was always practising, and she would take poor me to rehearse her
accomplishment upon; or the exciseman, when he came his rounds, or
the steward, or the poor curate, or the young apothecary's lad from
Brady's Town: whom I recollect beating once for that very reason. If
he is alive now I make him my apologies. Poor fellow! as if it was
HIS fault that he should be a victim to the wiles of one of the
greatest coquettes (considering her obscure life and rustic
breeding) in the world.

If the truth must be told--and every word of this narrative of my
life is of the most sacred veracity--my passion for Nora began in a
very vulgar and unromantic way. I did not save her life; on the
contrary, I once very nearly killed her, as you shall hear. I did
not behold her by moonlight playing on the guitar, or rescue her
from the hands of ruffians, as Alfonso does Lindamira in the novel;
but one day, after dinner at Brady's Town, in summer, going into the
garden to pull gooseberries for my dessert, and thinking only of
gooseberries, I pledge my honour, I came upon Miss Nora and one of
her sisters, with whom she was friends at the time, who were both
engaged in the very same amusement.

'What's the Latin for gooseberry, Redmond?' says she. She was always
'poking her fun,' as the Irish phrase it.

'I know the Latin for goose,' says I.

'And what's that?' cries Miss Mysie, as pert as a peacock.

'Bo to you!' says I (for I had never a want of wit); and so we fell
to work at the gooseberry-bush, laughing and talking as happy as