"That's downright nonsense, sir. He would as soon go into Squire Egan's house as go to Fiddler's Green."[5] ]
"'Faith, then, there's worse places than Fiddler's Green," said Andy, "as some people may find out one o' these days."
"I think, boys," said O'Grady, to the surrounding countrymen, "we must drag the river."
"Dhrag the river if you plase," said Andy; "but, for the tendher mercy o' Heaven, don't dhrag me to jail! By all the crosses in a yard o' check, I dhruv the jintleman to Squire Egan's!—and there he was in that boat I showed you five minutes agone."
"Bring him after me," said O'Grady. "The fellow is drunk still, or forgets all about it; I must examine him again. Take him over to the hall, and lock him up till I go home."
"Arrah sure, your honour," said Andy, commencing an appeal.
"If you say another word, you scoundrel," said the Squire, shaking his whip at him, "I'll commit you to jail this minute. Keep a sharp eye after him, Molloy," were the last words of the Squire to a stout-built peasant, who took Andy in charge as the Squire mounted his horse and rode away.
Andy was marched off to Neck-or-Nothing Hall; and, in compliance with the Squire's orders, locked up in the justice-room. This was an apartment where the Squire, in his magisterial capacity, dispensed what he called justice, and what he possible meant to be such; but poor Justice coming out of Squire O'Grady's hands was something like the little woman in the song, who, having her petticoats cut short while she was asleep, exclaimed on her waking—
"As sure as I'm a little woman, this is none of I:"
only that Justice, in the present instance, did not doubt her identity from her nakedness, but from the peculiar dressing Squire O'Grady bestowed upon her—she was so muffled up in O'Gradyism that her own mother (who, by the same token, was Themis) wouldn't know her. Indeed, if I remember, Justice is worse off than mortals respecting her parentage; for while there are many people who do not know who were their fathers, poets are uncertain who was Justice's mother:—some say Aurora, some say Themis. Now, if I might indulge at this moment in a bit of reverie, it would not be unreasonable to suppose that it is the classic disposition of Ireland, which is known to be a very ancient country, that tends to make the operations of Justice assimilate with the uncertainty of her birth; for her dispensations there are as distinct as if they were the offspring of two different influences. One man's justice is not another man's justice; which, I suppose, must arise from the difference of opinion as to who and what Justice is. Perhaps the rich people, who incline to power, may venerate Justice more as the child of Jupiter and Themis; while the unruly ones worship her as the daughter of Titan and Aurora; for undoubtedly the offspring of Aurora must be most welcome to "Peep-o'-day boys."