eland; and were it only for the fact of calling on the Rooneys for
their bill, she deserves our gratitude. I humbly move, therefore, that
we drink to the health of our worthy sister, Lady Charlotte Hinton.'

The next moment found me hip-hipping, in derision, to my mother's
health, the only consolation being that I was escaping unnoticed and
unknown.

'Well, Barrington, the duke was delighted with the corps; nothing could
be more soldierlike than their appearance, as they marched past.'

'Ah, the attorneys', isn't it--the Devil's Own, as Curran calls them?'

'Yes, and remarkably well they looked. I say, Parsons, you heard what
poor Rooney said when Sir Charles Asgill read aloud the general order
complimenting them: "May I beg, Sir Charles," said he, "to ask if the
document in your hand be an attested copy?"'

'Capital, 'faith! By-the-bye, what's the reason, can any one tell me,
Paul has never invited me to dine for the last two years?'

'Indeed!' said Curran; 'then your chance is a bad one, for the statute
of limitations is clearly against you.'

'Ah, Kellar, the Rooneys have cut all their low acquaintances, and your
prospects look very gloomy. You know what took place between Paul and
Lord Manners?'

'No, Barrington; let's hear it, by all means!'

'Paul had met him at Kinnegad, where both had stopped to change horses.
"A glass of sherry, my lord?" quoth Paul, with a most insinuating look.

'"No, sir, thank you," was the distant reply.

'"A bowl of gravy, then, my lord?" rejoined he. '"Pray, excuse me," more
coldly than before.

'"Maybe a chop and a crisped potato would tempt your lordship?"

'"Neither, sir, I assure you."

'"Nor a glass of egg-flip?" repeated Paul, in an accent bordering on
despair.

'"Nor even the egg-flip," rejoined his lordship, in the most pompous
manner.

'"Then, my lord," said Paul, drawing himself up to his full height, and
looking him firmly in the face, "I've only to say, the 'onus' is now on
you." With which he stalked out of the room, leaving the chancellor to
his own reflections.'

'Brethren, the saint!' cried out the prior, as he rose from the chair.

'The saint! the saint!'re-echoed from lip to lip; and at the same moment
the door opened, and a monk appeared, bearing a silver image of St.
Patrick, about a foot and a half high, which he deposited in the middle
of the table with the utmost reverence. All the monks rose, filling
their pipkins, while the junior of the ord