faults. It would be well for his countrymen if they were made, even by a
few mortifications, somewhat sensible of this important difference in the
habits of Irish and English traders before they come to settle in
England.

But to proceed with our story. On the night of Mr. O'Neill's grand ball,
as he was seeing his fair partner, the perfumer's daughter, safe home, he
felt himself tapped on the shoulder by no friendly hand. When he was
told that he was the king's prisoner, he vociferated with sundry strange
oaths, which we forbear to repeat. "No, I am not the king's prisoner! I
am the prisoner of that shabby, rascally tanner, Jonathan Hill. None but
he would arrest a gentleman in this way, for a trifle not worth
mentioning."

Miss Jenny Brown screamed when she found herself under the protection of
a man who was arrested; and, what between her screams and his oaths,
there was such a disturbance that a mob gathered.

Among this mob there was a party of Irish haymakers, who, after returning
late from a hard day's work, had been drinking in a neighbouring
ale-house. With one accord they took part with their countryman, and
would have rescued him from the civil officers with all the pleasure in
life if he had not fortunately possessed just sufficient sense and
command of himself to restrain their party spirit, and to forbid them, as
they valued his life and reputation, to interfere, by word or deed, in
his defence.

He then despatched one of the haymakers home to his mother, to inform her
of what had happened, and to request that she would get somebody to be
bail for him as soon as possible, as the officers said they could not let