wound up with a jug of whisky punch. To this proposal all, with the exception of father Kenney, readily agreed and nearly in the same breath declared that they would make their quarters good, that is, that they would spend the night where they were, and leave tomorrow to shift for itself. Father Kenney, after some ineffectual attempts to dissuade the wild reckless spirits with whom he was associated from their intended potations, and after resisting frequent and urgent invitations to join them, retired from the apartment, alleging that he had matters to look after at the camp which would not permit of his remaining any longer amongst them. Seymour would have followed his example, as he thought neither the time nor place, nor the circumstances in which they stood at all appropriate for such indulgence, but the whole party, one and all declared that they would not permit him to leave the apartment, and several of them, amongst whom was Terence, evinced their determination to secure him, whether he would or not, by placing their backs to the door. Seeing that it would be vain to attempt to carry his point either by force or persua sion, Seymour resigned himself to his fate, and soon saw, with no small fear for the result, the table covered with the various materials necessary for concocting that exhilarating, edifying and truly national beverage yclept whisky punch. "Is this now the right thing, Mrs. Mallony, my jewel?" said Terence, who had been unanimously appointed to the high dignity of brewer-general for the party. "Is this the right thing?" he said, raising up the lid of a pewter measure of whisky which she had just placed upon the table. "In troth an' its just the same, your honour," replied mine hostess of the Half-moon and Wheelbarrow, curtseying politely as she spoke; "There's not a drop of prettier liquor in the whole county, for the never a happ'eth of duty was ever paid on it as I'm an honest woman." Och, you little devil you," replied Terence, as he emptied the liquor in question into a huge jug which stood beside him ready to receive it," an' that's the thing that has given it such a beautiful flavour, Mrs. Mallony it's just the death of whisky to pay the duty on it." At the instant the whole party were startled by a sudden burst of soliloquy from some one in the kitchen of the Half-moon and Wheelbarrow. The feeling of alarm which this unexpected noise created was however soon allayed by the speaker's making the subject of his meditations more intelligible as he proceeded. "Och by the powers and I'm the boy for bewitching them," exclaimed the unknown orator, amongst other miscellaneous remarks which could not be so accurately ascertained. "Och an' there's never a one of them," he continued, " can touch Serjeant Shannon at winning the affections of the fair sex,—

A soldier's life's a merry, merry life,
And it's just the life for me, my boys;

His knapsack for a home, and his musket for a wife,

And the devil a care has he, my boys,

And the devil a care has he."

A shout of laughter from the party in the room, followed this singular melange of prose and poetry. The speaker had now discovered himself, and was immediately recognized by those in the adjoining room, to all of whom he was personally known. We need not add,

VOL. I.

2 E

that the soliloquist was no other than Serjeant Shannon himself who, overcome with love and whisky, had availed himself of his mistress' temporary absence to indulge in expressing the sentiments which we have just recorded, and which, it will readily be perceived, bore reference at once to his suit with his fair hostess and his old profession of arms. Whilst delivering himself of the various matter of which these were composed, the veteran sat with his elbow resting on the table beside him and his head reclining on his open hand, his right foot luxuriously planted on one side of the fire place, and his chair thrown a little backwards so as to bring the centre of gravity into the two hind legs. It was thus placed then, and with a tobacco pipe a yard long in his mouth, that the gallant Serjeant gave vent to his feelings as he gazed on the fire which was burning brightly before him. Lost in his own reflections, he neither recollected that there were any other persons in the house besides himself, nor did he hear, or at least appear to comprehend the shout which his soliloquy had elicited, for he went on at intervals with his mental communings, wholly unconscious of their utterance being overheard. "Who the devil have we got here, Mrs. Mallony?" said Terence, addressing the former on the first burst of the Serjeant's eloquence reaching the apartment. “Och, and who should it be, your honour, but that foolish man, Serjeant Shannon, who has been taking a small drop too much!" replied Mrs. Mallony, blushing intensely as she spoke, and at the same time making an attempt, which was instantly frustrated by one of the party, to get out of the room, in order to prevent the Serjeant from proceeding with his reflections, lest something more should escape him than she cared should be heard by those in the house. Being, however, at length released, Mrs. Mallony hastened out of the apartment, drew the door carefully behind her, and the voice of the Serjeant was heard no more.

The party in the room now proceeded to discuss the huge jug of whisky toddy, which Terence had manufactured and which met with that general approbation so flattering to a philanthropic brewer, who has nothing but the gratification of his constituents at heart and who is above the selfish meanness of surreptitiously popping an extra lump of sugar into the jug, merely to gratify his own particular predilection for sweet drink, totally regardless of the wry faces and other expres sions of loathing which the first smack of the clammy luscious liquor produces amongst the innocent victims of his villainy. Terence, as we have observed, was superior to this dishonourable dealing; he produced a fair marketable article, and found in consequence a large, steady and regular demand. Jug after jug disappeared: the faces of the party began to wax red; the conversation became thick, loud and undistinguishable. Set speeches full of patriotism, politics and blarney were beginning to prevail, each speaker, after being listened to for a moment, and for a moment only, being pulled down by his coat tails to make room for another who felt himself smitten with the furor loquendi, and who was in his turn as unceremoniously reseated by his next neighbour. Songs and witticisms and humourous repartees, mingled with some attempts at graver matters, also lent their aid to keep up the hilarity of the hour. Notwithstanding, however, this appearance of mirth and sociality, there might occasionally be

6

perceived, as the night wore on, certain incipient symptoms of schism in the party-such as would probably have induced a quiet peace-living onlooker, had one been there, to ejaculate under his breath the pious wish-that "all might end well." In short, private matters between individuals gradually found their way amongst things of general interest, and these had already in more than one instance excited a degree of choler not at all in keeping with the general harmony of the scene. If any actual breach of the peace, however, had yet been contemplated, which we by no means insinuate, it was now prevented, pro tempore at least, by a sudden rapping at the door of the apartment and a slight shuffling noise as of a hand wandering over the door in search of the latch or handle. The latter was at length found. The door opened and in walked father Mulligan, and probably never man met with a more hearty or a more cordial welcome. The jovial priest was well known to every individual in the room. They all knew and appreciated his worth,-for worth he had and that in no small measure, notwithstanding his somewhat irregular habits and propensities-his over fondness for the liquor of life-the eye water of St. Patrick-his only fault. "Och you young rogues, you!" exclaimed father Mulligan, when the first burst of the noisy rapturous welcome, with which he had been hailed, subsided-"is it this wicked work you're after at this blessed time of the morning. Did'nt I feel the flavour of your blackguard potation there all the way at the camp, and that's a good two miles off. Hah! hah! says I, holding up my nose to the wind like a pig in a storm, and there's some one not a hundred leagues off making a jug of whisky toddy. I must find him out,' says I, and do all in my power to dissuade him from such evil practices;' and with that, you rogues, you—I marched as straight to the door of your apartment with the flavour of your whisky punch in my nostrils, as if I had walked all the way between two stone walls, each of them a mile in height and not a yard asunder." By this time, half a dozen chairs were evacuated by their former occupants, who now surrounding father Mulligan uproariously pressed him to accept of one of them. They, however, left him no time to make any selection in this particular, but uniting their efforts fairly installed him by kindly violence, and with much noisy and many shouts of triumph, into the chair at the head of the table. "Och you dogs, you," said the jovial priest, placing his hands to his sides after he had taken, or rather had been thrust into, his seat, "you hav'nt left a whole bone in my body;-you have squaized me, you rogues, as flat as a crown-piece. Terence, my boy," continued father Mulligan-his face now beaming with delight and in the corner of whose eye there lurked an expression of good-natured humour which of itself set the table in a roar,'-" if you would save my life, fill me up a glass of that whisky toddy of yours." "That I'll do with all the pleasure in the world, father," replied Terence, "although it were fifty leagues to the bottom and there was never a bottom to it after all. There, father," he continued, now pouring the liquor into the priest's glass," there's a brimmer of as pretty an article as your reverence could have conscience to ask for." "Ah you young dog, you," replied father Mulligan, raising his glass while he spoke, you know poor father Mulligan's weak side as well as you

know a cow from a farthing candle. It's my conscience, you rogue, that's the botheration of me-the tender part of my constitution. Then here's to ye all in a bundle, you wicked dogs, you," added the jovial priest tossing off his glass-a salutation which was immediately returned by the most tumultuous acknowledgements. "Here's to you, father Mulligan,-long life to you, father Mulligan,-success to you, father Mulligan"'-was shouted out from all sides and almost simultaneously. The ceremony of father Mulligan's induction to the revelries of the night got over and at least comparative quiet restored, matters went on much as before. Father Mulligan, however, in a short time began to exhibit symptoms of a relapse into his old complaint, for he had been plied with three to one in order to bring him to a level with the rest of the party. The trim of the reverend priest being well known to those around him, he was now judged to be in fine condition for indulging them with a song, a favour which, after a few nods and winks from the party, Terence, as master of the cere monies, took the liberty of soliciting. "A song, you spalpeen you," replied the jolly father throwing himself luxuriantly backwards in his chair and contemplating the roof for an instant, as if to recall some lines suitable for the occasion. "Why that I will to be sure. I'll give you a small matter of my own,-written expressly for funeral parties where there's any thing like life going on." Having said this, father Mulligan started to his feet, raised his glass aloft, and looking the very personification of hilarity, shouted forth

The priest's song was received with thunders of applause and with such violent demonstrations of approbation on the table as threatened the destruction of every article upon it; but alas! how short-lived are all sublunary enjoyments, and how frail a thing is human happiness! Scarcely the half of one little hour had elapsed since the burst of joyous merriment, consequent on father Mulligan's song, had resounded through the apartment, when the dæmon of discord, envious of so much felicity, thrust his ugly phiz into the very midst of the revellers.

"I say by the bye, Mr. Duncannon"-exclaimed Mr. Neil O'Donovan across the table with an expression of countenance that argued every thing but love or affection for the party to whom he addressed himself "was'nt it cursed ungentale of you now to ask me the other day for payment of the dirty small matter between us. I don't think it was using me like a gentleman at all at all, Mr. Duncannon; and I appail to the present company whether it was a civil turn or not." The interlocutor to this appeal was nem. con., "that it was a most ungentlemanly thing to ask any gentleman for payment of an account;"

and some hints were thrown out by several of the company that the insult could only be wiped away by a hostile meeting of the parties. Others, however, were of opinion that an apology from Mr. Duncannon ought to be considered as an ample atonement for his indiscretion. The discussion of this point gradually increased in warmth and vehemence, until at length the whole party were thrown into the most dreadful confusion, every one endeavouring to talk down his neighbour when he found that he could not by fair reasoning convince him of the soundness of his own particular view of the case. In short, a hubbub of the most serious and inextricable kind instantly took place; glasses, jugs and bottles were every moment overturned and smashed by the vehemence with which the speakers followed up their arguments by bringing their clenched fists in contact with the table. In the meantime, the principals had themselves very nearly come to an understanding as to the manner of settling the point at issue. "An apology!" shouted out Mr. Charles Duncannon, a smart gentlemanlylooking little man about probably seven and twenty years of age,— "an apology!" he roared out with an expression of the utmost contempt, when this mode of arranging the matter had been proposed,— "no, by heavens! I'll apologize to no man for any thing. If I can't have my money, I'll have satisfaction; and that's the same thing and as good to me as the money any day." "And it's that same you'll have presently, Mr. Duncannon," replied Mr. Neill O'Donovan, "and we'll just settle it across the table here, there's no use of disturbing the harmony of the party by going out of the room." There are probably few but Mr. O'Donovan himself who could have seen either the force or the propriety of the remark. At the instant he spoke of the harmony of the party, the room was in the most dreadful uproar, and how the sociality of the party was to be maintained by fighting a duel in the midst of them, that gentleman alone, we believe, could explain. "Where are the crackers?" now shouted out Duncannon. "Can any gentleman here favour me with the loan of a brace for a few minutes? I say Terence, Terence"-he added, going up to that gentleman who was at that moment engaged in hot and loud dispute with his right-hand neighbour-"I say Terence," he repeated, shaking him by the shoulder, in order to gain his attention, then wholly engrossed by the discussion in which he was involved-" will you be my second in this affair?" "Och, my dear fellow, Duncannon," replied the latter, on turning round and learning the nature of the application which was made to him, "and that I would with all pleasure in the world, but I'm just engaged as a principal myself to this gentleman" -reclining his head towards the person to whom he had been speaking" and cannot accept your very obliging offer." In short, it now turned out, on similar applications being made to others, that there was not a man in the room, with the exception of Seymour and father Mulligan, who had not a duel on his hands. The truth is, that the whole party had not only lost sight of the principals in the commotion which had taken place, but also of the original subject-matter of debate: yet so successfully had they cultivated the hostile feeling which it had elicited, that they were now as regularly paired off for fighting as if it had been for a country dance; and certainly the glee, with which it was gone about, much more resembled a prepara