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don me, sir, I never shall deserve it.

(With increasing heat.) The country that forgets to reverence virtue;

That makes no difference 'twixt the sordid wretch

Who, for reward, risks treason's penalty,

And him unfortunate, whose duteous service

Is, by mere accident, so chang'd in form

As to assume guilt's semblance, I serve not:

Scorn to serve. I have a soldier's honor,

But 't is in union with a freeman's judgment,

And when I act, both prompt. Thus from my helm

I tear what once I proudly thought, the badge

Of virtuous fellowship. (Tears the cockade from his helmet.) My sword I keep.

Would, André, thou hadst never put thine off.

Then hadst thou through opposers' hearts made way

To liberty, or bravely pierc'd thine own!

(Exit.)

. Rash, headstrong, maddening boy!

Had not this action past without a witness,

Duty would ask that thou shouldst rue thy folly—

But, for the motive, be the deed forgotten.

(Exit.)

, ''a Village. At a distance some tents. In front muskets, drums, and other indications of soldiers' quarters''.

. The General's doors to you are ever open.

But why, mv worthy friend, this agitation?

Our colonel, your husband—

. (In tears, gives him the letter.) Read, Melville.

. Do not cry, Mama, for I 'm sure if Papa said he would come home to-day, he will come yet; for he always does what he says he will.

. He cannot come, dear love; they will not let him.

. Why, then, they told him lies. O, fye upon them!

. (Returning the letter.) Fear nothing, Madam, 't is an empty threat:

A trick of policy. They dare not do it.

. Alas, alas! what dares not power to do?

What art of reasoning, or what magic words,

Can still the storm of fears these lines have raised?

The wife's, the mother's fears? Ye innocents,

Unconscious on the brink of what a perilous

Precipice ye stand, unknowing that to-day

Ye are cast down the gulph, poor babes, ye weep

From sympathy. Children of sorrow, nurst,

Nurtur'd, 'midst camps and arms; unknowing man,

But as man's fell destroyer; must ye now,

To crown your piteous fate, be fatherless?

O, lead me, lead me to him! Let me kneel,

Let these, my children, kneel, till André, pardon'd,

Ensures to me a husband, them a father.

. Madam, duty forbids further attendance.

I am on guard to-day. But see your son;

To him I leave your guidance. Good wishes

Prosper you.

. My Arthur, O my Arthur!

. My mother!

. My son, I have been wishing

For you—

(Bursts into tears, unable to proceed.)

. But whence this grief, these tears, my mother?

Why are these little cheeks bedew'd with sorrow?

Have I done aught to cause a mother's sadness?

. No, my brave boy! I oft have fear'd, but never

Sorrow'd for thee.

. High praise! Then bless me, Madam;