"An inquest!" they all exclaimed.

"Yes--an inquest."

"But there's no coroner here," said Reddy.

"No matter for that," said Murphy. "I, as the under-sheriff of the county, can preside at this inquiry. Gentlemen, take your places; bring in more lights, Mrs. Fay. Stand round the bed, gentlemen."

"Not too close," said the doctor. "Mrs. Fay, bring more vinegar."

Mrs. Fay had additional candles and more vinegar introduced, and the drunken fellows were standing as straight as they could, each with a candle in his hand, round the still prostrate M'Garry.

Murphy then opened on them with a speech, and called in every one in the house to ask did they know anything about the matter; and it was not long before it was spread all over the town, that Squire O'Grady had killed M'Garry, and that the coroner's inquest brought in a verdict of murder, and that the squire was going to be sent to jail.

This almost incredible humbug of Murphy's had gone on for nearly half an hour, when the cold arising from his want of clothes, and the riot about him, and the fumes of the vinegar, roused M'Garry, who turned on the bed and opened his eyes. There he saw a parcel of people standing round him, with candles in their hands, and countenances of drunken wonder and horror.

He uttered a hollow groan, and cried--

"Save us and keep us! where am I?"

"Retire, gentlemen," said the doctor, waving his hand authoritatively; "retire--all but the under-sheriff."

Murphy cleared the room, and shut the door, while M'Garry still kept exclaiming, "Save us and keep us! where am I? What's this? O Lord!"

"You're dead!" said Murphy; "and the coroner's inquest has just sat on you!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: An Irish Inquest]

"Dead!" cried M'Garry, with a horrified stare.

"Dead!" repeated the doctor, solemnly.

"Are _you_ not Doctor Growling?"

"You see the effect, Mr. Murphy," said the doctor, not noticing M'Garry's question--"you see the effect of the process."

"Wonderful!" said Murphy.

"Preserve us!" cried the bewildered apothecary. "How could I know you if I was dead, doctor? Oh, doctor dear, sure I'm not dead?"

"As a herring," said the doctor.

"Lord have mercy on me! Oh, Mr. Murphy, sure I'm not dead?"

"You're dead, sir," said Murphy; "the doctor has only galvanised you for a few moments."

"O Lord!" groaned M'Garry. "Doctor--indeed, doctor?"

"You are in a state of temporary animation," said the doctor.

"I do feel very odd, indeed," said the terrified man, putting his hands to his throbbing temples. "How long am I dead?"

"A week next Tuesday," said the doctor. "Galvanism has preserved you from decomposition."

M'Garry uttered a heavy groan, and looked up piteously at his two tormentors. Murphy, fearful the shock might drive him out of his mind, said, "Perhaps, doctor, you can preserve his life altogether: you have kept him alive so long?"

"I'll try," said Growling; "hand me that tumbler."

Murphy handed him a tumbler full of water, and the doctor gave it to M'Garry, and desired him to try and drink it; he put it to his lips and swallowed a little drop.

"Can you taste it?" asked the doctor.

"Isn't it water?" said M'Garry.

"You see how dull the nerves are yet," said Growling to Murphy; "that's aquafortis and a.s.safoetida, and he can't taste it; we must give him another touch of the battery. Hold him up, while I go into the next room, and immerse the plates."

The doctor left the bed-room, and came back with a hot poker and some lemon-juice and water.

"Turn him gently round," said he to Murphy, "while I conduct the wires."

His order was obeyed; and giving M'Garry a touch of the hot poker, the apothecary roared like a bull.

"That did him good!" said Growling. "Now try, can you taste anything?"

and he gave him the lemon-juice and water.

"I taste a slight acid, doctor dear," said M'Garry, hopefully.

"You see what that last touch did," said Growling gravely; "but the palate is still feeble; that's nearly pure nitric."

"Oh, dear!" said M'Garry, "is it nitric?"

"You see his hearing is coming back too," said the doctor to Murphy.

"Try, can he put his legs under him?"

They raised the apothecary from the bed; and when he staggered and fell forward, he looked horrified. "Oh, dear! I can't walk. I'm afraid I am--I am no more!"

"Don't despair," said the doctor; "I pledge my professional reputation to save you now, since you can stand at all, and your senses are partly restored. Let him lie down again; try, could he sleep----"

"Sleep!" said M'Garry, with horror; "perhaps never to awaken!"

"I'll keep up the galvanic influence--don't be afraid; depend upon me--there, lie down. Can you shut your eyes? Yes, I see you can: don't open them so fast. Try, can you keep them shut? Don't open them till I tell you--wait till I count two hundred and fifty. That's right--turn a little more round--keep your eyes fast; that's it.

One--two--three--four--five--six--seven;" and so he went on, making a longer interval between every number, till the monotonous sound, and the closed eye of the helplessly drunken man, produced the effect desired by the doctor; and the heavy snoring of the apothecary soon bore witness that he slept.

We hope it is not necessary to a.s.sure our fair readers that Edward O'Connor had nothing to do with this scene of drunken absurdity. No: long before the evening's proceedings had a.s.sumed the character of a regular drinking bout, he had contrived to make his escape, his head only sufficiently excited to increase his sentimentality; so, instead of riding home direct, he took a round of some eight miles, to have a look at Merryvale, for there dwelt f.a.n.n.y Dawson--the Darling f.a.n.n.y Dawson, sister to d.i.c.k, whose devilry was more than redeemed in the family by the angelic sweetness of his lovely and sportive sister. For the present, however, poor Edward O'Connor was not allowed to address f.a.n.n.y; but his love for her knew no abatement notwithstanding; and to see the place where she dwelt had for him a charm. There he sat in his saddle, at the gate, looking up the long line of old trees through which the cool moonlight was streaming; and he fancied that f.a.n.n.y's foot had trodden that avenue perhaps a few hours before, and even _that_ gave him pleasure: for to those who love with the fond enthusiasm of Edward O'Connor, the very vacancy where the loved one has been is sacred.

The horse pawed impatiently to be gone, and Edward reined him up with a chiding voice; but the animal continuing restless, Edward's apostrophes to his mistress, and warnings to his horse, made an odd mixture; and we would recommend gentlemen, after their second bottle, not to let themselves be overheard in their love-fits; for even as fine a fellow as Edward O'Connor is likely to be ridiculous under such circ.u.mstances.

"Oh, f.a.n.n.y!" cried Edward, "my adored f.a.n.n.y!"--then to his horse, "_Be quiet, you brute!_--My love, my angel;--_you devil, I'll thrash you, if you don't be quiet!_--though separated from me, you are always present to mind; your bright eyes, your raven locks--_your mouth's as hard as a paving-stone, you brute!_--Oh, f.a.n.n.y! if fate be ever propitious--should I be blessed with the divine possession of your charms, you should then know--_what a devil you are!_--you should then know the tenderest care.

I'll guard you, caress you, fondle you--_I'll bury my spurs in you, you devil!_--Oh, f.a.n.n.y! beloved one!--farewell--good night--a thousand blessings on you!--_and now go and be hanged to you!_" said he, bitterly, putting his spurs to his horse and galloping home.