MARTIN RATTLER. 65

guised amazement, and bounded away shrieking and
chattering in consternation, swinging from branch to
branch with incredible speed, and not scrupling to use
each other’s tails to swing by when occasion offered.
Some were big and red and ugly—as ugly as you can
possibly imagine, with blue faces and fiercely grinning
teeth; others were delicately formed, and sad of
countenance, as if they were for ever bewailing the
loss of near and dear relations, and could by no means
come at consolation ; and some were small and pretty,
with faces no bigger than a halfpenny. As a general
rule, it seemed to Barney, the smaller the monkey the
longer the tail.

Yes, well might they gaze and gaze again in sur-
prise and in excessive admiration; and well might
Barney O’Flannagan—under the circumstances, with
such sights and sounds around him, and the delight-
ful odours of myrtle trees and orange blossoms and
the Cape jessamine stealing up his nostrils—deem
himself the tenant of another world, and evince his
conviction of the fact in that memorable expression—
“T’ve woked in paradise !”

But Barney began to find “paradise” not quite so
comfortable as it ought to be; for when he tried to
get up he found his bones pained and stiff from sleep-

ing in damp clothes, and, moreover, his face was very
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