tained every newspaper editor in
the kingdom? And see," cried he, as he stamped his foot upon the blaze,
"the whole edition is exhausted already--not a copy to be had for any
money."

We threw ourselves back in our chair, and covered our face with our
hands. The toil of many a long night, of many a bright hour of sun and
wind, was lost to us for ever, and we may be pardoned if our grief was
heavy.

"Cheer up, old fellow," said he, as the last flicker of the burning
paper expired. "You know the thing was bad: it couldn't be other. That
d----d fly-away harum-scarum style of yours is no more adapted to a
work of real merit, than a Will-o'-the-wisp would be for a light-house.
Another jug, Peter--bring two. The truth is, Hal, I was not so averse
to the publication of my life as to the infernal mess you'd have made of
it. You have no pathos, no tenderness--damn the bit."

"Come, come," said we: "it is enough to burn our manuscript, but,
really, as to playing the critic in this fashion----"

"Then," continued he, "all that confounded folly you deal in, laughing
at the priests--Lord bless you, man! they have more fun, those fellows,
than you, and a score like you. There's one Father Dolan here would tell
two stories for your one; ay, better than ever you told."

"We really have no ambition to enter the lists with your friend."

"So much the better--you'd get the worst of it; and as to knowledge of
character, see now, Peter Mahoon there would teach you human nature; and
if I liked myself to appear in print--"

"Well," said we, bursting out into a fit of laughter, "that would
certainly be amusing."

"And so it would, whether you jest or no. There's in that drawer there,
the materials of as fine a work as ever appeared since Sir John
Carr's Travels; and the style is a happy union of Goldsmith and Jean
Paul--simple yet aphoristic--profound and pleasing--sparkling like the
can before me, but pungent and racy in its bitterness. Hand me that
oak box, Hal. Which is the key? At this hour one's sight becomes always
defective. Ah, here it is look there!"

We obeyed the command, and truly our amazement was great, though
possibly not for the reason that Mr. O'Leary could have desired; for
instead of anything like a regular manuscript, we beheld a mass of small
scraps of paper, backs of letters, newspapers, magazines, fly-leaves of
books, old prints, &c., scrawled on, in the most uncouth fashion; and
purporting from the numbers ap