, but scarcely any individual was met by them whom they did not
cross-examine.

"Hallo, my good fellow," said the leader of the party, "what is that
you're singin'?"

Reilly stared at him like a man who was sorely puzzled; "_Ha neil bearla
agum;_" that is, "I have no English."

"Here, Connor, you can speak Irish; sift this able-bodied tyke."

A conversation in that language then took place between them which
reflected everlasting honor upon Connor, who, by the way, was one of
Reilly's tenants, but himself and his progenitors were Protestants for
three generations. He was a sharp, keen man, but generous and honorable,
and after two or three glances at our hero, at once recognized him.
This he could only intimate by a wink, for he knew that there were other
persons there who spoke Irish as well as either of them. The dialogue,
however, was not long, neither was it kind-hearted Connor's wish that
it should be so. He was asked, however, if he knew any thing about Willy
Reilly, to which he replied that he did not, only by all accounts he had
left the country. This, indeed, was the general opinion.

"This blockhead," said Connor, "knows nothing about him, only what
he has heard; he's a pig dealer, and is now on his way to the fair of
Sligo; come on."

They passed onwards, and Reilly resumed his journey and his song.

On reaching the farmer's house where he and the bishop lodged, the
unhappy prelate felt rather annoyed, at the appearance of a stranger,
and was about to reprove their host for his carelessness in admitting
such persons.

"What do you want here, my good man?" inquired the farmer.

"Do you wish to say anything to me?" asked the bishop.

"A few words," replied Reilly; but, on consideration, he changed his
purpose of playing off a good-humored joke on his lordship and the
farmer. For the melancholy prelate he felt the deepest compassion and
respect, and apprehended that any tampering with his feelings might be
attended with dangerous consequences to his intellect. He consequently
changed his purpose, and added, "My lord, don't you know me?"

The bishop looked at him, and it was not without considerable scrutiny
that he recognized him.

In the meantime the farmer, who had left the room previous to this
explanation, and who looked upon Reilly as an impostor or a spy,
returned with a stout oaken cudgel, exclaiming, "Now, you damned
desaver, I will give you a jacketful of sore bones for comin' to pry
abou