“I think,” observed the servant, “you had better not taste that till after your return.”

“Come away, man,” said Peter; “we’ll talk upon it as we go along:  I couldn’t do readily widout it.  You hard that I lost Ellish?”

“Yes,” replied the servant, “and I was very sorry to hear it.”

“Did you attind the berrin?”

“No, but my master did,” replied the man; “for, indeed, his respect for your wife was very great, Mr. Connell.”

This was before ten o’clock in the forenoon, and about one in the afternoon a stout countryman was seen approaching the gentleman’s house, with another man bent round his neck, where he hung precisely as a calf hangs round the shoulders of a butcher, when he is carrying it to his stall.

“Good Heavens!” said the owner of the mansion to his lady, “what has happened to John Smith, my dear?  Is he dead?”

“Dead!” said his lady, going in much alarm to the drawing-room window:  “I protest I fear so, Frank.  He is evidently dead!  For God’s sake go down and see what has befallen him.”

Her husband went hastily to the hall-door, where he met Peter with his burden.

“In the name of Heaven, what has happened, Connell?—­what is the matter with John?  Is he living or dead?”

“First, plase your honor, as I have him on my shouldhers, will you tell me where his bed is?” replied Peter.  “I may as well lave him snug, as my hand’s in, poor fellow.  The devil’s bad head he has, your honor.  Faith, it’s a burnin’ shame, so it is, an’ nothin’ else—­to be able to bear so little!”

The lady, children, and servants, were now all assembled about the dead footman, who hung, in the mean time, very quietly round Peter’s neck.

“Gracious Heaven!  Connell, is the man dead?” she inquired.

“Faith, thin, he is, ma’am,—­for a while, any how; but, upon my credit, it’s a burnin’ shame, so it is,”—­

“The man is drunk, my dear,” said her husband—­“he’s only drunk.”

“—­a burnin’ shame, so it is—­to be able to bear no more nor about six glasses, an’ the whiskey good, too.  Will you ordher one o’ thim to show me his bed, ma’am, if you plase,” continued Peter, “while he’s an me?  It’ll save throuble.”

“Connell is right,” observed his landlord.  “Gallagher, show him John’s bed-room.”

Peter accordingly followed another servant, who pointed out his bed, and assisted to place the vanquished footman in a somewhat easier position than that in which Peter had carried him.

“Connell,” said his landlord, when he returned, “how did this happen?”

“Faith, thin, it’s a burnin’ shame,” said Connell, “to be able only to bear”—­

“But how did it happen? for he has been hitherto a perfectly sober man.”