"Those wascally postilions often get dwunk, I suppose?" "Oh, common enough, sir, particular now about the 'lection time; for the gentlemin is dhrivin' over the country like mad, right and left, and gives the boys money to dhrink their health, till they are killed a'most with the falls they get." "Then postilions often fall on the woads here?" "Throth, the roads is covered with them sometimes, when the 'lections comes an." "What howwid immowality! I hope you're not dwunk?" "Faix, I wish I was!" said Andy. "It's a great while since I had a dhrop; but it won't be long so, when your honour gives me something to dhrink your health." "Well, don't talk, but dwive on." All Andy's further endeavours to get "his honour" into conversation were unavailing; so he whipped on in silence till his arrival at the gate-house of Merryvale demanded his call for entrance. "What are you shouting there for?" said the traveller; "cawn't you wing?" "Oh, they understand the _shilloo_ as well, sir;" and in confirmation of Andy's assurance, the bars of the entrance gates were withdrawn, and the post-chaise rattled up the avenue to the house. Andy alighted, and gave a thundering tantara-ra at the door. The servant who opened it was surprised at the sight of Andy, and could not repress a shout of wonder. Here Dick Dawson came into the hall, and seeing Andy at the door, gave a loud halloo, and clapped his hands in delight--for he had not seen him since the day of the chase. "An' is it there you are again, you unlucky vagabone?" said Dick; "and what brings you here?" "I come with a jintleman to the masther, Misther Dick." "Oh, it's the visitor, I suppose," said Dick, as he himself went out, with that unceremonious readiness so characteristic of the wild fellow he was, to open the door of the chaise for his brother-in-law's guest. "You're welcome," said Dick; "come, step in--the servants will look to your luggage. James, get in Mr. ----, I beg your pardon, but 'pon my soul, I forgot your name, though Moriarty told me." "Mr. Furlong," gently uttered the youth. "Get in the luggage, James. Come, sir, walk into the dinner-room: we haven't finished our wine yet." With these words Dick ushered in Furlong to the apartment where Squire Egan sat, who rose as they entered. "Mr. Furlong, Ned," said Dick. "Happy to see you, Mr. Furlong," said the hearty Squire, who shook Furlong's hand in what Furlong considered a most savage manner. "You seem fatigued?" "Vewy," was the languid reply of the traveller, as he threw himself into a chair. "Ring the bell for more claret, Dick," said Squire Egan. "I neveh dwink." Dick and the Squire both looked at him with amazement, for in the friend of Moriarty they expected to find a hearty fellow. "A cool bottle wouldn't do a child any harm," said the Squire. "Ring, Dick. And now, Mr. Furlong, tell us how you like the country." "Not much, I pwotest." "What do you think of the people?"