OR,

THE LONGEST WAY ROUND IS THE SHORTEST WAY HOME.

"He who runs may read."

CHAPTER 1.

"A century or two ago, there was a class of dependents or hangers-on to the great families in Ireland, denominated 'running-footmen,' who may truly be looked upon as originals in their singular, laborious, and sometimes even dangerous calling. Though ostensibly mere letter-carriers, or light-parcel bearers, across the difficult parts of the country, as yet inaccessible to carriages, or even quadrupeds, (or rendered passable by that style of road-making which the Colossus of Roads, Macadam, pretended was his discovery,) the running-footmen had occasionally charges of more serious import. They were often suspected of being the agents by whom political measures of local warfare were transmitted from baronial sovereigns to their distant clanships or allies,—of being walking, or rather running, telegraphs (for their speed was prodigious) of some plot of treason against the rights of the invader, and often cruelly and unjustly sacrificed to his fury, when intercepted on their secret but seldom hostile missions. They carried their notions of honour on the point of their trust, whatever it might be, to a romantic scrupulosity. No matter whether it was a love-letter or a challenge, a purse or a process, a curse or a blessing, the faithful runner never revealed it to any one but the person for whom it was intended. Though journeying by the most difficult passes, and undergoing the most severe privations, those extraordinary fellows seldom failed in their undertakings. This may be partially accounted for by the reverence they were held in by their own people; for as the lower Irish still continue to believe in the strange notion of their Oriental ancestors, that the souls of 'innocents' (in plainer English, 'fools,') are in heaven, and that their 'muddy vesture of decay' on earth is entitled to superstitious respect, these motleys, in either their real or assumed garb of folly, were treated with a kind of familiar or affectionate reverence wherever they went amongst their own countrymen. On the other hand, the paths of their treading, when they went out upon distant journeys, were so little known to the hostile strangers, that they ran but little chance of receiving injury at their hands, or even meeting with them. Such were the running-footmen of other days; but they are gone,—their race is ended,—and those who pride themselves upon their descent from the stock seem to have retained but few of the qualifications of their ancestors. Everything romantic and happy in Ireland seems to be dwindling away. No longer do we hear the pleasant announcements of 'Blind Connal the harper, sir,' and 'Miss Biddy Maquillian the fiddler, my lady,' and 'Dermot O'Dowd the piper, boys,' and——"

I had just read so far in some work or other which I had carelessly taken up for a peep after dinner one day, when a loud knock at the door of my apartment made me close the book, and say "Come in!" The door slowly opened; but, as nobody entered, I demanded "Who's there?"

"It's me, masther; Darby, yir honor."—"What do you want?" inquired I.—"Nothing, sir," said he, "but I've got a letther for ye, sir."—"From whom?" said I.—"Faix, I don't know, sir," replied he archly; "for I haven't read it yit; but here it is."—"Why don't you come in and give it to me?" demanded I.—"I'm afraid, sir," said he, "that my brogues would dirty the carpet, and set all the girls in the kitchen a-laughing at me for comin' into the drawin'-room; and sure a purtier room a man need never wish to come into."—"Oh! very well," said I, rising; "you shall have your way, Darby."—"Am I to wait for an answer, sir?" said he, giving me the letter.—"No," replied I; "I'll ring if it be necessary."—"Thank yir honor," said Darby, and turned to descend the stairs with the furtive caution of a cat when stealing upon its prey, lest he should make his brogues audible. A loud crash, succeeded by a louder laugh, through which I distinctly heard, "Merry bad look to yiz all!" convinced me that Darby's coming up stairs with the letter was a contrivance of the other servants to play some trick upon him, which their merriment seemed to show had succeeded; but into which as I did not care to inquire, I sate down, opened my letter, and began to read. I had not proceeded far before I found it related to business of the most serious consequence, and required that I should write instanter to a friend, who was on a visit at Bally——, (nearly forty miles distant across the country,) and have an answer by immediate return of post. There was no time to be lost; so I wrote my letter as speedily as possible, folded, sealed, and directed it, then rang the bell with unusual impatience. It was promptly answered; but this time there was no knock at the door before it opened, for it was Eileen, my usual attendant, that presented herself, with a face whose natural health, cheerfulness, and rustic beauty were considerably heightened by the flush of recent merriment.

"What have you been doing with Darby, Eileen?" said I.—"Oh, widdy-eelish!" (her constant ejaculation) said she laughing, "nothing at all, sir; only he said he wanted to see the drawin'-room, so we sent him up with the letter, and he slipped his foot as he came down, sir; that's all."—"You know I don't like those tricks, Eileen," said I, with all the severity I could muster against her smothered laughter.—"No, sir; I know, sir; but when an omadhaun like that—"—"Silence!" said I. "I want to send a letter by the post: what o'clock is it?"—"Half an hour too late, sir," said Eileen, resuming her gravity; "and there'll be no post to-morrow."—"No post to-morrow!" echoed I.—"No sir; to-morrow's Saturday, you know."—"Confusion!" said I, "it will be so indeed. What's to be done?"—"I don't know, sir," replied Eileen despondingly; "how far is it?"—"Oh! nearly forty miles across the country," cried I; "and I want an answer immediately."—"Can't Darby run across with it?" said Eileen.—"Run across with it!" cried I; "is the girl out of her senses? Run across forty miles, as if it were nothing more than a hop-step-and-jump!"—"He'll do it in that same, sir," said Eileen seriously, "if ye'll only tell him what it is."—"Who'll do it?" cried I impatiently.—"Why, Darby, sir," said she; "Darby in the kitchen, that's known all the country round for Darby the Swift."—"What!" cried I, "that fellow that brought me the letter just now? Impossible!"—"There's nothing impossible to God, sir, you know,—glory be to his name!" said Eileen, "and so the crathur has the gift of it: he'll do it, I warrant ye." I looked up in Eileen's face, and saw there was something beyond common opinion pleading for Darby; so, waiving all farther parley, I desired her to go down stairs and send him to me instantly. Eileen curtsied, and, retiring, shut the door; but immediately opened it again, saying "You don't want him the night, sir, do ye? for," added she with a loud laugh, "I think he has broken his shin-bone."—"Send him to me immediately," said I peremptorily; upon which Eileen, exclaiming "Oh, widdy-eelish!" made her exit.

Now it was evident from her last words that Eileen, in conjunction with others, had done some injury to poor Darby in their gambols; but as he is just coming up stairs, and will make a long pause before he presumes to knock at the door a second time, allow me, gentle reader, ad interim, to present you with a portrait of my servant, or follower, "Darby Ryan," nick-named "The Swift."

Darby Ryan was about thirty years of age, middle-sized, not over stout, and tolerably well made. His hair, both in texture and tint, resembled the raddled back of a fawn-coloured goat, and waved in shaggy luxuriance everywhere save on his forehead, in the middle of which it timidly descended in a close-cropped peak, till it nearly united itself with two enormous dark-coloured eyebrows. His eyes were small, and the blackest I have ever seen; with a gleam of fire occasionally, that lent them more archness than ferocity. Some thought he squinted, and said that, though under one master's direction, his two pupils went contrary ways; but I believe this was all slander, and only set forth by jealous people, who themselves, it is said, are rather queer in their optics. A fracas in a hurling-match had left his nose little more than a one-arched bridge, by which, if you please, we will pass along to his mouth, where, if I had the time, I could find ample room for rumination, &c. But Darby has knocked at my door, and I am forced to say "Come in!"—"Did yir honor want me, sir? or is it only the caileen's fun, and the rest of them, in the kitchen?" said Darby, opening the door, but remaining outside as before. "Come in," said I encouragingly, "and take a seat for a moment; I'll tell you what I want with you." The girl's fears for the carpet were quite right; for Darby, making a bow to me on his entrance, scraped about a pound of mud off his brogues, which would have discomfited him quite if I had not proceeded with "Do you know the road to Bally——? Can you find your way to it safely, Darby?"

"Can a duck swim, yir honor?" said Darby, emboldened by degrees.

"Oh! very well, I understand you," said I. "Now, mark me: I want you to take this letter to a friend of mine, who is on a visit with the clergyman there, and bring me an answer as speedily as possible. Are you so quick-footed as they say?"

"Quick-futted!" said Darby, seating himself on the very corner of the nearest chair; "where there's a will there's a way, as the sayin' is: but I was never counted slow anyhows but oncet, and that was when I made the clock stop of its own accord on a Patrick's Day, and sure, when we broke up our party, we found it was two days afterwards."

"Well, take care and be more sparing of your time for the present," said I, anxious to despatch him.

"You may rely on it, sir," said he; "I'll spare nather time nor trouble in the doin' of it, although it is letter-carryin'."

"Letter-carrying!" said I; "and pray what is there disgraceful in the calling?"

"Oh! nothing at all disgraceful in the calling, sir," said Darby, "as yir honor says, but quite the reverse, if the letters are not paid aforehand."

"You would not surely appropriate the postage to yourself?" said I, looking severely, though I did not exactly comprehend him.

"Is it me, sir?—Poperiate the king's pocket money in that way, poor ould gentleman! I'm not in parliament yet, nor ever had a fine situation under government, like yir honor."

"Be not impertinent, sir," said I sharply; "I'd have you know and keep your distance." Darby rose immediately from the chair, of which about this time he had occupied nearly one half, saying,

"Any distance you like for a short time, sir; for it's myself would grieve to part you for ever. What's the word of command, sir, and I'm off?—Right or left, north or south, Darby Ryan's yir man 'gainst wind or tide, as was said of one of my posteriors——"

"Your ancestors you mean," said I smiling.

"My aunt's sisters, yir honor! Faith and he wasn't one of her sisters, nor one of my four fathers either,—for he was neither my godfather, nor my own father, nor my grandfather, nor my great-grandfather; but, as I said afore, one of my pos—pos—pos—terity, (I have the word now, divil take it!) that was christened Ryan the Racer, for bein' runnin' futtman ages ago to the first quality in the country."

By this time I began to perceive that, however quick Darby's heels might be, they had a formidable rival in his tongue; so I endeavoured to check it at once by saying, "I have no time now to attend to any stories about your ancestry or relations; I merely wish to know can you take this letter to its direction, and speedily bring me an answer to it: in a word, can you set our immediately, and travel all night?"—"All night, yir honor! is it all night that's in yir mind?" said Darby, evidently hurt at my inquiry: "Gog's blud!" he continued half apart, "I was never taken for a turkey afore."—"A turkey!" said I, quite at a loss to understand him.—"Yes, yir honor," said Darby, "a turkey—the very worst baste on the road for a long stretch (barrin' his neck) that ever was christened! Did yir honor ever hear of the wager 'tween the goose and him?"—"Never," said I sullenly.—"Then I'm glad of it, masther," said Darby rejoicingly, "for it gives me the pleasure of tellin' it to yir honor. You see, sir, that oncet upon a time there was an ould cock-turkey——"—"Cock and a bull!" said I, losing all patience; "go down stairs! I don't want you at all."—"No sir; I know you don't, sir," said Darby with most provoking perseverance; "but I thought ye'd like to hear how an ould gander sarved the bull-turkey, big as he was."—"Well, then," said I in despair, "go on."—"Thank ye, sir," said Darby, and then continued, while I from time to time anxiously looked at my watch, stirred the fire, or fidgeted myself in twenty different ways, in the hope of interrupting him; but all to no purpose. "Then you see, sir, oncet upon a time an ould cock-turkey lived in the barony of Brawny, or, let me see, was it in Inchebofin, or Tubbercleer?—faix! an' it's myself forgets that same at the present writin',—but Jim Gurn—you know Jim Gurn, yir honor, Jim Gurn the nailor that lives hard by,—him that fought his black and tan t'other day 'gainst Tim Fagan's silver-hackle,—oh! Jim is the boy that'll tell ye the ins and outs of it any day yir honor wud pay him a visit, 'caze Jim's in the way of it. Well, as I was relatin', the turkey was a parson's bird, and as proud as Lucifer, bein' used to the best of livin'; while the gander was only a poor commoner, for he was a Roman, and oblidged to live upon what he could get by the road-side. These two fowls, yir honor, never could agree any how,—never could put up their horses together on any blessed pint,—till one day a big row happened betwune them, when the gander challenged the turkey to a steeple-chase across the country, day and dark, for twenty-four hours. Well, to my surprise,—tho' I wasn't there at the time, but Jim Gurn was, who gave me the whole history,—to my surprise, the turkey didn't say no to it, but was quite agreeable all of a suddent; so away they started from Jim Gurn's dunghill one Sunday after mass, for the gander wouldn't stir a step afore prayers. Well, to be sure, to give the divil his due, the turkey took the lead in fine style, and was soon clane out of sight; but the gander kept movin' on, no ways downhearted, after him. About night-fall it was his business to pass through an ould archway acrass the road; and as he was stoopin' his head to get under it,—for yir honor knows a gander will stoop his head under a doorway if it was only as high as the moon,—who should he see comfortably sated in an ivy bush but the turkey himself, tucked in for the night. The gander, winkin' to himself, says, 'Is it there ye are, honey?'—but he kept never mindin' him for all that, but only walked bouldly on to his journey's end, where he arrived safe and sound next day, afore the turkey was out of his first sleep: 'caze why, ye see, sir, a goose or a gander will travel all night; but in respect of a turkey, once the day falls in, divil another inch of ground he'll put his futt to, barrin' it's to roost in a tree or the rafters of a cow-house! Oh! maybe the parson's bird wasn't ashamed of himself! Jim Gurn says he never held his head up afterward, tho' to be sure he hadn't long to fret, for Christmas was nigh at hand, and he had to stand sentry by the kitchen fire one day without his body-clothes 'till he could bear it no longer; so they dished him intirely. Them that ett him said he was as tough as leather, no doubt from the grief: but, divil's cure to him! what bisness had he to be so proud of himself, the spalpeen!"

Darby at length came to a pause. I paused also for a minute to understand the application of his anecdote; but it was evident: he wished to impress me by his parable that he was fitted for the task I had allotted him; so I inquired what money he would want on the road.

"Maybe yir honor wouldn't think half-a-crown too much? said he diffidently.

"Half-a-crown!" exclaimed I, amazed at the modesty of his demand: "here are ten shillings; and, if you be quick in your errand, I will give you something extra on your return."

"Musha, an' long life to yir honor!" said Darby, scraping the carpet again; "may the grass never grow on the pathway to yir dwellin', nor a baste or Christian ever die belongin' t' ye, barrin' it's for the use of the kitchen!"

"Well, now prepare for the road," said I impatiently, "and be off at once."

"An' that I will, sir, in the twinklin' of a bedstead; only, you see, I've just got to run up to Tim Fallon the barber's to take the stubble off of my chin. Tim—(you know Tim Fallon, yir honor.)—Tim won't keep me long, anyhow, for it's late in the day, and his tongue must be dry by this; but if ye wud hear him of a mornin, oh! it's a trate, for Tim was once a play-acthur afore he grew a barber, an' by that same a good barber he is. Did he ever lather yir honor?"—I made no reply. "After that," continued Darby, "I'll just step home and put on my Sunday clothes, and then won't I be as fresh as a two-year ould to do yir honor's biddin'!"

"Well, well, lose no time," said I impatiently.

"Sorrow a minute," said Darby: "I'll be there and back agin in the shoot of a wishin' star. Maybe yir honor knows what a wishin' star is?"—I shook my head. "Well, then," continued Darby, "yir honor, no doubt, has been out o'doors of a fine starlight night?"—I nodded assent. "Well then, agin, I'll tell ye what a wishin' star is. Did ye ever sit yir heart upon havin' of anything sir?" "Yes," said I morosely.—"Might I be so bould as to ax in regard to what, sir?" inquired Darby.—"Why, in regard, as you call it, to the letter I have given you just now," replied I; "I wish to have it delivered as quickly as possible."

"Oh! that bein' the case, sir," said Darby somewhat disconcerted, "I'm off at once."—"At once be it, then," said I, opening the door for him.—"I've only, then, to give the letther, sir," said he lingeringly, "to the gentleman at the clargy's? But ye didn't tell me whether it was the priest or the parson he's stoppin' with."—"The parson," said I, with all the patience I could command.—"Oh, very well, sir. God take care of ye till I come back!" So saying, he shut the door after him; but, before I could seat myself in my chair, he opened it again, inquiring "If he left his hat in the drawin'-room?" The only answer I made was by taking up the caubeen, which lay on the carpet, and flinging it in his face, out of all patience. "Thank yir honor," said Darby, and retired again, as I hoped, to proceed on his journey, But, alas! I was mistaken. Five minutes had scarcely elapsed when he presented himself once more, with a request that I might allow him to take Squib, my pointer dog, with him as a companion. "The road's so drary," said he, "by one's self, you know, yir honour."—"Well, take him, in God's name," said I, hastily shutting the door after him, and glad to be rid of him at any concession.

I again resumed my seat, and opened the volume I had been reading; but I had not got through more than twenty or thirty pages of marvellous matter, when I thought I heard Darby's voice in the yard. On going to the window, I found that it was indeed he, and "as spruce as a Scotch fir," to use one of his own expressions.

"Not gone yet!" exclaimed I, furiously throwing up the sash. But it was of no use, for he replied with the most perfect coolness, "Oh, yes, sir, I was gone half an hour ago; only, you see, I've come back for the clieve that's to carry Squib to the place where he'll find divarsion in runnin' about in the pleasure-grounds hard by Squire Markhim's inclosure; 'twould kill the baste (God pard'n me for callin' him so, for he's more like a Christian,) to walk him so far: and maybe I'll not bring ye home a brace or two of birds that he'll point at without seein', and a blue peter or so, if yir honor wud only just give me a charge or two of powder and shot."

"Do you wish to get into the hands of the police?" said I.

"Ah! then, is it the Peelers," said Darby contemptuously, "that yir honor manes? Divil a one o' them will be out of his flay-park by the time I'm crossing the Callas with Squib and Pat Fagan's ould carbine, that he'll lend me out o' the bog-hole, where he keeps it from the rust and the guagers: and sure, while we're oilin' it with a bit of goose-grace, that it mayn't burst intirely the first goin' off, I can have a bit of gossip with the ould woman in the chimly corner over the greeshah, and find out everything about the gintleman in the neighb'rhood that I'm takin' the letther to; for poor Katty Fagan, ever since she lost the brindled heifer, and young Jemmeen her grandson, that they cut out for a priest, and another calf that she won at a weddin' raffle, all in the typhus sason,—you recollect the typhus, yir honor?"

"Oh, curse you and the typhus together!" said I.—"Well, an' it's myself that never could spake a good word for it either, masther, bad look to 't!" said Darby: "but, be that as it may, ever since that time Katty knows more of every other body's bisness nor her own; so I'll lose nothin' by callin' to ax her how she is at laste, thov' it is a mile or two out o' my way."

By this time, reader, you may conclude my power of endurance was pretty nigh exhausted; so, raking down a pair of pistols that hung over the fire-place, I said, "The only powder and shot, my good fellow, that I can spare you at present, are contained in these two barrels; you are welcome to them, and shall have them on the spot, if you do not depart immediately!"—"Ah! then it's myself that wud depart immadiately, sure enough, sir," said Darby, "if yir honor wud only pull the trigger; but keep yir hands off o' them, masther avick, for, charge or no charge, they might go aff and spile my beauty for ever: the divil, they say, can fire an empty charge as well as a full one!"—"Well, then," said I, "take your choice: go off this moment, or one of these shall!"—"Oh, then, sure that's no choice at all, at all, sir," replied Darby; "so I suppose I must go my ways. Well, then, wid ye be wid ye, for I can't always be wid ye. Is there anything else I can do for ye, sir, on the road?"—"Nothing," said I: "begone!"—"Thank ye, sir," said he, and retired.

"Thank Heaven!" said I, "the fellow has at last set out on his journey." So I again turned to the marvellous volume, and was about halfway through the pedestrian exploits of Collier and his sister, who, to use the words of the writer, "thought nothing of putting a pot of pink-eyes down to boil, and stepping to the next market-town (about nine miles distant) for a halfpenny-worth of salt (returning, too, again) before the white horses were on the praties," when Eileen presented herself in such a convulsion of laughter that it was some moments before she could reply to my question of "What's the matter?" At length, terminating with a long-drawn sigh, and her usual "widdy-eelish," she replied, "Nothing's the matter, sir; only—only—" (laughing again) "only Darby, sir."—"Darby!" exclaimed I, "what of him?"—"He wants to know, sir," said she, "if you will allow him to take a horse with him."—"A horse!" exclaimed I; "devil take the fellow! what does he mean?"—"Why, I mane, to be sure," said Darby from the bottom of the stairs, at the same time at the top of his voice, "a horse from the young ash-plants in the ould garden. I'll cut the crookedest I can find, though a straight one would do me betther."—"What is it he wants?" said I, turning to Eileen, who was in a perfect kink of laughter.—"Oh! widdy-eelish," replied she, "I suppose the crather means a pole to help him over the bogs."—"Let me talk to the rascal myself," said I, going to the door in a deuce of a rage.

"Yir sarvant, sir," said Darby, taking his hat off and making a scrape that cost him his equilibrium, and me my gravity, for I could not but sympathise with Eileen's outrageous laughter. "Is it possible that you are here yet?" inquired I, endeavouring to be as severe as possible.

"Oh, never fear, sir, but I'll be off presently," said he: "my walk's waitin' for me on the road; I'll overtake it immadiately."

"I'm sorry that you have undertaken it at all," said I in a tone of unusual displeasure.

"Undertaken, sir! undertake—undertaker!" said Darby rather indignantly; "I never was an undertaker but oncet, and that was at my ould father's funeral, when I was one of the nine bearers. That was a beautiful sight, to be sure," said he, kindling into rapture as he proceeded; "Ah! that was the beautiful sight, agrah! I seen many a lord's berrin', but none to come up to that. Oh! it would do any one's heart good to see us walkin' in possession to the Abbey,—it was so dacent, and all of a piece, like a magpie, white and black from beginnin' to end! Oh! it was a beautiful sight, anyhow," added he with a deep sigh.

"Did you, then, rejoice in your father's death?" said I harshly.

"Why, not exactly rejoice in his death," replied Darby, wiping away a tear from his already suffused eye, "for he was a kind ould body to them he liked, though he didn't spake to me good or bad for three years afore he died: but never mind; maybe I wasn't hearty at his wake!"

"At his wake!" said I, with a look of disgust.

"Yes, yir honor!" replied he after a pause of surprise,—"at his wake, to be sure; and where can a body be so alive to fun of all sorts as at a well-conducted dead body's wake? Isn't there smokin', and drinkin', and story-tellin', and now and then a bit of dancin' in the other room with the young ones, to shake off the grief, eh? And didn't I get seven goold guineas from 'Turney Gubbins, that was one of his executors, and the ould mare that used to take him from town to town when he took to fair bisness, and the bracket hen that lays yir honor's eggs now, that was the mother of all the paceable fightin' cocks in the county; and, moreover, his white waistcoat and breeches when he was in the Yeomen, that Ned Fallon the tailor says he'll die any day for me into a second mournin'?"

"And what did you with the seven guineas?" said I: "did you turn them to any account?"

"Oh, the Lord bless yir honor!" said Darby sheepishly; "it's very hard to know what to do with a large sum of money now-a-days: it's dangerous keepin' by you, you know, sir; so I put it out to interest!"

"And pray what security did you get?" said I, suspecting something, from the fellow's roguish leer.

"Security, sir?" said Darby; "they tould me it was collatheral, I think, yir honor; collatheral was the word."

"Collateral!" said I, somewhat surprised at his knowledge of the term.

"Yes, sir," replied he, scratching his head with one hand, and thrusting the other into his breeches pocket, "I laid it out in HOUSES. But, for all that, half an hour afore I die I'll have as much money as'll do me all the days o' my life!"

I could not but smile at the fellow's satirical humour upon his own folly; and, as it was the first time I had ever admitted him to such familiar converse, I patiently listened while he continued to tell me how he "ran through his fortune" in less than three weeks; hoping, however, that he would soon make an end of his recital, and set out with my letter, for the day now began to decline.

"You see, yir honor, this was the way it happened," said Darby. "Nawthin' would save me but I should give a Tay-Party at the Three Blacks one evenin' after a hurlin'-match—Did yir honor ever hurl a bit? Oh! then sure it's the finest divarsion that any one cud sit his mind upon, barrin' it doesn't ind in a row, as mostly for the best part it does. But never mind that,—it's fine fun, anyhow; though by it I did get this clink on the nose, that made me lave off snuff-takin' ever since as a dirty habit! Oh! a hurlin'-match is a grate sight, and many a good clergy I've seen strip to the work. There was Father M'Gauvran—yir honor has heard of Father M'Gauvran, that got a son an' heir for Pat Mac Gavany, by givin' his wife an ould surplus that he had by him for some time? Oh! it would raise the cockles of yir heart to see how he wud whip a ball along. He was a grate hurler, anyhow; he was the boy at the bawke!"

Conceiving that Darby would not terminate before midnight (if he ever would at all), I interrupted him, saying, "When you return, I shall be very happy to hear the particulars of your Tay-Party, but for the present I must decline the narrative. Set out, if you mean to go: when you come back, I will listen vary attentively to the whole recital."

"Oh, then I suppose I'm tiring yir honor! But stop a bit,—I'll be here in the turn of a snipe;" saying which, he disappeared. I had not been long left to my own reflections before he came up stairs, and, without any of his previous knocks and delays, he entered my room hurriedly, and, throwing down a small book on the table before me, said, "There, sir; I hope that will amuse you while I am away: it's an account of my tay-party, by Lame Kelly the poet, that wudn't get drunk that night acause he sed he wud write it afore his next sleep. Read it, masther," said Darby; "and never mind the jokes upon me."—"Go your ways," said I.—"I've only one way to go, sir," said Darby.—"Well, then," said I, "in God's name take that."—"In God's name be it, then," replied Darby, and ultimately left me.