‘Here, Judy Conway, run to Biddy Conroy with this corner, an’ let her make aff in the direckshin ov Kildare, an’ be shure she runs the corner into the _mon’stery_. Here, you, Nelly Murphy, make off to Kilcullen; an’ you, Katty Farrel, away with you to Ballysax; an’ you, Nelly Doye, away to Arthgarvan; an’ you, Rose Regan, in the direckshin of Connell; an’ you, Ellen Fogarty, away in the road to Maddenstown; an’ you, Jenny Purcel, away to Airfield. Just hand it from one to t’other.’ So givin’ three claps ov her hand, off they set like hounds, an’ in a minnit ye’d think a haul ov nuns wor cotched in the net. ‘Oh, millia murther!’ sez the queen, ‘she’s stretchin’ it over my daughter’s ground.’ ‘Oh, blud-an’-turf!’ sez the king, ‘now she’s stretchin’ it over my son’s ground. Galong, ye set ov _thaulabawns_,’ sed he to his life-guards; ‘galong, I say, an’ stop her, else she’ll cover all my dominions.’ ‘Oh fie, yer honour,’ sez the chief butler; ‘if you break yer word, I’m not shure ov my wages.’ Well behould ye, sur, in less than two hours Saint Bridget had the whole Curragh covered. ‘Now see what a purty kittle of fish you’ve made ov it!’ sez the queen. ‘No, but it’s you, Mrs Queen O’Dermot, ’twas you agreed to this.’ ‘Ger out, ye ould bosthoon,’ sez the queen, ‘ye desarve it all: ye might aisy guess that she’d chouse ye. Shure iv ye had a grain ov sinse, ye might recollect how yer cousin King O’Toole was choused by Saint Kavin out ov all his ground, by the saint stuffin’ a lump ov a crow into the belly ov the ould goose.’ ‘Well, Dorah, never mind; if she makes a hole, I have a peg for it. Now, Biddy,’ sez he, ‘though I gave ye the ground, I forgot to tell ye that I only give it for a certain time. I now tell ye from this day forward you shall only have it while ye keep yer fire in.’” Here I lost the remainder of his discourse by my ill manners. I got so familiar with Mr Mowlds, and so interested with his story, that I forgot my politeness. “And what about the fire, PAT?” said I, without consideration. Before I could recollect the offence, he turned on me with the eyes of a maniac-- “The dhoul whishper nollege into your ear. _Pat!_--(hum)--_Pat!_--_Pat!_--this is freedom, with all my heart.” So saying, he strode away, muttering something between his teeth. However, I hope again to meet him, when I shall be a little more cautious in my address. THE ELECTROTYPE.