face.

"Let me go you villain!" exclaimed Brady, "or, by this blessed night
that's in it, it'll be worse for you."

"Villain, is it?" replied Traynor, making a blow at him, whilst Brady
snatched, at a penknife, which one of the others had placed on the
table, after picking the tobacco out of his pipe--intending either to
stab Traynor, or to cut the knot of the cravat by which he was held. The
others, however, interfered, and presented further mischief.

"Brady," said Traynor, "you'll rue this night, if ever a man did, you
tracherous in-formin' villian. What an honest spy we have among us!--and
a short coorse to you!"

"O, hould yer tongue, Traynor!" replied Brady: "I believe it's best
known who is both the spy and the informer. The divil a pint of poteen
ever you'll run in this parish, until you clear yourself of bringing
the gauger on the Tracys, bekase they tuck Mick M'Kew, in preference to
yourself, to run it for them."

Traynor made another attempt to strike him, but was prevented. The rest
now interfered; and, in the course of an hour or so, an adjustment took
place.

Brady took up the tongs, and swore "by that blessed iron," that he
neither heard, nor intended to hear, anything they said; and this
exculpation was followed by a fresh bottle at his own expense.

"You omadhawn," said he to Traynor, "I was only puttin' up a dozen o'