_Pat._ But, counshillor, there's the big veshel in the little pa.s.sage--I got a hint from a friend, that the shuper got information of the spirits in that from some villain.

_O'Bla._ And do you think I don't know a trick for that, too?

_Pat._ No doubt: still, counshillor, I'm in dread of my life that that great big veshel won't be implied in a hurry.

_O'Bla._ Won't it? but you'll see it will, though; and what's more, them spirits will turn into water for the shupervisor.

_Pat._ Water! how?

_O'Bla._ Asy--the ould tan-pit that's at the back of the distillery.

_Pat._ I know--what of it?

_O'Bla._ A sacret pipe I've got fixed to the big veshel, and the pipe goes under the wall for me into the tan-pit, and a sucker I have in the big veshel, which I pull open by a string in a crack, and lets all off all clane into the tan-pit.

_Pat._ That's capital!--but the water?

_O'Bla._ From the pump, another pipe--and the girl's pumping asy, for she's to wash to-morrow, and knows nothing about it; and so the big veshel she fills with water, wondering what ails the water that it don't come--and I set one boy and another to help her--and the pump's bewitched, and that's all:--so that's settled.

_Pat._ And cliverly. Oh! counshillor, we are a match for the shuper any day or night.

_O'Bla._ For him and all his tribe, _coursing_ officers and all. I'd desire no better sport than to hear the whole pack in full cry after me, and I doubling, and doubling, and safe at my form at last. With you, Pat, my precious, to drag the herring over the ground previous to the hunt, to distract the scent, and defy the nose of the dogs.

_Pat._ Then I am proud to sarve you, counshillor.

_O'Bla._ I know you are, and a very honest boy. And what did you do for me, with Catty Rooney?

_Pat._ The best.--Oh! it's I _blarny'd_ Catty to the skies, and then egged her on, and aggravated her against the McBrides, till I left her as mad as e'er a one in Bedlam--up to any thing! And full tilt she's off to Flaherty's, the publican, in her blue jock--where she'll not be long afore she kicks up a quarrel, I'll engage; for she's sarching the house for Honor McBride, who is _not_ in it--and giving bad language, I warrant, to all the McBride faction, who _is_ in it, drinking. Oh!

trust Catty's tongue for breeding a riot! In half an hour, I'll warrant, you'll have as fine a fight in town as ever ye seen or _hard_.

_O'Bla._ That's iligantly done, Pat. But I hope Randal Rooney is in it?

_Pat._ In the thick of it he is, or will be. So I hope your honour did not forgit to spake to Mr. Carver about that little place for me?

_O'Bla._ Forgit!--Do I forgit my own name, do you think? Sooner forgit that _then_ my promises.

_Pat._ Oh! I beg your honour's pardon--I would not doubt your word; and to make matters sure, and to make Catty c.o.c.kahoop, I tould her, and swore to her, there was not a McBride in the town but two, and there's twinty, more or less.

_O'Bla._ And when she sees them twinty, more or less, what will she think?--Why would you say that?--she might find you out in a lie next minute, Mr. Overdo. 'Tis dangerous for a young man to be telling more lies than is absolutely requisite. The _lie superfluous_ brings many an honest man, and, what's more, many a cliver fellow, into a sc.r.a.pe--and that's your great fau't, Pat.

_Pat._ Which, sir?

_O'Bla._ _That_, sir. I don't see you often now take a gla.s.s too much.

But, Pat, I hear you often still are too apt to indulge in a lie too much.

_Pat._ Lie! Is it I?--Whin upon my conscience, I niver to my knowledge tould a lie in my life, since I was born, excipt it would be just to skreen a man, which is charity, sure,--or to skreen myself, which is self-defence, sure--and that's lawful; or to oblige your honour, by particular desire, and _that_ can't be helped, I suppose.

_O'Bla._ I am not saying again all that--only (_laying his hand on_ PAT'S _shoulder as he is going out_) against another time, all I'm warning you, young man, is, you're too apt to think there never can be lying enough. Now too much of a good thing is good for nothing. [_Exit O'BLANEY._

_PAT, alone._

_Pat._ There's what you may call the divil rebuking sin--and now we talk of the like, as I've heard my _mudther_ say, that he had need of a long spoon that ates wid the divil--so I'll look to that in time. But whose voice is that I hear coming up stairs? I don't believe but it's Mr.

Carver--only what should bring him back agin, I wonder now? Here he is, all out of breath, coming.

_Enter Mr. CARVER._

_Mr. Carv._ Pray, young man, did you happen to see--(_panting for breath_) Bless me, I've ridden so fast back from Bob's Fort!

_Pat._ My master, sir, Mr. O'Blaney, is it? Will I run?

_Mr. Carv._ No, no--stand still till I have breath.--What I want is a copy of a letter I dropped some where or other--here I think it must have been, when I took out my handkerchief--a copy of a letter to his Excellency--of great consequence. (_Mr. CARVER sits down and takes breath._)

_Pat._ (_searching about with officious haste_) If it's above ground, I'll find it. What's this?--an old bill: that is not it. Would it be this, crumpled up?--"To His Excellency the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland."

_Mr. Carv._ (_s.n.a.t.c.hing_) No farther, for your life!

_Pat._ Well then I was lucky I found it, and proud.

_Mr. Carv._ And well you may be, young man; for I can a.s.sure you, on this letter the fate of Ireland may depend. (_Smoothing the letter on his knee._)

_Pat._ I wouldn't doubt it--when it's a letter of your honour's--I know your honour's a great man at the castle. And plase your honour, I take this opportunity of tanking your honour for the encouragement I got about that little clerk's place--and here's a copy of my hand-writing I'd wish to show your honour, to see I'm capable--and a scholard.

_Mr. Carv._ Hand-writing! Bless me, young man, I have no time to look at your hand-writing, sir. With the affairs of the nation on my shoulders--can you possibly think?--is the boy mad?--that I've time to revise every poor scholar's copy-book?

_Pat._ I humbly beg your honour's pardon, but it was only becaase I'd wish to show I was not quite so unworthy to be under (whin you've time) your honour's protection, as promised.

_Mr. Carv._ My protection?--you are not under my protection, sir:--promised clerk's place?--I do not conceive what you are aiming at, sir.

_Pat._ The little clerk's place, plase your honour--that my master, Counshillor O'Blaney, tould me he spoke about to your honour, and was recommending me for to your honour.

_Mr. Carv._ Never--never heard one syllable about it, till this moment.

_Pat._ Oh! murder:--but I expict your honour's goodness will--

_Mr. Carv._ To make your mind easy, I promised to appoint a young man to that place, a week ago, by Counsellor O'Blaney's special recommendation.

So there must be some mistake.

[_Exit Mr. CARVER._]

_PAT, alone._

_Pat._ Mistake? ay, mistake on purpose. So he never spoke! so he lied!--my master that was praching me! And oh, the dirty lie he tould me! Now I can't put up with that, when I was almost perjuring myself for him at the time. Oh, if I don't fit him for this! And he got the place given to another!--then I'll git him as well sarved, and out of this place too--seen-if-I-don't! He is cunning enough, but I'm cuter nor he--I have him in my power, so I have! and I'll give the shupervizor a scent of the malt in the turf-stack--and a hint of the spirits in the tan-pit--and it's I that will like to stand by innocent, and see how shrunk O'Blaney's double face will look forenent the shupervizor, when all's found out, and not a word left to say, but to pay--ruined hand and foot! Then that shall be, and before nightfall. Oh! one good turn desarves another--in revenge, prompt payment while you live!

[_Exit._]