“Arrah!” returned the burly widow, “don’t vex ye’rself about him: ye’r safe wid me--the devil a toe he’ll venture to put near my room. Ye’r tired, _avourneein_; and come away to ye’r-bed: and if you, Mr. O’Toole, will jist step down and take an air of the fire below, I’ll make ye a shake-down here as the house is crowded to the thatch.” Mark Antony accordingly bade his companion a good night, and descended to the kitchen, where, by a sort of common consent, the whole of the guests had united themselves for a general jollification. The whisky now seemed “uppermost,” and most of the party w’ere as it is termed in Ireland “the worse of liquor;” but the hilarity was as yet undisturbed, “And all went merry as a marriage bell.” The worthy sergeant who, like Bardolph, was “white-livered and red-faced,” with Pistol’s qualification of having “a killing tongue and quiet sword,” was evidently the lion of the evening; and being a romancer of the first magnitude, no man was better suited to fascinate a company who took delight in listening to deeds of arms. He was graciously pleased to reply to the inquiry of a recruit, who had expressed a strong curiosity touching the personal appearance of Napoleon le grand. Having bolted a dose of alcohol presented to him by a countryman, and deposited the pewter measure on the table, the commander thus modestly continued:-- “An’ so ye would like to know what Boney’s like? Well, the divil a man ye would meet in a day’s walk could tell you that same thing better. He has a regular gunpowder complexion, a look that would frighten a horse, and whiskers you could hang your hat upon. Father Abraham’s in the corner there--and ‘pon my conscience, honest man, ye would be the better of a barber--are but a joke to them.” And he pointed to the Jew. “And where did you see him?” inquired a countryman. “Where did I see him? Where--but in Agypt,” returned the commander.