Tim Callaghan seriously assured me “that he sarved seven long years wid as fine a piper as ever put chanther ondher an arm;” and that at the end of that well-spent period he began to enchant the king’s lieges on his own account, master of a splendid set of pipes, and three whole tunes (_barring_ a few odd turns here and there which couldn’t be conquered, and of _no consequince_), a golden store in his opinion. “Ah, then, Tim,” said I, when I was perfectly acquainted with himself and his musical merits, “what a pity that with your fine taste and superior set of pipes you did not try to conquer the half dozen at least!” “Ogh, musha!” quoth Tim, looking sulky and annoyed, “that same quisthen has been put to me by dozens, an’ I hate to hear it! It was only yistherday that another lady axt me that same. ‘Arrah, ma’am,’ ses I, ‘did ye ever play a thune on the pipes in yer life?’ ‘Niver, indeed,’ ses she, lookin’ ashamed ov her ignorance, as she ought. ‘Bekase if ye did,’ ses I agin, ‘ye’d soon say, “bright was yerself, Tim Callaghan, to get over the three thunes dacently, widout axin’ people to do what’s onpossible.”’ An’ now I appail to you, Miss, where’s the use ov bodherin’ people’s brains wid six or seven whin three does _my_ business as well?” As in duty bound, I admitted that his argument was unanswerable, and thenceforward we were the best friends possible. Grateful for my patience and forbearance, he eternally mangles the three unfortunates for my gratification; and I doubt if I could now relish them with their fair proportions, so accustomed as I have been to Tim’s “short measure!”