WHAT traveller that is familiar with Ireland, and has walked or ridden along the roads of that country, has not remarked the unwearying disposition the peasantry who happen to journey in the direction he is proceeding in, evince to enter into conversation with him, or, failing that, to at least shorten and sweeten their way by following close at his heels, whether he be on horseback or a pedestrian? As they are naturally a most inquisitive, as well as social race, this disposition on their part is peculiarly favourable to the gratification of their propensities. Should you, for instance, be accompanied by a friend, there are nine chances to one that they become fami. liarly acquainted with your private business or family history; and even if alone, and disposed to repel all at tempts to be communicative, they are sure not to quit you, without being enlightened upon some part of your personal affairs. If you ride-they will take the weight" of your horse, calculating by the state the animal is in the exact distance you have travelled; by its breed and grooming the probable amount of your property; and as they are resolved not to give up the chase until you are run to earth at the next park-gate or market-town to which you are bound, they leave you with a tolerable guess at the cause of your journey. If you walk-the mat. ter is still more easily settled; you have less chance of baffling them: and the style of your dress, the appearance of energy or fatigue, the knap. sack of a tourist, or the unencumbered ease and delicate cane of a morning visiter, are all satisfactory manifestations of your intentions or pursuits. How often have I amused myself in crossing the scent, by suddenly stopping short, and affecting to wait for some invisible acquaintance in the rear, and thus letting these persecutors get a-head, where I endeavoured in vain to keep them!-they will still linger behind, and if you hasten to outstrip them by superior speed, you but

I.

overtake a fresh group of tormentors, nor can you reasonably expect any relief until the close of the day, or the arrival at your destination, effects your deliverance.

I had just pulled up at the summit of a long hill, in one of the wildest districts of the county Tipperary, which I had been ascending for a tedious half-hour, in a chill, though bright March evening-in order to alight and walk my mare down the corresponding declivity, that unveiled its lengthy and precipitate way into a champaign country of extensive and bleak appearance.

Having loosened the saddle-girths a little, to relieve my faithful steed, I turned to pursue my way, when I perceived still lingering near me a stran ger who had kept close upon my track with unwearied pertinacity, from the town of Ballymore, a distance of seven or eight Irish miles, and all whose attempts to enter into conversation, however graciously offered, I had most perseveringly resisted, not from a feeling that there was any thing ob. trusive in the individual, but simply that I was "not i' the vein." As, however, I perceived that although we were ata cross-road, (a spot where four roads meet,) my fellow traveller was about to take the one I had selected, I was now induced to bestow a little more attention upon him. He was an undersized, athletic-looking young man, perhaps about twenty years of age; bull-necked, with a powerful chest, his countenance harsh and massive beyond his years, with a mouth which would have indicated undisguised ferocity, were it not that the upper part of his face in some degree relieved this expression, or rather diverted attention from it by a broad forehead, and a quick, bright, but restless eye. Altogether he would have given assurance of a tremendous physical maturity, but either naturally or accidentally the mould had been marred-his right arm was wanting, as the empty sleeve pinned to the breast of his

jacket too plainly showed; but as if determined to compensate the loss by all the means in his power, he carried in his left hand a club, or, as it is termed all over Munster, a wattle, of such prodigious dimensions, and so loaded at the heavier end with lead, as at once to excite my surprise and shall I own it?-distrust, in a country where I knew, by a recent police enactment, such murderous weapons were prohibited. And yet there was something fantastic about the fellow's appearance notwithstanding. Instead of the customary frieze dress of the peasantry, he wore an old and muchrubbed shooting-jacket of black plush, in the button-holes of which he had arranged sundry gay feathers, the ultimate use of which might be inferred from a quantity of fishing-tackle twisted round his cap, which was huntsmanshaped, and covered with a bristling fox-skin of a fiery-red hue; his feet were bare, and he had his strong corduroy trousers tucked up very high, probably to afford him the greater facility in travelling.

As the gaze with which I regarded my companion was not to be mistaken, even by stronger assurance than he was able to muster in his face at the moment, he very civilly touched his cap and said, "He'd be bound he knew where I was going, and he'd be proud to show me the way."

"And pray, my fine fellow, where do you suppose I am going? I had the curiosity to ask; "or how have you been able to learn any thing of my

movements?"

"O by gonnies!" he said, "I know well. Did'nt I not see your honour in Ballymore this morning talkin' to Father Mick, and laughin' with him; an' by the same token you'd be sure to meet him this evenin', as, of all things, you'd like to see an Irish weddin'; and then I knew at wonst that you'd be at Hugh Lawlor's weddin'. 'Tis there Father Mick an' half the parish 'll be this evenin', an' there I'll be myself, with the help o' God. See," he added, not waiting to learn how this introduction was received "see, sir, over the hill yonder, about a mile an' a half, you can jest spy the

smoke of the doin's at Davy Nugent's. Hugh Lawlor is to have Miss Ellen afther all, an' 'tis the boys of Eliogarty are glad to have him back at last; they thought they'd never see him agin, good, bad, or indifferent."

"And do they all carry such slips of palm as that pretty one in your fist," I could not help saying, "when they go to welcome back a friend?

*

The fellow grinned. "What business would I have up in this counthry without my wattle, sir, when they're all Cumminses about us here, an' I a Dharrig? Only to be shure, now that Masther Hugh is back, an' to be married to a Cummins, I suppose we'll have some sort of pace an' quietness. Gie me the rein, your honour, an' I'll lead the mare easy, an' you can keep off the stones on this smooth bit o' road."

"No, I thank you; but let me ask what was the interesting business that deprived the barony so long of Mr Hugh's presence?

"Yes, sir."

"You don't hear me, I believe. Pray, what kept Master Hugh away so long?"

Wisha, 'tisn't myself very well knows, sir," was the reply, after a slight pause and an inquisitive glance. "People said a deal about his bein' away. He was fond of Miss Ellen since they wor childer; but his bein' a Dharrig, an' all belongin' to her Cumminses, in coorse they wor morthal enemies. But Hugh, havin' neither father nor mother, nor one belongin' to him since he was a gorsoon; an' havin' fine farms, and bein' his own masther, nothin' could keep him from goin' about Barna, that's Nugent's-jest yondher-an' bein' a great scholar entirely, fit for Thrinity College, shure-Ellen was breakin' her heart for him, an' used to meet him out late in the evenin' unknowent to her family-an' she caught could, an' was near dyin', (shure she was never well since,) an' thin Hugh came oftener to find out how she was -an' her brother Tom watched him, an' they had the divil's own murdher about it. Lawlor wanted to go away quietly, an' not to mind Tom Nugent's

reason.