I am

Right, Sir Merton; I have, just for sport, passed off for an Hibernian. proud of it; the heart naturally clings to the spot where it found most enjoyment; but, as I am saying, I have my doubts as to the English wisdom and Irish folly,-true, we collect wealth, the Irish scatter it; we work, they enjoy; both sides are too much in extremes; consequently, the greater mixture of the races the better to neutralize these extremes. Nothing like marriage, for that; so, hang it, Siward! wager or no wager, for the improvement of the breed, an Irish wife."

Oh! papa, how strangely you do speak!" exclaimed the Miss Rowleys, simultaneously. Then, with a strong sotto voce to Lady Barnulph, "Papa is so tiresomely garrulous, and so coarse, that, when mamma is not present, he becomes intolerable-quiet as mamma appears, he is afraid."

"And here we are missing the best of

the morning from our ride. Lizzy, dear," turning to Miss Rowley, "do come, and let us put on our riding habits;" this was said aloud, -"and, Miss Aylsfort, you had

better accompany us."

The Misses Rowley dashed out of the apartment, but Mary seemed rooted to her chair. The very idea, however improbable, of Siward returning with an Irish bride, shivered her young heart; its wild throbbings caused a faint sickness. Happily, engaged in conversation, none of the party but the chaplain observed her emotion.

Mr. Rowley continued: "Well, Siward, my boy, besides the gallant militia, there were the yeomen-such a heterogeneous set-now you need not smile, Siward-as unlike Falstaff's recruits as chalk to cheese

-a finer lot of young men never were collected; up to all fighting, and to all fun; and if they turned their nocturnal watches into the revels of Comus, who could blame

them? not I, for one. Ha! I was a sporting blade at the time, as any Paddy among them, though now but a breeder of Leicestershire sheep and Devon cows. Ha ha ha! to what a position that old rascal, Time, reduces us. No use complaining, as my Irish friends would say, 'what must be, must be, and it is better to be merry than sad.' Well, Siward, let Sir Merton look ever so displeased, you are just the fellow to please the Irish, and to be charmed by them."

Sir Merton uttered an ejaculation of disgust. Siward laughed, observing,—

"Some other time, Rowley, you and I must have a talk over Ireland; but, as I keep the girls from their ride, pray be brief; just say how you won your wagers."

Simply, then, young Torso, of Norfolk, bet me one hundred to fifty that he would not marry in Ireland; he would rather be impaled as a malefactor than unite him

self with a race he positively abhorred and despised.

666

Keep your temper, my boy,' cried I; 'you are to be quartered in Limerick-far famed for its bootiful women; and then some fair girl will be impaled with you in your heraldic honours-no heiress; so she will shine forth in her beauty at your left side.' Well, Siward, young Torso had twice your spirit, or self-reliance; he took up the wager, and within the month was off to Ireland, full of scorn for its people. Let us see. Before six months he wrote to his father, Sir John, the proudest old Saxon in Britain, for consent to marry an Irish girl, such an angel of beauty, of goodness, &c. &c. &c. No money, of course; but he, young Torso, would be content with the moderate allowance of one thousand a year, as his Irish girl was most disinterested.

"Now, it so chanced that Sir John Torso

received this letter at Brookes'. I was at the club when it reached him; and such despair or fury I never witnessed. Sir John Torso had no control over his passion-so the whole club heard his tale of paternal woe; some sympathized, others secretly ridiculed, others again, whose sons had been caught in the lasso of matrimony, while quartered in the island of saints, rejoiced that their friend Torso was as unlucky as themselves; altogether, it was very exciting: consequently a pleasant scene for me-I never can forget it."

"Of course," cried Sir Merton, impatiently, "Sir John Torso did not consent?"

"Don't put me out in my story, Sir Merton," replied Rowley, "it only delays

me.

Well, after a time, when Sir John Torso could so far recover himself as to speak distinctly-for he had actually been choked