--now bending to this
side and to that--each moment in peril, but ever calm and collected--so
do they feel all the excitement of hazard in the game of address. Under
an impulse of this kind was it that Talbot spoke, and the unguarded
freedom of his manner showed even to so poor an observer as Mark, that
the words contained a hidden meaning.

"And our gay city of Dublin--what of it, Billy?" said he, at length
rallying from his mood of thought, as he nodded his head, and drank to
Crossley.

"Pretty much as you have always known it. 'A short life and a merry
one,' seems the adage in favour here. Every one spending his money and
character--"

"Like gentlemen, Bill--that's the phrase," interrupted Talbot; "and a
very comprehensive term it is, after all. But what is the Parliament
doing?"

"Voting itself into Government situations."

"And the Viceroy?"

"Snubbing the Parliament."

"And the Government in England?"

"Snubbing the Viceroy."

"Well, they are all employed, at least; and, as the French say, that's
always something. And who are the playmen now?"

"The old set. Tom Whaley and Lord Drogheda--your old friend, Giles
Daxon--Sandy Moore----"

"Ah, what of Sandy? They told me he won heavily at the October races."

"So he did--beggared the whole club at hazard, and was robbed of the
money the night after, when coming up through Naas."

"Ha! I never heard of that, Billy. Let us hear all about it."

"It's soon told, sir. Sandy, who never tries economy till he has won
largely, and is reckless enough of money when on the verge of ruin,
heard, on leaving the course, that a strange gentleman was waiting to
get some one to join him in a chaise up to Dublin. Sandy at once sent
the waiter to open the negociations, which were soon concluded, and the
stranger appeared--a fat, unwieldy-looking old fellow, with a powdered
wig and green goggles--not a very sporting style of travelling
companion; but no matter for that, he had a dark chestnut mare with him,
that looked like breeding, and with strength enough for any weight over
a country.

"'She'll follow the chaise--my son taught her that trick,' said the
old fellow, as he hobbled out of the inn, and took his place in the
carriage.

"Well, in jumped Sandy, all his pockets bursting with guineas, and a
book of notes crammed into his hat--very happy at his adventure, but
prouder of saving half the posting than all besides.

"'Keep to your ten miles an hour, my lad, o