pt there six
months. They're going to try for a writ of error, or what the devil
they call it, before the peers. But I'll bet you a cool hundred he is
put in prison before twelve months are over, in consequence of the
verdict. If he's locked up there for one night, I win. Will you take
that?"

"Well, I will," said Morris; and they both went to work at their little
books.

"I was in London," said Mat, "during the greater portion of the
trial--and it's astonishing what unanimity of opinion there was at
the club that the whole set would be acquitted. I heard Howard make
bet, at the Reform Club, that the only man put in prison would be the
Attorney-General."

"He ought to have included the Chief Justice," said Morris. "By the
bye, Mat, is that Howard the brother of the Honourable and Riverind
Augustus?"

"Upon my soul, I don't know whose brother he is. Who is the Riverind
Augustus?"

"Morris wants to tell a story, Mat,' said Blake; 'don't spoil him,
now."

"Indeed I don't," said the member: "I never told it to any one till I
mentioned it to you the other day. It only happened the other day, but
it _is_ worth telling."

"Out with it, Morris," said Mat, "it isn't very long, is it?--because,
if it is, we'll get Dot to give us a little whiskey and hot water
first. I'm sick of the claret."

"Just as you like, Mat," and Blake rang the bell, and the hot water was
brought.

"You know Savarius O'Leary," said Morris, anxious to tell his story,
"eh, Tierney?"

"What, Savy, with the whiskers?" said Tierney, "to be sure I do. Who
doesn't know Savy?"

"You know him, don't you, Lord Ballindine?" Morris was determined
everybody should listen to him.

"Oh yes, I know him; he comes from County Mayo--his property's close to
mine; that is, the patch of rocks and cabins--which he has managed to
mortgage three times over, and each time for more than its value--which
he still calls the O'Leary estate."

"Well; some time ago--that is, since London began to fill, O'Leary was
seen walking down Regent Street, with a parson. How the deuce he'd ever
got hold of the parson, or the parson of him, was never explained; but
Phil Mahon saw him, and asked him who his friend in the white choker
was. 'Is it my friend in black, you mane?' says Savy, 'thin, my frind
was the Honourable and the Riverind Augustus Howard, the Dane.' 'Howard
the Dane,' said Mahon, 'how the duce did any of the Howards become
Danes?' 'Ah, bother!' said Savy, 'it's n