ing gang stealthily drawing a net just below the house. They well knew that no one would then have the heart to say them nay, and that all the salmon that ever swam would not have induced one of the family to leave the sorrowful house at such a time.

Such as our old home was, we were very happy in it, and never cared to leave it. So stay-at-home were we that I remember an English public schoolboy, who paid a visit to a neighbor's house where I met him, wrote to his sister saying, "There's a girl here who says she has not been in a railway-carriage for two years. You can imagine what sort of girl she must be." Such contentedness seemed to him quite incomprehensible, though when he came to know more of our family life, I dare say he understood it better.

My father had served in the army, but when he married he took orders, and, with an interlude of a few years in an English rectory, spent the rest of his life in Ireland without the direct charge of a parish, but acting as a curate to an invalid friend, and doing regular Sunday duty in a neighboring church. When the Irish church was so iniquitously disestablished, my father found that under the disestablish ment act he was legally entitled, by thus having acted for many years, to a sum of seven hundred pounds as compensation for disturbance, and he made a point of pressing for the money, which he at once paid into the Sustentation Fund of the new Irish Church.

Although, as I have said, my father was an English clergyman, and had only married and settled in Ireland, he had by his perfectly honest and straightforward character acquired the complete confidence of everybody in our neighborhood, and this was shown by the manner in which his advice was constantly asked and the trust that was reposed in his judgment, integrity, and kindness of heart. If any one thought of getting married, he was always consulted; if any one was in difficulties, it was to him that application was made for intervention or as sistance. And the curious part of the

matter was that the people who tried to make him a confidential adviser were all Roman Catholics, and went to him rather than to their own priest. So far was this feeling toward my father carried that he was often asked to make the wills of his humble friends, or even to take charge of their savings with only verbal instructions how to dispose of the money when they were dead. I distinctly remember two particular cases in which he thus acted. One was in the last illness of Andy M'Gwire, the village tailor. Andy was what was called a "warm" man, and besides his business and personal property, he had saved upwards of £500. This he handed over to my father in trust for his widow and family, quite satisfied that, though no legal documents whatever were employed, the trust would be strictly observed and the testator's wishes carefully carried out. The other case was that of Patsy Farnan, a small coal merchant, with whom we dealt. One night Patsy thought his last hour had come, and he sent to ask my father to visit him immediately and make his will. My father started at once, and as there was nobody else available, he took me with him to act as witness. We had a wild walk, for Patsy's house was on the little estuary at the mouth of the river where the colliers used to unload, and was nearly surrounded by water at high tide. The will was made, and though Patsy lived a few days longer, he made no alteration in it.

The country people never, if they could help it, informed their priests about their affairs or the money which they possessed. The priests used to press them most unmercifully for the good of their church. Nobody could be christened, married, or receive the last consolations without paying an inordinate price, and it was from funds so raised that the many handsome Roman Catholic churches have been built in Ireland, at any rate in that part of the country which I used to know. The people feared the priests, but certainly did not love them or show their trust in them in any practical form.

No

All our house-servants and all the people about the place were, I think, perfectly honest in all important matters. None of them would have thought of taking anything of value; and though the house was always open and nothing would have been easier than to enter it, we knew that there was no chance of any pilfering. Even at night, in my early days, the hall door was never locked, and often when we had tea on the lawn silver spoons and other articles were left out all night. But in one matter we did not, as they say in the country, "put it past any body" to fall away from propriety. Irishman could resist the temptations of whiskey, and some one of the family was always present when the spirits were not under lock and key. It was one of my duties to go down to the cellar whenever it was necessary to replenish the decanters for dining-room use, and I remember once seeing the victory of the ruling passion over honesty in rather a droll manner. Under my superintendence the butler had filled a jug from the cask of whiskey, and had put it down on a table near a screen in the passage while he went to fetch a decanter, or on some other errand. The only light was a candle, which, while I stood quietly in the darkness, threw the shadow of screen, table, and jug on a blank wall before me. Suddenly I saw the shadow of a head rise from behind the shadow of the screen, and, by the slouched caubeen and the straggling beard, recognized that it was Micky the herd. Then a shadow of an arm came, which seized the shadow of the jug, lifted it behind the screen for a minute, and

Some of our female servants were great characters. Old Sarah the cook-and she was one of the best cooks I ever knew-was devoted to reading in her leisure moments, but her reading was confined to one book-the peerage of all others. Often when the peerage had been sought in the drawing-room for reference, it was found in the kitchen, Sarah studiously perusing it. My aunt used to keep house, and once when she was away from home she wrote some directions to Sarah. These directions were never carried out, and Sarah was found fault with accordingly. She admitted receiving the let ter, and when she was asked whether she could not read it she said, "Yes, sure, I can read writing well enougn, but I can't read the thing Mrs. Jones does." It was very true that my aunt's caligraphy was not always very legible. While I am in the kitchen let me tell of our scullery maid, who was always known as Bunty, "dark and dirty like a winter's day." She had a deep-seated conviction that everything not Irish was little worth consideration. By chance we were honored by the present of a hamper of game from a very exalted personage, and Bunty signalized herself at the unpacking of the royal pheasants by saying, "Sure, we've often thrown away plenty as good." Then Mary, our nurse when I was quite young, used to do the most amusing and simple-minded deeds. greatest feat was performed when we were moving from a living which my father had held in England for some years before settling in Ireland. We were all very loath to leave the old rectory, and there was much sorrow in parting from the familiar spots. In those days railway officials were much more particular than they now are about the quantity of luggage allowed to passengers, and on this particular occasion our luggage gave my father

Her

more trouble than usual and caused no little expense. There was one box, of which Mary had had the packing, that was of inordinate weight, but she vowed it was only full of the children's clothes. When we arrived finally at our destination it was discovered that Mary had packed up some old stones from the rectory garden to preserve as mementoes. The culminating point of the whole joke was that, having been rather laughed at for her misplaced sentiment, Mary got up in the night, collected the stones, which by this time had acquired a considerable value, and threw them into the river.

There was certainly, I think, no lack of faithfulness and good feeling among our own old servants generally, but I cannot forbear telling of a very re markable case of extreme loyalty and attachment in an old retainer of a gentleman in our county. He had been the valet, guardian, and factotum of a very eccentric master for many years, watching his health, taking care of his substance, and acting more as a confidential and trusted friend than in his nominal capacity. When the master died in extreme old age, Barney told the heir that the "ould man" had a matter of £7000 in a box under his bed. He was quite aware that nobody but himself knew of the existence of this money, and if he liked he might easily have appropriated the whole amount. There is a reverse to every shield, however, and it must be acknowledged that gratitude for benefits was not always to be expected, and kindly sentiments were not always to be found. On my father's little estate all laborers received their wages regularly whether sick or well, and provision was always made for the comfort and security of those who were past work. During the Fenian times, of which I shall speak later, it was discovered that old Tiernay, who had lived on the property all his life, and now had a cottage and pension, while his family all had well-paid employment, was one of the most virulent agents of sedition, not only against the government in general but against my

father in particular. Poor old man! no doubt he was only in reality a tool in the hands of others, astuter and more criminal than himself.

We always kept a great many poultry, but even their numbers were at certain times of the year insufficient to supply all the fresh eggs required for a large household. The children of the family used therefore to visit all the cottages and cabins in the neighborhood in order to buy new-laid eggs, finding perhaps one at one place, two at another, and three at a third, and carried home their various small purchases in a hand-basket. Unlike co tars in England, every Irish peasant keeps some hens, which run freely in and out of the cabins, and live more as members of the family than anything else. Perhaps on account of the extra warmth of their sleeping accommodation (they generally roosted on the rafters) these cottage hens often were laying when the inhabitants of a regular poultry-yard had more or less struck work for the winter. We therefore often collected a good many eggs in an afternoon's walk. We used to keep a running account at each cottage for the eggs we took, and it was always extraordinary to us how very accurately the peasant women kept their accounts. None of them could read or write, all their little transactions were noted in their memories alone, and not even tally-sticks were used. The price of eggs was constantly varying with the season; sometimes they were 6d. a dozen, sometimes 9d., sometimes 18. or even more, and though, as I said, we bought eggs at many different times, singly or in twos and threes, when payment was to be made there never was the smallest mistake in reckoning up what was the total sum due.

Our fish used to be brought to the house by fishwomen from a small village on the coast about two miles distant. Old "Mary the fish" was the principal one, then there were and young Mary. Picturesque figures these women were, generally dressed in what was known as a bedgown over a short dark-blue stuff skirt, with bare

Biddy