At
length the house was cleared of its guests, with the exception of those who
were to remain and take beds there. Amongst the number were the haberdasher
and your uncle. The latter was shown into a chamber in which a pleasant
turf fire was burning on the hearth.
[1] A drink at the door;--a farewell cup.
Although Terence's mind was full of sweet anticipations and visions of
future grandeur, he could not avoid feeling a disagreeable sensation
arising from the soaked state of his boots; and calculating that it still
wanted three or four hours of daybreak, he resolved to have us dry and
comfortable for his morning's adventure. With this intention he drew us
off, and placed us on the hearth before the fire, and threw himself on the
bed--not to sleep--he would sooner have committed suicide--but to meditate
upon the charms of Miss Biddy and her thousand pounds.
But our strongest resolutions are overthrown by circumstances--the ducking,
the dancing, and the _potteen_, had so exhausted Terence, that he
unconsciously shut, first, one eye, then the other, and, finally, he fell
fast asleep, and dreamed of running away with the heiress on his back,
through a shaking bog, in which he sank up to the middle at every step. His
vision was, however, suddenly dispelled by a smart rattle against his
window. A moment was sufficient to recall him to his senses--he knew it was
Miss Biddy's signal, and, jumping from the bed, drew back the cotton
window-curtains and peered earnestly out: but though the day had begun to
break, it was still too dark to enable him to distinguish any person on the
lawn.
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