garding its contents.

[Illustration: 410]

"Here's the whole, full, and true account (bad luck to the less!) of the
great and sanguinary battle between Boney and the Roosians; with all the
particklars about the killed, wounded, and missing; with what Boney said
when it was over."

"What was that, Terry?"

"Hould yer peace, ye spalpeen! Is it to the likes of yez I 'd be telling
cabinet sacrets? (Here, yer honor),--'Falkner,' is it, or 'The Saunders'.
With the report of Mr. O'Gogorman's grand speech in Ennis on the
Catholic claims. There's, yer sowl, there's fippence worth any day ay
the week. More be token, the letter from Jemmy O'Brien to his wife, wid
an elegant epic poem called 'The Gauger.' Bloody news, gentlemen! bloody
news! Won't yez sport a tester for a sight of a real battle, and
ten thousand kilt; with 'The Whole Duty of an Informer, in two easy
lessons.' The price of stocks and shares--Ay, Mr. O'Hara, and what
boroughs is bringing in the market."

This last sally was directed towards a large, red-faced man, who
good-humoredly joined in the laugh against himself.

"And who's this, boys?" cried the fellow, turning suddenly his piercing
eyes on me, as I endeavored, step by step, to reach the door of the
hotel. "Hurrool look at his beard, acushla! On my conscience, I wouldn't
wonder if it was General Hoche himself. 'Tis late yer come, sir," said
he, addressing me directly; "there's no fun here now at all, barrin'
what Beresford has in the riding-house."

"Get away, you ruffian!" said a well-dressed and respectable-looking
man, somewhat past the middle of life; "how dare you permit your tongue
to take liberties with a stranger? Allow me to make room for you, sir,"
continued he, as he politely made an opening in the crowd, and suffered
me to enter the house.

"Ah, counsellor, dear, don't be cross," whined out the newsvendor;
"sure, isn't it wid the bad tongue we both make our bread. And here,"
vociferated he once more,--"and here ye have the grand dinner at the
Lord Mayor's, wid all the speeches and toasts; wid the glorious, pious,
and immortial memory of King William, who delivered us from Popery (by
pitched caps), from slavery (by whipping), from brass money (by bad
ha'pence), and from wooden shoes (by bare feet). Haven't we reason to
bless his--? Ay, the heavens be his bed! 'Tis like Molly Crownahon's
husband he was."

"How was that, Terry?" asked a gentleman near.

"Take a 'Saunders,' yer honor, an