“His honor is coming to dine, maybe?” asked Tate, respectfully; for old habit of his master's hospitality had made the question almost a matter of course, while age had so dimmed his eyesight that even Anthony Nickie passed with him for a gentleman. “Coming to dine,” repeated Nickie, with a coarse laugh; “that's a bargain there 's always two words to, my old boy. I suppose you 've heard it is manners to wait to be asked, eh?--without,” added he, after a second's pause,--“without I 'm to take this as an invitation.” “I believe your honor might, then,” said Tate, with a smile. “'Tis many a one I kept again the family came home for dinner, and sorrow word of it they knew till they seen them dressed in the drawing-room! And the dinner-table!” said Tate, with a sigh, half in regret over the past, half preparing himself with a sufficiency of breath for a lengthened oration,-“the dinner-table! it's wishing it I am still! After laying for ten, or maybe twelve, his honor would come in and say, 'Tate, we 'll be rather crowded here, for here 's Sir Gore Molony and his family. You 'll have to make room for five more.' Then Miss Helen would come springing in with, 'Tate, I forgot to say Colonel Martin and his officers are to be here at dinner.' After that it would be my lady herself, in her own quiet way, 'Mr. Sullivan,'-she nearly always called me that,--'could n't you contrive a little space here for Lady Burke and Miss MacDonnel? But the captain beat all, for he 'd come in after the soup was removed, with five or six gentlemen from the hunt, splashed and wet up to their necks; over he 'd go to the side-table, where I 'd have my knives and forks, all beautiful, and may I never but he 'd fling some here, others there, till he 'd clear a space away, and then he'd cry, 'Tate, bring back the soup, and set some sherry here.' Maybe that wasn't the table for noise, drinking wine with every one at the big table, and telling such wonderful stories that the servants did n't know what they were doing, listening to them. And the master--the heavens be about him!--sending me over to get the names of the gentlemen, that he might ask them to take wine with him. Oh, dear--oh, dear, I 'm sure I used to think my heart was broke with it; but sure it's nigher breaking now that it's all past and over.” “You seem to have had very jolly times of it in those days,” said Nickie. “Faix, your honor might say so if you saw forty-eight sitting down to dinner every day in the parlor for seven weeks running; and Master Lionel--the captain that is--at the head of another table in the library, with twelve or fourteen more,--nice youths they wor!” While Tate continued his retrospections, Mr. Nickie had unlocked his box, and cursorily throwing a glance over some papers, he muttered to himself a few words, and then added aloud,--“Now for business.” CHAPTER XVII. MR. ANTHONY NICKIE, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW.