he, unrolling a map, not the cleanest in the world; "there, I unfold before you Killmoran, three thousand acres, be the same more or less. Look to the right, and you will see the bright green fields and arable land, two hundred and seventy-five acres, three roods, and nine perches, more or less; this swipe of blue is the bottom, and under my forefinger, and round, halfway round the table, that vast brown tract is bog-every bit improvable bog! There, sir," continued Corney, drawing himself up," there is a field, a surface for a young man of spirit to embark his capital upon. People talk of going to America, and spending their lives in pulling up roots of trees as firmly imbedded in the soil as the molares in my jaw; when here, sir, at home, in our own native isleI say native, though I presume you are not a native; but no matter, you soon will be when you purchase Killmoran, and become wedded to the soil."

My objections to this property, and they were not a few, were met and combated by the potent Cornelius. I doubted the practicability of reclaiming the bog.

"Go to Chatmoss," said Corney; "look at that." "But the railroad runs through it,” said I.

༣

"Wont we have railroads through our own bogs?" said he.

"Be easy on that score," said Corney; "wont we have the great Atlantic, and all its branches, passing within ten miles of Killmoran? I saw the line myself hanging up in the company's office, and, with our family interest, we might have a branch from the main trunk to Killmoran."

"But I mean to reside," said I; "where is the

dwelling-house? the land is in the hands of tenants already.'

"Tenants at will, every mother's son of them,” said Corney; "you can turn them out, or leave that to me. I'll eject them forthwith; though if you like to give them plots in the bog, they'll burrow like rabbits, and be thankful to get leave; but as to the dwelling,―let me see, there is one thumping big farmhouse, with a complete lawn in front of it; you could fit it up for a shooting-cabin, make quite a romantic spot in a short time, till you thought of bringing your wife; but I see by your face you are not married yet; all in good time, though. And now, what can be cheaper? We only ask twenty-one years' purchase of the present rental, three hundred and fifty pounds a-year, seven thousand three hundred and fifty pounds. Now, sir, supposing I take upon me to say that I'll throw off the odd money, and leave it the bare seven thousand," said Cornelius, with an alluring smile.

"I am not prepared to conclude the bargain immediately," said I; "I should like to see Killmoran first."

66

O, as you please, sir," said he, very coolly," it may slip through your fingers; meantime, however, don't mind what those tenants say about high rents; make no promises, judge for yourself."

"I mean to do so," said I, putting on my hat; and wishing Cornelius P. Meehan a good afternoon, sauntered towards mine inn.

Having secured the box-seat on the Galway coach, I set out in quest of this land of promise; but the strong southwester took away much of the pleasure I hoped to enjoy, as far as seeing the country went.

Our road ran close to the Phoenix Park for a mile or two; on our left ran the Liffey-an insignificant stream; beyond it lay the wide expanse, a richly wooded, thickly inhabited, beautiful country, backed by the picturesque Dublin and blue Wicklow mountains. "Look at the biggest milestone in the kingdom,” said the coachman, as we passed the Wellington testimonial.

I believe it was George IV. called it an overgrown milestone, which, indeed, it strongly resembles; there is an unfinished baldness about the whole concern, but tout les gouts sont respectables. The coachman was an original in his way, a very Falstaff in his person, and one of the most loquacious whips I had ever shared a box-seat with in my life: he kept up a running conversation with the outside passengers, wayfaring men, labourers in the fields, pretty girls, when they shewed their faces at the doors and windows of the houses and cabins we passed; in short, every one knew him, and returned his greeting joyfully. He addressed his horses by name; and one team in particular were his favourites: he vowed there were not their equals in the united kingdoms, nor this side Christendom.

"Now, sir," said he, "look at that off leader; he's a cross-made, coarse garron, I own, to look at, but, by my song, the work is in him yet. Whewgh, cheer up, Daniel, my jewel! I call him Daniel, sir, after our own great patriarch; he's a real liberator, able to pull all the rest after him. The cantering hack alongside of him I call the Spatterer; when the roads are heavy she fairly blinds me. This off wheeler I call Stanley. I like to have something shew the off-side, and this steady grey horse I

call the Peeler. I like to have a stanch tug under my hand, though he's always trying to catch the leader by the tail. Whew! clear the road, Daniel!-keep to it, Spatterer!-no capers, Stanley; keep in a good honest trot, or maybe I wont be coming over your ears with the heavy end of the lash. You see, sir, before I got Stanley, they had him leader in the mail; they didn't know what he was up to till one night, as he was going down the hill at Lucan, having nothing better to do, he began to cut capers, and then fairly bolted, upset the mail, and the passengers were all, more or less, incovenienced, dirtied, and unseated; true for you, parson, one gentleman got his nose broke upon that occasion."

This last reply was made by the jolly coachman to a thin lath of a clerical prig, with a face like a hatchet, and a nose like a lobster's claw; he had taken his seat right behind the coachman, and made more rout at being disappointed in not getting an inside seat than forty old women. The coachman took him very quietly, told him he was better outside than inside upon a fine airy morning like this; assured him, with a vast deal of vehemence, that we were all protestants, sound protestants, outside, but he could not answer for the inside at all, at all. This jest seemed to be relished by the passengers on the back seats, though I afterwards heard they were Romans, as the catholics were called in Ireland.

We passed the Duke of Leinster's park and the bleak-looking town called Maynooth. The famous old castle rises, in a ruinous mass, out of a breweryyard, and behind it stands the college, a plain-looking building, without the slightest attempt at architectural ornament or classical design.

"Since the time of Cardinal Wolsey to the present day, more than beer has been brewing under the walls of that ancient fortalice," said the parson, as we whirled out of the town.

En route we passed two canals, and, according to the coachman, they were not happy speculations.

"But, for all that, the fly-boats have taken, and will take, the best part of your passengers from you," said the parson; "I intend to patronise the boats myself, in future," said he.

This provoked the coachman's ire; he said, "There was a mighty great difference between travelling like a gentleman on top of a sporting coach, and sneaking up a bit of a ditch, like an old woman fishing for pinkeens."

But the parson declared the boat was preferable; "in it a man might stretch his legs, read his newspaper, write his letters, without being hampered with great coats and nasty old women inside a coach; or exposed, as he was at present, to the cold wind and ribaldry of an ignorant fellow outside a coach."

There was no replying to this; but when the parson got down he remembered the coachman, and handed him half-a-crown, demanding the change immediately, one shilling and sixpence. The coachman quietly put the money in his pocket, exclaiming, "Long life to your reverence.'

"Give me my change!" vociferated the parson. "Protestants for ever!" shouted the coachman, handling the ribbons.

"Come, none of your nonsense, sir," cried the angry parson; "hand me down my change."

"I'll remember your reverence when you're returning to Dublin," cried the coachman; and, ex