Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England Paddy Finn, by W H G Kingston. ________________________________________________________________________ This is one of Kingston's longest adventure stories, but possibly also one of his best. The eponymous hero is tracked through his time at sea as a midshipman. Exciting events follow on each other's heels, fast and furious. Very well written, showing the extraordinary depth of knowledge that the author possessed. You will definitely enjoy reading it, if you enjoy this genre at all. You may care to listen to it instead, in which case it makes an excellent audiobook. ________________________________________________________________________ PADDY FINN, BY W H G KINGSTON. CHAPTER ONE. THE HOME OF MY ANCESTORS. "The top of the morning to you, Terence," cried the major, looking down upon me from the window of his bedroom. I was standing in front of the castle of Ballinahone--the seat of the O'Finnahans, my ancestors--on the banks of the beautiful Shannon, enjoying the fresh air of the early morning. "Send Larry up, will you, with a jug of warm water for shaving; and, while I think of it, tell Biddy to brew me a cup of hot coffee. It will be some time before breakfast is ready, and my hand isn't as steady as it once was till I've put something into my inside." The old house had not been provided with bells for summoning the attendants; a loud shout, a clap of the hands, or the clatter of fire-irons, answering the purpose. "Shure, Larry was sent to meet the postboy, uncle, and I'll be after taking you up the warm water; but Biddy maybe will not have come in from milking the cows, so if Dan Bourke is awake, and will give me the key of the cellar, mightn't I be bringing you up a glass of whisky?" I asked, knowing the taste of most of the guests at the castle. "Arrah, boy, don't be tempting me!" cried the major in a half-angry tone; "that morning nip is the bane of too many of us. Go and do as I bid you." I was about entering the house to perform the duty I had undertaken, when I caught sight of my foster-brother, Larry Harrigan, galloping up the avenue, mounted on the bare back of a shaggy little pony, its mane and tail streaming in the breeze. "Hurrah! hurrah! yer honour; I've got it," he cried, as he waved a letter above his carroty and hatless pate. "I wouldn't have been after getting it at all, at all, for the spalpeen of a postboy wanted tinpence before he would give it me, but sorra a copper had I in my pocket, and I should have had to come away without it, if Mr McCarthy, the bailiff, hadn't been riding by, and paid the money for me."