What do you think, my brethren, I should
do to this fellow?" A hollow sound burst from the bosoms of the unanimous
assembly. The verdict was short and decisive:--"Knock out his brains!" And
in order to suit the action to the word, the whole four-and-twenty arose
at once, and with their immovable eyes fixed firmly on the face of our
hero--who horror struck with the sight as he was, could not close
his--they began to glide slowly but regularly towards him, bending their
line into the form of a crescent, so as to environ him on all sides. In
vain he fled to the door; its massive folds resisted mortal might. In
vain he cast his eyes around in quest of a loophole of retreat--there was
none. Closer and closer pressed on the slowly-moving phalanx, and the
uplifted croziers threatened soon to put their sentence into execution.
Supplication was all that remained--and Larry sunk upon his knees. "Ah!
then," said he, "gintlemin and ancient ould saints as you are, don't kill
the father of a large small family, who never did hurt to you or yours.
Sure, if 'tis your will that I should go to--no matter who, for there's
no use in naming his name--might I not as well make up my mind to go
there, alive and well, stout and hearty, and able to face him,--as with
my head knocked into bits, as if I had been after a fair or a patthern?"
"You say right," said St.
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