duced to the ladies, who, as far as appearances went, I would have taken for English. At breakfast I was seated next Emily, and was delighted to find that she did not eat with her knife, and was surprised to hear her ask me if I would take some meat-pie, in quite a distinct tone, such as I was totally unprepared for; indeed, only for her attention, I should have fared badly, being naturally of a retiring and bashful disposition-a complaint which did not trouble Mr. Cuppage or Finny, who, after laying a strong foundation of pickled salmon, attacked the meatpie with redoubled ardour.

"Gad, what an appetite a drive before breakfast gives one!" said Cuppage, to the company in general, as he took a third help of it.

After breakfast we drove to a wood a few miles off, which we were to shoot over. Before we commenced, Cuppage declared that the pickled salmon lay rather cold upon his stomach, and expressed a wish for a drop of something warm, which Mr. Ormsby furnished him with from a flask; but although it set his stomach to rights, it did not improve his shooting, as he fired once at Moore through a hollybush, in which he said he thought he saw a woodcock. We kept him well a-head during the rest of the day, and he only once again endangered our lives, when he turned suddenly round and fired at a cock a few feet over my head. He always discharged both barrels at every cock that was flushed, and laid claim to every bird, being always persuaded that he had touched it with the second barrel.

We returned home to dinner, with seven brace. The only addition to the party was a Mr. Waller, a fresh-complexioned, good-natured-looking man, who, from his looks, seemed free from most of the cares of life; but I found I was mistaken in this, as he came guarded by two policemen. I was rather astonished at this specimen of the brutal landlords of whom I had heard so much. I afterwards learned, from good authority, the nature of his offence. A large farm had fallen out of lease by the death of the tenant, and on going to examine it, he found that it had been divided among the three sons, during the father's life, who now laid claim to it-the widow claiming her husband's share. There had been a strict clause in the lease against

sub-letting; and as he had been otherwise a good tenant, Mr. Waller gave the entire farm to the eldest son, giving the other sons the price of their houses, and small sums to set them up in other places; and the widow twelve pounds a-year. For this he had been held up at the altar as an exterminator, and obliged to travel guarded by policemen. I found that this story was never denied by any of the peasantry, but also that it was looked upon as a great hardship. One day, on asking a man who was showing me some grouse shooting, if he did not think twelve pounds a-year annuity very handsome for the widow, he replied Hadn't the honest woman the whole farm once?" "But they can't all have it.

"Ye, than why so?

not her eldst son it now?"

Has

"But what would you have Mr. Waller do? He can't give the farm to four people. He gave the widow an annuity, and the other sons the price of their cottages and some money."

"Sure they were dhruv out from where they had been from childer."

I tried in vain to explain that Mr. Waller had not objected to their living in the village, and acting as labourers on the farm, or living with their brother, if he would permit it, only objecting to the farm being divided into four parts; but all I could get was

"Sure yer honour knows best. God help the poor. May be there's a day coming when they will have their own again."

At dinner I was seated next Miss Maria, a sentimental, blue-eyed girl. As I have remarked, being of rather a retiring disposition, during the soup and fish I made but little progress. However, after a couple of glasses of wine I began to feel a little less nervous, and enlarged, I am convinced, with some degree of humour on our day's shooting; but I soon found that sentiment alone was the thing; and getting myself up to the mark with numerous glasses of sherry, I turned the conversation to "Ernest Maltravers," which stood me in good need. With the skill of an accomplished general, I dashed in medias res, and soon found myself very much out of my depth.

I felt Maria's soft blue eye upon me

as she trifled with the wing of a chicken. The sweet girl had eaten absolutely nothing; but as I looked upon her beautifully-rounded figure, over which her golden hair fell lightly, a shade of dark suspicion crossed my mind. Perhaps she had lunched. Even goddess es in former days were not nourished on air. The chaste Minerva, perhaps, sometimes had a cut of Ambrosial mutton; Venus was known to have taken a cup of nectar from her lame husband's hand; perhaps the delicate Phoebe took a light repast with Ganymede before the immortal feast was served. But I banished such material thoughts, as I listened to her silvery voice.

"What," she said, in a thrilling voice, "would be the riches, the enjoy ments of the world, to one who was severed from all that was dearest to him in life?"

"Nothing," said I, in a tone of deep emotion and sherry. "When once the heart has learned to love, its every feeling is wound round the object of its adoration—”

Heaven knows what I would have said more; but certainly it must have been something very beautiful, when I perceived that there was a dead silence, and that I was the observed of all.

"Bravo! - excellent!" said Mr. Waller, who was seated opposite me. "If that does not amount to a declaration "

I never felt such a thorough abhorrence of what is termed a quiz, and could with pleasure have hurled the decanter of sherry at his head. I tried to look as if I was not blushing. Mr. Cuppage also thought fit to be amused, but I rather think I turned the laugh against him afterwards. Mr. Waller and Mr. Ormsby had been arguing what weight each rode hunting; and as they were both stout, each felt convinced that the other had increased in weight, while he himself had remained as before.

"I'll bet you two to one, Waller, that you ride at least three pounds, or say one, for argument sake, heavier than you did three months ago, when we weighed."

"With all my heart; but you will find that you have increased the pound, and not I. It was only yesterday that Corbet was remarking how fat you were growing."

"You remind me of Shylock, Mr.

Waller," said I, "bargaining in this way about a pound of flesh.”

Here Mr. Cuppage, who had a great knack of making other people's things his own, thought fit to break in"That's not fair, Mr. Anstruther; you must have seen me going to say that; you took it out of my mouth."

"Well," said I, looking steadily at his imperial, "I allow that I do see a deuced shy-lock on your face. Perhaps that suggested it."

I felt that I had crushed him.

I now resumed my conversation with Maria, in that low and thrilling voice which lovers use in a legitimate novel. I could see that her hand trembled with emotion, as she sought in vain to place an obstinate piece of blanc-mange on her plate. I offered my assistance; my heart also beat more strongly, as I saw it glide gracefully into her lap off the hot plate, which the stupid servant brought, and held in a slanting position. She endeavoured to speak, in vain. Our eyes met.

When the cloth was removed, a large square decanter of whisky was placed in the centre of the table, flanked with lemons and sugar.

"Put the church in the centre of the parish," said Mr. Ormsby, giving directions to the servant. I saw it was a daily joke, and, of course, laughed. I was proceeding to follow the example of the others, and mix a tumbler, when Miss Strong kindly offered to make it for me, observing, that English people did not know how to make whisky punch. I felt convinced that this was only a feint to blind the others, who were Irish, to none of whom she had made the same offer. Feeling highly flattered, I accepted it.

Often had it been my lot to taste the various compositions known under the name, from Roman down to milk; but I may exclaim, in the words of the poet- "Never such as this." After having finished half of it, I found myself in a most argumentative strain, and was deep in a discussion on the poor laws, about which I knew absolutely nothing, and on the representation of Ireland, of which I knew, if anything, less.

"If our members only stood by us," said Mr. Waller, "all would be right; but when they elect a parcel of paupers, how can we hope that they will have courage or strength of mind enough

to refuse situations which a minister can bestow? Who cut our throats by joining against all measures beneficial to Ireland? The Irish members, who take paltry bribes, and keep aloof, and disgust any Englishman who is anxious to benefit Ireland. The Irish members"

66

"Then," said I, giving the table a blow, why not bribe them yourselves? Get up a society for bribing distressed Members of Parliament, and you may one day see Ireland prosperous and happy.'

I felt that I had made a grand stroke, and retired from the field into the drawing-room. I arrived in that happy state of mind which is the result of strong punch and a clear conscience. I must confess that I felt a little jealous, when I saw Mr. Cuppage buttering Miss Maria's slim cake, and whispering Childe Harold into her ear, especially as the brute never read a line of poetry except the day before, when he deceived my unsuspecting nature, by asking me to show him an effective passage.

I drank my tea, and ate my slim cake moodily; but swallowing my indignation with them, I requested Miss Maria to give us a song.

"I am sure you sing, Mr. Anstruther," said the charming girl.

"Mr. Cuppage will be happy to sing for you, by-and-bye, I have no doubt,' I said pointedly, as he was always boring us with a remarkably commonplace story of how he cracked his voice, and which I had just heard him tell after he had disposed of the slim cake and Childe Harold.

"Is it possible you never heard how I lost my voice? I was drinking tea with my grandmother, a fine old lady, and remarkably fond of singing, and, as usual, had to sing, A frog he would a wooing go, heigh-ho, said Roly;' when just as I came to theGammon and spinache,' I felt my voice go with a sort of wheeze."

This story, which I have compressed, occupied a long time in telling, as he was fond of dwelling on his grandmother, who, he informed us, was 66 no more," in connexion with his own youthful days and pastimes, and it afforded him an opportunity of enlarging on his youthful feelings, which were uninteresting to an unconcerned spec

tator.

I could see that during its recital,

Miss Maria, who was too well-bred to move, was on tenter-hooks, and with a feeling of triumph, I led her to the piano.

"I am sure you sing," she said to me, when she had finished the song, during which Cuppage turned over a leaf too soon, and nearly put her out. I resisted in vain; the punch was doing its work, and I acceded, if she would accompany_me. I cannot venture to state how I got through it, but I know that I felt remarkably shaky on the high notes. I was loudly encored and applauded when I had finished, and felt convinced that I must have succeeded beyond my warmest expectations, for Cuppage, with a jealousy which was inherent to him, actually put in for, and attempted a song, forgetting the fate that attended his last endeavours.

He commenced in the key too high, and then in the one too low; at length he got into the right one, but it was flat and unprofitable. With a smile at the vanity of human nature, I saw him leave the piano. In what words can I describe the remainder of that evening? I remember teaching Maria Ormsby the polka, and then chasing her into the hall, and kissing her, which I was constrained to do to redeem my watch which was pledged during a game of forfeits. When it was time to leave, I felt an Irishman all over.

I now became a constant visitor at Loughlinstown. My days were pleasantly spent riding with Emily, or flirting sentimentally with Maria, ge. nerally winding up with dining there. In a short time I used to be asked to take the bottom of the table, and carve, and whenever we had no other invitation to dine out, we were expected there. Three months passed pleasantly away, when the confounded peasantry took it into their heads to become peaceable, and to give up landlordshooting. Although glad for the sake of several of my friends there, I could not but help wishing that they would get up a small rebellion, to keep us there longer; but like their pigs, they are an obstinate race, and with a heavy heart, we got the route.

Before I left, I paid a visit to Mr. Waller, to whom, in spite of his bantering propensities, I had taken a great fancy. When I was leaving, he of fered to go part of the way with me,

and show me a specimen of an Irish tenant, on his property.

We rode on, Mr. Waller having the butt-end of a large horse-pistol sticking out of his breast pocket; and, keeping a good look-out when any people were in sight, we proceeded up a villainous road to the farm-house, which presented an appearance of filth and misery such as I had never witnessed. The thatch was a small field of bad grass in itself; the door was broken, and an old hat supplied the place of glass in the window; a pool of stagnant water, which flooded the house in wet weather, was close by the door; and the dunghill was under the window. The owner of this paradise was worthy of it as far as appearances went. He was a short, thickset man, with an unpleasant down-look, and a shock-head of red hair, which he was disagreeably fond of scratching.

"Well, Sheedy," said Mr. Waller, "I thought you were to have this place, cleaned up. I told you, three months ago, that I had a table to give you when everything should be clean and nice."

"Why, then, yer hanner," said Mr. Sheedy, looking intently at a pool of dirty water in which he was standing, "I towlt the boys to do it, but they're gone to the races; but if I might be bowld eneough to ask yer hanner for the table ye promised me-for the pig, bad cess to her, knocked the legs off the old wan, and broke all the chany."

"More fool you for letting the pig into the house; you know I often spoke to you about that. What do you think I built you a pigsty for?"

“Ye, than, God knows yer hanner's the good, kind landlord that did so; but she's accustomed to play with the childer, and we put turnips into the pigsty."

"That is no reason. I allowed you for building a barn and offices."

"Ah then, that yer hanner did; but the boy wid the flurin' never came; and we have the cows below, and there's no room for the praties either, but in the cabin; but if yer hanner would give us the table

"No, no; not until this place is clean, and the house whitewashed, and the dunghill removed. But I am losing time. I hope that gate is up at last."

"Why, then, yer hanner" (I never heard so many honours as Mr. Sheedy made use of in his discourse), "I was going yesterday to put it up."

Here Mr. Waller, sick of excuses, rode on, and I followed him. When we came to the farm, which was as badly kept as the house, I saw the gate in question. It was a stout iron one, very rusty; and, instead of being hung in the usual manner on the posts, was laid leaning on its side against them, with much ingenuity, so as to let a drove of cows into the young corn.

"Oh! glory be to God and the Virgin! I'm ruined intirely; all the corn trod down! Oh, wisha! wisha!" exclaimed Mr. Sheedy, who had followed us, and who stood wringing his hands, but never making the slightest effort to drive out the cows.

66

Why don't you drive them out before they do more mischief?" said Mr. Waller, angrily.

"Oh! don't be sphakeing to medon't be sphakeing to me. I'm ruined intirely. Oh, wisha! wisha!"

At length, he was induced to turn them out, stopping every now and then to wring his hands, and give vent to a particularly heart-rending "Oh, wisha wisha!"

"And do you mean to tell me that you have many of that class here?" said I, as we rode off.

"He is one of a numerous body," said Mr. Waller, sadly. "That fellow bored me to death for that gate, which you saw falling to pieces from rust, and which he has never even swung. If I swung it for him, he would not take the trouble to close it after him. Kindness cannot improve him, nor starvation teach him; and yet if I turn him out, I am held up as an exterminator. That fellow will declare, with tears in his eyes, that he has not a shilling in the world, and the next Sunday he will give ten at chapel to the O'Connell tribute. You have seen him in dirt and wretchedness, which a few hours would remove, and which the bribe of a table cannot induce him to do; and if you could listen unperceived, you would hear him carping at the disparity of the lot which has placed him in wretchedness, and me in a grand house. There are many bad landlords in Ireland; as many, or, perhaps, more than in England. There are absentees. There are men who live in towns, and who, if put on their own property, would not know it by sight, as they do not the tenants by namemany who let at high or rack rents; but they have all been classed together, and

none have tried to find out what they had to struggle against-religious bigotry, prejudice, and intolerance; where trying to innovate or improve is looked upon with suspicion and dislike, and doing a kindness as a snare for some future time. It is a thankless and up-hill office, that of a resident Irish landlord. The English newspapers, judging truly of a part, have classed the whole together, and their name has become a by-word. Excuse my warmth. I have been annoyed at the state of things here. If ever you come to this part of the country again, pay me a visit."

I never saw him again. He was fired at, and desperately wounded, about a year after I left. The trial was, I understand, very interesting; and Mr. Sheedy played a principal character in the proceedings.

I now lost sight of my friends at Loughlinstown, and can only describe the remainder as I heard it.

The potato disease, and consequent poverty, were every day ruining hundreds of the Irish gentry. The Ormsbys suffered among the rest. Most of the tenants ran off to America with the rents. The all-devouring poor-rate swallowed up his remaining capital. He was unable to stock his domain and farm. The estate was bankrupt, and the Ormsbys were beggars.

One of the few whose acquaintance I had made there, who was not ruined or severely pinched, was Mr. Cuppage. He, on the contrary, rather benefited by it, as a doctor, by a steady mortality; and when it was determined that the cut-up and unfinished roads should be left as they were, and he was thrown out of employment, he found himself appointed county-cess collector.

Every state of life has its peculiar trials, and county-cess collectors are not free from them more than other men. The bar-the stumbling-block in Mr. Cuppage's life-was the poor-law collector. It was no use to think that he was of higher birth than him. What was birth to a man who could scent, at a mile's distance, a pig belonging to a poor-rate defaulter, and who snapped it up, and had it up to auction before Mr. Cuppage was out of bed in the morning? A gentle melancholy preyed on his mind; but the cup was not yet full, and one more trial remained, to convert him into a confirmed misanthrope.

Mr. Timothy Quinlan-the poorrate collector-was a man sprung from the people. He was one of those whom the troubles of the present day had brought into life. In him the law of Nature was fully carried out. He was

one of the maggots which the corruption of everything good had brought into existence. He was destined to flourish and grow fat on it; and, perhaps, after fulfilling his destiny in that shape, to start into a new life, as a plethoric blue-bottle, and sport in the sunshine of future prosperity. His public life had not been, on the whole, fortunate. He was discovered to have watered the poorhouse milk, when he had the contract; and was not perfectly cleared from a suspicion of having adulterated the Indian meal. But he knew human nature too well, to suppose that to a genuine radical and repealer such trifles would make any difference. No. He came forward at public meetings, and abused the landlords with a virtuous dignity that won him the plaudits of the multitude. Never was the saying, "set a thief to catch a thief," more truly justified than in Mr. Quinlan; no one who had not spent his life in flattering the mob, and abusing the gentry, could pounce with half the quickness on a poor man's cow or sheep, seize and sell for five pounds corn that was worth twenty, and let the owner go to the poorhouse. Such was the man who was born to be the bane of Mr. Cuppage's existence.

Mr. Cuppage was taking a late breakfast, and thinking moodily over a calf which the poor-rate collector had seized and sold under his very nose; the county-cess was not collected, and the day for settling accounts was fast approaching. He took a large bite out of a round of toast, and gnashed his teeth, when he thought of the poorrate collector and the large poundage he would have compared to him. Just as he was raising his cup to his lips his servant, Pat Delany, rushed into the room with anxiety and delight on his countenance.

"Glory be to the Lord, Misther John, but there's a cow of Paddy Dwyer's strayed away on the domain of Loughlinstown; I've been following and watching her this hour, and she's now safe in the clover-field near the house. The cob is ready saddled; good luck to ye, and seize her before that bloody villain Quinlan hears of it."