DORA. Yourself, Katy, by the blushes on your cheeks and the sparkle in your eyes. You want me to read it for you? KATY. If yees plase, Miss Dora. (Hands letter.) I shall learn all your secrets, Katy. Perhaps the young man would not like that. DORA (laughs). All right, Katy. (Reads.) "Lovely Katy." KATY. That's me. Sure that's no sacret. DORA (reads). "I take me pin in hand wid a bating heart, to till yees uv the sthrong wakeniss I have for yees.' KATY. Yees moight shkip that. DORA (reads). I have nather ate, dhrunk, nor slipt, for a wake." KATY. Will, that jist accounts for the wakeniss. DORA (reads). "Barrin' my thray males a day, an' me pipe an' tobacyer." KATY. An he wid the hearty appetite! DORA (reads). "An' all me slapeliss nights are fill wid drames of yees, Katy mavourneen." KATY. Sure he's the darlin'. DORA (reads). "I have yees phortygraff nailed to the hid uv me bid; and ivery night, afther I've blown out the candle wid me fingers, I tak a good look at it, an' if ye'll belave me, there's not a dry thread in me eyes." KATY. Sure he was alwus tinder-hearted. DORA (reads). "If yees don't belave me, tak a good look at yees own face before yees open the lether, and see if I have not cause to wape." KATY. Sure I ought to have known that before the lether came. DORA (reads). "If yees foind these tinder loins blotted wid tears, it's all owing to the bad quality uv the ink, which has compilled me to pin this wid a pincil." KATY. That's no mather. DORA (reuds). "If yees don't recave this lether, or can't rade it, niver moind; ye'll know that all that's in it is the truth, an' nades nather radin' or writin' to till the same. So name the day, Katy darlin', whin me single blissidniss is to exphire, an' the mathrimoonial noose shlipped over the hid of yees lovin' and consolin' PATSY DOlan. "P.S.-These last lines are the poethry uv love. "SECOND P.S. To be rid fhirst. I inclose a ring for yees finger, which same yees will find in me nixt lether." That's all, Katy. (Hands back letter.) KATY. It's jist illigant. I'm obleeged to yees. DORA (takes shawl from chair). Quite welcome, Katy. When you get ready to name the day, I'll answer it for you. But be quick, Katy; for the poor fellow will not live long on "only his thray males a day, an' his pipe an' tobacyer.” (Runs off c. to L.) KATY (looks at letter). Sure it's a darlin' lether, an' Patsy Dolan's a broth uv a bye. Enter R., GYP. GYP. Ah, dar you is, Katy! Whar's de misses? Whar's Miss Becky? Whar's eberybody? KATY. In the garden, sure. wipe yers fate. GYP. Yas, indeed! Dolan? Yees may coom in, if yees How yer was? And how's Patsy KATY. He's will. I've jist recaved a lether from him. GYP. Dat so? Dat's good! Lub-letters am bery consolin' to de flutterin' heart. Got a letter, hab you? S'pose you red it frough and frough. De ignoramance ob de KATY. Sure I can't rade at all, at all. GYP. Read? What you take me for? How else could I debour de heaps and heaps ob lub-letters dat I constantly receibe from my adorers? KATY (aside). Faith, I'd loike to hear Patsy's lether again. (Aloud.) Thin plase rade this for me. (Hands letter.) GYP (confused). Wh-wh-what you take me fur? (Aside.) Golly! she cotch me den. (Aloud.) No, chile: dose tender confections am fur you alone, and dey shouldn't be composed to de world KATY. An' sure yees can't rade. GYP. What's that? Can't read? it round several times.) Berry long letter. all? KATY. Ivery word. (Takes letter, and turns Want to hear it GYP (aside). Mussn't gib in. Spec dase all alike. (Aloud.) Ob course, ob course. (Pretends to read.) "Lab liest ob your sexes KATY. Sure that's not there. GYP (shows letter). See fur yerself, see fur yerself. KATY. Go on wid the lether. GYP. "Sublimest ob de fair sexes, dis am a whale ob tears. Dar ain't no sunshine of moonshine widɔut you." KATY. That's not thrue at all, at all. GYP (shows letter). Read it yerself, read yerself. GYP. "De noon on de lake am beamin', de lubly sumflower perfumeries in de garden, de tuneful frogs meliferously warble in de riber, an' de breezes blow fro' de treeses; but my lub, my lub, whar, oh, whar am she?" KATY. I don't belave GYP (as before). See fur yerself, see fur yerself! lether. GYP. "My lub she isn't hansum, My lub she isn't fair; But to cook de beef and 'taters Dat's potry, Katy, dat is; alwus find lots ob dat in ub letters: it gibs dem a flabor. KATY. I don't belave it's there. GYP (as before). See fur yerself, see fur yerself! GYP. Luf me see, wha was I? "Come rest on dis yere head your aching breast." Dey all got dat, Katy, an' un' (aside), well, I'se jest puzzled fur more: guess we'll hab some more poetry (aloud) an'—an' "We'll dance all night till broad daylight, KATY. It's no such thing! Yer desavin' me, so yees are! KATY (Snatching letter). So I will. It's false and desateful yees are, for Miss Dora rid the lether, an' - an' it was jist illegant, so it was an' it's yersilf, bad luck to the loikes ov yees, whin yees can't rade! an' it's the blissid troth I'm tillin', - invintin' a bit uv blarney to make troL. ble betwane a poor girl an' her Patsy. Away wid yees! [Exit door R. GYP. Well, I guess she fooled me dat time. No use. Dar's alwus trubble interferin' in lub affairs, jest like domestic affairs: when man and wife am fighting, of you try to be a messenger ob peace, ef you don't look out, you'll git de broomstick onto yer own head. [Exit. RESERVED POWER. THIS mule looked like he was a hundred and thirty-eight years old, and was dead standing upon his feet. He was hitched to a pine-bodied spring wagon, with a high dashboard. The "team was standing on the levee in mute silence, while the old darky who "driv " it went aboard the wharf-boat. A tramp could make a barrel of money selling pictures of that mule, labelled "Patience." His long, flabby ears hung down each side of his head like window-awnings with the rods out of them. His face wore a sober look, while out of his mouth hung a tongue eight inches long. His tail swung down from the rear end of his hurricane roof like a wet rope, while his whole body seemed as motionless as death itself. Presently a red-headed urchin, with an old boot in his hand, walked up in front of him, and, looking into his face, saw that the mule was asleep. He walked around, climbed up into that wagon, leaned over the dash-board, lifted that mule's tail, and let it come down in time to catch a death-grip on that boot-leg. That mule woke up so quick, that he kicked the boy and the dash-board twenty feet into the air. He didn't stop there. He changed the position of his ears, hauled in his tongue, planted his fore-feet and his head between his knees, and from the fore-shoulders to the tip of his trunk was in lively motion; and he didn't look like he was more than two years old, the way he was kicking that old wagon-body into kindling-wood with his heels. He had it all to himself, and was doing fine, when the old darky rushed up the hill, got in front of him, and, grabbing him by each ear, shouted, " Whoa, I tell you! Wat's de matter wid you? Whoa-up!" and, looking around at the crowd, yelled, “ Will some o' yer gemmen git dat ere boot-leg out wile I hole him? kase de waggin's mine, an' I jes' borrowed de mule.” But no one ventured; and when we left, his heels had almost reached the tail-gate, and the old darky was still yelling, "Whoa!” TALK ABOUT SHOOTING. THEY had been talking about the remarkable performances of Dr. Carver, the marksman who shoots with a rifle glass balls which are sent into the air as fast as a man can throw them. Presently Abner Byng, who was standing by, said, "That's nothing." "What is nothing?" 66 Why, that shooting. Did you ever know Tom Potter?” "No." "Well, Potter was the best hand with a rifle I ever saw; beat this man Carver all hollow. I'll tell you what I've seen this man Potter do. You know, maybe, along there in the cherry season Mrs. Potter would want to preserve some cherries; so Tom would pick 'em for her, and how do you think he'd stone 'em?" "I don't know. How?" 66 Why, he'd fill his gun with bird-shot, and get a boy to drop half a bushel of cherries at one time from the roof of the house. As they came down he'd fire, and take the stone clean out of every cherry in the lot! It's a positive fact! He might occasionally miss one, but not often. But he did bigger shooting than that when he wanted to." "What did he do?" 66 Why, Jim Miller - did you know him? No? Well, Tom made a bet once with Jim that he could shoot the button off of his own coat-tail by shooting in the opposite direction, and Jim took him up.” "Did he do it?" "Do it! He fixed himself in position, and aimed at a tree in front of him. The ball hit the tree, carromed, hit the |