He had just reached the word “battle,” in the second line upon which he was bestowing what he meant to be a shake, when, as if the word suggested it, it seemed the signal for a general engagement.  Decanters, glasses, jugs, candlesticks,—­aye, and the money-dish, flew right and left—­all originally intended, it is ture, for the head of the luckless adjutant, but as they now and then missed their aim, and came in contact with the “wrong man,” invariably provoked retaliation, and in a very few minutes the battle became general.

What may have been the doctor’s political sentiments on this occasion, I cannot even guess; but he seemed bent upon performing the part of a “convivial Lord Stanley,” and maintaining a dignified neutrality.  With this apparent object, he mounted upon the table, to raise himself, I suppose, above the din and commotion of party clamour, and brandishing a jug of scalding water, bestowed it with perfect impartiality on the combatants on either side.  This Whig plan of conciliation, however well intended, seemed not to prosper with either party; and many were the missiles directed at the ill-starred doctor.  Meanwhile Father Malachi, whether following the pacific instinct of his order, in seeking an asylum in troublesome times, or equally moved by old habit to gather coin in low places, (much of the money having fallen,) was industriously endeavouring to insert himself beneath the table; in this, with one vigorous push, he at last succeeded, but in so doing lifted it from its legs, and thus destroying poor “Fin’s” gravity, precipitated him, jug and all, into the thickest part of the fray, where he met with that kind reception such a benefactor ever receives at the hands of a grateful public.  I meanwhile hurried to rescue poor Curzon, who, having fallen to the ground, was getting a cast of his features taken in pewter, for such seemed the operation a stout farmer was performing on the adjutant’s face with a quart.  With considerable difficulty, notwithstanding my supposed “lordship,” I succeeded in freeing him from his present position; and he concluding, probably, that enough had been done for one “sitting,” most willingly permitted me to lead him from the room.  I was soon joined by the doctor, who assisted me in getting my poor friend to bed; which being done, he most eagerly entreated me to join the company.  This, however, I firmly but mildly declined, very much to his surprise; for as he remarked—­“They’ll all be like lambs now, for they don’t believe there’s a whole bone in his body.”

Expressing my deep sense of the Christian-like forbearance of the party, I pleaded fatigue, and bidding him good night, adjourned to my bed-room; and here, although the arrangements fell somewhat short of the luxurious ones appertaining to my late apartment at Callonby, they were most grateful at the moment; and having “addressed myself to slumber,” fell fast asleep, and only awoke late on the following morning to wonder where I was:  from any doubts as to which I was speedily relieved by the entrance of the priest’s bare-footed “colleen,” to deposit on my table a bottle of soda water, and announce breakfast, with his reverence’s compliments.