Oh, no--I _wather_ think he mistakes me. Will you do me the favo',"
and he produced a packet of papers as he spoke--"the favo' to take my
cwedentials to Mr. O'Gwady, and if he throws his eye over these
pape's----"

At the word "papers," there was a shout from above, "Don't touch them,
you thief, don't touch them!--another blister,--ha! ha! By the 'ternal
this and that, I'll have him in the horse-pond!" A heavy stamping
overhead ensued, and furious ringing of bells; in the midst of the din,
a very pale lady came down-stairs, and pointing the way to a small
room, beckoned Furlong to follow her. For a moment he hesitated, for
his heart misgave him; but shame at the thought of doubting or refusing
the summons of a lady overcame his fear, and he followed to a little
parlour, where mutual explanations between Mrs. O'Grady and himself,
and many messages, questions, and answers, which she carried up and
down stairs, at length set Furlong's mind at ease respecting his
personal safety, and finally admitted him into the presence of the
truculent lord of the castle--who, when he heard that Furlong had been
staying in the enemy's camp, was not, it may be supposed, in a sweet
temper to receive him. O'Grady looked thunder as Furlong entered, and
eyeing him keenly for some seconds, as if he were taking a mental as
well as an ocular measurement of him, he saluted him with--

"Well, sir, a pretty kettle of fish you've made of this. I hope you have
not blabbed much about our affairs?"

"Why, I weally don't know--I'm not sure--that is, I won't be positive,
because when one is thwown off his guard, you know----"

"Pooh, sir! a man should never be off his guard in an election. But how
the d----l, sir, could you make such a thundering mistake as to go to
the wrong house?"

"It was a howwid postilion, Miste' O'Gwady."

"The scoundrel!" exclaimed O'Grady, stamping up and down the room.

At this moment, a tremendous crash was heard; the ladies jumped from
their seats; O'Grady paused in his rage, and his poor, pale wife
exclaimed--

"'T is in the conservatory."

A universal rush was now made to the spot, and there was Handy Andy,
buried in the ruins of flower-pots and exotics, directly under an
enormous breach in the glass roof of the building. How this occurred a
few words will explain. Andy, when he went to sleep in the justice-room,
slept soundly for some hours, but awoke in the horrors of a dream, in
which he fancied he was about t