“I will; and I 'll drink the memory of the great and good man that first intro-duced the weed amongst us--Here's Sir Walter Raleigh! By the same token, I was in his house last week.” “In his house! where?” “Down at Greyhall. You Englishmen, savin' your presence, always forget that many of your celebrities lived years in Ireland; for it was the same long ago as now,--a place of decent banishment for men of janius, a kind of straw-yard where ye turned out your intellectual hunters till the sayson came on at home.” “I 'm sorry to see, Billy, that, with all your enlightenment, you have the vulgar prejudice against the Saxon.” “And that's the rayson I have it, because it is vulgar,” said Billy, eagerly. “Vulgar means popular, common to many; and what's the best test of truth in anything but universal belief, or whatever comes nearest to it? I wish I was in Parliament--I just wish I was there the first night one of the nobs calls out 'That 's vulgar;' and I 'd just say to him, 'Is there anything as vulgar as men and women? Show me one good thing in life that is n't vulgar! Show me an object a painter copies, or a poet describes, that is n't so!' Ayeh,” cried he, impatiently, “when they wanted a hard word to fling at us, why didn't they take the right one?” “But you are unjust, Billy; the ungenerous tone you speak of is fast disappearing. Gentlemen nowadays use no disparaging epithets to men poorer or less happily circumstanced than themselves.” “Faix,” said Billy, “it isn't sitting here at the same table with yourself that I ought to gainsay that remark.” And Harcourt was so struck by the air of good breeding in which he spoke, that he grasped his hand, and shook it warmly. “And what is more,” continued Billy, “from this day out I 'll never think so.” He drank off his glass as he spoke, giving to the libation all the ceremony of a solemn vow. “D' ye hear that?--them's oars; there's a boat coming in.” “You have sharp hearing, master,” said Harcourt, laughing. “I got the gift when I was a smuggler,” replied he. “I could put my ear to the ground of a still night, and tell you the tramp of a revenue boot as well as if I seen it. And now I'll lay sixpence it's Pat Morissy is at the bow oar there; he rows with a short jerking stroke there 's no timing. That's himself, and it must be something urgent from the post-office that brings him over the lough to-night.” The words were scarcely spoken when Craggs entered with a letter in his hand. “This is for you, Colonel,” said he; “it was marked 'immediate,' and the post-mistress despatched it by an express.” The letter was a very brief one; but, in honor to the writer, we shall give it a chapter to itself. CHAPTER VII. A GREAT DIPLOMATIST My dear Harcourt,--I arrived here yesterday, and by good fortune caught your letter at F. O., where it was awaiting the departure of the messenger for Germany.