“There was Peg Barney sittin' on the groun' in his shirt--wan shoe off an' wan shoe on--whackin' a tent-peg over the head wid his boot, an' singin' fit to wake the dead. 'Twas no clane song that he sung, though. 'Twas the Divil's Mass.” “What's that?” I asked. “Whin a bad egg is shut av the Army, he sings the Divil's Mass for a good riddance; an' that manes swearin' at ivrything from the Commandher-in-Chief down to the Room-Corp'ril, such as you niver in your days heard. Some men can swear so as to make green turf crack! Have you iver heard the Curse in an Orange Lodge? The Divil's Mass is ten times worse, an' Peg Barney was singin' ut, whackin' the tent-peg on the head wid his boot for each man that he cursed. A powerful big voice had Peg Barney, an' a hard swearer he was whin sober. I stood forninst him, an' 'twas not me oi alone that cud tell Peg was dhrunk as a coot. “Good mornin', Peg,' I sez, whin he dhrew breath afther dursin' the Adj'tint-Gen'ral; 'I've put on my best coat to see you, Peg Barney,' sez I. “Thin take Ut off again,' sez Peg Barney, latherin' away wid the boot; 'take ut off an' dance, ye lousy civilian!' “Wid that he begins cursin' ould Dhrumshticks, being so full he dane disrernimbers the Brigade-Major an' the Judge-Advokit-Gen'ral. “Do you not know me, Peg?' sez I, though me blood was hot in me wid being called a civilian.” “An' him a decent married man!” wailed Dinah Shadd. “I do not,” sez Peg, “but dhrunk or sober I'll tear the hide off your back wid a shovel whin I've stopped singin.” “'Say you so, Peg Barney?' sez I. ''Tis clear as mud you've forgotten me. I'll assist your autobiography.' Wid that I stretched Peg Barney, boot an' all, an' wint into the camp. An awful sight ut was! “'Where's the orf'cer in charge av the detachment?' sez I to Scrub Greene--the manest little worm that ever walked. “'There's no orf'cer, ye ould cook,' sez Scrub; 'we're a bloomin' Republic.' “'Are you that?' sez I; 'thin I'm O'Connell the Dictator, an' by this you will larn to kape a civil tongue in your rag-box.' “Wid that I stretched Scrub Greene an' wint to the orf'cer's tent. 'Twas a new little bhoy--not wan I'd iver seen before. He was sittin' in his tent, purtendin' not to 'ave ear av the racket. “I saluted--but for the life av me I mint to shake hands whin I went in. 'Twas the sword hangin' on the tent-pole changed my will. “'Can't I help, Sorr?' sez I; ''tis a strong man's job they've given you, an' you'll be wantin' help by sundown.' He was a bhoy wid bowils, that child, an' a rale gintleman. “'Sit down,' sez he. “'Not before my orf'cer,' sez I; an' I tould him fwhat my service was. “'I've heard av you,' sez he. 'You tuk the town av Lungtungpen nakid.'