Rory O'More. Edited by D. J. O'Donoghue

Introduction

"Handy Andy", Lover's first novel, so-called, was a mere string of comic incidents ; his second novel, " Rory O'More ", was a genuine attempt to produce a tale possess ing the necessary cohesion and consistency of plot and all the requisite order and method of a true novel. That there might be no question of his intention to write a novel, he even gave the work an historical background. Rut though it is pseudo-historical, and is somewhat incho ate in parts, it is the best long story Lover has written. It is a real novel, in that sense, at any rate, in which that term was understood by the older novelists — especially the Irish ones. The works of these last are nearly all singularly deficient in plot. Generally, they do not lack great power, they certainly possess a constant, almost intarissable supply of riotous humour and gaiety, and have a sure command of pathos.

In fact, all the ingre dients of the successful novel — apart from plot — are theirs in plenty — observation, quaint and original character drawing, dramatic intensity and quickness of comprehen sion. Yet, somehow, all their talents, whether of observation or invention, have failed to produce a great Irish novel. Many Irish writers might be named who have given us chapters — episodes — of tremendous power, commanding ability, splendid conviction, illimitable drollery, but with the possible exception of AArilliam Carleton, not one of them has come near to producing a great novel. The sustaining power has been lacking — the definite plan has been wanting. They have begun to write, as Lover did, VI 1 N T K 0 I) I' CTIO N without any settled purpose, unpossessed by any profound idea. Their animal spirits may never flag, their interest in their hero's fortunes often does.

Lover never for a moment imagined that he was a great writer in any sense, least of all a great novelist — he simply made it his business to please the public, and who shall say that he did not succeed most admirably in his intention ? The undiminished demand for his stories is ample proof of his success. Unlike most other Irish writers, he is as popular (if not more so) in England as in Ireland. Among Irishmen, who were his favourite readers, and for whom he mainly wrote, he will be chiefly remembered as the author of "Rory O'More", which, if somewhat partizan in tone, cannot be called offensively so. Taking as he did a period like that of the '98 rebellion, he could hardly have been other than a little of a partizan. All writers upon that period are more or less so. Lover has simply taken the national side, as most Irishmen are bound to do, and he is never bitter.

The undoubted patriotic flavour of the book absolves him to some extent, even in the eyes of the most sensitive Celt, from the charge which has been foolishly based upon his "Handy Andy", that he was anti-Irish. On the other hand, the most strenuous loyalist, if at all acquainted with the history of the fateful time Lover has chosen to illustrate, will find very little indeed to complain of on the score of historical accuracy — for such matters as Lover has introduced into his story as facts have excellent authority behind them. It must, of course, be admitted that there is a touch of burlesque about the scene of the trial described at the end of the book, but to the student of Irish history, who is aware of the shameless jury-packing and of the other scandalous methods employed by the government of the day to secure convictions, even that episode will not appear very highly coloured.

INTRODUCTION.

VII The book is, to say the least in its favour, eminently readable. It has just as much of the melodramatic element as is almost inseparable from a story of its kind — but not more than can be borne. There are incongruities and occasional inconsistencies of character, but everything is permitted to the humourist. Some of Lover's choicest humour is to be found in "Rory O'More". It is not lacking in pathos, either — a quality which Lover was not too well endowed with. For a humourist, and espe cially an Irish humourist, he had surprisingly little command of the pathetic, and much of what he intended to be pathetic does not ring at all true. It is generally mere sentiment and not infrequently false and sickly sentiment. Rut in "Rory O'More " there are scenes of true, unmistakable pathos. The character of De Lacy is not very successful — he approaches perilously near the ridiculous at times, as for example in the love scene with his French betrothed.

He is one of those melancholy heroes, who are supposed to be particularly interesting — a survival of a slightly earlier age — the age of the Minerva Press. The character of Rory is, however, admirable, full of natural touches — always saved from anything even remotely like the absurd by his infectious drollery. Mrs. O'More and Phelim are also excellent types — such types as one might meet over and over again in a day's ramble in any of the Irish counties. In his portrayal of the female char acter, Lover is not generally convincing. Mary O'More and Kathleen Regan are probably his two most successful creations, and they are by no means worthy to rank be side the least of Carleton's remarkably genuine Irish women. Rut with all his defects, Lover is a delightful writer, not less so in "Rory O'More" than in "Handy Andy".

It would be easy to criticise both works severely — they are full of faults, but two more interesting Irish books it would be very difficult to name. In any case,

INTRODUCTION.

Lover's stories fulfil their author's purpose — they amuse. They may not startle or hold in a spell as do the best romances of Lefanu, Carleton and Griffin, and it is certain that Lover was without that intimate knowledge of the depths of Irish nature so noticeable in the novels of the two last-named writers, but he has qualities which even they lacked. AArithout the natural dash and abandon of Lever and Maxwell he yet equals some of their most irresistible narratives in one or two episodes of " Handy Andy" and "Rory O'More". His humour is entirely his own — of a quite different quality to that of any of the writers already named. It is the very genius of spontaneity and purity. Only Lever can be said to surpass him in the telling of an anecdote. And it is high praise indeed to say that only Lever, among all Irish humourists, tells stories better and better stories.

In song, novel and drama, "Rorv O'More" has already delighted countless readers, and it is no exaggeration to say that Lover's hero is one of those creations which deserve to be immor tal — a hero whose adventures and whimsicalities will, without any question, attract and amuse generations of men and women who will never have even heard of novels which at present enjoy unbounded popularity, and are so glibly described as "perfect", "inimitable", and " everlasting ". D. J. O'DONOGHUE. CONTENTS Chapter Page I. THE COTTAGE OF RORY o'.MORE, WITH SCENERY, MACHINERY', DRESSES AND DECORATIONS ... 1 II. SHOWING HOW A JOURNEY MAY BE PERFORMED ON A GRIDIRON WITHOUT GOING AS FAR AS ST. LAWRENCE 13 III. A PEEP INTO IRELAND FORTY YEARS AGO. HINTS FOR CHARGING JURIES. EVERY LANDLORD HIS OWN LAW-GIVER. PRIDE OF BIRTH.

A JOCU- LAR PRINCE ON FOOT, AND A POPULAR PEER ON HORSEBACK 29 IA*. JOURNEY* CONTINUED. DESULTORY COACH CONVER- SATION, IN WHICH THE LIBERTY OF "THE PRESS" IS DISCUSSED, AND THE THISTLE DECLARED TO BE NOT INDIGENOUS TO IRELAND. ARGU- MENTS AND COACHES LIABLE TO BREAK DOWN. HINTS FOR KEEPING HOUNDS, ETC, ETC 41 V. WHISKEY' VERSUS SMALL-POX. GHIBBERISH VERSUS FRENCH. A SECRET WITH TWO HANDLES TO IT, 56 WHICH OUR HERO AND HIS SISTER LAY HOLD OF. VI. IN WHICH A GENTLEMAN WRITES A LETTER AS LONG AS A LADY'S 62 r, VII. A MAN OF LAW AND PHYSIC 71 A III. "BRITANNIA RULES THE WAVES" 83 IX. THE PRETTY GIRL MILKING HER COW 93 X. IN WHICH RORY HEARS AND SEES MORE THAN HE BARGAINED FOR, AND FINDS IN THE CONCLUSION THE TRUTH OF THE PROVERB, THAT PROVIDENCE NEVER SHUTS ONE DOOR WITHOUT OPENING ANOTHER X CONTENTS Chapter Page XI.

SHOWING THAT ONE HALF OF THE WORLD DOES NOT KNOW HOW THE OTHER HALF LIVES, AND ALSO, THAT SOFT WORDS CAN BEND HARD IRON, THOUGH THEY DO NOT BUTTER PARSNIPS... 122 XII "IN THE DARK ALL CATS ARE GREY." RORY BECOMES POSSESSED OF AN IMPORTANT SECRET, AND DISCLOSES ONE IN EXCHANGE 135 XIII IN WHICH RORY' REMEMBERS THE OLD SAY'ING OF " PUT THAT IN YOUR PIPE AND SMOKE IT." 145 XIV IN WHICH IT APPEARS THAT ONE MAN's SIN MAY' PROVE ANOTHER MAN's SALVATION 151 XV. XVI. BEING A MIXTURE OF ROMANCE AND REALITY*. 157 AN "IRISH" FAIR WITH ONLY " ONE " FIGHT IN IT. DE WELSKEIN'S METAMORPHOSES. LEARNED PIGS. ROASTED DUCKS. LOVE AND MURDER, ETC, ETC 163 XVII. XVIII. A MOONLIGHT MEETING ; WITH ONE TOO MANY. 187 CONTAINING A COUNCIL OF LOVE AND A COUN- CIL OF WAR 193 XIX. SHOWING THAT MOTHERS IN THE COUNTRY' CON- TRIVE TO MARRY' THEIR DAUGHTERS, THE SAME AS MOTHERS IN TOWN 1 98 XX.

IN WHICH RORY o'MORE PROVES HIMSELF TO BE A MAN OF LETTERS 203 XXI. IN WHICH SHAN REGAN AND SOLDERING SOLO- MON GIVE A TOUCH OF THEIR QUALITY', AND RORY* UNDERGOES A TRIAL OF TEMPER ... 212 XXII. XXIII. A TRIAL OF TEMPER AND A TRIAL BY BATTLE 220 CONTAINING DE I.ACY*'s LETTER, CONTRAST- ING THE CONDITIONS OF IRELAND AND ENGLAND 230 XXIV. SHOWING HOW A GENTLEMAN MIGHT NOT DRESS HIMSELF AS HE PLEASED FORTY' YEARS AGO, IN IRELAND 236 XXV. SHOWING HOW A PASS MAY DEFEND A SOLDIER, AS WELL AS A SOLDIER DEFEND A PASS; AND HOW A MAN IN AUTHORITY MAY ORDER SABRES FOR ONE WITHOUT ADMIRING PIS- TOLS FOR TWO CONTENTS XI Chapter Page XXVI. A SUBTERRANEAN MEETING. THE SUDDEN APPEARANCE OF AN UNEXPECTED AGENT, THREATENING THE IMPRISONMENT AND DEATH OF DE WELSKEIN AND HIS PARTY' 249 XXVII. DE LACY DEPARTS FOR FRANCE.

RORY GIVES A HINT FOR MAKING GOOD PUNCH ; AND SCRUBBS PROVES THE FALLACY OF THE SAYING, THAT A MAN FINDS HIS WARMEST WELCOME AT AN INN 263 XXVIII. GIVING AN EXAMPLE OF MAGISTERIAL SE- VERITY AND MATERNAL TENDERNESS. 281 XXIX. SHOWING HOW LIKE A GENTLEMAN A TIN- KER IS WHEN HE IS DY'ING 289 XXX. WHICH WILL EXPLAIN ITSELF 299 XXXI. IN WHICH RORY' MAKES HIS FIRST TRIP TO SEA A VOY*AGE OF DISCOVERY' 310 XXXII. CONTAINING MANY* SAPIENT OBSERVATIONS ON FRENCHMEN AND FRIGATES, ENGLISH SUBJECTS, FOREIGNERS, ETC 321 XXXIIL CUPID IN PARIS 329 XXXIV. SHOWING HOW NEW ENEMIES ARISE OUT OF OLD LOVES 335 XXXA^. SHOWING HOW USEFUL OLD LOVE-LETTERS ARE IN COLD WEATHER 339 XXXVL THE DISAPPOINTED ENTHUSIAST COOLS DOWN, AND RORY FALLS INTO A STRANGE RE- LIGIOUS ERROR 344 XXXVII. A MYSTERIOUS MEETING 353 XXXVIII. containing Solomon's examination and ITS RESULTS 360 XXXIX.

THE ATTACK ; SHOWING HOW DIFFERENT IS THE CONDUCT OF SOLDIERS AND Y'EOMANRY, IN THE BATTLE AND AFTER IT 365 XL. IN WHICH RORY' SEEKS HIS HOME, BUT FINDS IT NOT 382 XLI. JOY' VISITS THE HOUSE OF MOURNING, BUT DOES NOT SEEM TO LIKE HER QUARTERS 387 XLII. CONTAINING AN EXPLANATORY LETTER . . . 392 XLIII. RORY INDULGES IN GLOOMY ANTICIPATIONS. CONTF.K T S Chapter XLIV. XLV. Pago 400 THE GLORIOUS PRIVILEGE OF TRIAL BY* JURY' SHOWING HOW THE VERDICT FOR THE HANGING OF ONE PRODUCES THE BANISHMENT OF MANY 422 XLVL IN WHICH RORY FOLLOWS DE LACY*'s ADVICE AND HIS OWN INCLINATIONS 430 XLVII. DE LACY MUSES LIKE A GENTLEMAN, BUT FEELS LIKE A MAN ; AND THE READER IS TOLD ALL THE AUTHOR CAN TELL HIM, AND IS LEFT TO GUESS THE REST 441 NOTES I RORY O'MORE

Chapter I The Cottage Of

RORY* o'MORE, WITH SCENERY, MACHINERY', DRESSES AND DECORATIONS. In a retired district of the South of Ireland, near some wild hills and a romantic river, a small by-road led to a quiet spot, where, at the end of a little lane, or boreen, which was sheltered by some hazel-hedges, stood a cottage which in England would have been considered a poor habitation, but in Ireland was absolutely com fortable, when contrasted with the wretched hovels that most of her peasantry are doomed to dwell in. The walls were only built of mud — but then the door-way and such windows as the cabin had were formed of cut stone, as was the chimney, which last convenience is of rare occurrence in Irish cabins, a hole in the roof generally serving instead. The windows were not glazed it is true, but we must not expect too much gentility on this point ; and though the light may not be let in as much as it is the intention of such openings to do, yet if the wind be kept out, the Irish peasant may be thankful.

A piece of board — or, as Pat says, a wooden pane of glass — may occupy one square, while its neighbour may be brown paper, ornamented inside, perhaps, with a ballad, setting forth how "A sailor eoorted a farmer's daughther That lived convaynient to the Isle of Man,' or, maybe, with a print of St. Patrick banishing the "sarpents" — or the Virgin Mary in flaring colours, that one might take for " The king's daughther a-come to town, With a red petticoat and a green gownd." Rut though the windows were not glazed, and there was not a boarded floor in the house, yet it was a snug cottage. Its earthen floors were clean and dry, its thatched roof was sound : the dresser in the principal room was well furnished with dels; there were two or three chairs and a good many three-legged stools — a spinning-wheel, that sure sign of peace and good conduct — more than one iron pot — more than one bed, and one of those fourposted, with printed calico curtains of a most resplendent pattern : there was a looking-glass, too, in the best bedroom, with only one corner broken off, and only three cracks in the middle ; and that further damage might not be done to this most valuable piece of furniture — most valuable, I say, for there was a pretty girl in the house who wanted it every Sunday morning to see that her bonnet was put on becomingly before she went to chapel ; — that no further damage might be done, I say, this inimitable looking-glass was imbedded in the wall with a frame-work of mortar round it, tastefully ornamented with crossbars, done by the adventurous hand of Rory O'More himself, who had a genius for handling a trowel.

This came to him by inheritance, for his father had been a mason ; which accounts for the cut-stone door way, windows, and chimney of the cottage, that Rory's father had built for himself. Rut when I say Rory had a genius for handling a trowel, I do not mean to say he followed the trade of his father — he did not, — it was a gift of nature which Rory left quite unencumbered by any trammels of art; for as for line and rule, these were beneath Rory's consideration ; this the setting of the glass proved — for there was no attempt at either the perpen dicular, the horizontal, or the plane; and from the last being w*anting, the various portions of the glass presented different angles, so that it reflected a very distorted image of every object, and your face, if you would believe the glass, was as crooked as a ram's horn — which I take to be the best of all comparisons for crookedness.

Mary O'More, however, though as innocent a girl as any in the country, did not believe that her face was very crooked : it was poor Rory who principally suffered, for he was continually giving himself most uncharitable gashes in shaving, which Rory attributed to the razor, when in fact it was the glass was in fault ; for when he fancied he was going to smooth his upper lip, the chances were that he was making an assault on his nose, or cutting a slice off his chin. Rut this glass has taken up a great deal too much time — which, after all, is not uncommon : when people get before a glass, they are very likely to linger there longer than they ought. Rut I need not go on describing any more about the cottage, — nobody wants an inventory of its furniture, and I am neither an auctioneer nor a bailiff's keeper.

I have said Rory's father was a mason. Now his mother was a widow — argal (as the grave-digger hath it), his father was dead. Poor O'More, after laying stones all his life, at last had a stone laid over him ; and Rory, with filial piety, carved a crucifix upon it, surmounted by the letters I. H. S., and underneath this inscription : — " Pray for the sowl of Rory O'More ; Requiescat in pace." This inscription was Rory's first effort in sepulchral sculpture, and, from his inexperience in the art, it presented a ludicrous appearance : for, from the importance Rory attached to his father's soul — or, as he had it, sowl — he w*ished to make the word particularly conspicuous; but in doing this, he cut the letters so large that he did not leave himself room to finish the word, and it became divided — the word requiescat became also divided : the inscription, therefore, stood as follows : — You were thus called on to pray for Sow in one corner, while the Cat was conspicuous in the other.

Such was Rory's first attempt in this way, and though the work has often made others smile, poor Rory's tears had moistened every letter of it, and this humble tomb stone was garlanded with as much affection as the more costly ones of modern Pere La-Chaise : and though there were none who could read who did not laugh at the absurdity, yet they regarded Rory's feelings too much to let him be a witness of such mirth. Indeed, Rory would have resented with indignation the attempt to make the grave of his father the subject of laughter ; for in no country is the hallowed reverence for father and mother more observed than in Ireland. Resides, Rory was not a little proud of his name. He was taught to believe there was good blood in his veins, and that he was descended from the O'Mores of Leinster.

Then, an old schoolmaster in the district, whose pupil Rory had been, was constantly recounting to him, the glorious deeds of his progenitors — or, as he called them, his "owld anshint anshisthers in the owld anshint times," — and how he should never disgrace himself by doing a dirty turn. "Not that I ever seen the laste sign iv it in you, ma bouehal, — but there's no knowin'. And sure the devil's busy wid us sometimes, and dales in timtayshins, and lays snares for us, all as one as you'd snare a hare or ketch sparrows in a thrap ; and who can tell the minit that he might be layin' salt on your tail onknownst to you, if you worn't smart? — and therefore be always mindful of your anshisthers, that wor of the highest blood in Ireland, and in one of the highest places in it too, Dunamase — I mane the rock of Dunamase, and no less.

And there is where Rory O'More, king of Leinsther, lived in glory time out o' mind ; and the Lords of the Pale darn't touch him — and pale enough he made them often, I go bail : — and there he was, — like an aigle on his rock, and the dirty English afeard o' their lives to go within miles iv him, and he shut up in his castle as stout as a ram." In such rhodomontade used Phelim O'Flanagan to flourish away, and delight the ears of Rory and Mary, and the widow's no less. Phelim was a great character : he wore a scratch wig that had been built somewhere about the year One, and from its appearance might justify the notion that Phelim's wig-box was a dripping-pan. He had a pair of spectacles, which held their place upon his nose by taking a strong grip of it, producing thereby a snuffling pronunciation, increased by his taking of snuff'; indeed so closely was his proboscis embraced by this primitive pair of spectacles, that he could not have his pinch of snuff without taking them off, as they com pletely blockaded the passage.

They were always stuck low down on his nose, so that he could see over them when he wished it, and this he did for all distant objects ; while for reading he was obliged to throw his head back to bring his eyes to bear through the glasses; and this, forcing the rear of his wig downwards on the collar of his coat, shoved it forward on his forehead, and stripped the back of his pate; in the former case, his eyes were as round as an owl's; and in the other, closed nearly into the expression of disdain, or at least of great conse quence. His coat was of grey frieze, and his nether garment of buckskin, equalling the polish of his wig, and surpassing that of his shoes, which indeed were not polished, except on Sunday, or such occasions as the priest ot the parish was expected to pay his school a visit, — and then the polish was produced by the brogues being greased, so that the resemblance to the wig was more perfect.

Stockings he had, after a sort; that is to say, he had woollen cases for his legs, but there were not any feet to them ; they were stuffed into the shoe to make believe, and the deceit was tolerably well executed in front, where Phelim had them under his eye ; but, like Achilles, he was vulnerable in the heel — indeed, woi'se off than that renowned hero, for he had only one heel unprotected, while poor Phelim had both. On Monday, Tuesday, and AVednesday, Phelim had a shirt — you saw he had ; but towards the latter end of the week, from the closelybuttoned coat, and the ambuscade of a spotted handkerchief round his neck, there was ground for suspicion that the shirt was under the process of washing, that it might be ready for service on Sunday; when at mass, Phelim's shirt was always at its freshest.

There was a paramount reason, to be sure, why Phelim sported a clean shirt in chapel on Sunday: he officiated as clerk during the service — or, as it would be said amongst the peasantry, he "sarved mass;" and in such a post of honour, personal decency is indispensable. In this service he was assisted by a couple of boys, who were the head of his school, and enjoyed great immunities in conse quence. In the first place, they were supposed, from virtue of the dignity to which they were advanced, to understand more Latin than any of the rest of the boys ; and from the necessity of their being decently clad, they were of course the sons of the most comfortable farmers in the district, who could afford the luxury of shoes and stockings to their children, to enable them to act as acolytes.

The boys themselves seemed to like the thing well enough, as their frequent passing and repassing behind the priest at the altar, with various genuflexions, gave them a position of importance before the neighbours that was gratifying; and they seemed to be equally pleased up to one point, and to proceed in perfect harmony until the ringing of a little bell, and that was the signal for a fight between them : — when I say fight, I do not mean that they boxed each other before (or rather behind) the priest, but to all intents and purposes there was a struggle who should get the bell, as that seemed the great triumph of the day ; and the little bell certainly had a busy time of it, for the boy that had it seemed endued with a prodigious accession of devotion ; and as he bent himself to the very earth, he rattled the bell till it seemed choking with its superabundant vibration ; while the Christianity of his brother acolyte seemed to suffer in proportion to the piety of his rival, for he did not bow half so low, and was looking with a side-long eye and sulky mouth at his victorious coadjutor.

As for Phelim, his post of honour was robing and unrobing the priest before the altar; for in the humble little chapel where all this was wont to occur there was no vestry — the priest was habited in his vestments in the presence of his congregation. Rut Phelim's grand triumph seemed to be, his assisting his clergy in sprink ling the flock with holy water. This was done by means of a large sprinkling-brush, which the priest dipped from time to time in a vessel of holy water which Phelim held, and waving it to the right and left, cast it over the multitude. For this purpose, at a certain period, the little gate of a small area railed round the altar was opened, and forth stepped the priest, followed by Phelim bearing the holy water. Now it happened that the vessel which held it was no other than a bucket.

I do not mean this irreverently, for holy water would be as holy in a bucket as in a golden urn ; but, God forgive me ! I could not help thinking it rather queer to see Phelim bearing this great bucket of water, with a countenance indicative of the utmost pride and importance, following the priest, who advanced through the crowd, that opened and bowed before him as his reverence ever and anon turned round, popped his sprinkling-brush into the water, and slashed it about right and left over his flock, that courted the shower, and were the happier the more they were wet. Poor people ! if it made them happy, where was the harm of it? A man is not considered unworthy of the blessings of the constitution of Great Britain by getting wet to the skin in the pelting rain of the equinox ; and I cannot, nor ever could, see why a few drops of holy water should exclude him.

But hang philosophy ! what has it to do with a novel ? Phelim, like a great many other hedge-schoolmasters, held his rank in the Church of Rome from his being able to mumble some scraps of Latin, which being the only language his Sable Majesty does not understand, is there fore the one selected for the celebration of the mass. How a prince of his importance could be so deficient in his education, may well create surprise, particularly as he is so constant an inmate of our universities. Phelim's Latin, to be sure, could scarcely " shame the d — 1," though certainly it might have puzzled him. It was a barbarous jargon, and but for knowing the phrases he meant to say, no one could comprehend him. Spiritu tuo was from his mouth " Sper-chew chew 6, " and so on. Nevertheless, it was not in chapel alone that Phelim sported his Latin — nor in his school either, where, for an additional twopence a week, he inducted his scholars into the mysteries of the classics (and mysteries might they well be called), but even in his social intercourse, he was fond of playing the pedant and astonishing the vulgar ; and as poaching piscators throw medicated crumbs into the waters where they fish, so Phelim flung about his morsels of Latin to catch his gudgeons.

Derivations were his forte; and after elucidating something in that line, he always said, " Derry wather, " and took snuff with an air of sublimity. Or, if he overcame an antagonist in an argument, which was seldom the case, because few dared to engage with him,— but, when any individual was rash enough to encounter Phelim, he always slaughtered him with big words, and instead of addressing his opponent, he would turn to the company present and say, " Now I'll make yiz all sinsible to a demonstheration ;" and then, after he had held them suspended in wonder for a few minutes at the jumble of hard words which neither he nor they understood, he would look round the circle with a patronising air, saying, " You persaive — o.. e. d., what was to be demonstherated ! " This always finished the argument in the letter, but not in the spirit ; for Phelim, though he secured silence, did not produce persuasion : his adversary often kept his own opinion, but kept it a secret too, as long as Phelim was present ; " for how, " as they themselves said when his back was turned, "could it be expected for them to argufy with him when he took to discoorsin' them out o' their common sense ? — and the hoighth o' fine language it sartainly was — but sure it wouldn't stand to raison.

" How many a speech in higher places is worthy of the same commentary ! Perhaps I have lingered too long in detailing these peculiarities of Phelim ; but he was such an original, that a sketch of him was too great a temptation to be resisted ; besides, as he is about to appear immediately, I wished the reader to have some idea of the sort of person he was. The evening was closing as Phelim O'Flanagan strolled up the boreen leading to the widow O'More's cottage. On reaching the house he saw the widow sitting at the door knitting. "God save you, Mrs. O'More!" said Phelim. "God save you kindly!" answered the widow. "'Faith, then, it's yourself is the industherous woman, Mrs. O'More, for it is working you are airly and late : and to think of your being at the needles now, and the evenin' closin' in !