Andy. And what use would a pin be without ink, now I ax yourself, Misther Dick? Dick. I'd knock your brains out if you had any, you omadhaun ! Go along and get me a feather, and make haste. [Exit ANDY.] Hang the fellow! if he can make a blunder any way, he will. Enter ANDY. Andy. Here's the fither, sir. you plaze? [Dick oiling the lock.] Dick. To make it work smooth. What's that for, Misther Dick, sir, if Andy. And what's that thing you're grazin' now, sir? That's the tumbler. Andy. O Lord! a tumbler-what a quare name for it. I thought there was no tumbler but a tumbler for punch. Dick. That's the tumbler you would like to be cleaning the inside of, Andy. Andy. Thrue for you, sir.-And what's that little thing you have your hand on now, sir? Dick. That's the cock. Andy. Oh dear, a cock!-Is there e'er a hin in it, sir? Dick. No, nor a chicken either, though there is a feather. Andy. The one in your hand, sir, that you're grazin' it with? Dick. No: but this little thing-that is called the feather-spring. Dick. No doubt of it, Andy. Andy. Well, there's some sinse in that name, then; but who'd think of such a thing as a tumbler and a cock in a pistle? And what's that place that opens and shuts, sir? Dick. The pan. Andy. Well, there's sinse in that name too, bekaze there's fire in the thing; and it's as nath'ral to say pan to that as a fryin'-pan-isn't it, Misther Dick? Dick. Oh! there was a great gunmaker lost in you ! Andy. And what's that for, sir ?—the leather I mane. That's for putting round the ball. Andy. Is it for fear 'twould hurt him too much when you hot him? Dick. [smiling.] You're a queer customer, Andy. Andy. And what weeshee little balls thim is, sir. Dick. They are always small for duelling pistols. Andy. Oh, then, thim is jewellin' pistles. Why, musha, Misther Dick, is it goin' to fight a jule you are? Dick. No, Andy, but the master is: but don't say a word about it. Andy. Not a word for the world. The masther goin' to fight!—God send him safe out iv it!—Amen. And who is he goin' to fight, Misther Dick? Dick. Murphy, the attorney, Andy. Andy. Oh, won't the masther disgrace himself by fightin' the 'torney? Dick. How dare you say such a thing of your master? Andy. I ax your pardon, Misther Dick; but sure you know what I I hope he'll shoot him. mane. Dick. Why, Andy, Murtough was always very good to you, and now you wish him to be shot. Andy. Sure, why wouldn't I rather have him kilt more than the masther? Dick. But neither may be killed. Andy. Misther Dick, [mysteriously] wouldn't it be an iligant thing to put two balls into the pistle instead o' one, and give the masther a chance over the 'torney? Dick. Oh, you murdherous villain! Andy. Arrah, why shouldn't the masther have a chance over him? sure he has childre, and 'Torney Murphy has none. Dick. At that rate, Andy, I suppose you'd give the masther a ball additional for every child he has, and that would make eight. So you might as well give him a blunderbuss and slugs at once. [Carefully securing the pistols.] Here, take this box, and meet me and the masther at the Corner Lane Gate, or wait there till we arrive. [Exit Dick and ANDY; and chairs and table removed. Enter TOM DURFY and MURTOUGH MURPHY, talking. Durfy. The squire is a capital shot. Your only chance is to slap at him, Morty, my boy, the minute you get the word; and, even if you don't hit him, it will prevent his dwelling on his aim. [Exit DURFY and MURPHY. Enter ANDY. Oh! there's the Masther and Misther Dick, with the 'Torney and Misther Durfy; they seem mighty busy sittlin the distance for the jewel —and I'll give the masther the chance [opening the case]; for sure, if Misther Dick wouldn't like to do it, that's no raison I wouldn't, and, by the powers! I'll рор in a ball onknownst to him. Enter Dick, taking pistols from ANDY, and exit. Now they're gitting ready-sure, Misther Dick understands the bisnis'how nately he 'ranges 'em-sure they're at it now: my heavins, but Misther Murphy's blazin away;-oh! sure, and the masther will be kilt, for he don't fire at all!— -There goes the 'Torney at it agin—and the masther seems dum'founder'd.- -Here they come ! Enter SQUIRE EGAN, throwing down the pistol. Hang the pistol! Hang the powder! Your powder's damp, Ned. Enter Dick, picking up the pistol. Squire. No, it's not, it's you who have bungled the loading. Enter DURFY and MURTOUGH. Dick. ME! [angrily] I bungle the loading of pistols !—-I, that have stepped more ground, and arranged more affairs than any man in the country!-Arrah, be aisy, Ned! Durfy. Come, come, for the present it's no matter; on the part of my friend, I beg to express myself satisfied. Dick. But it's very hard we're not to have a shot [poking the touchhole of the pistol with a pricker.] D Durfy. Why, my dear Dick, as Murphy has had two shots, and the squire has not had the return of either, he declares he will not fire at him again; and, under these circumstances, I must take my man off the ground. Dick. Very well. [Still poking the touch-hole, and examining the pricker.] Durfy. And now Murphy wants to know, since the affair is all over and his honour satisfied, what was your brother-in-law's motive in assaulting him this morning, for he himself cannot conceive a cause for it. Dick. Oh, be aisy, Tom. Durfy. 'Pon my soul, it's true. Dick. Why he sent him a blister,-a regular apothecary's blister,instead of some law process, by way of a joke, and Ñed wouldn't stand it. Durfy. What can this really mean, Murphy? Murphy. There must be some mistake, I never committed the impertinence of which you accuse me. Squire. All I know is, that I got a blister, which my messenger said you gave him. Murphy. By virtue of my oath, squire, I never did it! I gave Andy an enclosure of the law process. Squire. Then it's some mistake that vagabond has made. Come here, you sir! [To ANDY, who stands trembling, Dick looking furiously at him.] Why don't you come here when I call you ?-What did you do with the letter Mr. Murphy gave you for me yesterday? me. Andy. I brought it to your honour. Murphy. No you didn't. You've made some mistake. Andy. Divil a mistake I made; I wint home the minit you gev it to Murphy. Did you go home direct from my house to the squire's? Andy. Yis, sir, I did: I wint direct home, and called at Mr. M'Garry's by the way for some physic for the childre'. Murphy. That's it! he changed my enclosure for a blister there; and if M'Garry has only had the luck to send the bit o' parchment to O'Grady, it will be the best joke I've heard this month of Sundays. Durfy. He did! he did! for don't you remember how O'Grady was after M'Garry this morning? Murphy. Sure enough. By dad! Andy, you've made a mistake this time I'll forgive you. Dick. [savagely.] By the powers o' war! I won't forgive him what he did now, though! What do you think? [holding out the pistols] may I never fire another shot if he hasn't crammed a brace of bullets down the pistols before I loaded them: so no wonder you burned prime, Ned! All. Oh, Dick, Dick! you're a pretty second [laughing]. ANDY sneaks aside, and DICK makes a sudden movement towards him, when ANDY runs off, with Dick after him. Murphy. Hurra! a race—a race! I'll bet on Andy-five pounds on Andy. Squire. Done! I'll back Dick the Divil. Murphy. Tare an' ouns; how Andy runs! Fear's a fine spur. Squire. So is rage. Dick's hot-foot after him. Will you double the bet? Murphy. Done! Squire. There they go: two to one on Dick,-he's closing. Murphy. Done !-Andy will wind him yet. Squire. Well done!-there's a leap!-Hurra!-Dick's down! Well done, Dick!-up again and going. Murphy. Mind the next quickset hedge-that's a rasper, it's a wide gripe, and the edge is as thick as a wall—Andy 'll stick in it-Mind him ! -Well leap'd, by the powers!-Ha! he's sticking in the hedge-Dick 'll catch him now. No, by jingo! he has pushed his way through-there, he's going again at the other side.--Ha! ha! ha! ha! look at himhe's in tatthers!-he has left half of his breeches in the hedge. Durfy. Dick is over now.-Hurra!-he has lost the skirt of his coat -Andy is gaining on him.-Two to one on Andy! Squire. Down he goes !-into the ditch by Jove !-and Dick after him! Dick's pummelling away at him most unmercifully!-Now he's loose he runs-Tally ho! All. Tally ho! tally ho! Murphy. Come, squire, let's go and look after our friend Dick. The affair's taken rather a whimsical turn; here are you and I, who went out to shoot each other, safe and well, while one of the seconds has come off rather the worse for wear; and a poor devil, who had nothing to say to the matter in hand, good, bad, or indifferent, is nearly killed. Squire. Then let's shake hands. Tom, Durfy, and yourself, come home with me and dine;-let's forget our annoyance in an extra stoup of claret, and help our friend Dick to drink confusion to Handy Andy, although it seems from his plight, to be rather an unnecessary malediction. CATO OVER THE DEAD BODY OF HIS SON. Addison. THANKS to the gods! my boy has done his duty. Why mourn you thus? Afflict your hearts. Let not a private loss The mistress of the world, the seat of empire, The nurse of heroes, the delight of gods, Whate'er the Roman virtue has subdued, For him the self-devoted Decii died, The Fabii fell, and the great Scipios conquer'd ; Even Pompey fought for Cæsar. Oh my friends! How is the toil of fate, the work of ages, In happier climes, and on a safer shore, A STORM. Barry Cornwall. THERE was a tempest brooding in the air |