tences that had touched himself.

'But sound and steady, like one of his own forest pines,' said Robert.

'We have yet to test that,' rejoined Arthur, with some truth. 'I wonder
shall we ever find the house into which Andy was decoyed; those wooden
ranges are all the image of one another. I am just as well pleased he
wasn't mooning after us through the Upper Town during the daylight;
for, though he's such a worthy fellow, he hasn't exactly the cut of a
gentleman's servant. We must deprive him of that iligant new frieze
topcoat, with its three capes, till it is fashioned into a civilised
garment.'

Mr. Pat M'Donagh's mansion was wooden--one of a row of such, situated
near the dockyard in which he wrought. Andy was already on the look-out
from the doorstep; and, conscious that he had been guilty of some
approach to excess, behaved with such meek silence and constrained
decorum, that his master guessed the cause, and graciously connived at
his slinking to his berth as soon as he was up the ship's side.

But when Mr. Wynn walked forward next morning to summon Andy's
assistance for his luggage, he found that gentleman the focus of a knot
of passengers, to whom he was imparting information in his own peculiar
way. 'Throth an' he talks like a book itself,' was the admiring comment
of a woman with a child on one arm, while she crammed her tins into her
red box with the other.

'Every single ha'porth is wood, I tell ye, barrin' the grates, an'
'tisn't grates they are at all, but shtoves. Sure I saw 'em at Pat
M'Donagh's as black as twelve o'clock at night, an' no more a sign of a
blaze out of 'em than there's light from a blind man's eye; an' 'tisn't
turf nor coal they burns, but only wood agin. It's I that wud sooner see
the plentiful hearths of ould Ireland, where the turf fire cooks the
vittles dacently! Oh wirra! why did we ever lave it?'

But Mr. Wynn intercepted the rising chorus by the simple dissyllable,
'Andy!'

'Sir, yer honour!' wheeling round, and suddenly resuming a jocose
demeanour; 'I was only jokin' about bein' back. I must be kapin' up
their sperits, the crathurs, that dunno what's before them at all at
all; only thinks they're to be all gintlemin an' ladies.' This, as he
followed his master towards the cabins: 'Whisht here, Misther Robert,'
lowering his tone confidentially.' You'd laugh if you heard what they
think they're goin' to get. Coinin' would be nothin' to it. That
red-headed Biddy Flannigan' (A