“'What will you do, Mr. Attorney?' says the judge. 'Have you any other evidence to bring forward?' And the Attorney-General stooped down and began whispering with the bench. 'Very well,' says the judge, at last, 'we 'll discharge him by proclamation.' “'Wait a minute, my Lord,' says ould Blethers, who got five guineas for the defence, and had n't yet opened his mouth. 'Before my respected but injured client leaves that dock, I call to your Lordship, in the name and on behalf of British justice,--I appeal to you, by the eternal principles of our glorious Constitution, that he may go forth into the world with a reputation unstained and a character unblemished.' “'Not so fast, Mister Blethers,' says old Grady,----'not so fast I 'm going over Thieve-na-muck Mountain tonight, and, with the blessing of God, I 'll keep your unblemished friend where he is till morning.' Now you see the meaning of what I was telling you. 'T is like tying a kettle to a dog's tail.” It is not quite clear to us whether Purvis comprehended the story or appreciated the illustration; but he smiled, and smirked, and looked satisfied, for Peter's wine was admirable, and iced to perfection. Indeed, the worthy Scroope, like his sister, was already calculating how to “improve the occasion,” and further cultivate the esteem of one whose hospitable dispositions were so excellent. It was just at this moment that Martha glided behind Purvis's chair, and whispered a word in his ear. Whatever the announcement, it required some repetition before it became quite palpable to his faculties, and it was only after about five minutes that his mind seemed to take in all the bearings of the case. “Oh, I ha-have it!” cried he. “That's it, eh?” And he winked with a degree of cunning that showed the most timely appreciation of the news. “Would n't the young lady sit down and take something?” said Dalton, offering a seat “A glass of sweet wine? They 've elegant Tokay here.” “Thanks, thanks,” said Scroope, apologizing for the bashful Martha; “but she's in a bit of a quandary just now. My sister wishes to return home, and we cannot remember the name of the hotel.” Dalton took a hearty fit of laughing at the absurdity of the dilemma. “'T is well,” said he, “You were n't Irish. By my conscience! they'd call that a bull;” and he shook his sides with merriment. “How did you get here?” “We walked,” said Martha. “And which way did you come?” “Can you remember, Scroope?” “Yes, I can re-re-member that we crossed a little Plate, with a fountain, and came oyer a wooden bridge, and then down an alley of li-li-linden-trees.”