place; and whin he comes back, he gathers thim in again; and so he isn't at the expense of keepin' up the kennel while he's away.'

'What a shabby fellow!' said the traveller.

'Oh! not to say shabby, sir.'

'Why, what else can you call quartering his dogs on his poor tenantry?'

'Oh, for all that he's not shabby for whin he is down here, the company is never out of his house; and they say there's lashings and lavings of everything in it, and the claret flyin' about the place as common as beer, and no stint to any one, I'm towid.'

• That's mere wastefulness and rioting, and cannot in my opinion redeem his shabbiness, for I cannot call it anything else. C'an he not feel that when the poor people feed his sportingdogs, the fruit of their labour is invaded to contribute to his pleasure?'

'Why, if you go to the rights o' the thing, what your honour says is thrue enough: but we wouldn't be too sharp in lookin' at what a gintleman would do-and indeed I don't mislike it myself, as far as that goes, for the couple o' dogs that is left with me I do have a great deal of fun with.'

'How?'

'Huntin' rabbits, sir?'

'They must be nice dogs after that?'

'Divil a harın it does them !-sure it comes nath'ral to the craythurs, and would be cruel to stint them of their divarshin.'

• And do you all hunt rabbits with the dogs left to your care?' 'Every one of us.'

'Then the pack can't be worth a farthing.'

Why indeed, I don't deny they run a little wild now and thin: but sure what would be the use of a whipper-in if the dogs worn't a little fractious?'

Rory continued his discourse with the stranger as they proceeded on their road, giving him various information respecting the squire, and the collector, and the parson, in all of which, though Rory did not so intend it, his hearer found deep cause of disapproval of their conduct. Their conversation was now interrupted by the deep baying of dogs; and Rory answered the

sound by a cheering whoop, and the calling of the dogs by their

names.

'There they are, sir?' said he; you see we're jist at home.'

As he spoke, they turned into the little boreen already noticed. and two hounds came rushing wildly up the lane and jumped upon Rory with all the testimonials of canine recognition.

'Down, Rattler, you divil, down -you'll tear the coat av my back. Murther! Sweetlips, don't be kissin' me-down, you brutes !'

And he drove the animals from him, whose furious caresses were more than agreeable.

'Poor things!' said he to the stranger, in a kindly tone: 'sure, thin, it's pleasant even to have a dog to welkim one home.'

'More than a dog, Rory, dear.' said a sweet voice from amid the darkness; and the next instant a girl ran up to Rory, and throwing her arms round his neck, kissed him over and over again.

He returned her embrace with affection. and said,

• How is the mother?'

'Hearty, thank God !' said the girl.

'And yourself, Mary dear?'

'Oh, what would ail me ?-But tell me, what sort of a place is Dublin and how did you like it? and did you get me the ribbon ?'

'It's my sisther, sir,' said Rory to his guest, paying no attention to the numerous questions of Mary, who now for the first time observing the stranger, dropped a short curtsey to him, and said in a subdued voice:

'Your sarvant, sir.'

'Run on, Mary dear, and tell the mother we're comin',' said Rory, accompanying his words with a significant pinch on Mary's elbow, which meant. 'Make the place look as dacent as possible.'

Mary ran hastily forward, fully understanding Rory's telegraphic communication; and when the travellers reached the cottage, they found the mother and Mary in that peculiar state of action which in the polite world is called 'hurry-sourry;' and the dragging of chairs and stools, cramming of things into corners, and slapping about with the ends of aprons, testified

their anxiety to receive so unusual a visitor with prope.

honour.

When they entered, the widow first received her son with the strongest evidence of a mother's affection, kissing him tenderly; and with the reverential appeal to heaven in which the Irish peasantry so much indulge, she said:

'God bless you, alanna, you're welkim home!' She then turned to the stranger, and in that soft accent of her country which so well expresses the gentlest emotions of human nature, she said, in tones that would have almost conveyed her meaning without words, 'You're kindly welkim, sir.'

The stranger expressed his thanks; but, notwithstanding the manifest commotion which his arrival occasioned, he was too polite to seem to notice it, and did not, as a vulgar person always does, overload the people with requests not to trouble themselves

on his account.

He quietly took a seat; and Rory, with instinctive good-breeding, took another, and continued to discourse with his guest. Now and then, to be sure, he could not help casting his eyes towards his mother, who was busy in all sorts of preparation, and asking:

'Can I help you, mother dear?' But the answer always was: 'No, alanna. Sure you're tired afther your journey; and Mary and myself will do every thing; and sure it's glad we are to have you, and proud that the gintleman is come with you, and only hopes he'll put up with what we can do: but sure, if the enthertainment is poor, the welkim is hearty, anyhow.'

The stranger assured her of his sense of her kindness.

'If we knew of your comin', sir, sure we could have had a couple of chickens ready; and if the gintleman would wait a bit, sure it isn't too late yet, and can have a rashir and egg in the mane time.'

'My dear ma'am,' said the stranger, 'pray don't think of chickens to-night: the fact is, I'm very hungry, and I don't know a better thing than a dish of rashers and eggs, which has the great advantage, besides, of being got ready sooner.'

Rashers and eggs were accordingly got ready immediately; and while the mother was engaged in the culinary department, Mary spread a coarse but white cloth upon the table, and taking down from a cleanly-scouered dresser some plates of coarse delf, arranged

the table for the supper. This the hungry travellers discussed with good appetite and much relish; and after many relays of the savoury viands had vanished rapidly before them, a black bottle of whisky was produced, and some hot punch being made, Rory's guest protested he had eaten one of the best suppers he ever made in his life.

Rory and his mother and sister were lavish in their compliments to the stranger on being so easily pleased, and uttered a profusion of wishes that they had better to offer. This by their guest was pronounced impossible; and when at last the stranger retired to bed, they parted for the night with the highest opinion of each other—he in admiration of their hospitality, and they of his condescension.

Rory then, with his mother and sister, drew round the fire, and, relieved from the presence of a stranger, indulged in that affectionate family gossip which always is the result when one of the circle has returned from a temporary absence. Rory sat on a chair in the middle, his sister on a low stool beside him, with one hand resting on his knee, and her pretty eyes raised to his, in open wonder, only to be exceeded by the more open wonder of her mouth, as Rory told something of what he had seen in Dublin. The widow, on the other side, seated in a low easy chair of plaited straw, looked upon her son with manifest pleasure; and while she led Rory into a digression, by asking him how he managed 'the little business' about the lease, Mary filled up the interval very agreeably by looking with ecstasy at the roll of ribbon which her brother brought her. This was a great delight to Mary: it was no pedlar's trash, no common thing bought at a booth in a fair, but a real downright metropolitan ribbon, 'brought all the way from Dublin to herself.' Wasn't she happy? And maybe she didn't think how she'd astonish them next Sunday at chapel !

Rory told them how he met the stranger he brought home, and of the accident which led to it, and praised him to the skies for his liberality and gentlemanly conduct-swore he was of the right sort, and said he was one for whom a poor man ought to lay down his life. Such was Rory's opinion of the stranger he had uiet, and who was introduced to the reader in the first chapter under the title of the 'Scholar. How he acquired this title, will be subsequently seen.

The trio talked on until the embers on the hearth were quite burnt out, and it was at an advanced hour in the morning that they separated and retired to their slumbers, which, were sound, because their lives were healthful and innocent.

CHAPTER V.

WHISKY VERSUS SMALL-POX.—GIBRERISH VERSŪS FRENCH.—A SECRET WITH TWO HANDLES TO IT, WHICH OUR HERO AND HIS SISTER LAY HOLD OF.

THE next morning the widow O'More and her son, and daughter aros fresh and light-hearted, but not so their guest: he awoke with he burning thirst, intense headache, and deadening sensation of sickness, which are the precursors of fever.

It was early, and from the silence that reigned in the cottage he concluded no one had yet risen.

:

He endeavoured to sleep, but the effort was vain he fell but into a confused dozing, filled with broken images, confused recollections, and wild imaginings, from which he started but with an increased sensation of illness upon him; and even when the inhabitants of the cottage rose, they came not near him, wishing to leave him undisturbed after his fatigue.

At length, on his hearing Rory's voice, he exerted his so as to make himself heard ; and when Rory entered, he perceived, from the heavy eye and altered countenance of the stranger, that he was unwell.

'God be good to us what's the matther with you, sir?' said Rory.

'I'm ill, very ill, O’More,' said the stranger languidly. 'Well, don't disturb yourself, sir, and you'll be betther by and by, plaze God !'

I'm afraid I've eaught the small-pox,' said the stranger.

'I hope not, sir: don't be thinkin' o' sich things. Sure, how would you get the small-pox?'

'From a beggar in the crowd here last night, when we alighted at the inn. I remember shuddering at the mention of the disease

E