breakwater, at the mouth
of the harbour. A large steamer lay at a little distance within the
pier. There were fishing-boats on both sides, the greater number on the
outer side, which lies towards the hill of Holy Head. On the shady side
of the breakwater under the wall were two or three dozen of Irish
reapers; some were lying asleep, others in parties of two or three were
seated with their backs against the wall, and were talking Irish; these
last all appeared to be well-made middle-sized young fellows, with rather
a ruffianly look; they stared at me as I passed. The whole party had
shillealahs either in their hands or by their sides. I went to the
extremity of the pier, where was a little lighthouse, and then turned
back. As I again drew near the Irish, I heard a hubbub and observed a
great commotion amongst them. All, whether those whom I had seen
sitting, or those whom I had seen reclining, had got, or were getting on
their legs. As I passed them they were all standing up, and their eyes
were fixed upon me with a strange kind of expression, partly of wonder,
methought, partly of respect. "Yes, 'tis he, sure enough," I heard one
whisper. On I went, and at about thirty yards from the last I stopped,
turned round and leaned against the wall. All the Irish were looking at
me--presently they formed into knots and began to discourse very eagerly
in Irish, though in an undertone. At length I observed a fellow going
from one knot to the other, exchanging a few words with each. After he
had held communication with all he nodded his head, and came towards me
with a quick step; the rest stood silent and motionless with their eyes
turned in the direction in which I was, and in which he was advancing.
He stopped within a yard of me and took off his hat. He was an athletic
fellow of about twenty-eight, dressed in brown frieze. His features were
swarthy, and his eyes black; in every lineament of his countenance was a
jumble of savagery and roguishness. I never saw a more genuine wild
Irish face--there he stood looking at me full in the face, his hat in one
hand and his shillealah in the other.

"Well, what do you want?" said I, after we had stared at each other about
half a minute.

"Sure, I'm just come on the part of the boys and myself to beg a bit of a
favour of your reverence."

"Reverence," said I, "what do you mean by styling me reverence?"

"Och sure, because to be styled your reverence is the right of you