unauthorised, but airnest, though, he feared, unavailing peacemaker.’  There he used to spout little maxims of reconciliation, and Christian brotherhood and forbearance; exhorting to forget and forgive; wringing his hands at each successive discharge; and it must be said, too, in fairness, playing the part of a good Samaritan towards the wounded, to whom his green hall-door was ever open, and for whom the oil of his consolation and the wine of his best bin never refused to flow.

‘Pat, my child,’ said his reverence, ’that Nutter’s a divil of a fellow—­at least he was, by all accounts; he’ll be bad enough, I’m afeared, and hard enough to manage, if everything goes smooth; but if he’s kept waiting there, fuming and boiling over, do ye mind, without a natural vent for his feelings, or a friend, do ye see, at his side to—­to resthrain him, and bring about, if possible, a friendly mutual understanding—­why, my dear child, he’ll get into that state of exasperation an’ violence, he’ll have half a dozen jewels on his hands before morning.’

’Augh! ‘tid be a murther to baulk them for want of a friend,’ answered Mr. Mahony, standing up like a warrior, and laying the pipe of peace upon the chimney.  ‘Will I go down, Father Denis, and offer my sarvices?’

‘With a view to a reconciliation, mind,’ said his reverence, raising his finger, closing his eyes, and shaking his florid face impressively.

‘Och, bother! don’t I know—­of coorse, reconciliation;’ and he was buttoning his garments where, being a little ‘in flesh,’ as well as tall, he had loosed them. ’Where are the gentlemen now, and who will I ask for?’

’I’ll show you the light from the steps.  Ask for Dr. Toole; and he’s certainly there; and if he’s not, for Mr. Nutter; and just say you came from my house, where you—­a—­pooh! accidentally heard, through Mr. Loftus, do ye mind, there was a difficulty in finding a friend to—­a—­strive to make up matters between thim.’

By this time they stood upon the door-steps; and Mr. Mahony had clapt on his hat with a pugnacious cock o’ one side; and following, with a sporting and mischievous leer, the direction of the priest’s hand, that indicated the open door of the Phoenix, through which a hospitable light was issuing.

‘There’s where you’ll find the gentlemen, in the front parlour,’ says the priest.  ‘You remember Dr. Toole, and he’ll remember you.  An’ mind, dear, it’s to make it up you’re goin’.’  Mr. Mahony was already under weigh, at a brisk stride, and with a keen relish for the business.  ‘And the blessing of the peacemaker go with you, my child!’ added his reverence, lifting his hands and his eyes towards the heavens, ‘An’ upon my fainy!’ looking shrewdly at the stars, and talking to himself, ’they’ll have a fine morning for the business, if, unfortunately’—­and here he re-ascended his door-steps with a melancholy shrug—­’if unfortunately, Pat Mahony should fail.’