“Hould there, if you plase,” exclaimed one of his opponent’s relations; “don’t lug in his family; that’s known to be somewhat afore your own, I bleeve.  There’s no Informers among them, Misther Costigan:  keep at home, masther, if you plase.”

“At home!  That’s more than some o’ your own cleavings (* distant relations) have been able to do,” rejoined Costigan, alluding to one of the young fellow’s acquaintances who had been transported.

“Do you mane to put an affront upon me?” said the other.

“Since the barrhad (* cap) fits you, wear it,” replied Costigan.

“Very right, masther, make him a present of it,” exclaimed one of Costigan’s distant relations; “he desarves that, an’ more if he’d get it.”

“Do I?” said the other; “an’ what have you to say on the head of it, Bartle?”

“Why, not much,” answered Bartle, “only that you ought to’ve left it betune them; an’ that I’ll back Misther Costigan agin any rascal that ’ud say there was ever a dhrop of his blood in an Informer’s veins.”

“I say it for one,” replied the other.

“And I, for another,” said Connell; “an’ what’s worse, I’ll hould a wager, that if he was searched this minute, you’d find a Kay to Gough in his pocket, although he throws Vosther in my teeth:  the dunce never goes widout one.  Sure he’s not able to set a dacent copy, or headline, or to make a dacent hook, nor a hanger, nor a down stroke, and was a poor scholar, too!”

“I’ll give you a down stroke in the mane time, you ignoramus,” said the pedagogue, throwing’ himself to the end of the table at I which his enemy sat, and laying him along the floor by a single blow.

He was instantly attacked by the friend of the prostrate academician, who was in his turn attacked by the friend of Costigan.  The adherents of the respective teachers I were immediately rushing to a general engagement, when the door opened, and Darby More made his appearance.

“Asy!—­stop wid yees!—­hould back, ye I disgraceful villains!” exclaimed the mendicant, in a thundering voice.  “Be asy, I say.  Saints in glory! is this the way you’re settlin’ the dispute between the two dacent young men, that’s sorry, both o’ them, I’ll go bail, for what they done.  Sit down, every one o’ yez, or, by the blessed ordhers I wear about me, I’ll report yez to Father Hoolaghan, an’ have yez read out from the althar, or sint to Lough Derg!  Sit down, I say!”

As he spoke, he extended his huge cant between the hostile parties, and thrust them one by one to their seats with such muscular energy, that he had them sitting before another blow could be given.