“Oh, murther, murther, is it take the law of me, for a charge of swan drops? Oh, Docther acushla, don't say you'll do it.” “I'll have your life, as sure as my name's Roach.” “Try him wi' a draught,” interposed M'Nab. “Begorra, I'm willn',” cried Kerry, grasping at the mediation. “I'll take any thing, barrin' the black grease he gave the masther--that would kill the divil.” This exceptive compliment to his skill was not so acceptable to the Doctor, whose passion boiled over at the new indignity. “I'll spend fifty guineas, but I'll hang you,--there's my word on it.” “Oh, wirra! wirra!” cried Kerry, whose apprehensions of how much law might be had for the money, made him tremble all over--“that's what I get for tramping the roads all night after the pony.” “Where's the pony--where's the gig?” called out Roach, suddenly reminded by material interests, that he had more at stake than mere vengeance. “The beast is snug in the stable--that's where he is, eating a peck of oats--last year's corn--divil a less.” “And the gig?” “Oh, the gig, is it? Musha, we have the gig too,” responded Kerry, but with a reluctance that could not escape the shrewd questioner. “Where is it, then?” said Roach, impatiently. “Where would it be, but in the yard?--we're going to wash it.” The Doctor did not wait for the conclusion of this reply, but hastening from the room, passed down the few stairs that led towards the old court-yard, followed by Sir Archy and Kerry, the one, eager to witness the termination of the scene--the other, muttering in a very different spirit--“Oh, but it's now we'll have the divil to pay!” As soon as Roach arrived at the court-yard, he turned his eyes on every side, to seek his conveyance; but although there were old harrows, broken ploughs, and disabled wheel-barrows in numbers, nothing was there, that bore any resemblance to what he sought. “Where is it?” said he, turning to Kerry, with a look of exasperation that defied all attempt to assuage by mere “blarney”--“where is it?” [Illustration: 151] “Here it is, then,” said O'Leary, with the tone of one, whose courage was nerved by utter despair, while at the same time, he drew forth two wheels and an axle, the sole surviving members of the late vehicle, As he displayed the wreck before them, the ludicrous--always too strong for an Irish peasant, no matter how much it may be associated with his own personal danger--overcame his more discreet instincts, and he broke forth into a broad grin, while he cried--“'There's the inside of her, now!' as Darby Gossoon said, when he tuk his watch in pieces, 'and begorra, we'll see how she's made, any way!'” This true history must not recount the expressions in which Roach permitted himself to indulge; it is enough to say, that his passion took the most violent form of invective, against the house, the glen, the family, and their retainers, to an extreme generation, while he stamped and gesticulated like one insane.