he was about some mischief. Her lodger,
Captain Devereux, was her great resource on these occasions, and few
things pleased him better than a stormy visit from his hostess in this
temper. The young scapegrace would close his novel, and set down his
glass of sherry and water (it sometimes smelt very like brandy, I'm
afraid). To hear her rant, one would have supposed, who had not seen
him, that her lank-haired, grimly partner, was the prettiest youth in
the county of Dublin, and that all the comely lasses in Chapelizod and
the country round were sighing and setting caps at him; and Devereux,
who had a vein of satire, and loved even farce, enjoyed the heroics of
the fat old slut.

'Oh! what am I to do, captain, jewel?' she bounced into the room, with
flaming face and eyes swelled, and the end of her apron, with which she
had been swobbing them, in her hand, while she gesticulated, with her
right; 'there, he's off again to Island Bridge,--the owdacious sneak!
It's all that dirty hussy's doing. I'm not such a fool, but I know how
to put this and that together, though he thinks I don't know of his
doings; but I'll be even with you, Meg Partlet, yet--you trollop;' and
all this was delivered in renewed floods of tears, and stentorian
hysterics, while she shook her fat red fist in the air, at the presumed
level of Meg's beautiful features.

'Nay, Madam,' said the gay captain; 'I prithee, weep not; the like
discoveries, as you have read, have been made in Rome, Salamanca,
Ballyporeen, Babylon, Venice, and fifty other famous cities.' He always
felt in these interviews, as if she and he were extemporising a
burlesque--she the Queen of Crim Tartary, and he an Archbishop in her
court--and would have spoken blank verse, only he feared she might
perceive it, and break up the conference.

'And what's that to the purpose?--don't I know they're the same all over
the world--nothing but brutes and barbarians.'

'But suppose, Madam, he has only gone up the river, and just taken his
rod----'

'Oh! rod, indeed. I know where he wants a rod, the rascal!'

'I tell you, Madam,' urged the chaplain, 'you're quite in the wrong.
You've discovered after twenty years' wedlock that your husband's--a
man! and you're vexed: would you have him anything else?'

'You're all in a story,' she blubbered maniacally; 'there's no justice,
nor feeling, nor succour for a poor abused woman; but I'll do it--I
will. I'll go to his reverence--don't try to persuad