metery; "but now that he's dead--God rest his
soul!--I'd scorn it. So Jack Kinaley, as behoves my first cousin's son,
stay you with me here this blessed night, for betune (between) you and I,
it an't lucky to stay by one's self in this ruinated old rookery, where
ghosts, God help us, is as thick as bottles in Sir Theodore's cellar!"
"Never you mind that, Larry," said Kinaley, a discharged soldier, who had
been through all the campaigns of the Peninsula; "never mind, I say, such
botherations. Han't I lain in bivouack on the field at Salamanca, and
Tallawara, and the Pyrumnees, and many another place beside, where there
was dead corpses lying about in piles, and there was no more ghosts than
kneebuckles in a ridgemint of Highlanders. Here, let me prime them pieces,
and hand us over the bottle; we'll stay snug under this east window, for
the wind's coming down the hill, and I defy"--"None of that bould talk,
Jack," said his cousin; "as for what ye saw in foreign parts, of dead men
killed afighting, sure that's nothing to the dead--God rest 'em!--that's
here. There you see, they had company one with the other, and being
killed fresh-like that morning, had no heart to stir; but here, faith!
'tis a horse of another colour." "May be it is," said Jack, "but the
night's coming on; so I'll turn in. Wake me if you sees any thing; and
after I've got my two hours' rest, I'll relieve you."

With these words the soldier turned on his side, under shelter of a grave,
and as his libations had been rather copious during the day, it was not
long before he gave audible testimony that the dread of supernatural
visitants had had no effect in disturbing the even current of his fancy.
Although Larry had not opposed the proposition of his kinsman, yet he
felt by no means at ease. He put in practice all the usually recommended
nostrums for keeping away unpleasant thoughts:--all would not do. "If it
was a common, dacent, quite (quiet,) well-behaved churchyard a'self,"
thought Larry, half-aloud--"but when 'tis a place like this forsaken ould
berrin'-ground, which is noted for villiany"--"For what, Larry?" said a
gentleman, stepping out of a niche which contained the only statue time
had spared. It was the figure of Saint Colman, to whom the church was
dedicated. Larry had been looking at the figure, as it shone forth in
ebon and ivory in the light and shadow of the now high-careering moon,
"For what, Larry," said the gentleman,--"for what do you say