This almost incredible humbug of Murphy's had gone on for nearly half an hour, when the cold arising from his want of clothes, and the riot about him, and the fumes of the vinegar, roused M'Garry, who turned on the bed and opened his eyes. There he saw a parcel of people standing around him, with candles in their hands and countenances of drunken wonder and horror. He uttered a hollow groan and cried : “Save us and keep us! where am I?” “Retire, gentlemen,” said the doctor, waving his hand authoritatively, “retire —all but the under-sheriff.” Murphy cleared the room and shut the door, while M'Garry still kept exclaiming, “Save us and keep us!" where am I? What's this? O Lord!” “You’re dead! ” said Murphy; “and the coroner's inquest has just sat on you!” “Dead!” cried M'Garry, with a horrified stare. “Dead,” repeated the doctor solemnly. “Are you not Doctor Growling?” “You see the effect, Mr. Murphy,” said the doctor, not noticing M'Garry's question—“you see the effect of the process.” “Wonderful!” said Murphy. “Preserve us!” cried the bewildered apothecary. “How could I know you if I was dead, doctor? Oh, doctor dear, sure I’m not dead?” “As a herring,” said the doctor. “Lord have mercy on me! Oh, Mr. Murphy, sure I’m not dead?” o dead, sir,” said Murphy; “the doctor has only galvanized you for a few moments.” “O Lord!” groaned M'Garry. “Doctor—indeed, doctor?” “You are in a state of temporary animation,” said the doctor. “I do feel very odd, indeed,” said the terrified man, putting his hands to his throbbing temples. “How long am I dead?” “A week next Tuesday,” said the doctor. “Galvanism has preserved you from decomposition.” M'Garry uttered a heavy groan, and looked up piteously at his two termentors. Murphy, fearful the shock might drive him out of his mind, said, “Perhaps, doctor, you can preserve his life altogether; you have kept him alive so long?”

“I’ll try,” said Growling; “hand me that tumbler.” Murphy handed him a tumbler full of water, and the doctor gave it to M'Garry, and desired him to try and drink it. He #. it to his lips and swallowed a little rop. “Can you taste it?” asked the doctor. “Isn't it water?” said M'Garry. “You see how dull the nerves are yet,” said Growling to Murphy; “that's aquafortis and assafoetida, and he can’t taste it. We must give him another touch of the battery. Hold him up, while I go into the next room and immerse the plates.” The doctor left the bedroom, and came back with a hot poker and some lemonjuice and water. “Turn him gently round,” said he to Murphy, “while I conduct the wires.” His order was obeyed; and giving M'Garry a touch of the hot poker, the apothecary roared like a bull. -- +...of him good,” said Growling. “Now try: can you taste anything?” and he gave him the lemon juice and water. “I taste a slight acid, doctor, dear,” said M'Garry, hopefully. “You see what that last touch did,” said Growling, gravely; “but the palate is still feeble; that's nearly pure nitric.” “Oh, dear!” said M'Garry: “is it nitric?” “You see his hearing is coming back, too,” said the doctor to Murphy. “Try, can he put his legs under him?” They raised the apothecary from the bed; and when he staggered and fell forward, he looked horrified. “Oh, dear! I can't walk. I'm afraid I am—I am no more!” “Don’t despair,” said the doctor; “I pledge my professional reputation to save you now, since you can stand at all, and your senses partly restored., Let him lie down again; try, could he sleep—” “Sleep!” said M'Garry, with horror; “perhaps never to awaken.” “I’ll keep up the galvanic influence— don't be afraid: depend upon me—there, lie down. Can you shut your eyes? Yes, I see you can: don't open them so fast. Try, can you keep them shut? Don't open them till Itell you—wait till I count two hundred and fifty. That's right— turn a little more round—keep your eyes fast; that's it. One—two—three—four —five—six—seven;” and so he went on, making a longer interval between every number, till the monotonous sound and the closed eye of the helplessly drunken man produced the effect desired by the doctor; and the heavy snoring of the apothecary soon bore witness that he slept. When the doctor was satisfied that M'Garry was fast asleep, he and Murphy left the room, and locked the door. They were encountered on the lobby by several curious people, who wanted to know, “was the man dead?” The doctor shook his head very gravely, and said, “Not quite;” while Murphy, with a serious nod, said, “All over, I am afraid, Mrs. Fay;” for he perceived among the persons on the lobby a servant of O'Grady's, who chanced to be in the town, and was all wonder and fright at the news of his master having committed murder. Murphy and the doctor proceeded to the dinner-room, where they found the drunken men, wrangling about what verdict they should bring in, and a discursive dispute touching on “murder,” and “manslaughter,” and “accidental death,” and “the visitation of God,” mingled with noisy toasts and flowing cups, until any sagacity the company ever possessed was sacrificed to the rosy god. The lateness of the hour, and the state of the company, rendered riding home impossible to most of them, so Mrs. Fa was called upon to prepare beds. The inn did not afford a sufficiency of beds to accommodate every gentleman with a single one, so a toss-up was resorted to, to decide who should sleep double. The fortune of war cast the unfortunate James Reddy upon the doctor, who, though one of the few who were capable of self-protection, preferred remaining at the inn to riding home some miles. Now James Reddy, though very drunk indeed, had sense enough left to dislike the lot that fate had cast him. To sleep with such a slovenly man as the doctor, shocked James, who was a bit of a dandy. The doctor seemed perfectly contented with the arrangement; and as he bade MurF. “good-night,” a lurking devilment ung about his huge mouth. All the men staggered off, or were supported to their various beds butone, and he could not

y with a good s

stir from the floor, where helay hugging the leg of the table. To every effort to disturb him he replied with an imploring grunt, to “let him alone,” and he hugged the leg of the table closer, exclaiming; “I won't leave you, Mrs. Fay !—my darling Mrs. Fay 1 rowl your arms around me, Mrs. Fay!” “Ah, get up and go to bed, Misther Doyle,” said Tim. “Sure the misthress is not here at all.” “I know she's not,” said Doyle. “Who says a word against her?” “Sure you're talkin' to her yourself, sir.” “Pooh, pooh, man!—you're drunk.” “Ah, come to bed, Misther Doyle!” said Tim, in an imploring tone. “Och sure, my heart's broke with you.” “Don’t say your heart's broke, my landlady—my darling Mrs. Fay! the apple of my eye you are.” “Nonsense, Misther Doyle.” “True as the sun, moon, and stars, Apple of my eye, did I say?—I’d give the apples of my eyes to make sauce for the cockles of your heart. Mrs. Fay, darling, don't be coy. Ha! I have you fast!” and he gip ed the table closer. “Well, you are dhrunk, Doyle,” said Tim. “I hope my breath is not offensive from drink, Mrs. Fay,” said Doyle, in an amatory whisper to the leg of the table. “Ah, get out o' that, Misther Doyle,” said Tim; on: the exclamation ake, which somewhat roused the prostrate form. “Who’s there?” “I want you to come to bed, sir; eh, don't be so foolish, Misther Doyle. Sure you don’t think the misthress would be rowlin' on the flure there wid you, as dhrunk as a pig-" “Dare not wound her fame! says a word of Mrs. Fay?” “Arrah, you're talkin' there about her this half-hour.” “False villain Whisht, my darling.” said he to the leg of the table; “I’d never betray you. . Hug me tight, Mrs. Fay!” “Bad luck to the care I'll take any more about you,” said Tim; “sleep on the flure, if you like.” And Doyle was left to pass the night in the soft imaginary” delights of Mrs. Fay's mahogany embraces. How fared it with James Reddy? Alas!



poor James was doomed to a night of torment, the effects of which he remembered for many days after. In fact, had James been left to his choice, he would rather have slept with the house-dog than with the doctor; but he dreaded the consequences of letting old Jack perceive his antipathy; and visions of future chastisement from the doctor's satirical tongue awed him into submission to the present unishment. He sneaked into bed, thereore, and his deep potations ensured him immediate sleep, from which he awoke, however, in the middle of the night in torture, from the deep scratches inflicted upon him by every kick of old Growling. At last poor Reddy could stand it no longer, and the earliest hour of dawn revealed him to the doctor putting on his clothes, swearing like a trooper at one moment, and at the next apostrophizing the genius of gentility. “What it is to have to do with a person that is not a gentleman l’” he odio, as he pulled on one leg of his trousers. “What is the matter with you?” asked old Jack from one bed. “The matter is, sir, that I am going.” “Is it at this hour?" Tut, man, don't be a fool. Get into bed again.” “Never, sir, with you at least. I have seldom slept two in a bed, Dr. Growling, for my gentlemanly habits forbid it; but when circumstances have obliged me, it has been with gentlemen—gentlemen, doctor,” and he laid a stress on the word: “gentlemen, sir, who cut their toe-nails. Sir, I am a serious sufferer by your coarse habits; you have scratched me, sir, nearly to death. I am one gore of blood—” “Tut, man!’twas not my nails scratched you; it was only my spurs I put on going to bed, to keep you at a distance from me; you were so disgustingly drunk, . gentleman l—look there!” and he poked his leg out of bed, and there, sure enough, Reddy saw a spur buckled; and, dumbfounded at the evidence of the doctor's atrocity, he snatched up his clothes and rushed from the room, as from the den of a bear. Murphy twisted a beneficial result to M“Garry out of the night's riotous frolic at his expense; for in the morning, taking advantage of the report of the inquest, which he knew must have reached Neckor Nothing Hall, he made a communication to O'Grady, so equivocally worded

that the Squire fell into the trap. The note ran as follows:

SIR-You must be aware that your act of yesterday has raised a strong feeling in the country against you, and that so flagrant a violation of the law cannot fail to be visited with terrible severity upon you; for, though your position in rank places you far above the condition of the unfortunate man on whom you wreaked your vengeance, you know, sir, that in the eye of the law you are equal, and the shield of justice protects the peasant as well as the prince. Under these circumstances, considering the awful consequences of your ungoverned rage o I doubt not, you now deplore) I would suggest to you, by a timely offer of compromise, in the shape of a handsome sum of money—say two hundred pounds—to lull the storm which must otherwise have burst on your devoted head, and save your name from dishonor. I anxiously wait your answer, as proceedings must instantly commence, and the law take its course, unless Mrs. M'Garry can be pacified.

“I have the honor to be, sir,

“Your most obedient Servant,

“To Gustavus Granby O'Grady, Esq.,

“Neck-or-Nothing Hall.”

O'Grady was thoroughly frightened, and, strange as it may appear, did believe he could compromise for killing only a plebeian; and actually sent Murphy his note of hand for the sum demanded. Murtough posted off to M'Garry; he and his wife received him with shouts of indignation, and heaped reproaches on his head, for the trick *. had played on the apothecary. “Oh! Mister M'Garry—never look me in the face again!” said Mrs. M'Garry, who was ugly enough to make the request quite unnecessary; “to send my husband home to me a beast !” “Striped like a tiger!” said M'Garry. “Blacking and pickled cabbage, Misther Murphy 1" said the wife. “Oh, fie, sir. —I did not think you could be so low.” “Galvanism l’” said M'Garry, furiously; “My professional honor wounded to “Whisht, whisht, man!” said Murphy; “there's a finer plaister than any in your shop for the cure of a wounded honor. Look at that!” and he handed him the note for two hundred: “there's galvanism for you!” “What is this?” said M'Garry, in amazement.

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A shifting knave about the towne,
Did challenge wondrous skill :
To tell men's fortunes and mishaps,
He had the stars at will,
What day was best to travaile on,
Which fit to chuse a wife;
If violent or naturall
A man should end his life;
Success of any suite in law,
Which partie's cause prevailes;
When it is good to pick one's teeth,
And ill to pare his nailes.
So cunningly he plaid the knave,
That he deluded many,
With shifting, base, and cozening tricks;
For skill he had not any.

Amongst a crew of simple gulls,
That plide him to their cost,
A butcher comes and craves his help,
That had some cattle lost.
Ten groates he gave him for his fee,
And he to conjure goes,
With characters, and vocables,
And divers antique showes.
The butcher in a beastly feare,
Expected spirits still,
And wished himselfe within his shop,
Some sheepe or calfe to kill.
At length, out of an old blinde hole,
Behinde a painted cloth,
A deville comes with roaring voyce,
Seeming exceeding wroth,
With squibs and crackers round about
Wilde-fier he did send;
Which swaggering Ball, the butcher's dog,
So highly did offend,
That he upon the devill flies
And shakes his hornes so sore;
Even like an oxe, most terrible
He made hobgoblin roare.
The cunning man cries, “For God's love
Unto sons: ffe call !”
“Fight dog, fight devill!” butcher said,
And ...i. i. at Ball.
The dog most cruelly tore his flesh,
The devill went to wracke,
And lookèd like a tattered rogue,
With ne'er a rag on ’s backe.
“Give me my money back againe,
Thou slave,” the butcher said,
Or I will see your devill's heart,
Before he can be laid ;
He gets not back againe to hell,

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Ere I my money have.
And I will have some interest too,
Besides mine own I gave.
Deliver first mine own ten groats,
And then a crowne to boote;
I smell your devil's knavery out,
He wants a cloven foote.”

The conjurer, with all his heart,
The money back repaies,
And gives five shillings of his owne:
To whome the butcher saies,
“Farewell, most scurvy conjuror,
Thinke on my valiant deed,
Which has done more than English George,
That made the dragon bleed:
He and his horse, the story tells,
Did but a serpent slay;
I and my dog the devill spoild,
We two have got the day.”
SAMUEL Rowlands.


I HAVE pretty much made up my mind now to run for the j. What the country wants is a candidate who cannot be injured by investigation of his past history, so that the enemies of the party will be unable to rake up against him things that nobody ever heard of before. If you know the most about a candidate, to begin with, every attempt to spring things on him will be checkmated. Now I am going to enter the field with an open record. I am going to own up in advance to all the wickedness I have done, and if any Congressional committee is disposed to prowl around my biography, in the hope of finding any dark and deadly deed which I have secreted, why let it prowl. In the first place I admit that I did tree a rheumatic grandfather of mine in the winter of 1859. He was old and inexpert in climbing trees, but with a heartless brutality that is characteristic of me, I ran him out the front door in his night shirt, at the point of a shotgun, and caused him to bowl up a maple tree, where he remained all night while I emptied shot into his legs. I did this because he snored. I will do it again if I ever have another grandfather who snores. I am as inhuman now as I ever 12

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