s, and while the
happy group were making themselves intimately acquainted with a fresh
jug of punch, as it circulated round the table--

"Now, sir," said Father Ned to the stranger, "we'll hear your story with
the greatest satisfaction possible; but I think you might charge your
tumbler before you set to it."

When the stranger had complied with this last hint, "Well, gentlemen,"
said he, "as I am rather fatigued, will you excuse me for the position
I am about to occupy, which is simply to stretch myself along the hob
here, with my head upon the straw hassoch? and if you have no objection
to that, I will relate the story."

To this, of course, a general assent was given. When he was stretched
completely at his ease--

"Well, upon my veracity," observed Father Peter, "the gentleman's
supernaturally long."

"Yes, Pether," replied Father Ned, "but observe his
position--_Polysyllaba cuncta supina_, as Psorody says.--Arrah,
salvation to me but you're a dull man, afther all!--but we're
interrupting the gentleman. Sir, go on, if you please, with your story."

"Give me a few minutes," said he, "until I recollect the particulars."

He accordingly continued quiescent for two or three minutes more,
apparently arranging the materials of his intended narration, and then
commenced to gratify the eager expectations of his auditory, by emitting
those nasal enunciations which are the usual accompaniments of sleep!

"Why, bad luck to the morsel of 'im but's asleep," said Ned; "Lord
pardon me for swearin' in your Reverence's presence."

"That's certainly the language of a sleeping man," replied Father Ned,
"but there might have been a little more respect than all that snoring
comes to. Your health, boys."

The stranger had now wound up his nasal organ to a high pitch, after
which he commenced again with somewhat of a lower and finer tone.

"He's beginning a new paragraph," observed Father Peter with a smile at
the joke.

"Not at all," said Father Ned, "he's turning the tune; don't you
perceive that he's snoring 'God save the King,' in the key of _bass
relievo?_"

"I'm no judge of instrumental music, as you are," said the curate, "but
I think it's liker the 'Dead March of Saul,' than 'God save the King;'
however, if you be right, the gentleman certainly snores in a truly
loyal strain."

"That," said little M'Roarkin, "is liker the Swine's melody, or the
Bedfordshire hornpipe--he--he--he!"

"The poor gintleman's tired,"