"I cannot wemember your howwid names here--it is a Bal, or Bally, or some such gibbewish----" Mat would not be enlightened. "Is there not Bal or Bally something?" "Oh, a power o' Bailies, sir; there's Ballygash, and Ballyslash, and Ballysmish, and Ballysmash, and----" so went on Mat, inventing a string of Ballies, till he was stopped by the enraged Furlong. "None o' them! none o' them!" exclaimed he, in a fury; "'t is something about 'dirt' or 'mud.'" "Maybe 't would be _gutther_, sir," said Mat, who saw Furlong was near the mark, and he thought he might as well make a virtue of telling him. "I believe you're right," said Furlong. "Then it is Ballysloughgutthery you want to go to, sir." "That's the name!" said Furlong, snappishly; "dwive _there_!" and, hastily pulling up the glass, he threw himself back again in the carriage. Another troubled vision of what the secretary would say came across him, and, after ten minutes' balancing the question, and trembling at the thoughts of an official blowing up, he thought he had better even venture on an Irish squire; so the check-string was again pulled, and the glass hastily let down. Mat halted. "Yes, sir," said Mat. "I think I've changed my mind--dwive to the Hall!" "I wish you'd towld me, sir, before I took the last turn--we're nigh a mile towards the village now." "No matte', sir!" said Furlong; "dwive where I tell you." Up went the glass again, and Mat turned round the horses and carriage with some difficulty in a narrow by-road. Another vision came across the bewildered fancy of Furlong: the certainty of the fury of O'Grady--the immediate contempt as well as anger attendant on his being bamboozled--and the result at last being the same in drawing down the secretary's anger. This produced another change of intention, and he let down the glass for the third time--once more changed his orders as concisely as possible, and pulled it up again. All this time Mat was laughing internally at the bewilderment of the stranger, and as he turned round the carriage again he muttered to himself, "By this and that, you're as hard to dhrive as a pig; for you'll neither go one road nor th' other." He had not proceeded far, when Furlong determined to face O'Grady instead of the Castle, and the last and final order for another turnabout was given. Mat hardly suppressed an oath; but respect for his master stopped him. The glass of the carriage was not pulled up this time, and Mat was asked a few questions about the Hall, and at last about the Squire. Now Mat had acuteness enough to fathom the cause of Furlong's indecision, and determined to make him as unhappy as he could; therefore to the question of "What sort of a man the Squire was?" Mat, re-echoing the question, replied--"What sort of a man, sir?--'Faith, he's not a man at all, sir, he's the devil."