the means of holding him in high odor among us.  Great and wonderful, Heaven knows, did we look upon his endowments to be.  No man, wise or otherwise, could “hunt the brock,” alias the badger, within a hundred miles of Bob; for when he covered his mouth with his two hands, and gave forth the very sounds which the badger is said to utter, did we not look upon him—­Bob—­with as much wonder and reverence as we would have done upon the badger himself?  Phup-um-phup—­ phup-um-phup—­phup-um—­phup-um—­phup-um-phup.  Who but a first-rate genius could accomplish this feat in such a style?  Bob could crow like a cock, bark like a dog, mew like a cat, neigh like a horse, bray like an ass, or gobble like a turkey-cock.  Unquestionably, I have never heard him equalled as an imitator of birds and beasts.  Bob’s crack feat, however, was performing the Screw-pin Dance, of which we have only this to say, that by whatsoever means he became acquainted with it, it is precisely the same dance which is said to have been exhibited by some strolling Moor before the late Queen Caroline.  It is, indeed, very strange, but no less true, that many of the oriental customs are yet prevalent in the remote and isolated parts of Ireland.  Had the late Mr. O’Brien, author of the Essay on Irish Round Towers, seen Bob perform the dance I speak of, he would have hailed him as a regular worshipper of Budh, and adduced his performance as a living confirmation of his theory.  Poor Bob! he is gone the way of all fools, and all flesh.

“Indeed, childher, it’s no wonder for yez to enquire!  Where did I get him, Dick?—­musha, and where would I get him but in the ould place, a-hagur; with the ould set:  don’t yez know that a dacent place or dacent company wouldn’t sarve Ned?—­nobody but Shane Martin, and Jimmy Tague, and the other blackguards."*

* The reader, here, is not to rely implicitly upon the accuracy of Nancy’s description of the persons alluded to.  It is true the men were certainly companions and intimate acquaintances of Ned’s, but not entitled to the epithet which Nancy in her wrath bestowed upon them.  Shane was a rollicking fighting, drinking butcher, who cared not a fig! whether he treated you to a drink or a drubbing, indeed, it was at all times extremely difficult to say whether he was likely to give you the drink first or the drubbing afterwards, or vice versa.  Sometimes he made the drubbing the groundwork for the drink and quite as frequently the drink the groundwork for the drubbing.  Either one or other you were sure to receive at his hands; but his general practice was to give both.  Shane, in fact, was a good- humored fellow, well liked, and nobody’s enemy but his own.  Jemmy Tague was a quiet man, who could fight his corner, however, if necessary.  Shane,was called Kittogue Shane, from being left-handed.  Both were butchers, and both, we believe, alive and kicking at this day.

“And what will you do with him, Nancy?”