boards of our theatre, and once more, La
Perouse, in all the glory of red capital letters, shone forth in the
morning advertisements. The run of the piece continued unabated; the
Indians were the rage; nothing else was thought or spoken of in Dublin,
and already the benefit of Ashewaballagh Ho was announced, who, by the
by, was a little fellow from Martin's estate in Connemara, and one of the
drollest dogs I ever heard of. Well, it so happened that it was upon one
of their nights of performing that I found myself, with Mr. Burke, a
spectator of their proceedings; I had fallen into an easy slumber, while
a dreadful row in the box lobby roused me from my dream, and the loud cry
of 'turn him out,' 'pitch him over,' 'beat his brains out,' and other
humane proposals of the like nature, effectually restored me to
consciousness; I rushed out of the box into the lobby, and there, to my
astonishment, in the midst of a considerable crowd, beheld my friend, Mr.
Burke, belaboring the box-keeper with all his might with a cotton
umbrella of rather unpleasant proportions, accompanying each blow with an
exclamation of 'well, are they Connaughtmen, now, you rascal, eh? are
they all west of Athlone, tell me that, no? I wonder what's preventing
me beating the soul out of ye.' After obtaining a short cessation of
hostilities, and restoring poor Sharkey to his legs, much more dead than
alive from pure fright, I learned, at last, the teterrima causa belli.
Mr. Burke, it seems, had entered into conversation with Sharkey, the
box-keeper, as to all the particulars of the theatre, and the present
piece, but especially as to the real and authentic history of the
Indians, whose language he remarked, in many respects to resemble Irish.
Poor Sharkey, whose benefit-night was approaching, thought he might
secure a friend for life, by imparting to him an important state secret;
and when, therefore, pressed rather closely as to the 'savages'
whereabout' resolved to try a bold stroke, and trust his unknown
interrogator. 'And so you don't really know where they come from, nor
can't guess?' 'Maybe, Peru,' said Mr. Burke, innocently. 'Try again,
sir,' said Sharkey, with a knowing grin. 'Is it Behring's Straits?'
said Mr. Burke. 'What do you think of Galway, sir?' said Sharkey, with
a leer intended to cement a friendship for life; the words were no
sooner out of his lips, than Burke, who immediately took them as a piece
of direct insolence to himself a