(that was the name he had for her ever since she gev him the clip on the ear for turnin' his back on her), "very well me ould sauce-box," says he, "I'll write off to O'Neill this very minute, and tell him to send in his lowest terms for peace at ruling prices."

Well, the threaty was a bit of a one-sided one--the terms being--

1. Hugh O'Neill to be King of Great Britain.

2. Lord Ess.e.x to return to London and remain there as Viceroy of England.

3. The O'Neill family to be supported by Government, with free pa.s.ses to all theatres and places of entertainment.

4. The London Markets to buy only from Irish dealers.

5. All taxes to be sent in stamped envelopes, directed to H. O'Neill, and marked "private." Cheques crossed and made payable to H. O'Neill.

Terms cash.

Well, if Ess.e.x had had the sense to read through this treaty he'd have seen it was of too graspin' a nature to pa.s.s with any sort of a respectable sovereign, but he was that mad he just stuck the doc.u.ment in the pocket of his pot-metal overcoat, and away wid him hot foot for England.

"Is the Queen widin?" says he to the butler, when he opened the door o'

the palace. His clothes were that dirty and disorthered wid travellin'

all night, and his boots that muddy, that the butler was not for littin'

him in at the first go off, so says he, very grand; "Her Majesty is above stairs and can't be seen till she's had her breakwhist."

"Tell her the Lord Liftinant of Ireland desires an interview," says Ess.e.x.

"Oh, beg pardon, me lord," says the butler, steppin' to one side, "I didn't know 'twas yourself was in it; come inside, sir; the Queen's in the dhrawin'-room."

Well, Ess.e.x leps up the stairs and into the dhrawin'-room wid him, muddy boots and all; but not a sight of Elizabeth was to be seen.

"Where's your misses?" says he to one of the maids-of-honour that was dustin' the chimbley-piece.

"She's not out of her bed yet," said the maid, with a toss of her head; "but if you write your message on the slate beyant, I'll see"--but before she had finished, Ess.e.x was up the second flight and knockin' at the Queen's bedroom door.

"Is that the hot wather?" says the Queen.

"No, it's me,--Ess.e.x. Can you see me?"

"Faith, I can't," says the Queen. "Hould on till I draw the bed-curtains. Come in now," says she, "and say your say, for I can't have you stoppin' long--you young Lutharian."

"Bedad, yer Majesty," says Ess.e.x, droppin' on his knees before her (the delutherer he was), "small blame to me if I am a Lutharian, for you have a face on you that would charm a bird off a bush."

"Hould your tongue, you young reprobate," says the Queen, blushin' up to her curl-papers wid delight, "and tell me what improvements you med in Ireland."

"Faith, I taught manners to O'Neill," cries Ess.e.x.

"He had a bad masther then," says Elizabeth, lookin' at his dirty boots; "couldn't you wipe yer feet before ye desthroyed me carpets, young man?"

"Oh, now," says Ess.e.x, "is it wastin' me time shufflin' about on a mat you'd have me, when I might be gazin' on the loveliest faymale the world ever saw."

"Well," says the Queen, "I'll forgive you this time, as you've been so long away, but remimber in future that Kidderminster ain't oilcloth.

Tell me," says she, "is Westland Row Station finished yet?"

"There's a side wall or two wanted yet, I believe," says Ess.e.x.

"What about the Loop Line?" says she.

"Oh, they're gettin' on with that," says he, "only some people think the girders a disfigurement to the city."

"Is there any talk about that esplanade from Sandycove to Dunlary?"

"There's talk about it, but that's all," says Ess.e.x; "'twould be an odious fine improvement to house property, and I hope they'll see to it soon."

"Sorra much you seem to have done, beyant spendin' me men and me money.

Let's have a look at that treaty I see stickin' out o' your pocket."

Well, when the Queen read the terms of Hugh O'Neill she just gev him one look, an' jumpin' from off the bed, she put her head out of the window, and called out to the policeman on duty--

"Is the Head below?"

"I'll tell him you want him, ma'am," says the policeman.

"Do," says the Queen. "h.e.l.lo," says she, as a slip of paper dhropped out o' the dispatches. "What's this? 'Lines to Mary.' Ho! ho! me gay fella, that's what you've been up to, is it?"

"Mrs. Brady Is a widow lady, And she has a charmin' daughter I adore; I went to court her Across the water, And her mother keeps a little candy-store.

She's such a darlin', She's like a starlin', And in love with her I'm gettin' more and more, Her name is Mary, She's from Dunlary; And her mother keeps a little candy-store."

"That settles it," says the Queen. "It's the gaoler you'll serenade next."

When Ess.e.x heard that, he thrimbled so much that the b.u.t.ton of his cuira.s.s shook off and rowled under the dhressin'-table.

"Arrest that man," says the Queen, when the Head-Constable came to the door; "arrest that thrayter," says she, "and never let me set eyes on him again."

And, indeed, she never did, and soon after that he met with his death from the skelp of an axe he got when he was standin' on Tower Hill.

The Boat's Share.

_From "Further Experiences of an Irish R.M."_

BY E. OE. SOMERVILLE AND MARTIN ROSS.

The affair on the strand at Hare Island ripened, with complexity of summonses and cross-summonses, into an imposing Petty Sessions case. Two separate deputations presented themselves at Shreelane, equipped with black eyes and other conventional injuries, one of them armed with a creelful of live lobsters to underline the argument. To decline the bribe was of no avail: the deputation decanted them upon the floor of the hall and retired, and the lobsters spread themselves at large over the house, and to this hour remain the nightmare of the nursery.

The next Petty Sessions day was wet; the tall windows of the Court House were grey and streaming, and the reek of wet humanity ascended to the ceiling. As I took my seat on the bench I perceived with an inward groan that the services of the two most eloquent solicitors in Skebawn had been engaged. This meant that Justice would not have run its course till heaven knew that dim hour of the afternoon, and that that course would be devious and difficult.

All the pews and galleries (any Irish court-house might, with the addition of a harmonium, pa.s.s presentably as a dissenting chapel) were full, and a line of flat-capped policemen stood like church-wardens near the door. Under the galleries, behind what might have answered to choir-stalls, the witnesses and their friends hid in darkness, which could, however, but partially conceal two resplendent young ladies, barmaids, who were to appear in a subsequent Sunday drinking case. I was a little late, and when I arrived Flurry Knox, supported by a couple of other magistrates, was in the chair, imperturbable of countenance as was his wont, his fair and delusive youthfulness of aspect unimpaired by his varied experiences during the war, his roving, subtle eye untamed by four years of matrimony.

A woman was being examined, a square and ugly country-woman, with wispy fair hair, a slow, dignified manner, and a slight and impressive stammer. I recognised her as one of the bodyguard of the lobsters. Mr.