of these, or a hundred more like them, and to any one you so speak, the
answer is--"Pooh, pooh, my dear fellow, never fear--don't fuss yourself
--take it easy--to-morrow will do just as well." If, on the other hand,
however, you reject such flimsy excuses, and simply say, "I'm booked in
the mail," the opposition at once falls to the ground, and your quondam
antagonist, who was ready to quarrel with you, is at once prepared to
assist in packing your portmanteau.

Having soon satisfied my friend Tom that resistance was in vain, I
promised to eat an early dinner with him at Morrisson's, and spent the
better part of the morning in putting down a few notes of my Confessions,
as well as the particulars of Mr. Daly's story, which, I believe, I half
or wholly promised my readers at the conclusion of my last chapter; but
which I must defer to a more suitable opportunity, when mentioning the
next occasion of my meeting him on the southern circuit.

My dispositions were speedily made. I was fortunate in securing the
exact dress my friend's letter alluded to among the stray costumes of
Fishamble-street; and rich in the possession of the only "properties" it
has been my lot to acquire, I despatched my treasure to the coach office,
and hastened to Morrisson's, it being by this time nearly five o'clock.
There, true to time, I found O'Flaherty deep in the perusal of the bill,
along which figured the novel expedients for dining, I had been in the
habit of reading in every Dublin hotel since my boyhood. "Mock turtle,
mutton, gravy, roast beef and potatoes--shoulder of mutton and potatoes!
--ducks and peas, potatoes!! ham and chicken, cutlet steak and
potatoes!!! apple tart and cheese:" with a slight cadenza of a sigh over
the distant glories of Very, or still better the "Freres," we sat down to
a very patriarchal repast, and what may be always had par excellence in
Dublin, a bottle of Sneyd's claret.