over the dull
swamp of their oppressors' nature, but who one day, rising from her
ashes--"

"Ah! by my conscience, I knew it was comin'; and I said to myself,
'Here's the phaynix!'"

"Rising from her ashes like the Megatherion of Thebes. Where are you
now, Master Joe?" said he, with an insolent triumph in his look.

"I 'd just as soon have the phaynix," said Joe, doggedly. "Go on."

"How can I go on? How could any man? Demosthenes himself would stand
confused in presence of such vulgar interruptions. It is in such
temperaments as yours men of genius meet their worst repulses. You are
at once the _ferae naturae_ of humanity, and the pestilential atmosphere
that poisons--that poisons--"

"Oh! there you are 'pounded '! Poisons what?"

"Poisons the pellucid rills which should fertilize the soul of man! I'm
never pounded. O'Connell himself had to confess that he never saw my
equal in graceful imagery and figurative embellishment. 'Listening to
O'Shea,' says he, 'is like watching a juggler with eight balls flying
round and about him. You may think it impossible he 'll be in time, but
never one of them will he fail to catch.' That's what _I_ call oratory.
Why is it, I ask, that, when I rise in the house, you 'd hear a pin
drop?"

"Maybe they steal out on their tiptoes," said Joe, innocently.

"No, sir, they stand hushed, eager, anxious, as were the Greeks of old
to catch the words of Ulysses. I only wish you saw old P------ working
away with his pencil while I 'm speaking."

"Making a picture of you, maybe!"

"You are as insolent as you are ignorant,--one of those who, in the
unregenerate brutality of their coarse nature, repel the attempts of
all who would advocate the popular cause. I have said so over and over
again. If you would constitute yourself the friend of the people, take
care to know nothing of them; neither associate with them, nor mix in
their society: as Tommy Moore said of Ireland, 'It's a beautiful country
to live out of.'"

"And _he_ was a patriot!" said Joe, contemptuously.

"There are no patriots among those who soar above the miserable limits
of a nationality. Genius has no concern with geographies. To think for
the million you must forget the man."

"Say that again. I like the sound of that," cried Joe, admiringly.

"If anything could illustrate the hopelessness of your class and
condition in life," continued O'Shea, "it is yourself. There you are,
daily, hourly associating with one whos