Many's the tale they tell of ould James Veogh;--how he'd give a feast fit for a prince, once now and then, just to make the great folks in Dublin have an idea of his wealth, and what not, and then whip the cat for a year after, to make up for it. No man was prouder; and it's thought he was wrong in cooping up Pierce at home all his young days;--but that's no matter for my meddling. And it's said, his heart grudged the expense of maintaining Pierce abroad in the world, like the rest of the young sirs; and his pride wouldn't let his only son and heir be looked down upon: so to save both money and pride at once, Pierce was a caged bird until he grew up;--then he flew off, and a wild flight he had too. It's said by his servants, that the father--and this is one of the million stories we have about him--once entertained the great lords and ladies at his house, in Dublin, with a fine masquerade, which cost him a mint of money,--no doubt it did;--and there was himself, in the disguise of the goddess they call Ceres, whose name you have heard before--though I hadn't when they first tould me the joke;--and while his guests were drinking down wine worth its weight in gold,--and it was all galore and glory with them,--Jimmy was seen skulking about, gathering up the scraps, out o' the way o' the strange servants, in a thing he carried, they call something that manes in English, a horn of plenty. That wasn't a bad joke of him, it's said, by them that knows. But there's no doubt, though he'd stoop to pick up a farthing, while Pierce would sooner be skimming guineas over a pond, ould Jim Veogh did more real good than Pierce did at first; for he payed all he owed,--though not a penny more, while Pierce often wouldn't--no, not when he could; and he didn't harry the poor tenants for rent,--which couldn't be said of Pierce,--but gave them time, though he made them pay up at last. And the ould man never did harm to any one in the way of pranks,--not when he was a boy even; and there's more than me recollects his sending Luke Sweeny a cow, when the one he had died.---To be sure, the cow he sent wasn't worth much; but he gave Luke a long day to pay for her, and took lawful interest only on the price,--which was three pounds ten shillings,--until it was paid. And paid it was, to the day: for Luke was as honest a man as ever broke bread, and wouldn't harm a mouse, unless he caught the crature nibbling his loaf,--and then, what harm?--My blessing on Luke!--it's many's the piggin of milk we got from him, in the bad times, when he'd a right to hould his head higher than he can now,--worse luck!--I could tell you a story of Luke, too; but as you're longing, I dare say, to know about Timberleg, I won't baulk you, by giving you dry bread when you're longing for sweetmeats. Luke's isn't a bad story though, for all that; and I'll tell it you, by-and-by, when I've none better left.