“Sink them all together,” he exclaimed upon this occasion, in a kind of soliloquy--“Church and bishop and parson, what are they worth unless to make the best use we can of them? Here I am prevented from going to that girl to-night--and that barbarous old blockhead of a squire, who was so near throwing me off for a beggarly Papist rebel: and doubly, trebly, quadruply cursed be that same rebel for crossing my path as he has done. The cursed light-headed jade loves him too--there's no doubt of that--but wait until I get him in my clutches, as I certainly shall, and, by ---, his rebel carcass shall feed the crows. But what noise is that? They have returned; I must go down and learn their success.” He was right. Our friend the tipsy sergeant and his party were at the hall-door, which was opened as he went down, and he ordered lights into the back parlor. In a few minutes they were ushered in, where they found him seated as magisterially as possible in a large arm-chair. “Well, Johnston,” said he, assuming as much dignity as he could, “what has been your success?” “A bad evening's sport, sir; we bagged nothing--didn't see a feather.” “Talk sense, Johnston,” said he sternly, “and none of this cant. Did you see or hear any thing of the rebel?” “Why, sir, we did; it would be a devilish nice business if a party led and commanded by George Johnston should go out without hearin' and seein' something.” “Well, but what did you see and hear, sir?” “Why, we saw Reilly's house, and a very comfortable one it is; and we heard from the servants that he wasn't at home.” “You're drunk, Johnston.” “No, sir, begging your pardon, I'm only hearty; besides, I never discharge my duty half so well as when I'm drunk; If feel no colors then.” “Johnston, if I ever know you to get drunk on duty again I shall have you reduced.” “Reduced!” replied Johnston, “curse the fig I care whether you do or not; I'm actin' as a volunteer, and I'll resign.” “Come, sir,” replied Sir Robert, “be quiet; I will overlook this, for you are a very good man if you could keep yourself sober.” “I told you before, Sir Robert, that I'm a better man when I'm drunk.” “Silence, sir, or I shall order you out of the room.” “Please your honor,” observed Steen, “I have a charge to make against George Johnston.” “A charge, Steen--what is it? You are a staunch, steady fellow, I know; what is this charge?” “Why, sir, we met a suspicious character on the old bridle road beyond Reilly's, and he refused to take him prisoner.” “A poor half-Papist beggarman, sir,” replied Johnston, “who was on his way to my uncle's to stop there for the night. Divil a scarecrow in Europe would exchange clothes with him without boot.”