o judge from her flashing eyes
as she held her egg-shell cup aloft, while the others lifted theirs to
drink the toast, and Merry, as hostess, sat with her hand on an antique
teapot, labelled "Sage," ready to fill again when the patriotic ladies
were ready for a second "dish."

This was much applauded, and the curtain went up again, for the proud
parents enjoyed seeing their pretty girls in the faded finery of a
hundred years ago. The band played "Auld Lang Syne," as a gentle hint
that our fore-mothers should be remembered as well as the fore-fathers.

It was evident that something very martial was to follow, for a great
tramping, clashing, and flying about took place behind the scenes
while the tea-party was going on. After some delay, "The Surrender of
Cornwallis" was presented in the most superb manner, as you can believe
when I tell you that the stage was actually lined with a glittering
array of Washington and his generals, Lafayette, Kosciusko, Rochambeau
and the rest, all in astonishing uniforms, with swords which were
evidently the pride of their lives. Fife and drum struck up a march, and
in came Cornwallis, much cast down but full of manly resignation, as he
surrendered his sword, and stood aside with averted eyes while his army
marched past, piling their arms at the hero's feet.

This scene was the delight of the boys, for the rifles of Company F had
been secured, and at least a dozen soldiers kept filing in and out in
British uniform till Washington's august legs were hidden by the heaps
of arms rattled down before him. The martial music, the steady
tramp, and the patriotic memories awakened, caused this scene to be
enthusiastically encored, and the boys would have gone on marching till
midnight if Ralph had not peremptorily ordered down the curtain and
cleared the stage for the next tableau.

This had been artfully slipped in between two brilliant ones, to show
that the Father of his Country had to pay a high price for his glory.
The darkened stage represented what seemed to be a camp in a snow-storm,
and a very forlorn camp, too; for on "the cold, cold ground" (a reckless
display of cotton batting) lay ragged soldiers, sleeping without
blankets, their worn-out boots turned up pathetically, and no sign of
food or fire to be seen. A very shabby sentinel, with feet bound in
bloody cloths, and his face as pale as chalk could make it, gnawed a dry
crust as he kept his watch in the wintry night.

A tent at t