fine summer's night, an' I
walked into the house an' took a look at thim--a thievin' heap o'
blayguards as iver ye seen wid your two eyes."

"I wint out again an' sat in the haggard, where I could kape my eye on
the dure. Prisintly out comes one o' thim, to commince the row, I
suppose.

"He spoke o' the Land Lague, an' I towld him I didn't agree wid it at
all, and 'twas a thievin' invintion o' a set o' roguish schamers.

"'Ye'd betther mind yer manners,' says he, 'onless ye have yer
revalver,' says he, lookin' at me maningly.

"Faix, 'tis here, says I, pullin' out the tool.

"'But can ye handle it?' says he.

"Begorra, says I, I'd shoot a fly off yer nose; an' wid that I looked
round for a mark, an' I seen in a three foreninst me a lump o' a crow
sittin' annoyin' me. 'Will ye quit yer dhrimandhru?' says I, to the
botherin' ould rook.

"'Caw, caw, caw,' says he, vexin' me intirely.

"Bang! says I, an the dirty blackburd comes fluttherin' down, an'
dhropped in the haggard like a log o' limestone.

"Ye should have seen that fellow! The landlord wid the whole rout o'
thim runs out. 'What's the matter?' says he, starin' round like a sick
cod-fish.

"'I'm afther charmin' a burd out iv a three; 'tis a way I have,' says
I, shovin' in a fresh cartridge from my waistcoat pocket, fair an'
aisy, an' kapin' me back to the haystack.

"'Was it you kilt the jackdaw?' says he.

"''Twas meself,' says I, 'that did it,' says I.

"'An' ye carry a murdherin' thing like that in a paceful counthry,'
says he. ''Tis yer American thrainin' says he, sneerin'.

"I tuk off me hat an' giv' him a bow an' a scrape. 'Is it yerself
would insinse me into the rudiments o' polite larnin'?' says I. Thin I
looked him straight into the white iv his eye, an' give him the length
o' my tongue. Me blood was up whin I seen this spalpeen wid his dirty
set o' vagabones waitin' to murther me if they ketched me unbeknownst.
'Michael Hegarty,' says I, 'where did ye scour up yer thievin' set o'
rag-heaps?' says I. 'Ye'd bate me wid blackthorns, would ye? Come on,
you and your dirty thribe, till I put sivin shots into yez. Shure I
could pick the eye out o' yez shure I could shoot a louse off yer
ear,' says I. 'Anger me,' says I, 'an' I'll murther the whole parish;
raise a stick to me, an' I'll shlaughter the whole counthry side.' An'
wid that I cocked me little shootin'-iron.

"Ye should have seen that shebeen-keeper; ye should have seen the
whole o' t