ing, all wyat windows and green verandas, unsheltered and unadorned, save by a dumbrous Grecian portico, an evident afterthought of the architect, who seemed to have consulted rather the genius of the owner than the place; for all was expense without taste, and shew without comfort.

It was a levee day with Mr. Crawley, who, from an open window of his office, usually transacted, at the same time, the opposite and multifarious business of agent, magistrate, county treasurer, land jobber, road maker, landlord, and attorney-at-law, captain of the Dunore volunteers, and commandant of the New-Town Mount Crawley supplementary-auxiliary volunteer legion, which he had just raised, and clothed at the expense of the-county.

At this window, the object of many an anxious eye, which had watched its opening from the day's earliest dawn, now stood Mr. Crawley, en robe de

chambre et bonnet de nuit; his shaving box in one hand, and his shaving brush in the other, which was applied to his already half-lathered face. A clerk was seated writing at a table by his side, disputing and wrangling with the crowd of suitors who occupied the gravel-walk in front of the window. On one side stood a host of applicants, endeavouring to obtain his attention, to whom time was as valueless as it usually is to their class in Ireland, and who had come from all parts to solicit law, redress, protection, interference, work, alléviation, or a long day, for rent they were wholly unable to pay: on the other side, and close to the window, with hard features, and looks full of petty importance, were to be seen jobbers, drivers, land bailiffs, constables and overseers, surrounded by petitioning, whining, wretched cotters, spalpeans, road makers, and labourers. In this group also stood

two resolute, determined-looking men,

manacled, and in custody. They had been taken up on the preceding night as Padreen Gar's boys; a real or supposed association, less formidable to government, than to Mr. Crawley's peace of mind; and serving him as the ground-work of many well-gotup plots, as the preamble of many proposed bills, suggested by him to the Irish government, for multiplying dependants, increasing influence, and depressing, galling, harassing, and insulting, the beggared and catholic peasantry: most facetiously termed acts for preserving the public peace, or more properly (because susceptible of an equivocal application) insurrection acts.

These men were now waiting to go through the form of an examination previous to their committal to the county jail, where, guilty or innocent, they were perhaps destined to wear out their lives in misery, vice, and incarceration, under a form of law, known only in

Ireland, called a Rule of Bail. Under the portico, with a table and some refreshments set before them, sat a few of the more sustantial tenants of the Dunore estate, who had just paid in their rents. In the front of the house were drawn up the mount Crawley legion, regaling the ears of this catholic multitude with the (alternately performed) tunes of "the protestant boys," and "croppies lie down:" the only tunes their military band, a fifer and drummer, had yet learned. A crowd of idle people stood a short distance outside a little gate, which opened on the lawn; and among these, the candidate tenant for Court Fitzadelm had placed himself out of the view of the great man of this characteristic Irish

scene.

Meantime, Jemmy Bryan, ci-devant driver, but now termed the right

*See note (1) at the end of the volume.

hand man of Mr. Crawley, was endeavouring to establish order among some persons, who, from curiosity, were led to examine the new scarlet frize jackets and worsted plumage of the legion more closely than was deemed respectful to the sacredness of their military calling. He was laying about his staff of office pretty actively, with "Quit, quit, I say. Will yez let his honor get ight of his own legion, and he going

to man-yeuvre them?"

Mr. Crawley now placed himself en evidence at his window, brandishing, not his sword, but his razor; and hold, ing his nose obliquely with his left hand, he exclaimed authoritatively

Jemmy Brian, make an era for the legion to go through their involutions in. Rare rank, take close order: mighty well. Where are your regimental gaiters, Corporal Costello? Oh, now while I think of it, Sargeant Kelly, apropos to my corderoys, if you don't finish them the