t no more, and let the carriage come round--are you a convert
also?"

"Yes, I am; what have you to give me?"

"A pure and peaceful religion, my friend."

"Where is it?"

"In this book--this is the Word of God, that preacheth peace and
salvation to all."

"Has Val M'Clutchy this book?"

"Of course he has--it is not to be supposed that so able and staunch a
friend of Protestantism, of the religion of the state, could be without
this book, or ignorant of it."

Raymond put it tip to his nose, and after seeming to smell it, said,
with a strong shudder, "how did you do this among you? How did you do
it?--look at it--see, see, it's dripping wid blood--here's murder
on this page, there's starvation on that--there's the blood-hounds
huntin'--look, sir, look at the poor creature almost worn down, makin'
his way to hide, but he can't; they have him, they have him--see how
they drag him, as if he was, a--ay, drag, drag, he's yours now, he's
yours--whip and scourge, whip and scourge--more blood, more blood--and
this is it, this--don't you see it, sir, comin' down in drops when I
hould it up that way!"

"My good friend, you are certainly in liquor--your language is that of a
man strongly affected by drink."

"And this is it," Raymond proceeded; "look at this page, that's not the
one the blood is on; no, no, there's nothing here but madness. Ah!" said
he, lowering his voice to a tone of deep compassion, "sure she's mad;
they killed Hugh O'Began, and they killed the two sons, and then she
went mad.--So, you see, there it is now--on that page there's blood,
and, on this one,--with the big letter on it, there's madness. Then agin
comes the Turnin' out. How would you like to walk three long, dreary
miles, in sleet, and frost, and snow, havin' no house to go to--wid
thin breeches to your bottom, an' maybe a hole in them--widout shoe or
stockin' on your hooves--wid a couple of shiverin', half starved, sick
childre, tied by an ould praskeen to your back, an' you sinkin' wid
hunger all the time?--ay, and the tail o' your old coat blown up behind
every minute, like a sparrow before the wind!--Eh, how would you like
it?"

Lucre still stuck to the hypothesis of liquor, and accordingly went and
rang the porter's bell, who immediately appeared.

"John," said his master, "I desire you will immediately show this man
out--he is so scandalously affected with liquor, that he knows not the
purport of his own language."

John approached