'Well, if it was a shame it was no sin,' responded the Major; 'for we never took anything more costly than kisses. Ah, dear me! them was the times! And, to be sure, every now and then we got a pull-up from the Lady lieutenant, and were obliged to behave ourselves for a week or two together. One thing she never could endure was a habit we had of leaving the Castle before they themselves left the ball-room. I'm not going to defend it—it was not very polite, I confess; but somehow or other there was always something going on we couldn't afford to lose—maybe a supper at the barrack, or a snug party at Daly's, or a bit of fun elsewhere. Her Excellency, however, got angry about it, and we got a quiet hint to reform our manners. This, I need not tell you, was a hopeless course; so we hit on an expedient that answered to the full as well. It was by our names being called out, as the carriages drove up, that our delinquency became known. So Matt Fortescue suggested that we should adopt some feigned nomenclature, which would totally defy every attempt at discovery; the idea was excellent, and we traded on it for many a day with complete success. One night, however, from some cause or other, the carriages were late in arriving, and we were all obliged to accompany the court into the supper-room. Angry enough we were; but still there was no help for it; and so, “smiling through tears,” as the poet says, in we went. Scarcely, however, had we taken our places when a servant called out something from the head of the stairs; another re-echoed it at the ante-chamber, and a third at the supper-room shouted out, “Oliver Cromwell's carriage stops the way!” The roar of laughter the announcement caused shook the very room; but it had scarcely subsided when there was another call for “Brian Boru's coach,” quickly followed by “Guy Fawkes” and “Paddy O'Rafferty's jingle,” which latter personage was no other than the Dean of Cork. I need not tell you that we kept our secret, and joined in the universal opinion of the whole room, “that the household was shamefully disguised in drink”; and indeed there was no end to the mistakes that night, for every now and then some character in heathen or modern history would turn up among the announcements; and as the laughter burst forth, the servants would grow ashamed for a while, and refuse to call any carriage where the style and title was a little out of the common. Ah, Mr. Hinton, if you had lived in those days! Well, well, no matter—here's a glass to their memory, anyway. It is the first time you 've been in these parts, and I suppose you haven't seen much of the country?'
'Very little indeed,' replied I; 'and even that much only by moonlight.'
'I'm afraid,' said Father Tom, half pensively, 'that many of your countrymen take little else than a “dark view” of us.'
'See now,' said the Major, slapping his hand on the table with energy, 'the English know as much about Pat as Pat knows of purgatory—no offence to you, Mr. Hinton. I could tell you a story of a circumstance that once happened to myself.'
No, no, Bob,' said the priest; 'it is bad taste to tell a story en petit comité. I'll leave it to the Captain.'
'If I am to be the judge,' said I laughingly, 'I decide for the story.'
'Let's have it, then,' said the priest. 'Come, Bob, a fresh brew, and begin your tale.'
'You are a sensual creature, Father Tom,' said the Major, 'and prefer drink to intellectual discussion; not but that you may have both here at the same time. But in honour of my friend beside me, I'll not bear malice, but give you the story; and let me tell you, it is not every day in the week a man hears a tale with a moral to it, particularly down in this part of the country.'