“To be sure they would, sir; delighted to place me where they had no fear of my indiscretions. But your judge should be ever a grave animal. The temptation to a joke should never sit on the ermine. As Flood once remarked to me of old Romney, 'A man, sir,' said he,--and Flood had a semi-sarcastic solemnity always about him,--'a man, sir, who has reversed the law of physics; for he rose by his gravity, and only fell by his lightness.' Very epigrammatic and sharp, that. Ah, Martin, they don't say these things nowadays. By the way, who is the young fellow who dined with us yesterday?” “His name is Nelligan; the son of one of our Oughterard neighbors.” “Pleasing manners, gentle, too, and observant,” said Repton, with the tone of one delivering a judgment to be recorded. “He's more than that,” said Martin; “he is the great prize man of the year in Trinity. You must have surely heard of his name up in town.” “I think somebody did speak of him to me,--recommend him, in some shape or other,” said Repton, abstractedly; “these things are so easily forgotten; for, to say the truth, I hold very cheaply all intellectual efforts accomplished by great preparation. The cramming, the grinding, the plodding, the artificial memory work, and the rest of it, detract terribly, in my estimation, from the glory of success. Give me your man of impromptu readiness, never unprepared, never at a loss. The very consciousness of power is double power.” And as he spoke he drew himself up, threw his head back, and stared steadfastly at Martin, as though to say, “Such is he who now stands before you.” Martin was amused at the display of vanity, and had there been another there to have participated in the enjoyment, would have willingly encouraged him to continue the theme; but he was alone, and let it pass. “I 'll make a note of that young man. Mulligan, is n't it?” “Nelligan.” “To be sure. I 'll remember poor Curran's epigram:-- 'Oh, pity poor Tom Nelligan! Who walking down Pall Mall, He slipt his foot, And down he fell, And fears he won't get well again.' Glorious fellow, sir; the greatest of all the convivialists of his time, was Curran. A host in himself; but, as he once said, you could n't always depend on the 'elevation.'” Martin smiled faintly; he relished the lawyer's talk, but he felt that it demanded an amount of attention on his part that wearied him. Anything that cost him trouble was more or less of a “bore;” and he already began to wish for his accustomed ease and indolence. “Well, Repton,” said he, “you wished to see the quarries, I think?” “To see everything and everybody, sir, and with my own eyes, too. As Lysaght said, when I read the book of nature, 'I let no man note my brief for me.'”