"Oh, I don't know:--you'll pawdon me, but--a--in short there are so many wags." "Oh, there are wags enough, I grant; not funnier d----ls in the world." "But I mean _wags_--tatters, I mean." "Oh, rags. Oh, yes--why, indeed, they've not much clothes to spare." "And yet these wetches are fweeholders, I'm told." "Ay, and stout voters too." "Well, that's all we wequire. By-the-bye, how goes on the canvass, Squire?" "Famously." "Oh, wait till I explain to you our plan of opewations from head-qwaters. You'll see how famously we shall wally at the hustings. These _Iwish_ have no idea of tactics: we'll intwoduce the English mode--take them by supwise. We _must_ unseat him." "Unseat who?" said the Squire. "That--a--Egan, I think you call him." The Squire opened his eyes; but Dick, with the ready devilment that was always about him, saw how the land lay in an instant, and making a signal to his brother-in-law, chimed in with an immediate assent to Furlong's assertion, and swore that Egan would be unseated to a certainty. "Come, sir," added Dick, "fill one bumper at least to a toast I propose. Here's 'Confusion to Egan, and success to O'Grady.'" "Success to O'Gwady," faintly echoed Furlong, as he sipped his claret. "These _Iwish_ are so wild--so uncultivated," continued he; "you'll see how I'll supwise them with some of my plans." "Oh, they're poor ignorant brutes," said Dick, "that know nothing: a man of the world like you would buy and sell them." "You see, they've no finesse: they have a certain degwee of weadiness, but no depth--no weal finesse." "Not as much as would physic a snipe," said Dick, who swallowed a glass of claret to conceal a smile. "What's that you say about snipes and physic?" said Furlong; "what queer things you _Iwish_ do say." "Oh, we've plenty o' queer fellows here," said Dick; "but you are not taking your claret." "The twuth is, I am fatigued--vewy--and if you'd allow me, Mr. O'Gwady, I should like to go to my woom; we'll talk over business to-mowwow." "Certainly," said the Squire, who was glad to get rid of him, for the scene was becoming too much for his gravity. So Dick Dawson lighted Furlong to his room, and after heaping civilities upon him, left him to sleep in the camp of his enemies, and then returned to the dining-room, to enjoy with the Squire the laugh they were so long obliged to repress, and to drink another bottle of claret on the strength of the joke. "What shall we do with him, Dick?" said the Squire. "Pump him as dry as a lime-kiln," said Dick, "and then send him off to O'Grady--all's fair in war." "To be sure," said the Squire. "Unseat me, indeed! he was near it, sure enough, for I thought I'd have dropped off my chair with surprise when he said it."