pectful ceremonies which distinguished a gentleman in my time)--and
she left me and Captain Fagan to talk over our important business.

'Indeed,' said the Captain,' I see now no other way out of the scrape
than a meeting. The fact is, there was a talk of it at Castle Brady,
after your attack upon Quin this afternoon, and he vowed that he would
cut you in pieces: but the tears and supplications of Miss Honoria
induced him, though very unwillingly, to relent. Now, however, matters
have gone too far. No officer, bearing His Majesty's commission, can
receive a glass of wine on his nose--this claret of yours is very good,
by the way, and by your leave we'll ring for another bottle--without
resenting the affront. Fight you must; and Quin is a huge strong
fellow.'

'He'll give the better mark,' said I. 'I am not afraid of him.'

'In faith,' said the Captain,' I believe you are not; for a lad, I never
saw more game in my life.'

'Look at that sword, sir,' says I, pointing to an elegant silver-mounted
one, in a white shagreen case, that hung on the mantelpiece, under the
picture of my father, Harry Barry. 'It was with that sword, sir, that my
father pinked Mohawk O'Driscol, in Dublin, in the year 1740; with that
sword, sir, he met Sir Huddlestone Fuddlestone, the Hampshire baronet,
and ran him through the neck. They met on horseback, with sword and
pistol, on Hounslow Heath, as I dare say you have heard tell of, and
those are the pistols' (they hung on each side of the picture) 'which
the gallant Barry used. He was quite in the wrong, having insulted Lady
Fuddlestone, when in liquor, at the Brentford assembly. But, like a
gentleman, he scorned to apologise, and Sir Huddlestone received a ball
through his hat, before they engaged with the sword. I am Harry Barry's
son, sir, and will act as becomes my name and my quality.'

'Give me a kiss, my dear boy,' said Fagan, with tears in his eyes.
'You're after my own soul. As long as Jack Fagan lives you shall never
want a friend or a second.'

Poor fellow! he was shot six months afterwards, carrying orders to my
Lord George Sackville, at Minden, and I lost thereby a kind friend. But
we don't know what is in store for us, and that night was a merry one
at least. We had a second bottle, and a third too (I could hear the poor
mother going downstairs for each, but she never came into the parlour
with them, and sent them in by the butler, Mr. Tim): and we parted
at length, he engaging