or for a sero-pulmonic
diathesis--d'ye mind?--that there isn't as good as me; but for the ould
school of physic, the humoral diagnostic touch, who can beat me?"

"Will you come with me across the lough, and see my lord, then?" said
Craggs, who was glad even of such aid in his emergency.

"And why not, when I lave the bags?" said Billy, touching the leather
sack as he spoke.

If the Corporal was not without his misgivings as to the skill
and competence of his companion, there was something in the fluent
volubility of the little fellow that overawed and impressed him, while
his words were uttered in a rich mellow voice, that gave them a sort of
solemn persuasiveness.

"Were you always on the road?" asked the Corporal, curious to learn some
particulars of his history.

"No, sir; I was twenty things before I took to the bags. I was a poor
scholar for four years; I kept school in Erris; I was 'on' the ferry in
Dublin with my fiddle for eighteen months; and I was a bear in Liverpool
for part of a winter."

"A bear!" exclaimed Craggs. "Yes, sir. It was an Italian--one Pipo
Chiassi by name--that lost his beast at Manchester, and persuaded me,
as I was about the same stature, to don the sable, and perform in his
place. After that I took to writin' for the papers--'The Skibbereen
Celt'--and supported myself very well till it broke. But here we are
at the office, so I 'll step in, and get my fiddle, too, if you 've no
objection."

The Corporal's meditations scarcely were of a kind to reassure him, as
he thought over the versatile character of his new friend; but the case
offered no alternative--it was Billy or nothing--since to reach Clifden
on foot would be the labor of many hours, and in the interval his
master should be left utterly alone. While he was thus musing, Billy
reappeared, with a violin under one arm and a much-worn quarto under the
other.

"This," said he, touching the volume, "is the 'Whole Art and Mystery of
Physic,' by one Fabricius, of Aquapendente; and if we don't find a cure
for the case down here, take my word for it, it's among the _morba
ignota_, as Paracelsus says."

"Well, come along," said Craggs, impatiently, and set off at a speed
that, notwithstanding Billy's habits of foot-travel, kept him at a sharp
trot. A few minutes more saw them, with canvas spread, skimming across
the lough, towards Glencore.

"Glencore--Glencore!" muttered Billy once or twice to himself, as the
swift boat bounded