"Of what use, my dair," said Paddy without regarding the threat, "of what use is that sort of a whirligig thing, which bears some indifferent likeness to the cross of St. Patrick?"
"It is the wicket, where people on foot go through for nothing," replied the toll-keeper, approaching to shut the gate, which, not apprehending any contention, he had thrown open at the arrival of the passenger. But Paddy, dismounting with as much haste, as Lord Marmion displayed in clearing the falling portcullis of the indignant Earl of Douglas, threw his arms round his shadow of a steed, and lifted him fairly over the debateable ground. Then turning about, he walked through the wicket, and resuming his seat upon the wretched animal, shouted to the amazed toll-keeper,—
"If a man may walk through your limboes by himself, without any burden at all, for nothing, my jewel, should not he be desarving of some pay, when he carries a baste upon his shoulders? And so, ye're so covetous in this beggarly country, as never to be giving so much as a drop of drink to a friend, who has left the swatest island in the world, just to be travelling through this wilderness among thieves, and lubberly pickpockets."
Without waiting to hear the torrent of recrimination, which burst from the lips of the baffled toll-gatherer, he pursued his journey, with a peal of laughter, which echoed from the surrounding rocks and woods, as if a colony of Hibernians were mocking from beneath their canopy.
