ard of a Methodist Praicher of the name of Paddy M'Mahon?"

"It's aisy known," observed a fellow named, or rather nicknamed, Jack
Slanty, in consequence of a deformity in his leg, that gave him the
appearance of leaning or slanting to the one side; "it's aisy known,
Skinadre, that you're not long in this part of the country, or you'd not
ax who Paddy M'Mahon is."

"Come, Slanty, never mind Paddy M'Mahon," said another of them; "he
received the gift of grace in the shape of a purty Methodist wife and
a good fortune; ay, an' a sweet love-faist he had of it; he dropped the
Padereens over Solomon's Bridge, and tuck to the evenin' meetins--that's
enough for you to know; and now, Harte, about Maguire?"

"Why," said Harte, "if I'm not allowed to edge in a word, I had betther
cut."

"A most solemn promise, you say?"

"A most solemn and solemnious promise, that was what I said; never again
by night or day, wet or dry, high or low, in or out, up or down, here
or there, to--to--get himself snimicated wid any liquorary fluid
whatsomever, be the same more or less, good, bad, or indifferent, hot or
could, thick or thin, black or white--"

"Have done, Harte; quit your cursed sniftherin', an' spake like a
Christian; do you think you can manage to circumsniffle him agin?"

"Ay," said Harte, "or any man that ever trod on neat's leather--barrin'
one."

"And who is that one?"

"That one, sir--that one--do you ax me who that one is?"

"Have you no ears? To be sure I do."

"Then, Skinadre, I'll tell you--I'll tell you, sarra,"--we ought to add
here, that Harte was a first-rate mimic, and was now doing a drunken
man,--"I'll tell you, sarra--that person was Nelson on the top of the
monument in Sackville street--no--no--I'm wrong; I could make poor ould
Horace drunk any time, an' often did--an' many a turn-tumble he got off
the monument at night, and the divil's own throuble I had in gettin' him
up on it before mornin', bekaise you all know he'd be cashiered, or, any
way, brought to coort martial for leavin' his po-po-post."

"Well, if Nelson's not the man, who is?"

"_Drywig's_ his name," replied Harte; "you all know one _Drywig_, don't
you?"

"Quit your cursed stuff, Harte," said a new speaker, named Garvey; "if
you think you can dose him, say so, and if not, let us have no more talk
about it."

"Faith, an' it'll be a nice card to play," replied Harte, resuming his
natural voice; "but at all events, if you will all drop int