a guinea or ten shillings, which they borrow from a neighbor, or remit to the unfortunate dupe in the course of the day.  This they do in order to enhance the obligation, and give a distinct proof of their poverty.  Let not, therefore, the gentlemen of the Minories, nor our P------s and our M------s nearer home, imagine for a moment that they engross the spirit of rapacity and extortion to themselves.  To the credit of the class, however, to which they belong, such persons are not so numerous as formerly, and to the still greater honor of the peasantry be it said, the devil himself is not hated with half the detestation which is borne them.  In order that the reader may understand our motive for introducing such a description as that we have now given, it will be necessary for us to request him to accompany a stout, well-set young man, named Bartle Flanagan, along a green ditch, which, planted with osiers, leads to a small meadow belonging to Fardorougha Donovan.  In this meadow, his son Connor is now making hay, and on seeing Flanagan approach, he rests upon the top of his rake, and exclaims in a soliloquy:—­

“God help you and yours, Bartle!  If it was in my power, I take God to witness, I’d make up wid a willin’ heart for all the hardship and misfortune my father brought upon you all.”

He then resumed his labor, in order that the meeting between him and Bartle might take place with less embarrassment, for he saw at once that the former was about to speak to him.

“Isn’t the weather too hot, Connor, to work bareheaded?  I think you ought to keep on your hat.”

“Bartle, how are you?—­off or on, it’s the same thing; hat or no hat, it’s broilin’ weather, the Lord be praised!  What news, Bartle?”

“Not much, Connor, but what you know—­a family that was strugglin’, but honest, brought to dissolation.  We’re broken up; my father and mother’s both livin’ in a cabin they tuck from Billy Nuthy; Mary and Alick’s gone to sarvice, and myself’s just on my way to hire wid the last man I ought to go to—­your father, that is, supposin’ we can agree.”

“As heaven’s above me, Bartle, there’s not a man in the county this day sorrier for what has happened than myself!  But the truth is, that when my father heard of Tom Grehan, that was your security, havin’ gone to America, he thought every day a month till the note was due.  My mother an’ I did all we could, but you know his temper; ’twas no use.  God knows, as I said before, I’m heart sorry for it.”

“Every one knows, Connor, that if your mother an’ you had your way an’ will, your father wouldn’t be sich a screw as he is.”

“In the meantime, don’t forget that he is my father, Bartle, an’ above all things, remimber that I’ll allow no man to speak disparagingly of him in my presence.”

“I believe you’ll allow, Connor, that he was a scourge an’ a curse to us, an’ that none of us ought to like a bone in his skin.”