"I thought Ireland was the land for jokes," says the injured Ryde, indignantly,--"stock in trade sort of thing over here; and yet when I give 'em one of mine they turn upon me as if I was the worst in the world. I don't believe any one understands 'em over here." "You see, your jokes are too fine for us," says Mr. Kelly, mournfully. "We miss the point of them." "You are all the most uncomfortable people I ever met," says the wrathful marine. "We are, we are," acquiesces Kelly. "We are really a very stupid people. Anything, delicate or refined is lost upon us, or is met in an unfriendly spirit. I give you my word, I have known a fellow's head smashed for less than half what you said to Madam O'Connor just now. Prejudice runs high in this land. You have, perhaps," in a friendly tone, "heard of a shillelagh?" "No, I haven't," sulkily. "No? _really_? It is quite an institution here. It's a sort of a big stick, a very unpleasant stick, and is used freely upon the smallest difference of opinion. You'll meet them round every corner when you get more used to us: you'd like to see them, wouldn't you?" "No, I shouldn't," still more sulkily. "Oh, but you ought, you know. If you are going to live for any time in the country, you should study its institutions. The best way to see _this_ one is to make cutting remarks about Ireland in a loud voice when two or three of the peasants are near you. They don't like cutting remarks, they are so stupid, and jokes such as yours annoy them fearfully. Still, you mustn't mind that; you must smother your natural kindliness of disposition and annoy them, if you want to see the shillelagh." "I said nothing to annoy Mrs. O'Connor, at any rate," says Mr. Ryde. "She needn't have taken a simple word or two like that." "You see, we are all so terribly thin-skinned," says Mr. Kelly, regretfully, "I quite blush for my country-people. Of course there are noble exceptions to every rule. I am the noble exception here. I don't feel in the least annoyed with you. Now do try some brandy, my dear fellow: it will do you all the good in the world." "I don't know this moment whether _you_ are laughing at me or not," says the marine, eying him doubtfully. "I _never_ laugh," says Mr. Kelly, reproachfully. "I thought _even you_ could see that. Well, will you have that B. and S.?" But Mars is huffed, and declines to accept consolation in any shape. He strolls away with an injured air to where his brother officer, Captain Cobbett, is standing near the hall door, and pours his griefs into his ears. Captain Cobbett being a very spare little man, with a half starved appearance and a dismal expression, it is doubtful whether poor Ryde receives from him the amount of sympathy required.