skull from the sexton's hands; 'and I'll tell you more, there was some
dry eyes, too, at his funeral--ha, ha, ha!'

'You were a resident in the town, then?' said my uncle, who did not like
the turn his recollections were taking.

'Ay, Sir, that I was,' he replied; 'see that broken tooth, there--I
forgot 'twas there--and the minute I seen it, I remembered it like this
morning--I could swear to it--when he laughed; ay, and that sharp corner
to it--hang him,' and he twirled the loose tooth, the last but two of
all its fellows, from' its socket, and chucked it into the grave.

'And were you--you weren't in the army, _then_?' enquired the curate,
who could not understand the sort of scoffing dislike he seemed to bear
it.

'Be my faith I was _so_, Sir--the Royal Irish Artillery,' replied he,
promptly.

'And in what capacity?' pursued his reverence.

'Drummer,' answered the mulberry-faced veteran.

'Ho!--Drummer? That's a good time ago, I dare say,' said my uncle,
looking on him reflectively.

'Well, so it is, not far off fifty years,' answered he. 'He was a
hard-headed codger, he was; but you see the sprig of shillelagh was too
hard for him--ha, ha, ha!' and he gave the skull a smart knock with his
walking-cane, as he grinned at it and wagged his head.