ed myself to the road, moralizing as I went, somewhat in this
fashion: I have lost a respectable, but homely suit of apparel; and
instead, I have acquired a green doublet, leathern hose, jack boots,
a douched hat and a feather. Had I played out my part, by this time
I should have been strewing the stage with a mock supper. Now, I was
consoling my feelings with real mutton, which, however, wanting its
ordinary accompaniments, was a delicacy of no common order to me. I had
not it is true, the vociferous applause of a delighted audience to aid
my digestion as Petrueio. But the pleasant whisper of a good conscience,
was a more flattering reward to Con O'Kelly. This balanced the account
in my favour; and I stepped out with that light heart, which is so
unequivocal an evidence of an innocent and happy disposition.

"Towards day-break, I had advanced some miles on the road to Killaloe;
when before me I perceived a drove of horses, coupled together with all
manner of strange tackle, halters, and hay ropes. Two or three country
lads were mounted among them, endeavouring as well as they were able,
to keep them quiet; while a thick, short, red-faced fellow, in dirty
'tops,' and a faded green frock led the way, and seemed to preside
over the procession. As I drew near, my appearance caused no common
commotion; the drivers fixing their eyes on me, could mind nothing else;
the cattle, participating in the sentiments, started, capered, plunged,
and neighed fearfully. While the leader of the corps, furious at the
disorder he witnessed, swore like a trooper, as with a tremendous
cutting whip he dashed here and there through the crowd, slashing men
and horses, with a most praiseworthy impartiality. At last, his eyes
fell upon me, and for a moment, I was full sure my fate was sealed; as
he gripped his saddle closer, tightened his curb-rein, and grasped his
powerful whip with redoubled energy.

"The instincts of an art are very powerful; for seeing the attitude of
the man, and beholding the savage expression of his features, I threw
myself into a stage position, slapped down my beaver with one hand,
and drawing my sword with the other, called out in a rich melodramatic
howl--'Come on, Macduff!' my look, my gesture, my costume, and above all
my voice, convinced my antagonist that I was insane; and, as quickly the
hard unfeeling character of his face relaxed, and an expression of rude
pity passed across it.

"''Tis Billy Muldoon, sir, I'm