a pound of butter or rendered lard thrust into the
middle of it.

A third brought him an oak sapling to keep in his hand about the
purlieus of the establishment.

"We know," said he, "that you're given to arguin' an' to that thing
you call logic, Misther Denis. Now, sir, if you're ever hard set in
an argument or the like o' that, or if any o' the shthudjeents 'ud be
throuble-some or imperant, why give them a touch o' this--a lick of it,
do you see; jist this a way. First come wid a back sthroke upon the left
ear, if they want to be properly convinced; an' thin agin' afore they
have time to recover, come down wid a visitation upon the kidney, My
life for yours, they'll soon let you alone. Nothin' puzzles one in an
argument more than it does."

"Ay," said Denis, "that is what they call--in the books the _argumentum
baculinum_. I accept your present, Roger; but I flatter myself I shall
be a match for any of the collegians without having recourse to the
argumentum baculinum."

A poor old widow, who was distantly related to them, came upwards of
four miles with two or three score of eggs, together with a cock and
hen; the eggs for his own use, and the latter for breeding in Maynooth.
"Avourneen, Misther O'Shaughnessy," said she, in broken English, "when
you ate out all the eggs, maybe you could get a sonsy little corner
about the collegian that you're goin' to larn to be a priest in, an'
put them both into it; "--pointing at the same time to the cock and
hen--"an' whishper," she continued, in a low friendly voice, "if you
could get a weeshy wisp o' sthraw, an slip it undher your own bed, it
would make a nest for them, an' they'd lay an egg for your breakfast all
days in the year. But, achora, don't let them be widout a nest egg; an'
whishper--maybe you'd breed a clackin' out o' them, that you might
sell. Sure they'd help to buy duds of cloes for you; or you might make
presents of the crathurs to the blessed an' holy collegian himself.
Wouldn't it be good to have him an your side?--He'd help to make a
gintleman of you, any way. Faix, sure he does it for many, they say. An'
whishper--the breed, avourneen, is good; an' I'm not afeard to say that
there never was sich a chicken in the whole collegian, as the ould cock
himself. He's the darlin' all out, an' can crow so stoutly, that it
bates the world. Sure his comb's a beauty to look at, the darlin'; an'
only it's to yourself, an' in regard of the blessed place he's goi