rality and
decency are not violated), and that the manifestation of one's own
superiority may render the purchase too dear, by being bought at the
terrible price of our neighbour's dislike. He, therefore, did not tell
everybody he wrote verses: he kept the gift as secret as he could. If
an error, however gross, on any subject, were made in his presence, he
never took willing notice of it; or if circumstances obliged him to
touch upon it, it was always done with a politeness and tact that
afforded the blunderer the means of retreat. If some gross historical
error, for instance, happened to be committed in a conversation _with
himself_ (and then only), he would set the mistake right, as a matter
of conscience, but he would do so by saying there was a great
similarity between the event spoken of and some other event. "I know
what you are thinking of," he would say, "but you make a slight mistake
in the dates; the two stories are very similar, and likely to mislead
one."

But with all this modest reserve, did the least among his companions
think him the less clever? No. It was shrewdly suspected he was a poet;
it was well known he was highly educated and accomplished; and yet
Edward O'Connor was a universal favourite, bore the character of being
a "real fine fellow," and was loved and respected by the most
illiterate of the young men of the country; who, in allusion to his
extensive lore on the subject of the legendary heroes of the _romantic_
history of Ireland, his own Christian name, and his immediate place of
residence, which was near a wild mountain pass, christened him "Ned of
the Hill."

His appearance amidst the crowd assembled to witness the rude sport was
hailed with pleasure--varying from the humble but affectionate respect
of the peasant, who cried "Long life to you, Misther O'Connor," to the
hearty burst of equality, which welcomed him as "Ned of the Hill."

The fortune of the fight favoured the badger, who proved himself a
trump; and Murphy appreciated his worth so highly that, when the battle
was over, he would not quit the ground until he became his owner, at a
high price to the horse-dealer. His next move was to _insist_ on Edward
O'Connor dining with him; and Edward, after many excuses to avoid the
party he foresaw would be a drinking bout--of which he had a special
horror, notwithstanding all his toleration--yielded to the entreaties
of Murphy, and consented to be his guest, just as Tim the waiter ran