uded to popery, sir,--to the obscuring mists of superstition and
ignorance," replied Mr. Softly, with a kind of energetic timidity that
made himself blush.

"Oh--I perceive--yes--I understand," muttered Cashel, who certainly felt
all the awkwardness of a man caught in a lie.

"We have a very agreeable society among the bar men," said Jones,
returning to the charge in a new direction; "a great deal of pleasantry
and fun goes on at our messes."

"Droll fellows, I suppose," said Cashel, carelessly. "I remember I
knew a lawyer once; he was a mate of a small clipper in the African
trade,--mischievous kind of devil he was too,--always setting the slaves
by the ears, and getting money for settling the differences. They played
him a good trick at last." Here he laughed heartily at the recollection
for several minutes.

"What was it?" asked Jones, in some curiosity to learn how the bar was
respected on the banks of the Niger.

"They painted him black and sold him at Cuba," said Cashel, who once
more broke out into laughter at the excellence of the jest.

Jones's and Softly's eyes met with a most complete accordance in the
glances exchanged. Meanwhile, Cashel, drawing his chair towards the
larger table, filled his glass and proceeded to smash his walnuts with
all the easy contentment of a man who had dined well.

"I perceive Mr. Kennyfeck is not likely to join us," said Softly, with a
half suggestive look towards the door.

"Tired, perhaps," said Jones, affecting what he opined to be the cool
indifference of the highest fashion.

"More than that, I suspect," said Cashel, with a most unfeigned
carelessness. "Did you remark his eye?"

"Yes!" exclaimed both together. "What could that mean?"

"A slight bit of a scrimmage we had on the way from town; a--"

"Mr. Kennyfeck engaged in a row!" cried Softly, almost incredible at the
tidings.

"Yes. I fancy that is about the best word for it," said Cashel, sipping
his wine. "I suppose one ought not to mention these kind of things;
but of course they are safe with you. They 'll never go further, I am
certain."

"Oh, never,--not a syllable," chimed in the two.

"Well, then, on our way here, I learned that there were to be races a
few miles from Coventry, and as I saw our friend Kennyfeck had no fancy
for the sight, I just slipped a few half-crowns into the postboy's hand,
and told him to drive there instead of taking the Liverpool road. Away
we went at a good pace, and in l