“Now,” says Corney, “as we've made friends,--and I don't think I ever had an enemy but one, a whole day,--I'll entertain you with some of my music: but, before I begin, I'll just remind you, that I said while ago, there was boobies everywhere,--didn't I?--I did, that's true enough, and Rory's one o'them. May be you've been tould of one o' the Fogarty family, who ties a lanthorn to the horse's head, so that the crature may find out his grass in the dark?--This is the boy that does it:--as though the Will-o'-Wisps, and Jack-Lanterns of the bog, wouldn't do what was wanted o' them in that way, for a horse?--Do you believe that now, or don't you?” “Is it a fool you take me for?” says the gentleman. “Yea or nay, just as you plaize. Arrah! Rory,--pturr-r!” “Pturr-r!” says Rory again; and the garron stopped so suddenly, that the piper himself was like to have been pitched over his head. “Go on, and good luck to you!” cried the gentleman; “go on, and there's nothing you'll say but what I'll believe; for it's killed with the cold I am entirely!” “Oh, fie! and the whiskey here at your elbow!” The piper lifted his leg, and away wint the garron again. After much more talk, and two or three stoppages, Carolan at last says to the gentleman, “Now I'd like to know, sir,--may be you won't tell me, though;--but why shouldn't you?--” “Ask me no impertinent questions, and behave yourself in every respect, or you'll wish you hadn't a tongue in your head this journey, when you come to know me,--as perhaps you may.” “Perhaps I won't, though;--for I've no great opinion of you. Perhaps, I won't know you to plaize you. But you'll own I'm right in not riding another step with one that won't tell me which way he'd be going.” “Don't stop the horse again, and you shall know at least where I'm bound to:--indeed, I tould you long ago, it was to The Beg.” “Is it The Beg?--and so you did, now I remember. May be you're a new butler?--No?--A bailiff, then?--Yet why should you? There's nobody there now that's in debt. And if you ar'n't either the one or the other, what can you be?--But it's bad manners in me to be bothering my brains with guessing who you are, when I don't care about knowing. You won't go to The Beg though, anyhow, to-night it's a long three miles from where we stop a bad road and up-hill entirely, too.” “Can I get a bed, think you?” “Why, then, Luke Fogarty's is the state cabin o' the whole place, and he'd give up his own bed any day to a stranger, though he hasn't the best of characters; and Ramilies, his pig--” “His what?”