an’ as big as the gate ov a coach-house, an’ wrote on a board over the door, ’No admittance for strangers, only on business.’—­’Sure,’ says I, ’I’m come on the best ov business, whin the Prence is afther sendin’ his man to tell me to come on a visit.’—­An’ wid that I gave a knock wid my knuckle the way I was bid.  ‘Come in,’ says a voice; and so I opened the door.

“Oh! then, ov all the sights ever I see, an’ it’s that was the finest!  There was the Prence Ragin’ himself, mounted up upon his elegant throne, an’ his crown, that was half a hundred weight ov goold, I suppose, on his head, an’ his sceptre in his hand, an’ his lion sittin’ on one side ov him, an’ his unicorn on the other.—­’Morrow, Dan,’ says he, ’you’re welcome here.’—­’Good morning, my Lord,’ says I, ’plase your Reverence.’—­’An’ what do you think ov my place,’ says he, ’Dan, now you’re in it?’—­’By Dad! your worship,’ says I, ’it bates all the places ever I see, an’ there’s not the like ov id for fun in the wide world, barrin’ Donnybrook Fair.’—­’I never was at the fair,’ says he, ’bud I’m tould there’s plenty ov sport there for them that has money, an’ is able to take their own part in a row.’—­’Throth, Majesty,’ says I, ’your honour may say that; an’ iv your holiness ‘ill come an’ see us there, it’s myself that ‘ill give you a dhrop ov what’s good, an’ show ye all the divarsion ov the place—­ay, an’ leather the best man in the fair, that dare say, Black is the white ov your eye!’—­’More power to ye, Dan!’ says he, laughin’; ‘an’ what id you like to dhrink now?’—­’Oh, by Gor!’ says I, ’I’m afeard to take any thing, for I was dhrunk last night, an’ I’m not quite study yet.’—­’By the piper that played afore Moses,’ says he, ’ye’ll not go out ov my house till ye dhrink my health;’ so wid that he mounted down off his throne, an’ wint to a little black cupboard he had snug in the corner, an’ tuck out his gardy vine an’ a couple of glasses.  ‘Hot or cowld, Dan?’ says he.—­’Cowld, plase your reverence,’ says I. So he filled a glass for me, an’ a glass for himself.—­’Here’s towards ye, Dan,’ says he.—­’The same to you, Majesty!’ says I;—­an’ what do ye think it was?  May I never tell a lie iv id wasn’t as good whiskey as ever you see in your born days.  ‘Well,’ says I, ’that’s as fine sperits as ever I dhrunk, for sperits like id; might I make bould to ax who does your worship dale wid?’—­’Kinahan, in Dublin,’ says he.—­’An’ a good warrant he is,’ says I:  so we wint on, dhrinkin’ and chattin’, till at last, ‘Dan,’ says he, ’I’d like to spar a round wid ye.’  ‘Oh,’ says I, ‘Majesty, I’d be afeard ov hurtin’ ye, without the gloves.’—­’Arrah, do you think it’s a brat ov a boy ye’re spakin’ to?’ says he; ‘do ye’re worst, Dan, and divil may care!’ An’ so wid that we stud up.