cleverly, that he hoped to see three parts of them tipsy before they
retired to rest.

"Do you feel your knee better now, sir?" asked one of the party, of
Murphy.

"Considerably, thank you; whisky punch, sir, is about the best cure for
bruises or dislocations a man can take."

"I doubt that, sir," said a little matter-of-fact man, who had now
interposed his reasonable doubts for the twentieth time during Murphy's
various extravagant declarations, and the interruption only made Murphy
romance the more.

"_You_ speak of your fiery _Dublin_ stuff, sir; but our country
whisky is as mild as milk, and far more wholesome; then, sir, our fine air
alone would cure half the complaints without a grain of physic."

"I doubt that, sir!" said the little man.

"I assure you, sir, a friend of my own from town came down here last
spring on crutches, and from merely following a light whisky diet and
sleeping with his window open, he was able to dance at the race ball in a
fortnight; as for this knee of mine, it's a trifle, though it was a bad
upset too."

"How did it happen, sir? Was it your horse--or your harness--or your gig--
or--"

"None o' them, sir; it was a _Banshee_."