, clearing
his throat and turning to his companion--'hem! which of our adventures
shall I relate first, brother?'

"'Why,' replied the left foot, after a few moments' reflection, 'I don't
think you can do better than tell our friend the story of Terence Duffy and
the heiress.'

"'Egad! you're right, brother; that was a droll affair:' and then,
addressing himself to me, he continued, 'You remember your Uncle Terence? A
funny dog he was, and in his young days the very devil for lovemaking and
fighting. Look here,' said the speaker, pointing to a small circular
perforation in his side, which had been neatly patched. 'This mark, which I
shall carry with me to my grave, I received in an affair between your uncle
and Captain Donovan of the North Cork Militia. The captain one day asserted
in the public library at Ballybreesthawn, that a certain Miss Biddy
O'Brannigan had hair red as a carrot. This calumny was not long in reaching
the ears of your Uncle Terence, who prided himself on being the champion of
the _sex_ in general, and of Miss Biddy O'Brannigan in particular.
Accordingly he took the earliest opportunity of demanding from the captain
an apology, and a confession that the lady's locks were a beautiful auburn.
The militia hero, who was too courageous to desert his _colours_,
maintained they were red. The result was a meeting on the daisies at four
o'clock in the morning, when the captain's ball grazed your uncle's leg,
and in return he received a compliment from Terence, in the hip, that
spoiled his dancing for life.

"'I will not insult your penetration by telling you what I perceive you are
already aware of, that Terence Duffy was the professed admirer of Miss
Biddy. The affair with Captain Donovan raised him materially in her
estimation, and it was whispered that the hand and fortune of the heiress
were destined for her successful champion. There's an old saying, though,
that the best dog don't always catch the hare, as Terence found to his
cost. He had a rival candidate for the affections of Miss Biddy; but such a
rival--however I will not anticipate.'"

* * * * *

SONGS FOR THE SENTIMENTAL, NO. 3.

I am thine in _my_ gladness,
I'm thine in _thy_ tears;
My love it can change not
With absence or years.
Were a dungeon thy dwelling,
My home it should be,
For its gloom would be sunshine
If I were with thee.
But the light has no beauty
Of thee,