“You don’t talk of leaving us, surely,” said the priest, “and a haunch of mutton for dinner, and Fin says he’ll be down, and your friend, too, and we’ll have poor Beamish in on a sofa.”

“I am sorry to say my business will not admit of delay, but, if possible, I shall return to thank you for all you kindness, in a day or two —­perhaps tomorrow.”

“Oh, then,” said Father Brennan, “if it must be so, why you can have ‘Pether,’ my own pad, and a better you never laid leg over; only give him his own time, and let him keep the ‘canter,’ and he’ll never draw up from morning till night; and now I’ll just go and have him in readiness for you.”

After professing my warm acknowledgments to the good father for his kindness, I hastened to take a hurried farewell of Curzon before going.  I found him sitting up in bed taking his breakfast; a large strip of black plaster, extending from the corner of one eye across the nose, and terminating near the mouth, denoted the locale of a goodly wound, while the blue, purple and yellow patches into which his face was partitioned out, left you in doubt whether he now resembled the knave of clubs or a new map of the Ordnance survey; one hand was wrapped up in a bandage, and altogether a more rueful and woe-begone looking figure I have rarely looked upon; and most certainly I am of opinion that the “glorious, pious and immortal memory” would have brought pleasanter recollections to Daniel O’Connell himself, than it would on that morning to the adjutant of his majesty’s 4_th.

“Ah, Harry,” said he, as I entered, “what Pandemonium is this we’ve got into? did you ever witness such a business as last night’s?”

“Why truly,” said I, “I know of no one to blame but yourself; surely you must have known what a fracas your infernal song would bring on.”

“I don’t know now whether I knew it or not; but certainly at the moment I should have preferred anything to the confounded cross-examination I was under, and was glad to end it by any coup d’etat.  One wretch was persecuting me about green crops, and another about the feeding of bullocks; about either of which I knew as much as a bear does of a ballet.”

“Well, truly, you caused a diversion at some expense to your countenance, for I never beheld anything—­”

“Stop there,” said he, “you surely have not seen the doctor—­he beats me hollow—­they have scarcely left so much hair on his head as would do for an Indian’s scalp lock; and, of a verity, his aspect is awful this morning; he has just been here, and by-the-bye has told me all about your affair with Beamish.  It appears that somewhere you met him at dinner, and gave a very flourishing account of a relative of his who you informed him was not only selected for some very dashing service, but actually the personal friend of Picton; and, after the family having blazed the matter all over Cork, and given a great entertainment in honor of their kinsman, it