After which, the song seemed to subside into a low droning sound, implying sleep. The singer nodded his head, the company followed the example, and a long heavy note, like snoring, was heard through the room, when suddenly, with a hiccup, he awoke, the others also, and then the song broke out once more, in all its vigour, to end as before, in another dance, an exercise in which I certainly fared worse than my neighbours, who tramped on my corns without mercy, leaving it a very questionable fact how far his “pious, glorious, and immortal memory” was to be respected, who had despoiled my country of “wooden shoes” when walking off with its brass money. The melody over, Mr. O’Kelly proceeded to question me somewhat minutely, as to how I had chanced upon this house, which was not known to many, even of the residents of Antwerp. I briefly explained to him the circumstances which led me to my present asylum, at which he laughed heartily. “You don’t know, then, where you are?” said he, looking at me, with a droll half-suspicious smile. “No; it’s a Schenk Haus, I suppose,” replied I. “Yes, to be sure, it is a Schenk Haus, but it’s the resort only of smugglers, and those connected with their traffic. Every man about you, and there are, as you see, some seventy or eighty, are all, either sea- faring folks, or landsmen associated with them, in contraband trade.” “But how is this done so openly? the house is surely known to the police.” “Of course, and they are well paid for taking no notice of it.” “And you?” “Me! Well, _I_ do a little that way too, though it’s only a branch of my business. I’m only Dirk Hatteraik, when I come down to the coast: then you know a man doesn’t like to be idle; so that when I’m here, or on the Bretagny shore, I generally mount the red cap, and buckle on the cutlass, just to keep moving; as when I go inland, I take an occasional turn with the gypsy folk in Bohemia, or their brethren, in the Basque provinces. There’s nothing like being up to every thing--that’s _my_ way.” I confess I was a good deal surprised at my companion’s account of himself, and not over impressed with the rigour of his principles; but my curiosity to know more of him, became so much the stronger. “Well,” said I, “you seem to have a jolly life of it; and, certainly a healthful one.” “Aye, that it is,” replied he quickly. “I’ve more than once thought of going back to Kerry, and living quietly for the rest of my days, for I could afford it well enough; but, somehow, the thought of staying in one place, talking always to the same set of people, seeing every day the same sights, and hearing the same eternal little gossip about little things, and little folk, was too much for me, and so I stuck to the old trade, which I suppose I’ll not give up now as long as I live.” “And what may that be?” asked I, curious to know how he filled up moments snatched from the agreeable pursuits he had already mentioned.