_Pat._ The best.--Oh! it’s I _blarny’d_ Catty to the skies, and then egged her on, and aggravated her against the McBrides, till I left her as mad as e’er a one in Bedlam--up to any thing! And full tilt she’s off to Flaherty’s, the publican, in her blue jock--where she’ll not be long afore she kicks up a quarrel, I’ll engage; for she’s sarching the house for Honor McBride, who is _not_ in it--and giving bad language, I warrant, to all the McBride faction, who _is_ in it, drinking. Oh! trust Catty’s tongue for breeding a riot! In half an hour, I’ll warrant, you’ll have as fine a fight in town as ever ye seen or _hard_. _O’Bla._ That’s iligantly done, Pat. But I hope Randal Rooney is in it? _Pat._ In the thick of it he is, or will be. So I hope your honour did not forgit to spake to Mr. Carver about that little place for me? _O’Bla._ Forgit!--Do I forgit my own name, do you think? Sooner forgit that _then_ my promises. _Pat._ Oh! I beg your honour’s pardon--I would not doubt your word; and to make matters sure, and to make Catty cockahoop, I tould her, and swore to her, there was not a McBride in the town but two, and there’s twinty, more or less. _O’Bla._ And when she sees them twinty, more or less, what will she think?--Why would you say that?--she might find you out in a lie next minute, Mr. Overdo. ‘Tis dangerous for a young man to be telling more lies than is absolutely requisite. The _lie superfluous_ brings many an honest man, and, what’s more, many a cliver fellow, into a scrape--and that’s your great fau’t, Pat. _Pat._ Which, sir? _O’Bla._ _That_, sir. I don’t see you often now take a glass too much. But, Pat, I hear you often still are too apt to indulge in a lie too much. _Pat._ Lie! Is it I?--Whin upon my conscience, I niver to my knowledge tould a lie in my life, since I was born, excipt it would be just to skreen a man, which is charity, sure,--or to skreen myself, which is self-defence, sure--and that’s lawful; or to oblige your honour, by particular desire, and _that_ can’t be helped, I suppose. _O’Bla._ I am not saying again all that--only (_laying his hand on_ PAT’S _shoulder as he is going out_) against another time, all I’m warning you, young man, is, you’re too apt to think there never can be lying enough. Now too much of a good thing is good for nothing. [_Exit O’BLANEY._ _PAT, alone._ _Pat._ There’s what you may call the divil rebuking sin--and now we talk of the like, as I’ve heard my _mudther_ say, that he had need of a long spoon that ates wid the divil--so I’ll look to that in time. But whose voice is that I hear coming up stairs? I don’t believe but it’s Mr. Carver--only what should bring him back agin, I wonder now? Here he is, all out of breath, coming. _Enter Mr. CARVER._ _Mr. Carv._ Pray, young man, did you happen to see--(_panting for breath_) Bless me, I’ve ridden so fast back from Bob’s Fort! _Pat._ My master, sir, Mr. O’Blaney, is it? Will I run?