66 bound to do, to drink the health of the gentleman who gives him the last half-crown; and he was so intent on doing that same," as they say in Ireland, that Andy's driving became very equivocal afterwards. In short, he drove the post-chaise into the river; the horses got disentangled by kicking the traces, which were very willing to break into pieces; and Andy, by sticking to the neck of the horse he rode, got out of the water. The horses got home without the post-chaise, and the other post-chaise and pair got home without a postilion, so that Owny Doyle was roused from his bed by the neighing of the horses at the gate of the inn. Great was his surprise at the event, as, half clad and a candle in his hand, he saw two pair of horses, one chaise, and no driver, at his door. The next morning the plot thickened; Squire O'Grady came to know if a gentleman had arrived at the town on his way to Neck-or-Nothing Hall. The answer was in the affirmative. Then "where was he?" became a question. Then the report arrived of the post-chaise being upset in the river. Then came stories of postilions falling off, of postilions being changed, of Handy Andy being employed to take the gentleman to the place; and out of these materials the story became current that "an English gentleman was dhrownded in the river in a post-chaise." O'Grady set off directly with a party to have the river dragged, and near the spot, encountering Handy Andy, he ordered him to be seized, and accused him of murdering his friend. It was in this state of things that the boats approached the party on the land, and the moment Dick Dawson saw Handy Andy, he put out his oars, and pulled away as hard as he could. At the moment he did so, Andy caught sight of him, and pointing out Furlong and Dick to O'Grady, he shouted, "There he is!-there he is!-I never murdhered him! There he is!-stop him!-Misther Dick, stop, for the love o' God !" "What is all this about?" said Furlong in great amazement. 66 Oh, he's a process-server," said Dick; "the people are going to drown him, maybe." "To dwown him!" said Furlong in horror. "If he has luck," said Dick, "they'll only give him a good ducking; but we had better have nothing to do with it, I would not like you to be engaged in one of these popular riots." "I shouldn't wellish it, myself," said Furlong. "Pull away, Dick!" said Murphy; "let them kill the blackguard, if they like.” "But will they kill him weally?" inquired Furlong, somewhat horrified. "'Faith, it's just as the whim takes them," said Murphy; "but as we wish to be popular on the hustings, we must let them kill as many as they please." Andy still shouted loud enough to be heard. goin' to murdher me !" "Misther Dick, they're "Poor wretch!" said Furlong, with a very uneasy shudder. 66 Maybe you'd think it right for us to land and rescue him," said Murphy, affecting to put about the boat. "Oh, by no means," said Furlong. the customs of the countwy than I am." "You're better acquainted with "Then we'll row back to dinner as fast as we can," said Murphy. "Pull away, my hearties!" and, as he bent to his oars, he began bellowing the Canadian Boat-Song, to drown Andy's roars; and when he howled, "Our voices keep tune-" there never was a more practical burlesque upon the words; but as he added Our oars keep time," he seemed to have such a pleasure in pulling, and looked so lively and florid, that Furlong, chilled by his inactivity on the water, and whose subsequent horror at the thought of seeing a real, regular Irish drowning of a process-server before his face, had produced a shivering fit, requested Murtough to let him have an oar, to restore circulation by exercise. Murtough complied; but the novice had not pulled many strokes, before his awkward handling of the oar produced that peculiar effect called " catching a crab," and a smart blow upon his chest seat him heels over head under the thwarts of the boat. "Wha-wha-a-t's that?" gasped Furlong, as he scrambled up again. "You only caught a crab," said Murtough. "Good heaven!" said Furlong, crabs as well as salmon in the river." 66 you don't mean to say there are "Just as many crabs as salmon," said Murtough; "pull away, my hearty " Row, brothers, row-the stream runs fast- 108 CHAPTER XII THE boats doubled round an angle in the river, and Andy was left in the hands of Squire O'Grady, still threatening vengeance; but Andy, as long as the boats remained in sight, heard nothing but his own sweet voice, shouting at the top of its pitch, "They're going to murdher me! -Misther Dick, Misther Dick, come back for the love o' God!" "What are you roaring like a bull for ?" said the Squire. 66 Why wouldn't I roar, sir? A bull would roar if he had as much rayson. "A bull has more reason than ever you had, you calf," said the Squire. "Sure there he is, and can explain it all to you," said Andy, pointing after the boats. "Who is there ?" asked the Squire. "Misther Dick, and the jintleman himself that I dhruv there.” "Drove where ?" "To the Squire's." "What Squire's?" 66 Squire Egan's, to be sure.' 66 Hold your tongue, you rascal; you're either drunk still, or telling lies. The gentleman I mean wouldn't go to Mister Egan's: he was coming to me." "That's the jintleman I dhruv-that's all I know. He was in the shay, and was nigh shootin' me; and Micky Doolin stopped on the oad, when his brother was nigh killed, and towld me to get up, for he wouldn't go no farther, when the jintleman objected—” "What did the gentleman object to ?" "He objected to Pether goin' into the shay." "Who is Peter?" "Pether Doolin, to be sure." "And what brought Peter Doolin there ?" "He fell off the horse's-" ❝ Wasn't it Mick Doolin you said was driving, but a moment ago?" "Ay, sir; but that was th'other shay." "What other chaise, you vagabond?" "Th'other shay, your honour, that I never seen at all, good or bad—only Pether." "What diabolical confusion you are making of the story, to be sure! there's no use in talking to you here, I see. Bring him after me," said the Squire to some of his people standing by. "I must keep him in custody till something more satisfactory is made out about the matter." "Sure it's not makin' a presner of me you'd be?" said Andy. "You shall be kept in confinement, you scoundrel, till something is heard of this strange gentleman. I'm afraid he's drowned." "D-l a dhrown'd. I dhruv him to Squire Egan's, I'll take my book oath." "That's downright nonsense, sir. He would as soon go into Squire Egan's house as go to Fiddler's Green." 66 66 Faith, then, there's worse places than Fiddler's Green," said Andy, as some people may find out one o' these days." 66 "I think, boys," said O'Grady to the surrounding countrymen, we must drag the river." 66 Dhrag the river, if you plase, said Andy;" "but, for the tendher mercy o' heaven, don't dhrag me to jail! By all the crosses in a yard o' check, I dhruv the jintleman to Squire Egan's!—and there he was in that boat I showed you five minutes agone. 66 Bring him after me," said O'Grady. "The fellow is drunk still, or forgets all about it; I must examine him again. Take him over to the hall, and lock him up in the justice-room till I go home." “Arrah, sure, your honour—” said Andy, commencing an appeal. "If you say another word, you scoundrel," said the Squire, shaking his whip at him, "I'll commit you to jail this minute. Keep a sharp eye after him, Molloy," were the last words of the Squire to a stoutbuilt peasant who took Andy in charge as the Squire mounted his horse and rode away. Andy was marched off to Neck-or-Nothing Hall; and, in compliance with the Squire's orders, locked up in the justice-room. This was an apartment where the Squire in his magisterial capacity dispensed what he called justice, and what he possibly meant to be such; but poor Justice, coming out of Squire O'Grady's hands, was something like the little woman in the song, who, having her petticoats cut short while she was asleep, exclaimed on her waking, "As sure as I'm a little woman, this is none of I." Only that Justice in the present instance doubted her identity, not from her nakedness, but from the peculiar dressing Squire O'Grady bestowed pon her. She was so muffled up in O'Gradyism, that her own mother, who by the same token was Themis, wouldn't know her. Indeed, if I remember, Justice is worse off than mortals respecting her parentage; for while there are many people who do not know who were their fathers, poets are uncertain who was Justice's mother:-some say Aurora, some say Themis. Now, if I might indulge at this moment in a bit of reverie, it would not be unreasonable to suppose that it is the classic disposition of Ireland, which is known to be a very ancient country, that tends to make the operations of Justice assimilate with the uncertainty of her birth; for her dispensations there are as distinct as if they were the offspring of two different influences. One man's justice is not another man's justice ;-which I suppose must arise from the difference of opinion as to who or what Justice is. Perhaps the rich people, who incline to power, may venerate Justice more as the child of Jupiter and Themis; while the unruly worship her as the daughter of Titan and Aurora; for undoubtedly the offspring of Aurora must be most welcome to "Peep-'o-day boys." Well, not to indulge further in reverie,—Andy, I say, was locked up in the justice-room; and as I have been making all these observations about Justice, a few words will not be thrown away about the room which she was supposed to inhabit. Then I must say Squire O'Grady did not use her well. The room was a cold, comfortless apartment, with a plastered wall and an earthen floor, save at one end, where a raised platform of boards sustained a desk and one high office-chair. No other seat was in the room, nor was there any lateral window, the room being lighted from the top, so that Justice could be no way interested with the country outside-she could only contemplate her native heaven through the sky-light. Behind the desk were placed a rude shelf, where some "modern instances," and old ones too, were lying covered with dust-and a gunrack, where some carbines with fixed bayonets were paraded in show of authority; so that, to an imaginative mind, the aspect of the books and the fire-arms gave the notion of JUSTICE on the shelf, and Law on the rack. But Andy thought not of those things; he had not the imagination which sometimes gives a prisoner a passing pleasure in catching a whimsical conceit from his situation, and, in the midst of his anxiety, anticipating the satisfaction he shall have in saying a good thing, even at the expense of his own suffering. Andy only knew that he was locked up in the justice-room for something he never did. He had only sense enough to feel that he was wronged, without the spirit to wish himself righted; and he sauntered up and down the cold, miserable room, anxiously awaiting the arrival of "his honour, Squire O'Grady," to know what would be done with him, and wondering if they could hang him for upsetting a post-chaise in which a gentleman had been riding, rather than brooding future means of redress for his false imprison ment. There was no winaow to look out of-he had not the comfort of seeing a passing fellow-creature; for the sight of one's kind is a comfort. He could not even see the green earth and the freshness of nature, which, though all unconsciously, has still a soothing influence on the most uncultivated mind; he had nothing but the walls to look at, which were blank, save here and there that a burnt stick, in the hand of one of the young O'Grady's, emulated the art of a Sandwich islander, and sketched faces as grotesque as any pagan could desire for his idol; or figures, after the old well-established school-boy manner, which in the present day is called Persian painting, "warranted to be taught in three lessons." Now, this bespeaks degeneracy in the arts; for in the time we write of, boys and girls acquired the art without any lessons at all, and abundant proofs of this intuitive talent existed on the aforesaid walls. Napoleon and Wellington were fighting a duel, while Nelson stood by to see fair play, he having nothing better to do, as the battle of Trafalgar, represented in the distance, could, of course, go on without him. The anachronism of jumbling Bonaparte, Wellington, |