farmers had lifted the collars of their frieze coats, and concealed their hands within their sleeves, so as to be perfectly invisible; and the reverend fathers, putting on dark and dangerous looks, spoke only in monosyllables, no longer sipped their liquor in comfort, but rang the bell from time to time, and ordered “another beverage,” a curious smoking compound, that to our un-Matthewed senses, savoured suspiciously of whiskey. It was a dark night when we reached the “Pig and Pot-hooks,” the hostelry whence Mr. O’Leary had addressed us; and although not yet eight o’clock, no appearance of light, nor any stir, announced that the family were about. After some little delay, our summons was answered by a bare- legged handmaiden, who, to our question if Mr. O’Leary stopped there, without further hesitation opened a small door to the left, and introduced us bodily into his august presence. Our travelled friend was seated, “_more suo_,” with his legs supported on two chairs, while he himself in chief occupied a third, his wig being on the arm of that one on which he reposed; a very imposing tankard, with a floating toast, smoked on the table, and a large collection of pipes of every grade, from the haughty hubble bubble, to the humble dudeen, hung around on the walls. “Ha!” said he, as we closed the door behind us, and advanced into the room, “and so you are penitent. Well, Hal, I forgive you. It was a scurvy trick, though; but I remember it no longer. Here, take a pull at the pewter, and tell us all the Dublin news.” It is not our intention, dear reader, to indulge in the same mystification with you, that we practised on our friend Mr. O’Leary--or, in other words, to invent for your edification, as we confess to have done for his, all the events and circumstances which might have, but did not, take place in Dublin for the preceding month. It is enough to say that about eleven o’clock Mr. O’Leary was in the seventh heaven of conversational contentment, and in the ninth flagon of purl. “Open it--let me see it. Come, Hal, divulge at once,” said he, kicking the carpet-bag that contained our manuscript. We undid the lock, and emptied our papers before him. His eyes sparkled as the heavy folds fell over each other on the table, his mouth twitched with a movement of convulsive pleasure. “Ring the bell, my lad,” said he; “the string is beside you. Send the master, Mary,” continued he, as the maiden entered. Peter Mahoon soon made his appearance, rather startled at being summoned from his bed, and evidencing in his toilette somewhat more of zeal than dandyism. “Is the house insured, Peter?” said Mr. O’Leary. “No, sir,” rejoined he, with a searching look around the room, and a sniff of his nose, to discover if he could detect the smell of fire. “What’s the premises worth, Peter?” “Sorrow one of me knows right, sir. Maybe a hundred and fifty, or it might bring two hundred pounds.”