you a hundred golden guineas to a tester[23] you don’t.” “Done,” says the gauger; and done and done’s enough between two gentlemen. The gauger was cast, and my master won the bet, and thought he’d won a hundred guineas, but by the wording it was adjudged to be only a tester that was his due by the exciseman. It was all one to him; he was as well pleased, and I was glad to see him in such spirits again. The gauger, bad luck to him! was the man that next proposed to my master to try himself could he take at a draught the contents of the great horn. “Sir Patrick’s horn!” said his honour; “hand it to me: I’ll hold you your own bet over again I’ll swallow it.” “Done,” says the gauger; “I’ll lay ye anything at all you do no such thing.” “A hundred guineas to sixpence I do,” says he: “bring me the handkerchief.” I was loth, knowing he meant the handkerchief with the gold in it, to bring it out in such company, and his honour not very able to reckon it. “Bring me the handkerchief, then, Thady,” says he, and stamps with his foot; so with that I pulls it out of my great coat pocket, where I had put it for safety. Oh, how it grieved me to see the guineas counting upon the table, and they the last my master had! Says Sir Condy to me, “Your hand is steadier than mine to-night, old Thady, and that’s a wonder; fill you the horn for me.” And so, wishing his honour success, I did; but I filled it, little thinking of what would befall him. He swallows it down, and drops like one shot. We lifts him up, and he was speechless, and quite black in the face. We put him to bed, and in a short time he wakened, raving with a fever on his brain. He was shocking either to see or hear. “Judy! Judy! have you no touch of feeling? won’t you stay to help us nurse him?” says I to her, and she putting on her shawl to go out of the house. “I’m frightened to see him,” says she, “and wouldn’t nor couldn’t stay in it; and what use? he can’t last till the morning.” With that she ran off. There was none but my shister and myself left near him of all the many friends he had. The fever came and went, and came and went, and lasted five days, and the sixth he was sensible for a few minutes, and said to me, knowing me very well, “I’m in burning pain all withinside of me, Thady.” I could not speak, but my shister asked him would he have this thing or t’other to do him good? “No,” says he, “nothing will do me good no more,” and he gave a terrible screech with the torture he was in--then again a minute’s ease--“brought to this by drink,” says he; “where are all the friends?--where’s Judy?--Gone, hey? Ay, Sir Condy has been a fool all his days,” said he; and there was the last word he spoke, and died. He had but a very poor funeral, after all.