"It's Michael O'Rafferty is me name,
yer honor, and I come from county
Connaught, close by Roscommon, yer honor,
and that's the truth if it was me last words,
for I wouldn't decaive yer honor, if it was
my last breath."

"How long have you been settled here?"
demanded the consul.

The applicant seemed alarmed at the
stern tone of the question, and answered
rapidly:

"Tin years if I live till next October,
yer honor; and I had an uncle that was
wid the Juke at Waterloo, yer honor, as all
the O'Rafferties will tell yer, if yer honor
will only ax them. Ah! that was a battle
if yer honor plaises! Oh, murther!"

"Are you a naturalised citizen, or have
you ever declared your intention to become
one?" was the next inquiry.

"Me, yer honor!" cried the man in
virtuous astonishment. "Divil a bit! I'm
British, yer honor, a subject of the quane's,
God bless her! and long life to her! Didn't
me own grandfather, Terence O'Rafferty
by name, fight for her blessed grandfather,
rest his sowl, at that very same battle of
Seringapatam? To be shure he did, yer
honor, and that's no lies."

"Have you ever voted?" was now asked.

"Voted! and why for should I vote?"
cried the man. "I'd scorn to do it and
me in America, and a thrue British
subject. Is it loikely?"

"Then you are prepared to swear that you
are not a naturalised citizen, that you have
never declared your intention to become
one, that you have never voted, and that
you are a British subject?"

"Swear it, yer honor! Faith, I'd swear
it on a sack of Bibles, and as often as yer
honor plaises, or me name's not Michael
O'Rafferty." And having wiped his mouth
on the cuff of his coat, he kissed, with a
loud smack, the book which was handed to
him, and went on his way rejoicing, with
his exemption papers in his pocket.

A short time afterwards, when consular
functions were broken off between the
Southern States and Great Britain, "this
little game" of the Irish settlers, I heard a
Confederate remark, was "busted," and
poor Pat, to his disgust, was unwillingly
obliged to show his Pat-riotism by shouldering
a rifle, and taking his share of the
fighting in defence of the country of his
adoption. I have simply related this little
incident that those who read may judge of
the value of Irish time-serving loyalty.

Our party met on the second morning of
our advent in Charleston at the Mill's
House. After introductions to the officers
of the Petrel, we drove to the Savannah
railway station, where a special train was
waiting to carry us over some fifty miles
up country. At the "depôt" we found
Captain Trenholm, and through him we
made the acquaintance of Captain
Beauregard and Captain Chisholm, one the
brother, and both aides to the general. A
sight especially gratifying to those who
sojourn in the pine barrens of South Carolina
was afforded in a pyramid of deal
cases, tattooed with the most encouraging
of brands, such as Sillery, Veuve Cliquot,
Château Margeaux, Vieux Cognac, &c., &c.
These, with countless canisters of preserved
dainties, caused much loss of time while
being stowed with tender care in the baggage
waggons. With good companions and cheering
liquors the railroad ride was cheated
of its dreariness, and we glided into the
storehouse-looking depôt of Pocotaligo,
after an apparently brief ride. Walker's
brigade was encamped round the station,
and acted as a corps of observation and a
check upon any federal advance from the
neighbourhood of Hilton Head and Port
Royal. The position of Pocotaligo was one
of strategic importance, as it preserved
intact the railway communication between
Charleston and Savannah. It had already
been the scene of a fierce fight, in which
the Northern troops had been driven back
with loss, and it might at any time prove
the battle-ground for the rival armies in
its vicinity. The isolated battalions
stationed in the swamps, midway between the
pleasurable influences of two large towns,
had but a couple of sources of excitement
during the day—supposing there was no
driving in of picquets by the enemy—and
this excitement consisted in the arrival of
two railway trains. Our cars were soon
surrounded by a mob of troopers, be-
spurred and be-sabred, clamouring for
papers and the latest news from Charleston.

In expectation of our coming, we found
waiting for us the general commanding
and some members of his staff, besides
some officers, who, in conjunction with the
gentlemen of Charleston, were to be our
hosts in the pine forest. Of course, as
usual, in that land of liquid hospitality,
nothing could be achieved until the grace
cup had gone round, and following the
general into a wooden shanty, libations of
"old corn" were quaffed from a tin
pannikin. A herd of all breeds, from the
"Marsh tackey" to the thoroughbred