entire surroundings, rendered absolutely certain by the smirking countenance of the Squire himself, as it smiles complacently upon you from that prodigiously-ornamented frame—that jolly red nose is unmistakably indicative of good living—those twinkling eyes display the very fire of self-satisfaction; the town counsellor evidences itself in the-going-to-address-the-meeting attitude, and the man of means flashes from every link of that ponderous watch-chain and coquets amongst those massive seals. 

 Bulworthy is evidently well off. 

 "Hallo, what noise is that proceeding from yonder room?" 

 "Get out, you scoundrel." 

 It is a fat, gurgling, wheezy kind of voice, Bulworthy's, and speaking sets him coughing an uncomfortable, apoplectic sort of cough, like the sough of wind escaping from a cracked bellows. 

 "Get out, you vagabone; ugh! ouf!" 

 A singular-looking man-servant makes a sudden exit from the room, very evidently hurt, physically, just as an equally singular female domestic enters at the door, having a substantial matutinal repast upon a large-sized tray. 

 "Keep us from harum," said she, in a delicious Tipperary brogue, soft as honey; "and what's that?" 

 "Troth, an it's me, Moll, I b'leeve," replied the ejected, lustily rubbing the part affected. 

 "What's happened, Barney?" 

 "Oh! it's ould Bulworthy, bad cess to him," said Barney, in an undertone, wincing and twisting from pain; "he's what he calls astonishin' me." 

 "What for?" inquired Mary, forgetting that she was running considerable risk, from the circumstance of delaying the Squire's breakfast. 

 "The devil a one ov me knows; whiniver he's crass, he thinks that hittin' me a lick will bring him straight; bedad, if such showers of good luck as he's had all his life drownds a good timper as his is drownded, I hope I may niver be worth a scurrig as long as I breathe." 

 "Indeed, an' I have the same sort of comfort wid the mistress," said Mary. "Haven't I had the heart's blood of an illigant scowldin' jest now, for sugarin' her ladyship's tay wid brown?" 

 "Why, murther alive, Mollshee, you don't tell me that it's the lump she uses?" 

 "Not a 

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