poetess each took a dozen tickets.

When the result of the draw was published Murphy won six prizes, but no one
grudged him them as he had taken so much trouble. The Grand Prize, a
"statue carved by an Italian artist, the finest bit of sculpture ever seen
in Ireland," was won by our popular grocer, Mr. McAroon. We were all
delighted. People trooped in crowds to McAroon's back-door after closing-
time to toll him so. The police took their names, but the magistrates, who
have a great respect for the fine arts, said that this was a day in the
artistic development of the Cinderella of the West which automatically and
_primâ facie_ regularised an extension of closing-hours.

McAroon said that his religion did not run much to statues, but that, to
show his tolerance to all denominations, especially to those on his books,
he would have it unveiled by his Minister. He would invite the Bishop and
all men of goodwill to be present at the ceremony. He would place it in the
corner of his garden overlooking the esplanade, where it would cheer the
simple mariners coming home after their arduous fishing toils, and perhaps
remind one or two of them (but he would mention no names) of a dozen or so
of porter that had been left unpaid for after a recent wedding.

The Ballybun express carries no goods whatever, except with the connivance
of the guard and driver, who are both very decent Ballybun boys, and will
bring anything down from Dublin for anyone. They promised to carry the
statue themselves from the railway station up to McAroon's house. If the
express was less than three hours late, which it was sure to be if it was
running smoothly, they could just beam-end the statue on its pedestal and
the presiding elder could unveil it with a hammer.

The train was not too late, just punctually late, and the guard had time to