“‘Goon,’ said Phil, whose language, as well as valor, was fairly exhausted, ’it’s well you’re a fire-eater, and my father a magistrate, or by my honor, I’d know how to deal with you.’
“Such, my dear Spinageberd, is a domestic sketch of the Agent and Under Agent of that exceedingly sapient nobleman, Lord Cumber; and if ever, excellent landlord that he is, he should by any possible chance come to see these lines, perhaps he might be disposed to think that an occasional peep at his own property, and an examination into the principles upon which it is managed, might open to him a new field of action worth cultivating, even as an experiment not likely to end in any injurious result to either him or it. In a day or two I shall call upon Mr. Solomon M’Slime, with whom I am anxious to have a conversation, as, indeed, I am with the leading characters on the property. You may accordingly expect an occasional batch of observations from me, made upon the spot, and fresh from my interviews with the individuals to whom they relate.”
—Marks of Unjust Agency—Reflections thereon—A Mountain Water-Spout, and Rising of a Torrent—The Insane Mother over the Graves of her Family—Raymond’s Humanity—His Rescue from Death.
“Friday, * * *
“I have amused myself—you will see how appropriate the word is by and by—since my last communication, in going over the whole Castle Cumber estate, and noting down the traces which this irresponsible and rapacious oppressor, aided by his constables, bailiffs, and blood-hounds, have left behind them. When I describe the guide into whose hands I have committed myself, I am inclined to think you will not feel much disposed to compliment me on my discretion;—the aforesaid guide being no other than a young fellow, named Raymond-na-Hattha, which means, they tell me, Raymond of the Hats—a sobriquet very properly bestowed on him in consequence of a habit he has of always wearing three or four hats at a time, one within the other—a circumstance which, joined to his extraordinary natural height and great strength, gives him absolutely a gigantic appearance. This Raymond is the fool of the parish; but in selecting him for my conductor, I acted under the advice of those who knew him better than I could. There is not, in fact, a field or farm-house, or a cottage, within a circumference of miles, which he does not know, and where he is not also known. He has ever since his childhood evinced a most extraordinary fancy for game cocks—an attachment not at all surprising, when it is known that not only was his father, Morgan Monahan, the most celebrated breeder and handler of that courageous bird—but his mother, Poll Doolin—married women here frequently preserve, or are called by, their maiden names through life—who learned it from her husband, was equally famous for this very