Ratty made no answer-his blood began to cool-he became every moment more sensible that he had received heavy blows. His eyes became more swollen, he snuffled more in his speech, and his blackened condition altogether, from gutter, soot, and thrashing, convinced him a fight with a sweep was not an enviable achievement.

The coach drew up at the hotel. Edward left Gusty to see about the dowager, and made an appointment for Gusty to meet him at their own lodgings in an hour; while he, in the interim, should call on Dick Dawson, who was in town, on his way to London.

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Edward shook hands with Ratty, and bade him kindly good bye,"You're a stout fellow, Ratty," said he, but remember this old saying, Quarrelsome dogs get dirty coats.'

Edward row proceeded to Dick's lodgings, and found him engaged in reading a note from Tom Durfy, dated from the "Bower of Repose," and requesting Dick's aid in his present difficulty.

"Here's a pretty kettle of fish," said Dick; "Tom Durfy, who is engaged to dine with me to-day, to take leave of his bachelor life, as he is going to be married to-morrow, is arrested and now in quod, and wants me to bail him."

"The shortest way is to pay the money at once," said Edward; "is it much?"

"That I don't know; but I have not a great deal about me, and what I have I want for my journey to London, and my expenses there, --not but that I'd help Tom, if I could.”

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"He must not be allowed to remain there, however we manage to get him out," said Edward; perhaps I can help you in the affair.” "You're always a good fellow, Ned," said Dick, shaking his hand warmly.

Edward escaped from hearing any praise of himself, by proposing they should repair at once to the sponging-house, and see how matters stood. Dick lamented he should be called away at such a moment, for he was just going to get his wine ready for the party-particularly some champagne, which he was desirous of seeing well iced, but as he could not wait to do it himself, he called Andy, to give him directions about it, and set off with Edward to the relief of Tom Durfy.

Andy was once more in service in the Egan family; for the Squire, on finding him still more closely linked by his marriage with the desperate party whose influence over Andy was to be dreaded, took advantage of Andy's disgust against the woman who had entrapped him, and offered to take him off to London instead of enlisting; and as Andy believed he would be there sufficiently out of the way of the false Bridget, he came off at once to Dublin with Dick, who was the pioneer of the party to London.

Dick gave Andy the necessary directions for icing the champagne, which he set apart, and pointed out most particularly to our hero, lest he should make a mistake, and perchance ice the port instead.

After Edward and Dick had gone, Andy commenced operations, according to orders.-He brought a large tub up stairs containing rough ice, which excited Andy's wonder, for he never had known till now

that ice was preserved for and applied to such a use, for an ice-house did not happen to be attached to any establishment in which he had served. "Well, this is the quarest thing I ever heerd of," said Andy. 'Musha! what outlandish inventions the quolity has among them.They're not contint with wine, but they must have ice along with it,and in a tub, too!-just like pigs !-throth, it's a dirty thrick, I think. -Well, here goes!" said he; and Andy opened a bottle of champagne, and poured it into the tub with the ice. "How it fizzes!" said Andy.— "Faix, it's almost as lively as the soda-wather, that bothered me long ago.—Well, I know more about things now-sure it's wondherful how a man improves with practice!"—and another bottle of champagne was emptied into the tub as he spoke. Thus, with several such complacent comments upon his own proficiency, Andy poured half-a-dozen of champagne into the tub of ice, and remarked, when he had finished his work, that he thought it would be “ mighty cowld on their stomachs."

Dick and Edward all this time were on their way to the relief of Tom Durfy, who, though he had cooled down from the boiling pitch to which the misadventure of the morning had raised him, was still simmering, with his elbows planted on the rickety table in Mr. Goggins's "bower," and his chin resting on his clenched hands. the very state of mind in which Tom was most dangerous.

It was

At the other side of the table sat James Reddy, intently employed in writing; his pursed mouth and knitted brows bespoke a labouring state of thought, and the various crossings, interlinings, and blottings, gave additional evidence of the same, while now and then a rush at a line which was knocked off in a hurry, with slashing dashes of the pen, and fierce after-crossings of t's, and determined dottings of i's, declared some thought suddenly seized, and executed with bitter triumph.

"You seem very happy in yourself in what you are writing," said Tom. "What is it? Is it another epithalamium ?"

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"It is a caustic article against the successful men of the day," said Reddy ; 'they have no merit, sir-none. 'Tis nothing but luck has placed them where they are, and they ought to be exposed." He then threw down his pen as he spoke, and after a silence of some minutes, suddenly put this question to Tom:—

"What do you think of the world?

Faith, I think it so pleasant a place," said Tom, "that I'm confoundedly vexed at being kept out of it by being locked up here; and that cursed bailiff is so provokingly free-and-easy-coming in here every ten minutes, and making himself at home."

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Why, as for that matter, it is his home, you must remember." "But while a gentleman is here for a period," said Tom," this room ought to be considered his, and that fellow has no business here-and then his bows and scrapes, and talking about the feelings of a gentleman, and all that—'tis enough to make a dog beat his father. him! I'd like to choke him."

"Oh! that's merely his manner," said James. "Want of manners, you mean," said Tom.

Curse

Hang me, if he

comes up to me with his rascally familiarity again, but I'll kick him down stairs."

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6

My dear fellow, you are excited," said Reddy; "don't let these sublunary trifles ruffle your temper-you see how I bear it-and to recall you to yourself, I will remind you of the question we started from, What do you think of the world.' There's a general question— a broad question, upon which one may talk with temper, and soar above the petty grievances of life in the grand consideration of so ample a subject. You see me here, a prisoner like yourself, but I can talk of the world. Come, be a calm philosopher, like me!—Answer, what do you think of the world?"

"I've told you already," said Tom; "it's a capital place, only for the bailiffs."

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'I can't agree with you," said James. "I think it one vast pool of stagnant wretchedness, where the malaria of injustice holds her scales suspended, to poison rising talent by giving an undue weight to existing prejudices."

To this lucid and good-tempered piece of philosophy, Tom could only answer, "You know I am no poet, and I cannot argue with you; but, 'pon my soul, I have known, and do know, some uncommon good fellows in the world."

"You're wrong, you're wrong, my unsuspecting friend. 'Tis a bad world, and no place for susceptible minds. Jealousy pursues talent like its shadow-superiority only wins for you the hatred of inferior men.— For instance, why am I here? The editor of my paper will not allow my articles always to appear;-prevents their insertion, lest the effect they would make would cause inquiry, and tend to my distinction; and the consequence is, that the paper I came to uphold in Dublin, is deprived of my articles, and I don't get paid; while I see inferior men, without asking for it, loaded with favour; they are abroad in affluence, and I in captivity and poverty. But one comfort is, even in disgrace I can write, and they shall get a slashing."

Thus spoke the calm philosopher, who gave Tom a lecture on patience.

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Tom was no great conjuror, but at that moment, like Audrey," he thanked the gods he was not poetical." If there be any one thing more than another to make an every-day man" content with his average lot, it is the exhibition of ambitious inferiority, striving for distinction it can never attain; just given sufficient perception to desire the glory of success, without power to measure the strength that can achieve it; like some poor fly, which beats its head against a pane of glass, seeing the sunshine beyond, but incapable of perceiving the subtle medium which intervenes-too delicate for its limited sense to comprehend, but too strong for its limited power to pass.

But though Tom felt satisfaction at that moment, he had too good feeling to wound the self-love of the vain creature before him; so, instead of speaking what he thought, viz.- "What business have you to attempt literature, you conceited fool?" he tried to wean him civilly from his folly by saying, "Then come back to the country, James; if you find jealous rivals here, you know you were always admired there