Sir Terence and Lord Clonbrony laughed in concert.

"This is a good story," said Miss Nugent, smiling; "but surely, Sir
Terence, such things are never done in real life?"

"Done! ay, are they; and I could tell you a hundred better strokes, my
dear Miss Nugent."

"Grace!" cried Lady Clonbrony, "do pray have the goodness to seal and
send these notes; for really," whispered she, as her niece came to the
table, "I _cawnt stee_, I _cawnt_ bear that man's _vice_, his accent
grows horrider and horrider!"

Her ladyship rose, and left the room.

"Why, then," continued Sir Terence, following Miss Nugent to the
table, where she was sealing letters--"I must tell you how I _sa_rved
that same man on another occasion, and got the victory, too."

No general officer could talk of his victories, or fight his battles
o'er again, with more complacency than Sir Terence O'Fay recounted his
_civil_ exploits.

"Now I'll tell you, Miss Nugent. There was a footman in the family,
not an Irishman, but one of your powdered English scoundrels that
ladies are so fond of having hanging to the backs of their carriages;
one Fleming he was, that turned spy, and traitor, and informer, went
privately and gave notice to the creditors where the plate was hid
in the thickness of the chimney; but if he did, what happened? Why,
I had my counter-spy, an honest little Irish boy, in the creditor's