in a disguised voice from the
lower end of the table.

"'Eh?--certainly not--certainly not--I thank my worthy brother for
the hint. No, gentlemen, we unfortunately have wooden spoons up to
the present day; but, gentlemen, if we work well together--if we be
in earnest--if we draw the blade and throw away the scabbard, like our
brothers, the glorious heroes of Scullabogue--there is as little doubt,
gentlemen, as that the sun this moment--the moon, gentlemen; I beg
pardon--shines this moment, that we will yet banish wooden spoons, as
the great and good King William did Popery, brass money, and wooden
shoes. Gentlemen, you will excuse me for this warmth; but I am not
ashamed of it--it is the warmth, gentlemen, that keeps us cool in the
moment--the glorious, pious and immortal moment of danger and true
loyalty, and attachment to our Church, which we all love and practise
on constitutional principles. I trust, gentlemen, you will excuse me
for this historical account of my feelings--they are the principles,
gentlemen, of a gentleman--of a man--of an officer of the Castle Cumber
Cavalry--and lastly of him who has the honor--the glorious, pious,
and immortal honor, I may say, to hold the honorable situation of
Deputy-Master of this honorable Lodge. Gentlemen, I propose our charter
toast, with nine times nine--the glorious, pious, and immortal memory.
Take the time, gentlemen, from me--hip, hip, hurra.'

"'Brother M'Clutchy,' said a solemn-looking man, dressed in black, 'you
are a little out of order--or if not out of order, you have, with
great respect, travelled beyond the usages of the Lodge. In the first
place--of course you will pardon me--I speak with great respect--but, in
the first place, you have proposed the charter toast, before that of
the King, Protestant Ascendancy, Church and State; and besides, have
proposed it with nine times nine, though it is always drunk in solemn
silence.'

"'In all truth and piety, I deny that,' replied little Bob Spaight.
'When I was in Lodge Eleventeen, eleven-teen--no, seventeen, ay,
seventeen--we always, undher God, drank it with cheers. Some of them
danced--but othes I won't name them, that were more graciously gifted,
chorused it with that blessed air of '_Croppies lie Down_,' and
sometimes with the precious psalm of the '_Boyne Water_.'

"'I'm obliged to Mr. Hintwell for his observations, for I'm sure they
were well meant; but, gentlemen, with every respect for his--his greater