“I darn't do it, sir; the committee is sittin'--don't ye see, besides, the moon lookin' at you?” And she pointed to a rude representation of a crescent moon, formed by a kind of transparency in the middle of a large window, a signal which Sandy well knew portended that the council were assembled within. “Wha's the man, noo?” said Sandy, with one foot on the threshold. “The ould stock still, darlint,” said Rhoudlum,--“don't ye know his voice?” “That's Paul Donellan,--I ken him noo.” “Be my conscience! there's no mistake. Ye can hear his screech from the Poddle to the Pigeon House when the wind's fair.” Sandy put a shilling into the hag's hand, and, without waiting for further parley, entered the little dark hall, and turning a corner he well remembered, pressed a button and opened the door into the room where the party were assembled. “Who the blazes are you? What brings you here?” burst from a score of rude voices together, while every hand grasped some projectile to hurl at the devoted intruder. “Ask Paul Donellan who I am, and he'll tell ye,” said Sandy, sternly, while, with a bold contempt for the hostile demonstrations, he walked straight up to the head of the room. The recognition on which he reckoned so confidently was not forthcoming, for the old decrepit creature who, cowering beneath the wig of some defunct chancellor, presided, stared at him with eyes bleared with age and intemperance, but seemed unable to detect him as an acquaintance. “Holy Paul does n't know him!” said half-a-dozen together, as, in passionate indignation, they arose to resent the intrusion. “He may remember this better,” said Sandy, as, seizing a full bumper of whiskey from the board, he threw it into the lamp beneath the transparency, and in a moment the moon flashed forth, and displayed its face at the full. The spell was magical, and a burst of savage welcome broke from every mouth, while Donellan, as if recalled to consciousness, put his hand trumpet-fashion to his lips, and gave a shout that made the very glasses ring upon the board. Place was now made for Sandy at the table, and a wooden vessel called “a noggin” set before him, whose contents he speedily tested by a long draught. “I may as weel tell you,” said Sandy, “that I am Bagenal Daly's man. I mind the time it wad na hae been needful to say so much,--my master's picture used to hang upon that wall.” Had Sandy proclaimed himself the Prince of Wales the announcement could not have met with more honor, and many a coarse and rugged grasp of the hand attested the pleasure his presence there afforded. “We have the picture still,” said a young fellow, whose frank, good-humored face contrasted strongly with many of those around him; “but that old divil, Paul, always told us it was a likeness of himself when he was young.”