lung back. 'And if that isn't the speech of a traitor sold to
the enemy, and now throwing off the mask, traitors never did mischief in
Ireland! Why, what can you discover to admire in these people? Isn't
their army such a combination of colours in the uniforms, with their
yellow facings on red jackets, I never saw out of a doll-shop, and never
saw there. And their Horse Guards, weedy to a man! fit for a doll-shop
they are, by my faith! And their Foot Guards: Have ye met the fellows
marching? with their feet turned out, flat as my laundress's irons, and
the muscles of their calves depending on the joints to get 'm along, for
elasticity never gave those bones of theirs a springing touch; and their
bearskins heeling behind on their polls; like pot-house churls daring the
dursn't to come on. Of course they can fight. Who said no? But they 're
not the only ones: and they 'll miss their ranks before they can march
like our Irish lads. The look of their men in line is for all the world
to us what lack-lustre is to the eye. The drill they 've had hasn't
driven Hodge out of them, it has only stiffened the dolt; and dolt won't
do any longer; the military machine requires intelligence in all ranks
now. Ay, the time for the Celt is dawning: I see it, and I don't often
spy a spark where there isn't soon a blaze. Solidity and stupidity have
had their innings: a precious long innings it has been; and now they're
shoved aside like clods of earth from the risin flower. Off with our
shackles! We've only to determine it to be free, and we'll bloom again;
and I'll be the first to speak the word and mount the colours. Follow me!
Will ye join in the toast to the emblem of Erin--the shamrock, Phil and
Pat?'

'Oh, certainly,' said Philip. 'What 's that row going on?' Patrick also
called attention to the singular noise in the room. 'I fancy the time for
the Celt is not dawning, but setting,' said Philip, with a sharp smile;
and Patrick wore an artful look.

A corner of the room was guilty of the incessant alarum. Captain Con
gazed in that direction incredulously and with remonstrance. 'The tinkler
it is!' he sighed. 'But it can't be midnight yet?' Watches were examined.
Time stood at half-past the midnight. He groaned: 'I must go. I haven't
heard the tinkler for months. It signifies she's cold in her bed. The
thing called circulation's unknown to her save by the aid of outward
application, and I 'm the warming pan, as legitimately I should be,