from a frolic that wound up the evening,
which soon began to warm, after the cloth
was removed, into that sort of a thing
commonly known by the name of a jolli-
fication. But before the dinner was over,
poor M'Garry was nearly pickled; Jack
Horan having determined to make him
drunk, arranged a system of attack on
M'Garry's sobriety which bade defiance to
his prudence to withstand. It was agreed
that everyone should ask the apothecary
to take wine; and he, poor innocent man!
when gentlemen whom he had never had
the honor to meet at dinner before, ad-
dressed him with a winning smile, and
said, "Mr. M'Garry, will you do me the
honor?" could not do less then fill his
glass every time; so that, to use Jack
Horan's own phrase, the apothecary was
"sewed up" before he had any suspicion
of the fact; and, unused to the indica-
tions of approaching vinous excitement,
he supposed it was the delightful society
made him so hilarious, and he began to
launch forth after dinner in a manner quite
at variance with the reserve he usually
maintained in the presence of his superiors
and talked largely. Now, M'Garry's
principal failing was to make himself ap-
pear very learned in his profession; and
every new discovery in chemistry, opera-
tion in surgery, or scientific experiment he
heard of, he was prone to shove in head
and shoulders, in his soberest moments;
but now that he was half drunk, he" and do you believe that, doctor?"
launched forth on the subject of galvan-
ism, having read of some recent wonderful
effects produced on the body of a recent
murderer who was hanged and given over
to the College of Surgeons in Dublin. To
impress the company still more with a
sense of his learning, he addressed Growl-
ing on the subject, and the doctor played
him off to advantage.

"and that gives you an idea of the power
of the galvanic influence, for you know
the Surgeon-General is a powerful man
and yet he could not hold him down."
"Wonderful!" hiccupped M'Garry.
"But that's nothing to what happened
in London," continued the doctor. They
experimented there the other day with a
battery of such power, that the man who
was hanged, absolutely jumped up, seized
a scalpel from the table, and making a rush
on the assembled Faculty of London,
cleared the theatre in less than no
time; dashed into the hall; stabbed the
porter who attempted to stop him, made
a chevy down the south side of Leicester
Square; and as he reached the corner, a
woman who was carrying tracts published
by the Society for the Suppression of
Vice, shrieked at beholding a man in so
startling a condition, and fainted; he
with a presence of mind perfectly amiable
whipped the cloak from her back, and
threw it around him,and scudding through
the tortuous alleys which abound in that
neighborhood, made his way to the house
where the learned Society of Noviomagians
hold their convivial meetings, and, telling
the landlord that he was invited there to
dinner as a curiosity, he gained admit-
tance, and, it is supposed, took his oppor-
tunity for escaping, for he has not since
been heard of."

"Don't you think it very wonderful, doctor?" inquired M'Garry, speaking somewhat thickly.

Very," "answered the doctor dryly. "They say, sir, the man-that is, the subject-when under the influence of the battery, absolutely twiddled his left foot, and raised his right arm.'

"And raised it to some purpose, too," said the doctor: "for he raised a contusion on the Surgeon General's eye, having hit him over the same."

"Dear me !-I did not hear that."
"It is true, however," said the doctor,

"Good Heaven!" gasped M'Garry;

"Most firmly, sir! My belief is, that galvanism is, in fact the original principle of vitality."

"Should we not rejoice, doctor," cried M'Garry, "at this triumph of science?" "I don't think you should," Mr. M'Garry," said the doctor, gravely; "for it would utterly destroy your branch of the profession; pharmacopolists, instead of compounding medicine, must compound with their creditors; they are utterly ruined. Mercury is no longer in the ascendant; all doctors have to do now is to carry a small battery about them, a sort of galvanic pocket-pistol, I may say, and restore the vital principle by its application."

"You are not serious, doctor?" said M'Garry becoming very serious, with that wise look so peculiar to drunken men.

"Never more serious in my life, sir." "That would be dreadful!" said M'Garry,

Shocking you mean," said the doctor. "Leave off your confounded scientifics there," shouted Murphy from the head of the table, "and let us have a song."

"I can't sing, indeed, Mister Murphy," said M'Garry, who became more intoxicated every moment; for he continued to drink, having overstepped the boundary which custom had prescribed to him.

"I didn't ask you, man," said Murphy; "but my darling fellow, Ned here, will gladden our hearts and ears with a stave."

"Bravo!" was shouted around the table, trembling under the "thunders of applause" with which heavy hands made it ring again; and "Ned of the Hill!" "Ned of the Hill!" was vociferated with many a hearty cheer about the board that might indeed be called "festive."

applause;" and his "health and song" were filled to and drank with enthusiasm. "Whose lines are those?" asked the doctor.

“I don't know," said O'Connor.

66

"That's as much as to say they are your own," said Growling. Ned, don't be too modest-it is the worst fault a man can have who wants to get on in this world."

"The call is with you, Ned," shouted Murphy from the head of the table; knock some one down for a song."

66

"Mr. Reddy, I hope, will favor us," said Edward, with a courteous inclination of his head toward the gentleman he named, who returned a very low bow, with many protestations that he would "do his best," &c.: "but after Mr. O'Connor, really"-and this was said with "Well," said O'Connor, "since you call a certain self-complacent smile, indicative upon me in the name of 'Ned of the of his being on very good terms with himHill,' I'll give you a song under that very self. Now, James Reddy wrote rhymes title. Here's Ned of the Hill's' own-bless the mark-and was tolerably shout;" and in a rich, manly voice he sang, with the fire of a bard, these lines:

On the drowsy valley and the moor. Here, with the eagle, I rise betimes;

Here, with the eagle, my state I keep; The first we see of the morning sun,

And his last as he sets o'er the deep; And here, while strife is rife below,

Here from the tyrant I am free; Lot shepherd slaves the valley praise, But the hill! the hill for me!

The baron below in his castle dwells,

And his garden boasts the costly rose;
But mine is the keep of the mountain steep,
Where the matchless wild flower freely

blows.

Let him fold his sheep, and his harvest reap-
I look down from my mountain throne;
And I choose and pick of the flock and the rick,
And what is his I can make my own.
Let the valley grow in its wealth below
And the lord keep his high degree;
But higher am I in my liberty-
The hill the hill for me!

O'Connor's song was greeted with what the music-publishers are pleased to designate on their title pages, "distinguished

well convinced that, except Tom Moore (if he did except even him), there was not a man in the British dominions his equal at a lyric. He sang, too, with a kill-me-quite air, as if no lady could resist his strains; and to "give effect," as he called it, he began every stanza as loud as he could, and finished it in a gentle murmur-tailed it off very taper, indeed; in short, it seemed as if a shout had been suddenly smitten with consumption, and died in a whisper. And this, his style, he never varied, whatever the nature or expression of the song might be, or the sense to be expressed; but as he very often sang his own, there were seldom any to consider. This rubbish he had set to music by the country music-master, who believed himself a bet ter composer than Sir John Stevenson, to whom the prejudices of the world gave the palm; and he eagerly caught at the opportunity which the verses and vanity of Reddy afforded him, of stringing his crotchets and quavers of the same hank with the abortive fruits of Reddy's muse, and the wretched productions hung worthily together.

Reddy, with the proper quantity of "hems and haws," and rubbing down his upper lip and chin with his forefinger and thumb, cleared his throat, tossed his nose into the air, and said he was going to give them "a little classic thing."

"Just look at the puppy!" snarled out old Growling to his neighbor: "he's going to measure us out some yards of his own fustian, I'm sure he looks so pleased." Reddy gave his last "a-hem!" and sang what he called

THE LAMENT OF ARIADNE.

The graceful Greek, with gem-bright hair,
Her garments rent, and rent the air;

"What a tearing rage she was in!"
said old Growling in an undertone.
With sobs and sighs

And tearful eyes,

Like fountain fair of Helicon. "Oh, thunder and lightning!" growled the doctor, who pulled a letter out of his pocket, and began to scribble on the blank portions of it with the stump of a blunt pencil, which he very audibly sucked, to enable him to make a mark.

For ah, her lover false was gone!

The fickle brave

And fickle wave,

Reddy smiled and bowed, and thunders of applause followed; the doctor shouted "Splendid!" several times, and continued to write and take snuff voraciously, by which those who knew him, could comprehend he was bent on mischief. "What a beautiful thing that is?” said

one.

"Whose is it?" said another.

"A little thing of my own," answered Reddy with a smile.

"I thought so," said Murphy. "By Jove, James, you are a genius!"

"Nonsense!" smiled the poet; "just a little classic trifle-I think them little classic allusions is pleasing in generalTommy Moore is very happy in his classic allusions, you may remark-not that I, of course, mean to institute a comparison between so humble an individual as myself and Tommy Moore, who has so well been called 'the poet of all circles, and the ideal of his own;' and if you will permit me in a kindred spirit-I hope I may say the kindred spirit of song-in that kindred spirit I propose his health

"And pickled cabbage," said the doc- the health of Tommy Moore!"

tor.

"Don't say Tommy!" said the doctor, in an irascible tone; "call the man Toм, sir; with all my heart, Toм MOORE!"

The table took the word from Jack Growling, and "Tom Moore," with all the honors of "hip and hurrah!" rang round the walls of the village inn-and where is the village in Ireland that health has not been hailed with the fiery enthusiasm of the land whose lays he hath "wedded to immortal verse," the land which is proud of his birth, and holds his name in honor?

There is a magic in a great name, and in this instance that of Tom Moore turned the current from where it was setting, and instead of quizzing the nonsense of the fool who had excited their mirth, every one launched forth in praise of favorite songs rang from lip to lip. their native bard, and couplets from his

"Come, Ned of the Hill," said Murphy, "sing us one of his songs-I know you have them all as pat as your prayers."

"And says them oftener," said the doctor, who still continued scribbling over the letter.

Edward, at the urgent request of many, sang that most exquisite of the melodies, And doth not a meeting like this make

amends!" and long rang the plaudits, and rapidly circulated the bottle at its conclusion.

And he tipped now and then

Just a matter o' ten

Or twelve tumblers o' punch to his bold sarving-men.

"We'll be the 'Alps in the sunset,' my boys," said Murphy; "and here's the wine to enlighten us! But what are you about there, doctor?-is it a prescription For you are writing?"

And

"No. Prescriptions are written in Latin, and this is a bit of Greek, I'm doing. Mr. Reddy has inspired me with a classic spirit, and if you will permit me, I'll volunteer a song, [Bravo bravo!] and give O' you another version of the subject he has so beautifully treated-only mine is not so heart-breaking."

The doctor's proposition was received with cheers, and after he had gone through the mockery of clearing his throat, and

They were dress'd in green livery
But seem'd rather shivery,

'twas only a trifle 'o leaves that they wore,
But they caper'd away

Like the sweeps on May-day shouted and tippled the tumblers galore. A print of their masther

Is often in plasther

Paris put over the door of a tap;

Like

A fine chubby fellow,

Ripe, rosy, and mellow,

a peach that is ready to drop in your

lap.

Hurrah! for brave Bacchus,

A bottle to crack us,

pitching his voice after the usual manner He's a friend of the people, like bowld Caius

of your would-be fine singers, he gave out, to the tune of a well-known rollicking Irish lilt, the following burlesque version of Reddy's song :—

LOVE AND LIQUOR-A GREEK ALLEGORY.

Oh, sure 'twould amaze yiz
How one Misther Theseus

Desarted a lovely young lady of owld,

On a dissolute island,

All lonely and silent,

She sobbed herself sick as she sat in the cowld,
Oh, you'd think she was kilt,
As she roar'd, with the quilt
Wrapp'd round her in haste as she jumped
out of bed,

And ran down to the coast,

Where she looked like a ghost;
Though 'twas he was departed-the vagabone

fled:

And she cried, "Well-a-day!

Sure my heart it is gray;

Gracchus.

Now Bacchus perceiving

The lady was grieving,

He spoke to her civil, and tipp'd her a wink;
And the more that she fretted.

He soother'd and petted,

And gave her a glass her own health just to
dhrink:

Her pulse it beat quicker,
The trifle o' liquor

Enliven'd her sinking heart's cockles, I think :
So the MORAL is plain,

That if love gives you pain,
There's nothing can cure it like taking to dhrink!

Unproarious were the "bravos" which followed the doctor's impromptu; the glashealth and song, as laughing faces nodded ses overflowed, and were emptied to his to him round the table. The doctor sat seriously rocking himself in his chair back

They're deceivers, them sojers, that goes on ward and forward,to meet the various duck

half pay."

Whilst abusing the villain,

Came riding postilion

A nate little boy on the back of a baste,
Big enough, faith, to ate him,
But he lather'd and bate him.

ings of the beaming faces about him; for every face beamed but one-and that was the unfortunate M'Garry's. He was most deplorably drunk, and began to hold on by the table. At last he contrived to shove back his chair and get on his legs; and stagger towards the wall, contrived by its support to scramble his way to the door. There he balanced himself as well as he could by the handle of

And the baste to unsate him ne'er struggled making a sloping

the laste;

And an illigant car

He was dhrawing-by gar!

It was finer by far than a Lord Mayor's state the lock, which chance, rather than de

coach,

And the chap that was in it

He sang like a linnet,

sign, enabled him to turn, and the door suddenly opening, poor M'Garry made a rush across the landing-place, and stum

With a nate kag of whisky beside him to bling against an opposite door would have

broach.

fallen, had he not supported himself by

the lock of that also, which, again yielding to his heavy tugs, opened, and the miserable wretch making another plunge forward, his shins came in contact with the rail of a very low bed, and into it he fell head foremost, totally unable to rise, and, after some heavy grunts, he sank into a profound sleep.

"Gad, I believe he's killed sure enough," said Murphy.

"What a splendid action the widow will have!" said Jack Horan.

"You forget, man," said Murphy," this is not a case for action of damages, but felony-hanging matter." "Sure enough," said Jack.

"Doctor, will you feel his pulse?" said Murphy.

Upon this announcement there was a general retreat from the bed, round which they had been crowding too close for the carrying on of the joke; and Mrs. Fay ran for a shovel of hot cinders, and poured vinegar over them, to fumigate the room.

"A very proper precaution, Mrs. Fay," said the doctor, with imperturbable gravity. "That villanous smoke is choking me," said Jack Horan.

in

to

Better that, sir, than have a pestilence the house," said Growling.

"I'll leave the place," said Jack Horan. "And I too," said Doyle.

"And I," said Reddy; "'tis disgusting a sensitive mind."

In this state he was discovered soon after by Murphy, whose inventive faculty for frolic instantly suggested how the The doctor did as he was required, and apothecary's mishap might be made the assumed a very serious countenance. foundation of a good practical joke. Mur-"Tis a bad business, sir-his wounds are tough went down stairs, and procuring mortifying already." some blacking and red pickled cabbage by stealth, returned to the chamber where M'Garry now lay in a state of stupor, and dragging off his clothes, he made long daubs across his back with the purple juice of the pickle and Warren's paste, till poor M'Garry was as regularly striped as a tiger, from his shoulder to his flank. He then returned to the dinner-room, where the drinking bout had assumed a formidable character, and others, as well as the apothecary, began to feel the influence of their potations. Murphy confided to the doctor what he had done, and said that, when the men were drunk enough, he would contrive that M'Garry should be discovered, and then they would take their measures accordingly. It was not very long before his company were ripe enough for his designs, and then ringing the bell he demanded of the waiter, when he entered, what had become of Mr. M'Garry. The waiter, not having any knowledge on the subject, was desired to inquire, and, a search being instituted, M'Garry was discovered by Mrs. Fay in the state Murphy had left him in. On seeing him, she screamed, and ran into the dinner-room, wringing her hands, and shouting "Murder." A great commotion ensued, and a general rush to the bedroom took place, and exclamations of wonder and horror flew round the room, not only from the gentlemen of the dinner-party, but from the servants of the house, who crowded to the chamber on the first alarm, and helped not a little to increase the confusion.

"Oh! whoever see the like of it?" shouted Mrs. Fay." "He's kilt with the batin' he got! Oh! look at him-black and blue all over! Oh, the murther it is! Oh, I wouldn't be Squire Grady for all his fort'n."

Gentlemen!" said Murphy, shutting the door," "you must not quit the house must have an inquest on the body." "An inquest?" they all exclaimed. Yes- -an inquest.'

I

66

"But there's no coroner here," said Reddy.

"No matter for that," said Murphy. "I, as the under-sheriff of the county, can preside at this inquiry. Gentlemen, take your places; bring in more light, Mrs. Fay. Stand round the bed, gentlemen."

"Not too close," said the doctor. "Mrs. Fay, bring more vinegar."

Mrs. Fay had additional candles and more vinegar introduced, and the drunken fellows were standing as straight as they could, each with a candle in his hand, round the still prostrate M'Garry.

Murphy then opened them with a speech and called in every one in the house to ask did they know anything about the matter and it was not long before it was spread all over the town that Squire O'Grady had killed M'Garry, and that the coroner's inquest brought in a verdict of murder, and that the squire was going to be sent to jail.