He then ushered Phelim to a cell, where the reader may easily imagine what he felt.  His patriotism rose to a high pitch; he deplored the wrongs of his country bitterly, and was clearly convinced that until jails, judges, and assizes, together with a long train of similar grievances, were utterly abolished, Ireland could never be right, nor persecuted “boys,” like himself, at full liberty to burn or murder the enemies of their country with impunity.  Notwithstanding these heroic sentiments, an indifferent round oath more than once escaped him against Ribbonism in whole and in part.  He cursed the system, and the day, and the hour on which he was inveigled into it.  He cursed those who had initiated him; nor did his father and mother escape for their neglect of his habits, his morals, and his education.  This occurred when he had time for reflection.  Whilst thus dispensing his execrations, the jailer and the three gentlemen, having been struck with his allusion to Foodie Flattery, and remembering that Foodie was of indifferent morals, came to the unanimous opinion that it would be a good plan to secure him; and by informing him that Phelim was in prison upon a capital charge, endeavor to work upon his fears, by representing his companion as disposed to turn approver.  The state of the country, and Foodie’s character, justified his apprehension on suspicion.  He was accordingly taken, and when certified of Phelim’s situation, acted precisely as had been expected.  With very little hesitation, he made a full disclosure of the names of several persons concerned in burnings, waylayings, and robbery of arms.  The two first names on the list were those of Phelim and Appleton, with several besides, some of whom bore an excellent, and others an execrable, character in the country.

The next day Fool Art went to Larry’s, where he understood that Phelim was on the missing list.  This justified his suspicions of the Squire; but by no means lessened his bitterness against him, for the prank he had intended to play upon him.  With great simplicity, he presented himself at the Big House, and met its owner on the lawn, accompanied by two other gentlemen.  The magistrate was somewhat surprised at seeing Art at large, when he imagined him to be under the jailer’s lock and key.

“Well, Art,” said he, concealing his amazement, “did you deliver my letter?”

“It went safe, your honor,” replied Art.  “Did you yourself give it into his hands, as I ordered you?”

“Whoo!  Be dodda, would your honor think Art ’ud tell a lie?  Sure he read it.  Aha!”

“An’ what did he say, Art?”

“Whoo!  Why, that he didn’t know which of us had the least sense.  You for sendin’ a fool on a message, or me for deliverin’ it.”

“Was that all that happened?”

“No, sir.  He said,” added the fool, with bitter sarcasm, alluding to a duel, in which the Squire’s character had not come off with flying colors—­“he said, sir, that whin you have another challenge to fight, you may get sick agin for threepence to the poticarry.”