"

As I closed the window, I could hear Mike pronouncing a glowing eulogium
upon my liberality, from which he could not, however, help in some degree
detracting, as he added:

"But the devil thank him, after all! Sure, it's himself has the illigant
fortune and the fine place of it!"

Scarcely were the last sounds of the retiring horseman dying away in the
distance, when Mike's meditations took another form, and he muttered
between his teeth, "Oh, holy Agatha! a guinea, a raal gold guinea to a
thief of a dragoon that come with the letter, and here am I wearing a
picture of the holy family for a back to my waistcoat, all out of economy;
and sure, God knows, but may be they'll take their dealing trick out of
me in purgatory for this hereafter; and faith, it's a beautiful pair of
breeches I'd have had, if I wasn't ashamed to put the twelve apostles on
my legs."

While Mike ran on at this rate, my eyes fell upon a few lines of postscript
in Picton's letter, which I had not previously noticed.

"The official despatches of the storming are, of course, intrusted to
senior officers, but I need scarcely remind you that it will be a
polite and proper attention to his Royal Highness to present your
letters with as little delay as possible. Not a moment is to be lost
on your landing in England."

"Mike!" cried I, "how look the cattle for a journey?"

"The chestnut is a little low in flesh, but in great wind, your honor; and
the black horse is jumping like a filly."

"And Badger?" said I.

"Howld him, if you can, that's all; but it's murthering work this, carrying
despatches day after day."

"This time, however, Mike, we must not grumble."

"May be it isn't far?"

"Why, as to that, I shall not promise much. I'm bound for England, Mickey."

"For England!"

"Yes, Mike, and for Ireland."

"For Ireland! whoop!" shouted he, as he shied his cap into one corner of
the room, the jacket he was brushing into the other, and began dancing
round the table with no bad imitation of an Indian war dance.

"How I'll dance like a fairy,
To see ould Dunleary,
And think twice ere I leave it to be a dragoon."

"Oh, blessed hour! Isn't it beautiful to think of the illuminations and
dinners and speeches and shaking of hands, huzzaing, and hip-hipping. May
be there won't be pictures of us in all the shops,--Mister Charles and his
man Mister Free. May be they won't make plays out of us; myself dressed in