be Irish, where* practieuble. [For Synopsis and Stage-Directions seepages 38, 39, and 40.] PEEP O' DAT. ACT I. SCENE — Cottage and Landscape in bth grooves. Sunset effect, darkening into twilight and then darkness ; finally lit by moon. Overture of Irish airs. Music — " Sweet Vale of Avoca."' Curtain rises and discovers Kathleen Kavanagh seated up R. c, on stvol or rock. A few bars of a jig. Enter Barney OToole, l. 3 e. He runs softly behind Kathleen and covers her eyes with his hands. Kathleen. Who's that, now 1 Is it you, Owny Callaghan 1 or is it Stephen Purcell T Let me go, do ! (Barney releases her and comes down c. disappointed) Oh! it's only Barney! (r. c.) Barney. Only Barney ! And for why only Barney '? Sure, I'm not the aquil of Masther Harry, hut I'm every bit as good as Owny, and sorra a one of me wud change the life wid Stephen Purcell, the old tithe-proctor and middleman*s son. Kath. I'll excuse your heated words for the once, hut you must not speak lies against a gentleman who is as good and honorable as the next man. Bar Oh ! listen to that ! Oh ! begorra ! all the foine clothes in the worruld wouldn't make a jintleman of him that carries about within him the black heart of Stephen Purcell. Kath. Faith, it's the brave b'y you are to spake against a man behind his back. Bar. Sure, and some of these days there'll be more than me that will spake out fraly before him. There, there, don't be angry wid old Bar- ney. It ain't my worruds that could mar or blacken his character. I say, darlint, whin do ye say the masther will come back from Dublin ? Kath. I expect him to-night. Bar. Sure an' he mustn't fall lame on the road home ; for if the money isn't riddy to be paid at twilve o'clock to-morrow, old Purcell will desth ain. Kath. Distrain ! oh, it would kill my mother Bar. Faix, ho much the b tter ! her tanner is not the bisfc &i sup* times, and mebbe ba 1 luck wouhl mind it. I say, Katty, avick. wasn't it a foine night for a stiole on the hills, the night Masther Hairv wint to Dublin 1 Kath. (indignantly). What's that 1 Do you mean to insult me by say- ing there is anything between Stephen Purcell and me 1 6 PEEP O' DAT. Bar. Sure and i don't say it. But Dmny Donovan, old Purcell's head driver, did say as much. Kath. The wretch ! the scamp ! the — the Bar. The blackguard ! say it, darlint ! That's what ~ called him whin I knocked him down, an' kicked him for falling. Kath. I'm glad of that ; you're a good fellow, and a true frind. Bar- ney, i offers her hand) shake hands. (Barney grasps her hand ) Bar. It's wid-plisure that I take it ; but it would be wid a great deal more av ye gave yourself wid it. Kath. I can't, Barney ; I can't. Bar. Thin take my advice, if you Avon't have me. Don't have any- thing to do wid the bad-blooded Purcclls. The brightest day wid' him wud be one of shame, sorra a lie I'm a tilling yees. And yees may walk heavy on my heart all your days, which is betther than to have him thrample yours underneath his fut, and that's how he'll thrate it, darlint — dark days ever be to him! Now, don't be angry wid me, Kathleen. Take my advice ; if you won't have me, don't have him ! and that may hiven bliss you is the prayer of old Barney O'Toole. {Music — " Savour- neen Dheelish^" changing to a lively jig, to which, Babstey runs off l. 3 e.) Kath. (alune, a). I believe him to be a good, honest boy, but jealousy blinds him to the superiority of Stephen Purcell. Don't I know— for he's told me a score of times — that he could have for the axing the pick of the Protestant quality And for all that, he means to marry me I wish he wouldn't talk of a secret marriage, though. Harry would never consent to the union, and yet I can't think of a clandestine one. [Exit thoughtfully into cottage, r. Enter, r. u. e., and along rocky ledge to c, Stephen Purcell. Purcell. There's no one in sight on the premises. Now's the time to conceal the dangerous documents, (puts packet of papers in hollow of de- cayed tree, up c. ) Kathleen must be mine ! {comes doivn c. i by fair means or foul ! (c.) If I can but put the Kavanaghs in my debt, all will go well ; if not, the brother must be got rid of, and once the girl is left alone, the devil is not in me if I can't have my way with her. (l. c.) Enter \ r., by cottage door, Kathleen. Pur. Good-morrow, Kathleen. Kath. You are come i. save you kindly, Mr. Purcell. Pur. Mister Purcell ! That's hardly fair, to treat an old friend with contempt and coldness. Before I could use you so unkindly, I should have to forget my love for you first. Have you sounded your mother on the subject 1 Kath. Yes, she don't like you — you will never, I fear, be welcome in that house. Pur. Little does thai vex me, if my memory is warm in your heart, Kathleen. Kath. You know it is. I will speak to mother again and again, and perhaps in time she will relent. But you must leave me now Pur. So soon ! Kath. My brother Harry will be here, and you must not meet him. Pur. Oh, yes ! I want to see him on business. I have been striving to soften my father towards yours, but all in vain. Unless the money is paid at the time he will not forego all Ihe penalties. Kath. Oil, sure, he'll not be so cruel. He will give us time. The growing crops will be security enough. ACT T. / Pur. My father will not listen to such arguments, so I have brought you the money to pay his demands, (gives pocket-book.) Kath. Oh, Mr. Purcell, how good you are. But I must not take it. Harry would not permit it. Besides, he will himsell bring back the money from Dublin. Pur. Pshaw ! Harry is too hopeful, too much of a child. I have my fears for you if you rely solely on him. There, do take it, and use it freely — that is the only reward I ask for my trouble in getting it — (aside) risk is better, for I took it from my father's desk at the risk of being shot by him as a thief, (l. c.) Kath. Harry will not receive it. Pur. Tush ! he can repay it. Let me show him, too, that I would be a friend. Take it as a loan — it is little to what I shall do for you when you are my wife. Kath. Well, I thank you. I will reason with Harry, and I will* try to talk over my mother to give her consent. Pur. I have some business with Harry. I won't interrupt your wel- coming of him. but I will return after, {tries to embrace her) So good-bye for the present, {offers to kiss her.) Kath. 'starts away . My mother calls me. (runs off by cottage door, r.) Pur. (alone) She's as shy as a wood-pigeon ! But wait till I have cast the net round her. {looks r.) Maybe it's you that'll be kept at a dis- tance one day, my lady, {looks off l.) Whom have we here'? As I live, it's Farmer Grace and his daughter Mary — the fairest maid and the richest man of the parish. If 1 was not entangled with Kathleen, I might turn my attention to that quarter. Well, time may bring that about, (goes up c. and exits, r. 4 e Music, plaintive.) Enter cottage door, r., Mrs. Kayanagh, supported by Kathleen to c, where the former takes a seat. Kath. Come along, mother, come out into the sun— it lingers still warm in the valleys, and its glow is a cheering light. Mrs. Kav. Ah ! an' it's the bold eyes of my boy that has the fire that's the sunlight to my sowl. Whirra ! and what would have become of me and the poor old grandfather if it hadn't been for Harry and yourself to the fore 1 Kath. Oh, don't be cast down., dear mother. Maybe we have good friends yet. Mrs. Kav. Friends, alanna ! friends I had, and, galore, my dear, whin your poor father so clan 3 forgot himsilf that he died, but much help alL thim was whin ould Purcell parsecutod us. I might have been going tol the grave thim times, and it wudn't have been borne by friends I was. (music. ) Kath. But you know we have good friends, mother, now. Mrs. Kav. (shakes her head). Where are they 1 Enter, l. 2 e. Grace and Mary Grace. Mart (runs to Mrs. Kayanagh). Here's one of them, anyhow. Kath. Mary ! Mary Ah, Mrs. Kavanagh, arc you crying 1 If I see a tear in your eyes I won't kiss you Mrs. Kav. Bless you. (embraces Mary.) Grace. Good-morrow, Mrs. Kavanaugh. Good-morrow, my girl Kathleen. Isn't the boy here yet ] Sure, Harry's been gone long. Kath. He's not returned yet. 8 PEEP DAY. Grace. Sure the boy's making a long stay of it, but he must have found out by this time that the streets there are not paved wid goold, as the gossoons do be saying betune themselves. Mrs. Kav. Sure an' the boy's as much of a fool, an' no more, as you are yourself, Mr. Grace. Grace. It's quick of wit you are, Mrs. Kavanagh ; but I like to see a hen stand up for its brood. It well becomes ye, ma'am, it well be- comes ye ! Mrs. Kav. Though I say it — that shudn't say it — there's not the aquil av my boy in all Ireland. Grace. Thrue for you ! But what did he go to Dublin for that he c'u'dn t have had at home ? Sure, I w'u'd have lint him the money over an' over agin on the axin'. Mrs. Kav. Maybe the b'y had a raison of his own for not axin'. Maybe it's not to you that he likes to be unner any obligations — in the matther o' money laste of all. Grace. What raisons ? I don't see why What's the raison 1 (Kathleen points slyly to Mary) Oh ! bekase I w'u'dn't let him pay his coort to my daughter I don't see why he c'u'dn't see a frind in me, if not a father-by-law. But to business Mary an' me have come to give yees good-bye. Mary's going to Dublin to a convent there, where she's to stay for schooling for three years. . Kath. What a long time ! and she such a great schollard already ! Grace. But it's the good manners I want tached to her. You see, I'm a thrivin' man, Mrs. Kavanagh, blissin's to the powers ! an' I shall lave my daughter a fortune fit for a lady ; and wid that I want her to have the good manners of the jintry. Mrs. Kav. (drawing Mart to her affectionately}. Och, an it's not good manners that she wants, or them that can iver spile her good heart. Grace. Faith, if her mother was alive, it's jealous she'd be of you, Mrs. Kavanagh, and with good raisons for that same. I have some business down the road. I'll lave Mary wid you till I come back. [Exit, l. 2 e. Kath. And so you are going away from home, Mary, for three years 1 Mary. Better friends I cannot find anywhere, and many times three years will not make me forget your love and kindness. Mrs. Kav. I'd be not sorry to know about the boy — who has he in Dublin to borrow the money of"? Kath. Harry is no beggar or borrower I see, Ave must tell you the story. You know, mother, how Harry does be writing all the nights after the farming is done 1 Mrs. Kav. I know it, an' to my cost ; for in the long winter nights he wastes a power of candles — ah, niver mind, it's the only thing in the way of waste that I have to blame him for. Grace. But it is not waste, mother. He was writing stories and verses for a publisher in Dublin; and there he has gone now with some of his writings to make money with them. Mrs. Kav. Do you mane to say he hopes to get all the money we want out of his head % Grace. Yes, mother, (smiling.) Mrs. Kav. Mercy on us! it's a wondher his head is not turned, (c.) Kath I m glad that I have such a brother. He'll be a great man one of these days. (r. c.) Mrs. Kav. He's a good one, and that's betther ! Mary, acushla, you're going away for a long time, and perhaps I shall never see you again. Sing me one of our ould Irish ditties to cheer away my tears. Mary. Yes, I will sing you one of Harry's favorites. ACT I. Enter, l. 4 e , Barney Bar. Good evening to ye, Miss Grace. Kath. Sh, Barney, she's going to sing to us. Bar. All right! It's dumb I am! {goes up l., takes a drinJc from well- bucket, lights his pipe and smokes, seated on well curbstone. Mary sings an Irish song of a sentimental nature. Barney goes to sleep.) Mrs. Kav. {dolefully). My heart's full of sorrow. My mind misgives me that the boy will be back. ' Kath. Oh ! how can you say so, when ye know all the love of all here is calling him to hasten on the way. Enter, i. 4 e. ; Harry Kavanagh. Har. {comes down a). Well spoken, sister, {they shake hands, etc., with him.) Mrs. Kav. My boy ! Bar. {starts up). The masther got back ! {puts away his pipe) I was as sure of it as ating ! Bedad, it's just in time. Har. There, mother, that's loving enough for a time. Kathleen, I've not seen a prettier girl since I was away. And Miss Grace, I am de- lighted to see you. But you don't ask me if I have succeeded. Mrs. Kav. I am so overjoyed by your coming. Har. Don't be alarmed, I have the money. Kath. You have it. {claps her hands.) Bar. {throws up his hut). Hooroo ! the masther's got the money, (l. c.) and old Purcell may go to the divil ! {twilight.) Har. {gives purse to Mrs. Kavanagh). Take it mother, I ea-neJ it all for you. {leads Mrs. Kavanagh to r ) You're not going, Mary 1 Kath. No ; she'll not go yet awhile till her father comes for her. {exit into cottage, Mrs. Kavanagh leaning on Harry's arm) Dear brother ! how good and how clever ! how proud I am of him ! and so should every one be who has his love. Mary. (c. ) I must say I am. Bar. I say, whafs that the mother was saying about the masther sit- ting all that brass out of his own head. Sure, I hope its not telkng stories he's been. Mary. He has written some poetry and tales, Barney. Bai:. Look at that. now. Only tlr.nk of him telling lies and such div- ilmints, whin I used to think he was above all that sort of thing. Kath. Keep your pity for your own sins, Masther Barney. Bar Sure I wish I knew where to git tome of thim tamo seeds to low in my head, and have such a harvest. Kath. It'd come to naught, for your head is barren soil, and will raise nothing but weeds. Bak. Well, I'm afeard so ! There's many a time that 1 bolavo there's nothing it is good for but to raise biushes, for my cheeks is always as 'red as a roast petaly. Mai.y. Dcix't mind her, Barney — she's only joking. You have no rea on to blush for e.iher your head or your heart. Kath. {coaxingly,. .No, indeed; and I hope you'll forgive me for my rudeness, Barney, dear. Bali. Go on wid yees ! (Kathleen coaxes him and makes him laugh. Music.) 10 PEEP o' DAT. Enter Harry, from cottage. Har. What do I hear 1 that you are going to leave us. Miss Grace — to go to a school in Dublin 1 Mary. Yes, for three years. Har. For three years. Kath. (to Barney). Come along into the cottage. Bar. I'd come to go wid you anywheres! But what am I to go in there for. Kath. (leads Barney r.V Don't you see I They're going to say good- bye — and they're sweethearts. Come along. Bar. I see. Two is company and three is none. I wudn't be in the way for the worruld. [Exit, with Kathleen, into cottage. Music — " Savourneen Dheelish." Har. Sad at all times is the parting of old friends — it is doubly sad now. Renew our engagement, loved one — give me some pledge, some plightword as a love-token, on this our first time of parting Mary. Some plight you ask me fori Oh! Harry, this separation comes to me heavy, and I fear Har. You fear! Lo ! the difference of our loves, Mury. You shrink from the idea of the term of our first separation ! Oh, Mary, Mary ! Mary. Then give me courage to bear with your absence. I cannot forget that I have loved you most in the world, but I am going away with my father, aud I don't know what may occur. Har. Then you doubt me, who, despite your cruel, faltering words, does not even at this moment doubt you. Mary. No, I do not doubt; but Har. If you do not love me I will have lost all that makes life most pleasant. Mary. No ! I will pledge myself to all you require. Only say what I am to promise, and I will swear to keep it true. Har. No, Mary, no ; take back all promises between us, and let us leave one another free, wholly free. I shall love you aud be faithful to you without a bond. Mary. No, Harry ! you are the most generous of men, and your frank- ness does not release me when my heart is still bound. Harry, I love you ; and be the years many and the distance far, yet shall I ever be your own that loves you ! (sinks into his grins) Har. My own Savourneen Dheelish ! {cease music.) Enter, l. 2 e., Grace. Grace. Ah, Harry ! so you are safe home at last. None too soon, for your mother has been sorely grieving for you. And have you got the money 1 Sure, I'm glad of that, though not contint that you didn't come to me whin your trouble came. Well, what's the news in Dublin 1 What do they say of the prospects of the rebellion l Har. There's no likelihood of an immediate rising, the government is so strong and prompt in repression. Enter, r., Kathleen and Barney, who converse with Mary, up n. Grace. I'm not sorry to hear that, though we have our share of the iron rule. They have proclaimed martial law in this district, did you know 1 Har. No. ACT I. 11 GrAje. Yes; any one found out of doors aflher dark will be arrested and sint to prison, if not across the say. It's troublous times we live in, Harry, troublous times. But say good-bye to your friends, Mary, and come ; for it's getting late, and we have to go home before we start. Kath. It's long to wait till we see you again, Mary. Bar. Good-bye, and may you niver die till an angel comes down to say you are wanted above. Har. Mary! {holds Mary's hand. Music— u Terence's Farewell" — piano. ) Mary. Dear Harry, farewell. Grace {tip c, on the rocky ledge). Och, but this is a poor parting of old swatehearts. Oh, I don't mind your giving him a kiss, as you are going away for a long time, and thin you're drame of love will be over. Har. {indignantly). I have too much respect for your daughter, Mr. Grace, to take a kiss under such circumstances. Grace, i laughs sneeringly). Ha! ha! Bar. And Miss Mary wudn't give the masther one, aither. Grace. We'll be late ; we must be gone ! Mary, {going up c, stops). Oh ! I've forgot my reticule. Grace. Stupid girl ! go back and get it directly, (he looks of, l. 4 e., impatiently. ) [Kathleen exiU with Barney into cottage. Mary {aside to Harry). Once more, Harry, I will be true ! {they hiss. ) Bar. {suddenly showing himself at the cottage door}. Ha, ha ! I saw you ! Grace {turns). You saw who — saw what 1 Bar. I saw you thrying to look round your long nose wid your small eyes ! and saw nothing ! Har. Farewell, my love ! {waves hand to Mary. Mary and Grace ex- uent l. 4 e Harry and Barney exuent into cottage. Stage clear for an in~ ttant. Gas down. Night.) Enter, r. 4 e., to c, Purcell and Molshee. Music, tremolo, bass. Pur. Are you sure you have the story pat 1 Mol. Och, niver fear ! I'll trick him nately ! Pub. Then away to a hiding place, and watch for the nick of time. [Molshee exits, l. 4 e. Enter, from cottage, Harry and Kathleen Kath. But I did not see the harm of taking it, as a loan, from Mr. Purcell. I thought Har. (a). I am angry with you, Kathleen. Where was your faith in your brother, that you let a stranger, and worse than a stranger, come to! your mother's aid % It was not well thought of you, and it Avas badly done of you to receive the kindness from the family that brought our father to the grave and ourselves to penury. Kath. I only saw the danger of the distraint, the dread of mother being killed by the shock, and so I tuk the gift. I am sure it was kindly made. Har. Kindly or not, I have my reasons not to be under any obliga- tions to the Purcells. Pur. {comes down l. a). What reasons, Harry 1 I only try to show myself your friend.* Har. Then take back your money, (gives Purcell the pocket-book') ♦Kathleen. *Harry. *Purcell. r. c. c. l. c. 12 PREP O' DAT. And with it, take all the thanks that the motive of your generosity* enti- tles you to. There's that between us that denies my being in debt to your father's son, Stephen Purcell. Pur. This is not fair, Harry. I am not answerable for my father's acts, and even if I were, I should not be debarred from making some amends by counteracting them. Deal out but common justice to me, Harry, for what I do of my own accord. * Har. Perhaps I have been unjust. Let it pass. I ask your pardon. [offers his h'