“Where can those gorsoons ov mine be, boys?” inquired he of the reapers. “In the arms ov _Murphy_, to be sure,” answered a little shrill-piped fellow, the crack orator of the country, which, and the circumstance of his name being alike, procured him the cognomen of “Counsellor Shiel.” “In the arms ov Murphy, to be sure, afther thrippin’ it all night on the light funtastic toe with that flower ov Forth an’ belle ov the barony, Kate Kavanagh.” “Arrah, can’t ye speak in plain English, man?” thundered the farmer with kindling eyes--the name just mentioned always putting him in a passion. “What the dickens does I know ov funtastic toes or heels?” “Very little indeed, _litherally_,” quoth the counsellor, laughing, and glancing sarcastically at the farmer’s large feet, cased in tremendous brogues shod with hob-nails; “very little _litherally_, but you might metaphorically, for all that. But you have no more poethry or bells letthers in ye than a bag ov beans!” “Nor you more common sense than a goose.” “Stop!” cried the orator suddenly, in a tone of command enough to arrest a retreating army, and motioning to the body of reapers. “Stop, one an’ all ov ye, an’ listen! It would be a sin to let this profane ignirince continue longer.” Then addressing our barony Forth farmer with a countenance in which pity and ineffable contempt were blended, “Is it in the nointeenth centhery that you call me a goose, by way ov contimpt? Oh ignorant of nathral histhry, jography, bells letthers, pelite litherature altogether! For, know, onforthenate man, that it was the _cackle_ ov that same illustrious baist, a goose, that saved what?--where do you think?” “Yer mother’s hen-roost from the fox, is it?” “No, haithen, but imparial Rome!!!” The might, the majesty of the “counsellor’s” tones and gestures as he uttered the words, struck amazement into the hearts of his hearers! They had considered him a clever fellow, but by no means the great man he then appeared! Enchanted with his eloquence, not a few of his auditors were certain that if he were in Parliament, he would do more for Ireland than Mr O’Connell and all his friends; while the remainder, as much delighted with his energy, lamented that “the craithur wasn’t two fut higher, for he had a great spirit intirely!” The happy “counsellor” perceived the impression he had produced, and in his altitude was proceeding to tell them when and how “imparial Rome” was saved, when his attention was arrested by an approaching object, and with an instantaneous change of attitude and tone he exclaimed, “‘But, soft! what light from yonder _meadow_ breaks? It is the aist, an’ Cath’rine is the sun!’” as a tall and very handsome girl, with the finest eyes and brightest smile imaginable, met them at the entrance of the wheat field. “A blithe mornin’ to Misther Costigan,” said the maiden, “an’ the same to all the raipers!”