ACT III.

_A Room in Mrs. Peyton's house; entrances,_ R. U. E. _and_ L. U. E.--_An Auction Bill stuck up,_ L.--_chairs,_ C., _and tables,_ R. _and_ L.

Solon _and_ Grace _discovered._

_Pete._ [_Outside,_ R. U. E.] Dis way--dis way.

_Enter_ Pete, Pointdexter, Jackson, Lafouche, _and_ Caillou, R. U. E.

_Pete._ Dis way, gen'l'men; now Solon--Grace--dey's hot and tirsty--sangaree, brandy, rum.

_Jackson._ Well, what d'ye say, Lafouche--d'ye smile?

_Enter_ Thibodeaux _and_ Sunnyside, R. U. E.

_Thibo._ I hope we don't intrude on the family.

_Pete._ You see dat hole in dar, sar. [R. U. E.] I was raised on dis yar plantation--neber see no door in it--always open, sar, for stranger to walk in.

_Sunny._ And for substance to walk out.

_Enter_ Ratts, R. U. E.

_Ratts._ Fine southern style that, eh!

_Lafouche._ [_Reading bill._] "A fine, well-built old family mansion, replete with every comfort."

_Ratts._ There's one name on the list of slaves scratched, I see.

_Lafouche._ Yes; No. 49, Paul, a quadroon boy, aged thirteen.

_Sunny._ He's missing.

_Point._ Run away, I suppose.

_Pete._ [_Indignantly._] No, sar; nigger nebber cut stick on Terrebonne; dat boy's dead, sure.

_Ratts._ What, Picayune Paul, as we called, him, that used to come aboard my boat?--poor little darkey, I Hope not; many a picayune he picked up for his dance and nigger-songs, and he supplied our table with fish and game from the Bayous.

_Pete._ Nebber supply no more, sar--nebber dance again. Mas'r Ratts, you hard him sing about de place where de good niggers go, de last time.

_Ratts._ Well!

_Pete._ Well, he gone dar hisself; why, I tink so--'cause we missed Paul for some days, but nebber tout nothin' till one night dat Injiun Wahnotee suddenly stood right dar 'mongst us--was in his war paint, and mighty cold and grave--he sit down by de fire. "Whar's Paul?" I say--he smoke and smoke, but nebber look out ob de fire; well knowing dem critters, I wait a long time--den he say, "Wahnotee, great chief;" den I say nothing--smoke anoder time--last, rising to go, he turn round at door, and say berry low--O, like a woman's voice, he say, "Omenee Pangeuk,"--dat is, Paul is dead--nebber see him since.

_Ratts._ That red-skin killed him.

_Sunny._ So we believe; and so mad are the folks around, if they catch the red-skin they'll lynch him sure.

_Ratts._ Lynch him! Darn his copper carcass, I've got a set of Irish deck-hands aboard that just loved that child; and after I tell them this, let them get a sight of the red-skin, I believe they would eat him, tomahawk and all. Poor little Paul!

_Thibo._ What was he worth?

_Ratts._ Well, near on five hundred dollars.

_Pete._ [_Scandalized._] What, sar! You p'tend to be sorry for Paul, and prize him like dat. Five hundred dollars!--[_To_ Thibodeaux.] Tousand dollars, Massa Thibodeaux.

_Enter_ Scudder, L. U. E.

_Scud._ Gentlemen, the sale takes place at three. Good morning, Colonel. It's near that now, and there's still the sugar-houses to be inspected. Good day, Mr. Thibodeaux--shall we drive down that way? Mr. Lafouche, why, how do you do, sir? you're looking well.

_Lafouche._ Sorry I can't return the compliment.

_Ratts._ Salem's looking a kinder hollowed out.

_Scud._ What, Mr. Ratts, are you going to invest in swamps?

_Ratts._ No; I want a nigger.

_Scud._ Hush.

_Pete._ [R.] Eh! wass dat?

_Scud._ Mr. Sunnyside, I can't do this job of showin' round the folks; my stomach goes agin it. I want Pete here a minute.

_Sunny._ I'll accompany them certainly.

_Scud._ [_Eagerly._] Will ye? Thank ye; thank ye.

_Sunny._ We must excuse Scudder, friends. I'll see you round the estate.

_Enter_ George _and_ Mrs. Peyton, L. U. E.

_Lafouche._ Good morning, Mrs. Peyton. [_All salute._]

_Sunny._ This way, gentlemen.

_Ratts._ [_Aside to_ Sunnyside.] I say, I'd like to say summit soft to the old woman; perhaps it wouldn't go well, would it?

_Thibo._ No; leave it alone.

_Ratts._ Darn it, when I see a woman in trouble, I feel like selling the skin off my back. [_Exit_ Thibodeaux, Sunnyside, Ratts, Pointdexter, Grace, Jackson, Lafouche, Caillou, Solon, R. U. E.

_Scud._ [_Aside to_ Pete.] Go outside, there; listen to what you hear, then go down to the quarters and tell the boys, for I can't do it. O, get out.

_Pete._ He said I want a nigger. Laws, mussey! What am goin' to cum ob us! [_Exit slowly, as if concealing himself,_ R. U. E.

_George._ [C.] My dear aunt, why do you not move from this painful scene? Go with Dora to Sunnyside.

_Mrs. P._ [R.] No, George; your uncle said to me with his dying breath, "Nellie, never leave Terrebonne," and I never will leave it, till the law compels me.

_Scud._ [L.] Mr. George, I'm going to say somethin' that has been chokin' me for some time. I know you'll excuse it. Thar's Miss Dora--that girl's in love with you; yes, sir, her eyes are startin' out of her head with it; now her fortune would redeem a good part of this estate.

_Mrs. P._ Why, George, I never suspected this!

_George._ I did, aunt, I confess, but--

_Mrs. P._ And you hesitated from motives of delicacy?

_Scud._ No, ma'am; here's the plan of it. Mr. George is in love with Zoe.

_George._ Scudder!

_Mrs. P._ George!

_Scud._ Hold on now! things have got so jammed in on top of us, we ain't got time to put kid gloves on to handle them. He loves Zoe, and has found out that she loves him. [_Sighing._] Well, that's all right; but as he can't marry her, and as Miss Dora would jump at him--

_Mrs. P._ Why didn't you mention this before?

_Scud._ Why, because I love Zoe, too, and I couldn't take that young feller from her; and she's jist living on the sight of him, as I saw her do; and they so happy in spite of this yer misery around them, and they reproachin' themselves with not feeling as they ought. I've seen it, I tell you; and darn it, ma'am, can't you see that's what's been a hollowing me out so--I beg your pardon.

_Mrs. P._ O, George,--my son, let me call you,--I do not speak for my own sake, nor for the loss of the estate, but for the poor people here; they will be sold, divided, and taken away--they have been born here. Heaven has denied me children; so all the strings of my heart have grown around and amongst them, like the fibres and roots of an old tree in its native earth. O, let all go, but save them! With them around us, if we have not wealth, we shall at least have the home that they alone can make--

_George._ My dear mother--Mr. Scudder--you teach me what I ought to do; if Miss Sunnyside will accept me as I am, Terrebonne shall be saved; I will sell myself, but the slaves shall be protected.

_Mrs. P._ _Sell_ yourself, George! Is not Dora worth any man's--

_Scud._ Don't say that, ma'am; don't say that to a man that loves another gal. He's going to do an heroic act; don't spile it.

_Mrs. P._ But Zoe is only an Octoroon.

_Scud._ She's won this race agin the white, anyhow; it's too late now to start her pedigree.

_Enter_ Dora, L. U. E.

_Scud._ [Seeing Dora.] Come, Mrs. Peyton, take my arm. Hush! here's the other one; she's a little too thoroughbred--too much of the greyhound; but the heart's there, I believe. [_Exit_ Scudder _and_ Mrs. Peyton, R. U. E.

_Dora._ Poor Mrs. Peyton.

_George._ Miss Sunnyside, permit me a word; a feeling of delicacy has suspended upon my lips an avowal, which--

_Dora._ [_Aside._] O, dear, has he suddenly come to his senses?

_Enter_ Zoe, L. U. E., _she stops at back._

_George._ In a word, I have seen and admired you!

_Dora._ [_Aside._] He has a strange way of showing it. European, I suppose.

_George._ If you would pardon the abruptness of the question, I would ask you, Do you think the sincere devotion of my life to make yours happy would succeed?

_Dora._ [_Aside._] Well, he has the oddest way of making love.

_George._ You are silent?

_Dora._ Mr. Peyton, I presume you have hesitated to make this avowal because you feared, in the present condition of affairs here, your object might be misconstrued, and that your attention was rather to my fortune than myself. [_A pause._] Why don't he speak?--I mean, you feared I might not give you credit for sincere and pure feelings. Well, you wrong me. I don't think you capable of anything else than--

_George._ No, I hesitated because an attachment I had formed before I had the pleasure of seeing you had not altogether died out.

_Dora._ [_Smiling._] Some of those sirens of Paris, I presume, [_Pause._] I shall endeavor not to be jealous of the past; perhaps I have no right to be. [_Pause._] But now that vagrant love is--eh? faded--is it not? Why don't you speak, sir?

_George._ Because, Miss Sunnyside, I have not learned to lie.

_Dora._ Good gracious--who wants you to?

_George._ I do, but I can't do it. No, the love I speak of is not such as you suppose,--it is a passion that has grown up here since I arrived; but it is a hopeless, mad, wild feeling, that must perish.

_Dora._ Here! since you arrived! Impossible; you have seen no one; whom can you mean?

_Zoe._ [_Advancing,_ C.] Me.

_George._ [L.] Zoe!

_Dora._ [R.] You!

_Zoe._ Forgive him, Dora; for he knew no better until I told him. Dora, you are right. He is incapable of any but sincere and pure feelings--so are you. He loves me--what of that? You know you can't be jealous of a poor creature like me. If he caught the fever, were stung by a snake, or possessed of any other poisonous or unclean thing, you could pity, tend, love him through it, and for your gentle care he would love you in return. Well, is he not thus afflicted now? I am his love--he loves an Octoroon.

_George._ O, Zoe, you break my heart!

_Dora._ At college they said I was a fool--I must be. At New Orleans, they said, "She's pretty, very pretty, but no brains." I'm afraid they must be right; I can't understand a word of all this.

_Zoe._ Dear Dora, try to understand it with your heart. You love George; you love him dearly; I know it; and you deserve to be loved by him. He will love you--he must. His love for me will pass away--it shall. You heard him say it was hopeless. O, forgive him and me!

_Dora._ [_Weeping._] O, why did he speak to me at all then? You've made me cry, then, and I hate you both! [_Exit_ L., _through room._

_Enter_ Mrs. Peyton _and_ Scudder, M'Closky _and_ Pointdexter, R.

_M'Closky._ [C.] I'm sorry to intrude, but the business I came upon will excuse me.

_Mrs. Pey._ Here is my nephew, sir.

_Zoe._ Perhaps I had better go.

_M'Closky._ Wal, as it consarns you, perhaps you better had.

_Scud._ Consarns Zoe?

_M'Closky._ I don't know; she may as well hear the hull of it. Go on, Colonel--Colonel Pointdexter, ma'am--the mortgagee, auctioneer, and general agent.

_Point._ [R. C.] Pardon me, madam, but do you know these papers? [_Hands papers to_ Mrs. Peyton.]

_Mrs. Pey._ [_Takes them._] Yes, sir; they were the free papers of the girl Zoe; but they were in my husband's secretary. How came they in your possession?

_M'Closky._ I--I found them.

_George._ And you purloined them?

_M'Closky._ Hold on, you'll see. Go on, Colonel.

_Point._ The list of your slaves is incomplete--it wants one.

_Scud._ The boy Paul--we know it.

_Point._ No, sir; you have omitted the Octoroon girl, Zoe.

[_Together._] _Mrs. Pey._ Zoe! _Zoe._ Me!

_Point._ At the time the judge executed those free papers to his infant slave, a judgment stood recorded against him; while that was on record he had no right to make away with his property. That judgment still exists; under it and others this estate is sold to-day. Those free papers ain't worth the sand that's on 'em.

_Mrs. Pey._ Zoe a slave! It is impossible!

_Point._ It is certain, madam; the judge was negligent, and doubtless forgot this small formality.

_Scud._ But the creditors will not claim the gal?

_M'Closky._ Excuse me; one of the principal mortgagees has made the demand. [_Exit_ M'Closky _and_ Pointdexter, R. U. E.

_Scud._ Hold on yere, George Peyton; you sit down there. You're trembling so, you'll fall down directly. This blow has staggered me some.

_Mrs. Pey._ O, Zoe, my child! don't think too hardly of your poor father.

_Zoe._ I shall do so if you weep. See, I'm calm.

_Scud._ Calm as a tombstone, and with about as much life. I see it in your face.

_George._ It cannot be! It shall not be!

_Scud._ Hold your tongue--it must. Be calm--darn the things; the proceeds of this sale won't cover the debts of the estate. Consarn those Liverpool English fellers, why couldn't they send something by the last mail? Even a letter, promising something--such is the feeling round amongst the planters. Darn me, if I couldn't raise thirty thousand on the envelope alone, and ten thousand more on the post-mark.

_George._ Zoe, they shall not take you from us while I live.

_Scud._ Don't be a fool; they'd kill you, and then take her, just as soon as--stop; Old Sunnyside, he'll buy her! that'll save her.

_Zoe._ No, it won't; we have confessed to Dora that we love each other. How can she then ask her father to free me?

_Scud._ What in thunder made you do that?

_Zoe._ Because it was the truth; and I had rather be a slave with a free soul, than remain free with a slavish, deceitful heart. My father gives me freedom--at least he thought so. May Heaven bless him for the thought, bless him for the happiness he spread around my life. You say the proceeds of the sale will not cover his debts. Let me be sold then, that I may free his name. I give him back the liberty he bestowed upon me; for I can never repay him the love he bore his poor Octoroon child, on whose breast his last sigh was drawn, into whose eyes he looked with the last gaze of affection.

_Mrs. Pey._ O, my husband! I thank Heaven you have not lived to see this day.

_Zoe._ George, leave me! I would be alone a little while.

_George._ Zoe! [_Turns away overpowered._]

_Zoe._ Do not weep, George. Dear George, you now see what a miserable thing I am.

_George._ Zoe!

_Scud._ I wish they could sell me! I brought half this ruin on this family, with my all-fired improvements. I deserve to be a nigger this day--I feel like one, inside. [_Exit_ Scudder, L. U. E.

_Zoe._ Go now, George--leave me--take her with you. [_Exit_ Mrs. Peyton _and_ George, L. U. E.] A slave! a slave! Is this a dream--for my brain reels with the blow? He said so. What! then I shall be sold!--sold! and my master--O! [_falls on her knees, with her face in her hands_] no--no master, but one. George--George--hush--they come! save me! No, [_looks off,_ R.] 'tis Pete and the servants--they come this way. [_Enters inner room,_ R. U. E.]

_Enter_ Pete, Grace, Minnie, Solon, Dido, _and all_ Niggers, R. U. E.

_Pete._ Cum yer now--stand round, cause I've got to talk to you darkies--keep dem chil'n quiet--don't make no noise, de missus up dar har us.

_Solon._ Go on, Pete.

_Pete._ Gen'l'men, my colored frens and ladies, dar's mighty bad news gone round. Dis yer prop'ty to be sold--old Terrebonne--whar we all been raised, is gwine--dey's gwine to tak it away--can't stop here no how.

_Omnes._ O-o!--O-o!

_Pete._ Hold quiet, you trash o' niggers! tink anybody wants you to cry? Who's you to set up screching?--be quiet! But dis ain't all. Now, my culled brethren, gird up your lines, and listen--hold on yer bref--it's a comin. We tought dat de niggers would belong to de ole missus, and if she lost Terrebonne, we must live dere allers, and we would hire out, and bring our wages to ole Missus Peyton.

_Omnes._ Ya! ya! Well--

_Pete._ Hush! I tell ye, 't'ain't so--we can't do it--we've got to be sold--

_Omnes._ Sold!

_Pete._ Will you hush? she will har you. Yes! I listen dar jess now--dar was ole lady cryin'--Mas'r George--ah! you seen dem big tears in his eyes. O, Mas'r Scudder, he didn't cry zackly; both ob his eyes and cheek look like de bad Bayou in low season--so dry dat I cry for him. [_Raising his voice._] Den say de missus, "'Tain't for de land I keer, but for dem poor niggars--dey'll be sold--dat wot stagger me." "No," say Mas'r George, "I'd rather sell myself fuss; but dey shan't suffer, nohow,--I see 'em dam fuss."

_Omnes._ O, bless um! Bless Mas'r George.

_Pete._ Hole yer tongues. Yes, for you, for me, for dem little ones, dem folks cried. Now, den, if Grace dere wid her chil'n were all sold, she'll begin screechin' like a cat. She didn't mind how kind old judge was to her; and Solon, too, he'll holler, and break de ole lady's heart.

_Grace._ No, Pete; no, I won't. I'll bear it.

_Pete._ I don't tink you will any more, but dis here will; 'cause de family spile Dido, dey has. She nebber was 'worth much 'a dat nigger.

_Dido._ How dar you say dat, you black nigger, you? I fetch as much as any odder cook in Louisiana.

_Pete._ What's de use of your takin' it kind, and comfortin' de missus heart, if Minnie dere, and Louise, and Marie, and Julie is to spile it?

_Minnie._ We won't, Pete; we won't.

_Pete._ [_To the men._] Dar, do ye hear dat, ye mis'able darkies, dem gals is worth a boat load of kinder men dem is. Cum, for de pride of de family, let every darky look his best for the judge's sake--dat ole man so good to us, and dat ole woman--so dem strangers from New Orleans shall say, Dem's happy darkies, dem's a fine set of niggars; every one say when he's sold, "Lor' bless dis yer family I'm gwine out of, and send me as good a home."

_Omnes._ We'll do it, Pete; we'll do it.

_Pete._ Hush! hark! I tell ye dar's somebody in dar. Who is it?

_Grace._ It's Missy Zoe. See! see!

_Pete._ Come along; she har what we say, and she's cryin' for us. None o' ye ign'rant niggars could cry for yerselves like dat. Come here quite; now quite. [_Exit_ Pete _and all the_ Negroes, _slowly,_ R. U. E.

_Enter_ Zoe [_supposed to have overheard the last scene_], L. U. E.

_Zoe._ O! must I learn from these poor wretches how much I owed, how I ought to pay the debt? Have I slept upon the benefits I received, and never saw, never felt, never knew that I was forgetful and ungrateful? O, my father! my dear, dear father! forgive your poor child. You made her life too happy, and now these tears will be. Let me hide them till I teach my heart. O, my--my heart! [Exit, with a low, wailing, suffocating cry, L. U. E.

_Enter_ M'Closky, Lafouche, Jackson, Sunnyslde, _and_ Pointdexter, R. U. E.

_Point._ [_Looking at watch._] Come, the hour is past. I think we may begin business. Where is Mr. Scudder? Jackson, I want to get to Ophelensis to-night.

_Enter_ Dora, R.

_Dora._ Father, come here.

_Sunny._ Why, Dora, what's the matter? Your eyes are red.

_Dora._ Are they? thank you. I don't care, they were blue this morning, but it don't signify now.

_Sunny._ My darling! who has been teasing you?

_Dora._ Never mind. I want you to buy Terrebonne.

_Sunny._ Buy Terrebonne! What for?

_Dora._ No matter--buy it!

_Sunny._ It will cost me all I'm worth. This is folly, Dora.

_Dora._ Is my plantation at Comptableau worth this?

_Sunny._ Nearly--perhaps.

_Dora._ Sell it, then, and buy this.

_Sunny._ Are you mad, my love?

_Dora._ Do you want me to stop here and bid for it?

_Sunny._ Good gracious! no.

_Dora._ Then I'll do it, if you don't.

_Sunny._ I will! I will! But for Heaven's sake go--here comes the crowd. [_Exit_ Dora, L. U. E.] What on earth does that child mean or want?

_Enter_ Scudder, George, Ratts, Caillou, Pete, Grace, Minnie, _and all the Negroes. A large table is in the_ C., _at back._ Pointdexter mounts the table with his hammer, his Clerk sits at his feet. The Negro mounts the table from behind_ C. _The Company sit._

_Point._ Now, gentlemen, we shall proceed to business. It ain't necessary for me to dilate, describe, or enumerate; Terrebonne is known to you as one of the richest bits of sile in Louisiana, and its condition reflects credit on them as had to keep it. I'll trouble you for that piece of baccy, Judge--thank you--so, gentlemen, as life is short, we'll start right off. The first lot on here is the estate in block, with its sugar-houses, stock, machines, implements, good dwelling-houses and furniture. If there is no bid for the estate and stuff, we'll sell it in smaller lots. Come, Mr. Thibodeaux, a man has a chance once in his life--here's yours.

_Thib._ Go on. What's the reserve bid?

_Point._ The first mortgagee bids forty thousand dollars.

_Thib._ Forty-five thousand.

_Sunny._ Fifty thousand.

_Point._ When you have done joking, gentlemen, you'll say one hundred and twenty thousand. It carried that easy on mortgage.

_Lafouche._ [R.] Then why don't you buy it yourself, Colonel?

_Point._ I'm waiting on your fifty thousand bid.

_Caillou._ Eighty thousand.

_Point._ Don't be afraid; it ain't going for that, Judge.

_Sunny._ [L.] Ninety thousand.

_Point._ We're getting on.

_Thib._ One hundred--

_Point._ One hundred thousand bid for this mag--

_Caillou._ One hundred and ten thousand--

_Point._ Good again--one hundred and--

_Sunny._ Twenty.

_Point._ And twenty thousand bid. Squire Sunnyside is going to sell this at fifty thousand advance to-morrow.--[_Looks round._] Where's that man from Mobile that wanted to give one hundred and eighty thousand?

_Thib._ I guess he ain't left home yet, Colonel.

_Point._ I shall knock it down to the Squire--going--gone--for one hundred and twenty thousand dollars. [_Raises hammer._] Judge, you can raise the hull on mortgage--going for half its value. [_Knocks._] Squire Sunnyside, you've got a pretty bit o' land, Squire. Hillo, darkey, hand me a smash dar.

_Sunny._ I got more than I can work now.

_Point._ Then buy the hands along with the property. Now, gentlemen, I'm proud to submit to you the finest lot of field hands and house servants that was ever offered for competition; they speak for themselves, and do credit to their owners.--[_Reads._] "No. 1, Solon, a guess boy, and good waiter."

_Pete._ [R. C.] That's my son--buy him, Mas'r Ratts; he's sure to sarve you well.

_Point._ Hold your tongue!

_Ratts._ [L.] Let the old darkey alone--eight hundred for that boy.

_Caillou._ Nine.

_Ratts._ A thousand.

_Solon._ Thank you, Mas'r Ratts; I die for you, sar; hold up for me, sar.

_Ratts._ Look here, the boy knows and likes me, Judge; let him come my way?

_Caillou._ Go on--I'm dumb.

_Point._ One thousand bid. [_Knocks._] He's yours, Captain Ratts, Magnolia steamer. [Solon _goes down and stands behind_ Ratts.] "No. 2, the yellow girl Grace, with two children--Saul, aged four, and Victoria five." [_They get on table._]

_Scud._ That's Solon's wife and children, Judge.

_Grace._ [_To_ Ratts.] Buy me, Mas'r Ratts, do buy me, sar?

_Ratts._ What in thunder should I do with you and those devils on board my boat?

_Grace._ Wash, sar--cook, sar--anyting.

_Ratts._ Eight hundred agin, then--I'll go it.

_Jackson._ Nine.

_Ratts._ I'm broke, Solon--I can't stop the Judge.

_Thib._ What's the matter, Ratts? I'll lend you all you want. Go it, if you're a mind to.

_Ratts._ Eleven.

_Jackson._ Twelve.

_Sunny._ O, O!

_Scud._ [_To_ Jackson.] Judge, my friend. The Judge is a little deaf. Hello! [_Speaking in his ear-trumpet._] This gal and them children belong to that boy Solon there. You're bidding to separate them, Judge.

_Jackson._ The devil I am! [_Rises._] I'll take back my bid, Colonel.

_Point._ All right, Judge; I thought there was a mistake. I must keep you, Captain, to the eleven hundred.

_Ratts._ Go it.

_Point._ Eleven hundred--going--going--sold! "No. 3, Pete, a house servant."

_Pete._ Dat's me--yer, I'm comin'--stand around dar. [_Tumbles upon the table._]

_Point._ Aged seventy-two.

_Pete._ What's dat? A mistake, sar--forty-six.

_Point._ Lame.

_Pete._ But don't mount to nuffin--kin work cannel. Come, Judge, pick up. Now's your time, sar.

_Jackson._ One hundred dollars.

_Pete._ What, sar? me! for me--look ye here! [_Dances._]

_George._ Five hundred.

_Pete._ Mas'r George--ah, no, sar--don't buy me--keep your money for some udder dat is to be sold. I ain't no count, sar.

_Point._ Five hundred bid--it's a good price. [_Knocks._] He's yours, Mr. George Peyton. [_Pete goes down._] "No. 4, the Octoroon girl, Zoe."

_Enter_ Zoe, L. U. E., _very pale, and stands on table._--M'Closky _hitherto has taken no interest in the sale, now turns his chair._

_Sunny._ [_Rising._] Gentlemen, we are all acquainted with the circumstances of this girl's position, and I feel sure that no one here will oppose the family who desires to redeem the child of our esteemed and noble friend, the late Judge Peyton.

_Omnes._ Hear! bravo! hear!

_Point._ While the proceeds of this sale promises to realize less than the debts upon it, it is my duty to prevent any collusion for the depreciation of the property.

_Ratts._ Darn ye! You're a man as well as an auctioneer, ain't ye?

_Point._ What is offered for this slave?

_Sunny._ One thousand dollars.

_M'Closky._ Two thousand.

_Sunny._ Three thousand.

_M'Closky._ Five thousand.

_George._ [R.] Demon!

_Sunny._ I bid seven thousand, which is the last dollar this family possesses.

_M'Closky._ Eight.

_Thibo._ Nine.

_Omnes._ Bravo!

_M'Closky._ Ten. It's no use, Squire.

_Scud._ Jacob M'Closky, you shan't have that girl. Now, take care what you do. Twelve thousand.

_M'Closky._ Shan't I! Fifteen thousand. Beat that any of ye.

_Point._ Fifteen thousand bid for the Octoroon.

_Enter_ Dora, L. U. E.

_Dora._ Twenty thousand.

_Omnes._ Bravo!

_M'Closky._ Twenty-five thousand.

_Omnes._ [Groan.] O! O!

_George._ [L.] Yelping hound--take that. [_Rushes on_ M'Closky--M'Closky _draws his knife._]

_Scud._ [_Darts between them._] Hold on, George Peyton--stand back. This is your own house; we are under your uncle's roof; recollect yourself. And, strangers, ain't we forgetting there's a lady present. [_The knives disappear._] If we can't behave like Christians, let's try and act like gentlemen. Go on, Colonel.

_Lafouche._ He didn't ought to bid against a lady.

_M'Closky._ O, that's it, is it? Then I'd like to hire a lady to go to auction and buy my hands.

_Point._ Gentlemen, I believe none of us have two feelings about the conduct of that man; but he has the law on his side--we may regret, but we must respect it. Mr. M'Closky has bid twenty-five thousand dollars for the Octoroon. Is there any other bid? For the first time, twenty-five thousand--last time! [_Brings hammer down._] To Jacob M'Closky, the Octoroon girl, Zoe, twenty-five thousand dollars. [_Tableaux._]

END OF ACT THIRD.