out, "Oliver Cromwell's carriage stops the way!" The roar of laughter
the announcement caused shook the very room; but it had scarcely
subsided when there was another call for "Brian Boru's coach," quickly
followed by "Guy Fawkes" and "Paddy O'Rafferty's jingle," which latter
personage was no other than the Dean of Cork. I need not tell you that
we kept our secret, and joined in the universal opinion of the whole
room, "that the household was shamefully disguised in drink"; and indeed
there was no end to the mistakes that night, for every now and then some
character in heathen or modern history would turn up among the
announcements; and as the laughter burst forth, the servants would grow
ashamed for a while, and refuse to call any carriage where the style and
title was a little out of the common. Ah, Mr. Hinton, if you had lived
in those days! Well, well, no matter--here's a glass to their memory,
anyway. It is the first time you 've been in these parts, and I suppose
you haven't seen much of the country?'

'Very little indeed,' replied I; 'and even that much only by moonlight.'

'I'm afraid,' said Father Tom, half pensively, 'that many of your
countrymen take little else than a "dark view" of us.'

'See now,' said the Major, slapping his hand on the table with energy,
'the English know as much about Pat as Pat knows of purgatory--no
offence to you, Mr. Hinton. I could tell you a story of a circumstance
that once happened to myself.'

No, no, Bob,' said the priest; 'it is bad taste to tell a story _en petit
comite_. I'll leave it to the Captain.'

'If I am to be the judge,' said I laughingly, 'I decide for the story.'

'Let's have it, then,' said the priest. 'Come, Bob, a fresh brew, and
begin your tale.'

'You are a sensual creature, Father Tom,' said the Major, 'and prefer
drink to intellectual discussion; not but that you may have both here
at the same time. But in honour of my friend beside me, I'll not bear
malice, but give you the story; and let me tell you, it is not every day
in the week a man hears a tale with a moral to it, particularly down in
this part of the country.'

CHAPTER XXIV. THE DEVIL'S GRIP

'The way of it was this. There was a little estate of mine in the county
of Waterford that I used now and then to visit in the shooting season.
In fact, except for that, there was very little inducement to go there;
it was a bleak, ugly part of the country, a bad market-town near it, and
not