222 LIFE IN IRELAND 



swore, by the blood of Saint Patrick, ' the first man 

 that lays a finger on me goes out of that window.' 

 The officer, foolhardy, advanced, when, as good as his 

 word, he caught him by the collar and waistband of 

 his smallclothes, and actually pitched him into the 

 street, a height of twenty feet ; he fell upon his head 

 and was killed on the spot. A general battle ensued, 

 and he either knocked down or kicked out every one 

 from the room. 



When he arrived in England, a general court martial 

 dismissed him from the service, and let him loose upon 

 the world, as a roaring lion, to devour all that came in 

 his way. 



Many have been his exploits in Ireland — such as 

 snuffi?ig the candles with a pistol in coffee-rooms, firing 

 through barrister's wigs, taking the knee- strings off a 

 dandy's breeches, knocking the hat off an exciseman's 

 head, riding horses to death, etc. etc., a volume might 

 be filled with his exploits. He had a handsome fortune, 

 which is nearly expended. He was thrown into prison 

 by the gunsmith L , to whom he owed two thou- 

 sand pounds, and detainers have been lodged upon 

 him to the amount of teii. Here he lives, and the wife 

 of his detaining creditor visits him daily, robbing her 

 husband for his support : he has three bullets now in 

 his thigh, which cannot be extracted, which is the 

 reason of his walking lame. He is an agreeable com- 

 panion, and did you not know his history, you might 

 respect him. 



That fat fellow, rolling along with his hands in his 



pocket, is a Major B : he has estates to the tune 



of ten thousand per annum, and rather than pay a few 



