 so much, I think I should affront the reader by describing it. He knows every feature now as well as I do, and if he chuses to call up a grin in his imagination, and when he has so done, does not grin himself, I can only say he is not the reader I took him for.
Kiddy Flush had been employed from his youth up to beat the drum, distribute the bills, and slang the figures of a puppet shew, where he had learnt a smattering of every thing. He could scrape the fiddle, vault on the slack wire, swear a good round hand, coax the girls, get boozy, and I am afraid thieve; for if he had not this last qualification, I cannot see why they should send him hand-cuffed, which they really did, on board a transport whose destination was to the American plantations.
In short, not to conceal the disgrace, Kiddy was certainly transported to America; from whence he contrived to get re-transported to Ireland. There he found means to get engaged as a drummer in the same regiment where Standfast was chaplain. Indeed Kiddy Flush was the very person who taught Tiger Standfast to beat that reveille, which has been already celebrated as a chef d'oeuvre.
Were I to run through all the scenes so full of

srolic, whim, dissipation, and singular dissoluteness, which were practised by this trim tram, this horse and his rider, I might as well at once have given the world the adventures of Tiger Standfast and his man Kiddy; but as that is not totally my intention, I shall content myself with noticing that these worthy associates, finding themselves very necessary to each other, a league was entered into between them, that mutual assistance should be given—to put the matter a little technically—in all breezes, frisks, plots, queerings, tricks, humbugs, and bambouzlings, that they might find it expedient to engage in; that the agreement should be understood as a partnership between them, with this sole distinction, that Flush should be openly considered as a servant, and in that character be kept in subordination before company, but permitted to speak his mind freely, openly, and without reserve when nobody should be present.
Kiddy Flush, at the time of his first introduction to the reader—for nothing is so advantageous as to bring on your principal characters with a good grace,—was what is called half gone; in his own language a little cockish: for I must tell the reader—and that is really the last explanation I will trouble him with about Kiddy—that, among the rest of his
