“It was a man nearly naked, covered with long, shaggy hair, that grew even over his nose and cheek bones.  He sprang about, sometimes on his feet, sometimes, all-fours, but always uttering the most fearful yells, and glaring upon the crowd, in a manner that was really dangerous.  The Knight did not feel exactly happy at the whole proceeding, and began heartily to wish himself back in the ‘House,’ even upon a committee of privileges, when, suddenly, the savage gave a more frantic scream than before, and seized upon a morsel of raw beef, which a keeper extended to him upon a long fork, like a tandem whip—­he was not safe, it appears, at close quarters;—­this he tore to pieces eagerly and devoured in the most voracious manner, amid great clapping of hands, and other evidences of satisfaction from the audience.  I’ll go, now, thought the Knight:  for, God knows whether, in his hungry moods, he might not fancy to conclude his dinner by a member of parliament.  Just at this instant, some sounds struck upon his ear that surprised him not a little.  He listened more attentively; and, conceive if you can, his amazement, to find that, amid his most fearful cries, and wild yells, the savage was talking Irish.  Laugh, if you like; but it’s truth I am telling you; nothing less than Irish.  There he was, jumping four feet high in the air, eating his raw meat:  pulling out his hair by handfuls; and, amid all this, cursing the whole company to his heart’s content, in as good Irish as ever was heard in Tralee.  Now, though the Knight had heard of red Jews and white Negroes, he had never happened to read any account of an African Irishman; so, he listened very closely, and by degrees, not only the words were known to him, but the very voice was familiar.  At length, something he heard, left no further doubt upon his mind, and, turning to the savage, he addressed him in Irish, at the same time fixing a look of most scrutinizing import upon him.

“‘Who are you, you scoundrel’ said the Knight.

“‘Billy M’Cabe your honour.’

“’And what do you mean by playing off these tricks here, instead of earning your bread like an honest man?’

“‘Whisht,’ said Billy, ’and keep the secret.  I’m earning the rent for your honour.  One must do many a queer thing that pays two pound ten an acre for bad land.’

“This was enough:  the Knight wished Billy every success, and left him amid the vociferous applause of a well satisfied audience.  This adventure, it seems, has made the worthy Knight a great friend to the introduction of poor laws; for, he remarks very truly, ’more of Billy’s countrymen might take a fancy to a savage life, if the secret was found out.’”

It was impossible for me to preserve my incognito, as Mr. O’Leary concluded his story, and I was obliged to join in the mirth of Trevanion, who laughed loud and long as he finished it.

CHAPTER XXXIX.