must; and Quin is a huge strong fellow.'

'He'll give the better mark,' said I. 'I am not afraid of him.'

'In faith,' said the Captain,' I believe you are not; for a lad, I
never saw more game in my life.'

'Look at that sword, sir,' says I, pointing to an elegant silver-
mounted one, in a white shagreen case, that hung on the mantelpiece,
under the picture of my father, Harry Barry. 'It was with that
sword, sir, that my father pinked Mohawk O'Driscol, in Dublin, in
the year 1740; with that sword, sir, he met Sir Huddlestone
Fuddlestone, the Hampshire baronet, and ran him through the neck.
They met on horseback, with sword and pistol, on Hounslow Heath, as
I dare say you have heard tell of, and those are the pistols' (they
hung on each side of the picture) 'which the gallant Barry used. He
was quite in the wrong, having insulted Lady Fuddlestone, when in
liquor, at the Brentford assembly. But, like a gentleman, he scorned
to apologise, and Sir Huddlestone received a ball through his hat,
before they engaged with the sword. I am Harry Barry's son, sir, and
will act as becomes my name and my quality.'

'Give me a kiss, my dear boy,' said Fagan, with tears in his eyes.
'You're after my own soul. As long as Jack Fagan lives you shall
never want a friend or a second.'

Poor fellow! he was shot six months afterwards, carrying orders to
my Lord George Sackville, at Minden, and I lost thereby a kind
friend. But we don't know what is in store for us, and that night
was a merry one at least. We had a second bottle, and a third too (I