lowed this burst of eloquence, just as I appeared at the
door.

"What's the matter, Corny?"

"The matter?--ugh, ain't I coughing my soul out with a wheezing and
whistling in my chest like a creel of chickens. Here's Mr. Rooney
wanting to see ye; and faith," as he added in an under tone, "if s not
long you wor in making his acquaintance. That's his room," added he,
with a jerk of his thumb. "Now lave the way if you plase, and let me got
a howld of the banisters."

With these words Corny began his descent, while I, apologising to Mr.
Rooney for not having sooner perceived kirn, bowed him into the room
with all proper ceremony.

"A thousand apologies, Mr. Hinton, for the unseasonable hour of my
visit, but business----"

"Pray not a word," said I; "always delighted to see you. Mrs. Rooney is
well, I hope?"

"Charming, upon my honour. But, as I was saying, I could not well come
later; there is a case in the King's Bench--Rex _versus_ Ryves--a heavy
record, and I want to catch the counsel to assure him that all's safe.
God knows, it has cost me an anxious night. Everything depended on one
witness, an obstinate beast that wouldn't listen to reason. We got hold
of him last night; got three doctors to certify he was out of his mind;
and, at this moment, with his head shaved, and a grey suit on him, he is
the noisiest inmate in Glassnevin madhouse."

"Was not this a very bold, a very dangerous expedient?"

"So it was. He fought like a devil, and his outrageous conduct has its
reward, for they put him on low diet and handcuffs the moment he went
in. But excuse me, if I make a hurried visit. Mrs. Rooney requests
that--that--but where the devil did I put it?"

Here Mr. Rooney felt his coat-pockets, dived into those of his
waistcoat, patted himself all over, then looked into his hat, then round
the room, on the floor, and even outside the door upon the lobby.

"Sure it is not possible I've lost it."

"Nothing of consequence, I hope?" said I.

"What a head I have," replied he, with a knowing grin, while at the
same moment throwing up the sash of my window, he thrust out the head in
question, and gave a loud shrill whistle.

Scarcely was the casement closed when a ragged urchin appeared at the
door, carrying on his back the ominous stuff-bag containing the record
of Mr. Rooney's rogueries.

"Give me the bag, Tim," quoth he; at the same moment he plunged his
hand deep among the tape-tied parcels, and extricated a piece