the Old World such a grateful monument to the genius of American
freedom, as shall, from its lofty summit, pour its radiance over the
darkest valleys of Central Europe, until the frozen grasp of
despotism yields to its magic touch and the chains shall fall from
the bleeding limbs of millions, who on emerging from the valley and
shadow of death into the pure sunlight of liberty, shall sing paeans
in honor of the great American people who first taught humanity to
the nations of the earth.

When all present had done justice to O'Brien's proffered "treat," and
when Greaves seemed to be moved to a friendly view of Irish
nationality, in a gap in some desultory conversation that happened to
occur casually, this latter worthy asked whether he could be
accommodated with a room at "The Harp," while he remained in town, as
he was a stranger in a great measure, and having accidentally, as he
said, made the acquaintance of one he believed to be an agreeable
landlord. Tom replied in the affirmative; for, in connection with the
saloon business, he kept a few boarders and had, besides, ample
accommodation for more than one occasional guest. Soon then, Greaves,
who was to send the following morning to the railroad station for his
luggage, picked up a small traveling bag by his side, asked to be
shown to his room, as he professed to be somewhat tired, and bidding
the company "good night," while shaking hands with Barry, disappeared
with Tom down the long passage which led to his sleeping apartment on
the floor above.

When O'Brien returned to the bar, half a dozen more of his usual
customers had dropped in to exchange a kindly word with him, and
taste his newest "on tap." Before reaching the counter, however, and
just as he was passing Barry, he whispered something in the ear of