It was at the entrance of this tent that a countryman stood, attired in the usual large frieze over-coat (which, from its being worn in summer as well as winter, might lead a stranger to suppose that there seldom or never is a hot day in Ireland), and accompanied by a pretty, bashful-looking girl, apparently fresh from the “interior.” After gaping for a considerable time, some gentlemen, amused by the wonderment that he exhibited, and probably somewhat touched by his companion’s charms, called to him to “come in.” With some reluctance he accepted the invitation, and, fearful of intruding upon the “gintlemin,” seated himself awkwardly upon the end of a form; up _it_ tilted, and down _he_ went, to the great delight of the beholders. Having gathered himself up, he reseated himself more firmly, placing “Biddy” near him, she having declined all offers of other accommodation pressed on her by the company. Paddy O’Neill (the name by which he announced himself), having been pretty well plied with punch, had grown very voluble, and seemed to be beginning to feel himself quite at home, had told many queer stories, and made his entertainers laugh very heartily, when two elderly gentlemen, closely muffled, entered rather stealthily, and sliding over, suddenly seated themselves behind Paddy. Biddy, who had been hitherto quite silent, answering every compliment or remark addressed to her only with a smile, gave Paddy a nudge, and whispered something into his ear, that caused him to turn and gaze at the new arrivals. “Arrah, thin, Docthor M----, agrah, who’d ha’ thought o’ meetin’ _you_ here?” said he, addressing one of them, who sprang at the mention of his name, as if he had sat on the point of a stray nail; he and his companion Dr H----, both senior fellows of Trinity College, having disguised themselves, as they thought effectually, for the purpose of seeing, for the first time in their lives, the fair, and the fun of it, without being recognised in such an uncanonical assemblage. With this object they had avoided exposing themselves to the risk of walking down the tent, but had merely slipped in to reconnoitre from behind the shelter of the frieze-coated customer, who now, so inopportunely and innocently, had announced the name of one of them. “Hold your tongue, sir!” said Dr M.; “you mistake me, sir.” “Arrah, docthor darlint, sure iv I mistake ye, ye need’nt get into sich a comflusthration about id; bud sure I know ye too well to mistake ye. Sure, aint I the boy that had the misforthin to dhrop yer honor’s riverince into the bog-hole, whin ye wint out to make believe ye were snipe shootin’, down at Colonel Thrench’s, last Candlemas was a twelmonth.”