at vice," he added, turning his
lantern towards the janizary. "Ah! Quilt Arnold, my man, is it you? By
the powers! I'm glad to see you. The sight o' your 'andsome phiz allys
does me good."

"I wish I could return the compliment, Terry. But your cracked skull is
by no means a pleasing spectacle. How came you by the hurt, eh?"

"How did I come by it?--that's a nate question. Why, honestly enouch. It
was lent me by a countryman o' mine; but I paid him back in his own
coin--ha! ha!"

"A countryman of yours, Terry?"

"Ay, and a noble one, too, Quilt--more's the pity! You've heard of the
Marquis of Slaughterford, belike?"

"Of course; who has not? He's the leader of the Mohocks, the general of
the Scourers, the prince of rakes, the friend of the surgeons and
glaziers, the terror of your tribe, and the idol of the girls!"

"That's him to a hair?" cried Terence, rapturously. "Och! he's a broth
of a boy!"

"Why, I thought he'd broken your head, Terry?"

"Phooh! that's nothing? A piece o' plaster'll set all to rights; and
Terry O'Flaherty's not the boy to care for the stroke of a supple-jack.
Besides, didn't I tell you that I giv' him as good as he brought--and
better! I jist touched him with my 'Evenin' Star,' as I call this
shillelah," said the watchman, flourishing an immense bludgeon, the knob
of which appeared to be loaded with lead, "and, by Saint Patrick! down
he cum'd like a bullock."

"Zounds!" exclaimed Quilt, "did you kill him?"

"Not quite," replied Terence, laughing; "but I brought him to his
senses."

"By depriving him of 'em, eh! But I'm sorry you hurt his lordship,
Terry. Young noblemen ought to be indulged in their frolics. If they
_do_, now and then, run away with a knocker, paint a sign, beat the
watch, or huff a magistrate, they _pay_ for their pastime, and that's
sufficient. What more could any reasonable man--especially a
watchman--desire? Besides, the Marquis, is a devilish fine fellow, and a
particular friend of mine. There's not his peer among the peerage."

"Och! if he's a friend o' yours, my dear joy, there's no more to be
said; and right sorry am I, I struck him. But, bloodan'-'ouns! man, if
ould Nick himself were to hit me a blow, I'd be afther givin' him
another."

"Well, well--wait awhile," returned Quilt; "his lordship won't forget
you. He's as generous as he's frolicsome."

As he spoke, the door of the round-house was opened, and a stout man,
with a lantern in his hand, presente