"The curse o' Crum'll on you-in the bottles."

"Is this it, sir?" said Andy, producing a bottle of ale.

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No, bad cess to you!-the little bottles."

"Is it the little bottles with no bottoms, sir?"

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I wish you wor in the bottom o' the say!" said Mr. Morgan, who was fuming and puffing, and rubbing down his face with his napkin, as he was hurrying to all quarters of the room, or, as Andy said, in praising his activity, that he was "like bad luck-everywhere."

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There they are!" said Morgan at last.

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Oh! them bottles that won't stand," said Andy; sure, them's what I said, with no bottoms to them. How'll I open it?-it's tied down."

Andy did as he was desired. He happened at the time to hold the bottle of soda-water on a level with the candles that shed light over the festive board from a large silver branch, and the moment he made the incision, bang went the bottle of soda, knocking out two of the lights with the projected cork, which, performing its parabola the length of the room, struck the squire himself in the eye at the foot of the table, while the hostess at the head had a cold bath down her back. Andy, when he saw the soda-water jumping out of the bottle, held it from him at arm's length. Every fizz it made, he exclaimed Ow!-ow!-ow!" and, at last, when the bottle was empty, he roared out, "Oh, Lord! it's all gone!"

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Great was the commotion. Few could resist laughter except the ladies, who all looked at their gowns, not liking the mixture of satin and soda-water. The extinguished candles were relighted, the squire got his eye open again, and the next time he perceived the butler sufficiently near to speak to him, he said in a low and hurried tone of deep

anger, while he knit his brow, "Send that fellow out of the room!" But within the same instant, he resumed the former smile, that beamed on all around as if nothing had happened.

Andy was expelled the salle à manger in disgrace, and for days kept out of his master's and mistress's way. In the meantime the butler made a good story of the thing in the servants' hall; and, when he held up Andy's ignorance to ridicule, by telling how he asked for "soap and wather," Andy was given the name of "Suds," and was called by no other, for months after.

Though Andy's functions in the interior were suspended, his services in out-of-door affairs were occasionally put in requisition. But here his evil genius still haunted him, and he put his foot in a piece of business his master sent him upon one day, which was so simple as to defy almost the chance of Andy making any mistake about it. But Andy was very ingenious in his own particular line.

"Ride into the town, and see if there's a letter for me," said the squire one day to our hero.

"But do you know where to go in the town?" "No, sir."

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And why don't you ask, you stupid thief?"

Sure, I'd find out, sir."

Didn't I often tell you to ask what you're to do, when you don't know?"

"Yis, sir."

"And why don't you?"

"I don't like to be throublesome, sir."

"Confound you!" said the squire, though he could not help laughing at Andy's excuse for remaining in ignorance. "Well," continued he, "go to the post-office. You know the post-office, I suppose?"

"Yis, sir-where they sell gunpowdher."

"You're right for once," said the squire. For his majesty's postmaster was the person who had the privilege of dealing in the aforesaid combustible. "Go then to the postRemember-not gun

office, and ask for a letter for me.

powder, but a letter."

“Yis, sir,” said Andy, who got astride of his hack, and trotted away to the post-office. On arriving at the shop of the postmaster (for that person carried on a brisk trade in groceries, gimlets, broadcloth, and linen-drapery), Andy presented himself at the counter, and said:

"I want a letther, sir, if you plase."

"Who do you want it for?" said the postmaster, in a tone which Andy considered an aggression upon the sacredness of private life. So Andy thought the coolest contempt he could throw upon the prying impertinence of the postmaster was to repeat his question.

"I want a letther, sir, if you plase."

"And who do you want it for?" repeated the postmaster. "What's that to you?" said Andy.

The postmaster, laughing at his simplicity, told him he could not tell what letter to give him unless he told him the direction.

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The directions I got was to get a letther here. That's the directions."

"Who gave you those directions?"

66 The masther."

"And who's your master?"

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What consarn is that o' yours?"

Why, you stupid rascal, if you don't tell me his name, how can I give you a letter?"

"You could give it if you liked; but you're fond of axin' impident questions, bekase you think I'm simple."

"Go along out o' this. Your master must be as great a goose as yourself to send such a messenger."

"Bad luck to your impidence!" said Andy. "Is it Squire Egan you dar to say goose to?"

"Oh, Squire Egan's your master, then?"

"Yis.

Have you anything to say agin it?"

Only that I never saw you before."

"Faith, then you'll never see me agin, if I have my own consint."

"I won't give you any letter for the squire, unless I know you're his servant. Is there any one in the town knows you?"

"Plenty," said Andy. "It's not every one is as ignorant as you."

Just at this moment a person entered the house to get a letter, to whom Andy was known; and he vouched to the postmaster that the account he gave of himself was true. "You may give him the squire's letter. Have you one for me?"

"Yes, sir," said the postmaster, producing one; “fourpence."

The new-comer paid the fourpence postage, and left the shop with his letter.

Here's a letter for the squire," said the postmaster. "You've to pay me elevenpence postage."

"What 'ud I pay elevenpence for?"

"For postage."

"To the divil wid you! Didn't I see you give Mr. Delany a letther for fourpence this minit, and a bigger letther than this? And now you want me to pay elevenpence for this scrap of a thing. Do you think I'm a fool?"

"No; but I'm sure of it," said the postmaster.

"Well, you're welkim to think what you plase; but don't be delayin' me now. Here's fourpence for you, and gi' me the letther."

"Go along, you stupid thief!" said the postmaster, taking up the letter, and going to serve a customer with a mousetrap.

While this person and many others were served, Andy lounged up and down the shop, every now and then putting in his head in the middle of the customers, and saying, “Will you gi' me the letther?"

He waited for above half an hour, in defiance of the anathemas of the postmaster, and at last left, when he found it impossible to get the common justice for his master which he thought he deserved as well as another man; for, under this impression, Andy determined to give no more than fourpence.

The squire, in the meantime, was getting impatient for his return, and when Andy made his appearance, asked if there was a letter for him.

"There is, sir," said Andy.

"Then give it to me."

"I haven't it, sir."

"What do you mean?"

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He wouldn't give it to me, sir."

"Who wouldn't give it to you?"

"That owld chate beyant in the town, wanting to charge

double for it."