fallen  into  an  easy  slumber,  when  a  dread-
ful row  in  the  box  lobby  roused  me  from
my  dream,  and  tbe  loud  cry  of  '  Turn  him
out!'  'Pitch  him  over!*  '  Beat  his  brains
out!'  and  other  humane  proposals  of  the
like  nature,  effectually  restored  me  to  con-
sciousness. 1  rushed  out  of  the  box  into
the  lobby,  and  there,  to  my  astonishment,
in  the  midst  of  a  considerable  crowd,  be-
held my  friend.  Mr.  Burke,  belaboring  the
box-keeper  with  all  his  might  with  a  cotton
umbrella  of  rat  her  unpleasant  proportions,
accompanying  each  blow  with  an  exclama-
tion of  '  Well,  are  they  Oonnaughtmen,
now,  you  rascal — eh  ? — are  they  all  west
of  Athlone,  tell  me  that,  now  ?  1  wonder
what's  preventing  me  beating  the  soul  out
of  ye.'  After  obtaining  a  short  cessation
of  hostilities,  and  restoring  poor  Sharkey  to
his  legs,  much  more  dead  than  alive  from
pure  fright,  I  learned,  at  last,  the  teterrima
causa  belli.  Mr.  Burke,  it  seems,  had  en-
tered into  conversation  with  Sharkey,  the
box-keeper,  as  to  all  the  particulars  of  the
theatre,  and  the  present  piece,  but  especi-
ally as  to  the  real  and  authentic  history  of
the  Indians,  whose  language  he  remarked,
in  many  respects,  to  resemble  Irish.  Poor
Sharkey,  whose  benefit  night  was  approach-
ing, thought  he  might  secure  a  friend  for
life  by  imparting  to  him  an  important  state
secret  ;  and  when,  therefore,  pressed  rather
closely  as  to  the  'savages'  whereabout,'  re-
solved to  try  a  bold  stroke,  and  trust  his
unknown  interrogator.  '  And  so  you  don't
really  know  where  they  come  from,  nor
can't  guess?'  'Maybe,  Peru,'  said  Mr.
