skies the Reverend George Cantwell, and the red-headed rector, Paul
Macrony. If a parson and a priest were so treated, what chance had he?
and great was his trepidation, accordingly, when he entered the state
chamber, as in duty bound.

"Why the devil did you not answer the bell? You knew well enough, you
incorrible scoundrel! that I wanted you."

Now my father's opening address was not calculated to restore
Petereeine's mental serenity--and to add to his uneasiness, he also
caught sight of that infernal implement, the black-thorn, which, in
treacherous repose, was resting at my father's elbow.

"On with some wood, you vagabond."

The order was obeyed--and Petereeine conveyed a couple of billets
safely from the basket to the grate. The next essay, however, was a
failure--the third log fell--and if the fall were not great, as it
dropped on the fender, it certainly was very noisy. The accident
was harmless--for, according to honest admeasurement, it evaded my
father's foot by a full yard--but, under nervous alarm, he swore,
and, as troopers will swear, that it had descended direct upon his
afflicted member, and, consequently that he was ruined for life. This
was a subsequent explanation--while the unhappy youth was extended
on the hearth-rug, protesting innocence, and also declaring that
his jaw-bone was fractured. The fall of the billet and the boy were
things simultaneous--and while my mother, in great alarm, inculcated
patience under suffering, and hinted at resignation, my father, in
return, swore awfully, that no man with a toe of treble its natural
dimensions, and scarlet as a soldiers jacket, had ever possessed
either of those Christian articles. My mother quoted the case of
Job--and my father begged to inquire if there was any authority to
prove that Job ever had the gout? In the mean time, the kitchen-boy
had gathered himself up and departed--and as he left the presence with
his hand pressed upon his cheek, loud were his lamentations. Constance
and I--nobody enjoyed the ridiculous more than she did--laughed
heartily, while the colonel resented this want of sympathy, by calling
us a brace of fools, and expressing his settled conviction, that were
he, the commander, hanged, we, the delinquents, would giggle at the
foot of the gallows.

Such was the state of affairs, when the entrance of the chief butler
harbingered other occurrences, and much more serious than Petereeine's
damaged jaw. Mick Kalligan had bee