which it came to its ultimate perfection was likely to diminish its
glory. But he had no place in which he could practise except the back
yard of his father's house, and that, unfortunately, was in the very
middle of the town.

In order to get out of his difficulty young Kerrigan adopted the plan
of learning new tunes only in autumn and winter, when strong gales were
blowing. On a calm summer evening every note of the cornet, whether
right or wrong, was heard. Even the sounds which were not quite notes
but only painful grunts penetrated open windows and doors. But when
a storm was raging most of the notes were blown away, and only
occasionally, when there happened to be a lull, did anybody except young
Kerrigan himself hear anything. The plan worked out very satisfactorily.
Amid the rush and clatter of a tempest people took no notice of such
stray wailings of the cornet as reached their ears. But, like many
excellent plans, this one was liable to break down in emergencies. It
broke down badly when Dr. O'Grady insisted that the band should learn
"Rule Britannia" in the middle of August.

Young Kerrigan readily got a grip on the tune. He could whistle it and
hum it quite correctly after he had heard it six or seven times. But
to reproduce it on the cornet required practise, and the weather was
remarkably calm and fine. Kerrigan, in spite of his dislike of being
heard, was obliged to devote the evening to it after the doctor left
him. Next morning he went at it again, beginning at about eleven
o'clock. He got on very well up to the point at which the words declare
that "Britons never, never, never shall be slaves." The notes which went
to the "nevers" were particularly troublesome. He tried them slowly,
one by one, leaving a short interval between them. He tried them fast,
running them into each other. He tried beginning the tune again after
each mistake, in hope of getting over his difficulty, as a bicyclist
sometimes gets up a hill, by running. He was a man of patient
disposition, and he was still working hard at one o'clock.

Mr. Thaddeus Gallagher spent the morning transcribing shorthand notes
in his office. There had been a singularly interesting meeting of
the County Council the day before in the neighbouring town of Dunbeg.
Gallagher had written down every word of an acrimonious debate. He
wanted to publish a verbatim report of it. As a rule noise of any kind
affected him very little, and at first he took no not