ed necessary to Mrs. Mulready in the
business which she conducted. A barefooted girl, with unwashed
hands and face, and unbrushed head, crouched in the corner of the
fire, ready to obey the behests of Mrs. Mulready, and attend to the
numerous calls of her customers. This Hebe rejoiced in the musical
name of Kathleen.

The Mohill resort of the wicked, the desperate, and the drunken,
was not certainly so grand, nor so conspicuous, as the gas-lighted,
mahogany fitted, pilastered gin palaces of London; but the freedom
from decent restraint, and the power of inebriety at a cheap rate,
were the same in each.

There was a door at the further end of the room, which opened into
the one where Mrs. Mulready's more known and regular visitors were
accustomed to sit and drink, and here rumour said a Ribon lodge was
held; there was a fire also here, at the further end, and a long
narrow table ran nearly the whole length of the room under the two
windows, with a form on each side of it. Opposite this was Mrs.
Mulready's own bed, which proved that whatever improprieties might be
perpetrated in the house, the careful widow herself never retired to
rest till they were all over.

The assembly on the night in question was not very numerous; there
might be about twelve in it, and they all were of the poorer kind;
some even had neither shoes or stockings, and there was one poor
fellow had neither hat nor coat,--nothing but a tattered shirt and
trousers.

The most decent among them all was Pat Brady, who occupied a
comfortable seat near the fire, drinking his tumbler of punch and
smoking like a gentleman; Joe Reynolds was sitting on the widow's
bed, with a spade in his hand; he had only just come in. They were
all from Drumleesh, with one or two exceptions; the man without the
coat was Jack Byrne, the brother of the man whom Captain Ussher had
taken when the malt was found in his brother-in-law's house.

"Kathleen, agra," hallooed Joe Reynolds, "bring me a glass of
sperrits, will you?"

"Send out the rint, Joe," hallooed out the wary widow, and Kathleen
came in for the money.

"Sorrow to your sowl then, mother Mulready; d'ye think I'm so bad
already then, that they haven't left me the price of a glass?" and he
put three halfpence into the girl's hand.

"Oh, Joe," said Brady, "don't be taking your sperrits that way; come
over here, like a dacent fellow, and we'll be talking over this."

"Oh, that's all right for you, Pat; you've no