It was he was the cause of my jewel with my cousin, Art Considine, and I wanting to be the very pink of politeness to him.

I wrote him a note when he came to Athlone, afther two years in France, and jist out o' compliment to him, I unluckily put in a word of French: come an' dine, says I, and we'll have a dish of chat.

I knew u-n p-l-a-t (spelling it), was a dish, an' says I to Jerome, that pigimy (so he pronounced it) you seen here at the door, that's his damnable name, what's _chat_ in French--c-h-a-t--spelling it to him; "sha," says he; "sha ?" says I, "spell it, if you plase," says I; "c-h-a-t," says he, the stupid old viper.

Well, I took the trouble to write it out, "un plat de chat;" "is that right ?" says I, showing it to him.

"It is, my lord," says he, looking at me as if I had two heads.