Now, Barney," said Harry, after they had examined it, "out with the
brandy and water and the slices of ham, till we refresh ourselves in the
first place, and after that I will hear your history of this magnificent
mansion."

"O, it isn't the mansion, sir," he replied, "but the woman that lived in
it that I have to spake about. God guard us! There in that corner is the
very broomstick she used to ride through the air upon!"

"Never mind that now, but ransack that immense shooting-pocket, and
produce its contents."

They accordingly sat down, each upon one of the stools, and helped
themselves to bread and ham, together with some tolerably copious
draughts of brandy and water which they had mixed before leaving
home. Woodward, perceiving Barney's anxiety to deliver himself of his
narrative, made him take an additional draught by way of encouragement
to proceed, which, having very willingly finished the bumper offered
him, he did as follows:

"Well, Masther Harry, in the first place, do you believe in the Bible?"

"In the Bible!--ahem--why--yes--certainly, Barney; do you suppose I'm
not a Christian?"

"God forbid," replied Barney; "well, the Bible itself isn't thruer than
what I'm goin' to tell you--sure all the world for ten miles round knows
it."

"Well, but, Barney, I would rather you would let me know it in the first
place."

"So I will, sir. Well, then, there was a witch-woman, by name one Bet
Harramount, and on the surface of God's earth, blessed be his name!
there was nothin' undher a bonnet and petticoats so ugly. She was pitted
wid the small-pox to that degree that you might hide half a peck of
marrowfat paise (peas) in her face widout their being noticed; then the
sanies (seams) that ran across it were five-foot raspers, every one of
them. She had one of the purtiest gooseberry eyes in Europe; and only
for the squint in the other, it would have been the ornament of her
comely face entirely; but as it was, no human bein' was ever able to
decide between them. She had two buck teeth in the front of her mouth
that nobody could help admirin'; and, indeed, altogether I don't wondher
that the devil fell in consate wid her, for, by all accounts, they
say he carries a sweet tooth himself for comely ould women like Bet
Harramount. Give the tasty ould chap a wrinkle any day before a dimple,
when he promotes them to be witches, as he did her. Sure he was seen
kissin' a ghost the other night near Crukanesker well, wh