Peggotty.—­Who’s the man?  What’s his name?  I want to know the man’s name.

Ham.—­It warn’t no fault of yours, Mas’r Davy, that I know.

Peggotty.—­What!  You don’t mean his name’s Steerforth, do you?

Ham.—­Yes!  His name is Steerforth, and he’s a cursed villain!

Peggotty.—­Where’s my coat?  Give me my coat!  Help me on with it, Mas’r Davy.  Now bear a hand theer with my hat.

David.—­Where are you going, Mr. Peggotty?

Peggotty.—­I’m a goin’ to seek fur my little Em’ly.  First, I’m going to stave in that theer boat and sink it where I’d a drownded him, as I’m a living soul; if I’d a known what he had in him!  I’d a drownded him, and thought I was doin’ right!  Now I’m going to seek fur my Little Em’ly throughout the wide wurrety!

* * * * *

A SCENE FROM THE SHAUGHRAUN.

Introduction.—­This scene introduces the following characters:—­Conn, the Shaughraun, a reckless, devil-may-care, true-hearted young vagabond, who is continually in a scrape from his desire to help a friend and his love of fun; his mother, Mrs. O’Kelly; his sweetheart, Moya Dolan, niece of the parish priest.

It is evening.  Moya is alone in the kitchen.  She has just put the kettle on the fire when Mrs. O’Kelly, Conn’s mother, enters.

Mrs. O’K.—­Is it yourself, Moya?  I’ve come to see if that vagabond of mine has been around this way.

Moya.—­Why should he be here, Mrs. O’Kelly?  Hasn’t he a home of his own?

Mrs. O’K.—­The Shebeen is his home when he is not in jail.  His father died o’ drink, and Conn will go the same way.

Moya.—­I thought your husband was drowned at sea?

Mrs. O’K.—­And bless him, so he was.

Moya.—­Well, that’s a quare way o’ dying o’ drink.

Mrs. O’K.—­The best of men he was, when he was sober—­a betther never drhawed the breath o’ life.

Moya.—­But you say he never was sober.

Mrs. O’K.—­Niver!  An’ Conn takes afther him!

Moya.—­Mother, I’m afeared I shall take afther Conn.

Mrs. O’K.—­Heaven forbid, and purtect you agin him!  You a good dacent gurl, and desarve the best of husbands.

Moya.—­Them’s the only ones that gets the worst.  More betoken yoursilf, Mrs. O’Kelly.

Mrs. O’K.—­Conn niver did an honest day’s work in his life—­but dhrinkin’ and fishin’, an’ shootin’, an’ sportin’, and love-makin’.

Moya.—­Sure, that’s how the quality pass their lives.

Mrs. O’K.—­That’s it.  A poor man that sports the sowl of a gintleman is called a blackguard.

(At this moment Conn appears in the doorway.)