“No matter, friend Dunphy, we’ll renew the attack at supper; an easy mind brings a good appetite, which is but natural; it’s all the heart of man.”

“Well, I don’t know that,” said Dunphy, replying to, the first of the axioms; “I have often aiten a hearty dinner enough when my mind was, God knows, anything but aisy.”

“Well, then,” rejoined Sam, “when the heart’s down, a glass of old stingo, mixed stiff, will give it a lift; so, my old fellow, if there’s anything wrong with you, we’ll soon set it to rights.”

The table was now cleared, and the word “Hot wate-r-r,” was given, as if Molly had been on drill, as in fact, she may be considered to have been every day in the week; then the sugar and whiskey in the same tone.  But whilst she is preparing and producing the materials, as they have been since termed, we shall endeavor to give an outline of old Sam.

Old Sam, then, was an erect, square-built, fine-looking old fellow, with firm, massive, but benevolent features; not, however, without a dash of determination in them that added very considerably to their interest.  His eyes were gray, kind, and lively; his eyebrows rather large, but their expression was either stern or complacent, according to the mood of the moment.  That of complacency, however, was their general character.  Upon the front part of his head he had received a severe wound, which extended an inch or so down the side of his forehead, he had also lost the two last fingers of his left hand, and received several other wounds that were severe and dangerous when inflicted, but as their scars were covered by his dress, they were consequently invisible.  Sam was at this time close upon seventy, but so regular had been his habits of life, so cheerful and kind his disposition, and so excellent his constitution, that he did not look more than fifty-five.  It was utterly impossible not to read the fine old soldier in every one of his free, but well-disciplined, movements.  The black stock, the bold, erect head, the firm but measured step, and the existence of something like military ardor in the eye and whole bearing; or it might be the proud consciousness of having bravely and faithfully discharged his duty to his king and his country; all this, we say, marked the man with an impress of such honest pride and frank military spirit, as, taken into consideration with his fine figure, gave the very beau ideal of an old soldier.

When each had mixed his tumbler, Sam, brimful of the good news to which he had alluded, filled a small glass, as was his wont, and placing it before Beck, said: 

“Come, Beck, attention!—­’The king, God bless him!’ Attention, Dunphy!—­off with it.”

“The king, God bless him!” having been duly honored, Sam proceeded: 

“Beck, my old partner, I said I had good news for you.  Our son and his regiment—­three times eleven, eleven times three—­the gallant thirty-third, are in Dublin.”