devil
with you!--get some broiled bones--hot water and tumblers--don't forget
the whisky--and pepper them well. Mind, hot--everything hot--screeching
hot. Be off, now, and make haste--mind, make haste!"

"Yes, sir," said the servant, whipping out of the room with celerity,
and thanking Heaven when he had the door between him and his savage
master. When he got to the kitchen, he told the cook to make haste, if
ever she made haste in her life, "for there's owld Danger up-stairs in
the divil's temper, God bless us!" said Mick.

"Faix, he's always that," said the cook, scurrying across the kitchen
for the gridiron.

"Oh! but he's beyant all to-night," said Mick; "I think he'll murther
that chap up-stairs before he stops."

"Oh, wirra! wirra!" cried the cook; "there's the fire not bright, bad
luck to it, and he wantin' a brile!"

"Bright or not bright," said Mick, "make haste I'd advise you, or he'll
have your life."

The bell rang violently.

"There, do you hear him tattherin'?" said Mick, rushing up-stairs.

"I thought it was tay they wor takin'," said Larry Hogan, who was
sitting in the chimney-corner, smoking.

"So they are," said the cook.

"Then I suppose, briled bones is genteel with tay?" said Larry.

"Oh, no; it's not for tay, at all, they want them; it's only ould Danger
himself. Whenever he's in a rage, he ates briled bones."

"'Faith, they are a brave cure for anger," said Larry; "I wouldn't be
angry myself, if I had one."

Down rushed Mick, to hurry the cook--bang, twang! went the bell as he
spoke. "Oh, listen to him!" said Mick: "for the tendher mercy o' Heaven,
make haste!"

The cook transferred the bones from the gridiron to a hot dish.

"Oh, murther, but they're smoked!" said Mick.

"No matther," said the cook, shaking her red elbow furiously; "I'll
smother the smoke with the pepper--there!--give them a good dab o'
musthard now, and sarve them hot!"

Away rushed Mick, as the bell was rattled into fits again.

While the cook had been broiling bones for O'Grady below, he had been
grilling Furlong for himself above. In one of the pauses of the storm,
the victim ventured to suggest to his tormentor that all the mischief
that had arisen might have been avoided, if O'Grady had met him at the
village, as he requested of him in one of his letters. O'Grady denied
all knowledge of such a request, and after some queries about certain
portions of the letter, it became manifest it had miscarried.