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The Lady of the Mansion conveyed herself to the kitchen, to beat eggs for the custards, dress the salad, invent entrées and side dishes, and give the cook the uncoveted benefit of her general advice and superintendence. Two or three runners of both sexes were put in requisition to go "hither and over" of all sorts of messages, borrowing dishes here, reclaiming stewpans which had been lent there, asking a pair of snuffers at one house, and half-a-dozen tablespoons at another. A few respectable looking chairs also had to be fetched from a very intimate neighbour's to make up the number in the parlour, in place of those which the master had broken by balancing his weight upon the two hinder legs, while he read the newspaper of a morning with his feet propped against the fender.

Many small items of culinary necessity had also to be brought from the town; and it so happened that not any one of them was remembered until the very moment that it was wanted, so that the same messenger had to run over the same ground three times for three separate articles, which a lady might have stowed away, all at once, without inconvenience, in her reticule. At one time it was ground all-spice that stopped the order of the courses, then a lemon, and afterwards sugar-candy for the coffee for the very last time (and it was not quite a-week since), that Mr. Mac. had dined at Lord Dunbrown's, he took particular notice of the great fact, that pounded sugar-candy was served with the coffee; and therefore it would be absolutely barbarous and not to be thought of, to send coffee round after dinner at Slobberly Hall, with any other kind of sweetening.

Wasn't it the most fortunate thing in life that Mrs. Macarthy recollected this just in time? for where would her position be in society, if Mrs. Gumbleton or Mrs. Kilroach should get before her on so important a piece of fashion, and introduce sugar-candy with coffee into that end of the county, before it had appeared at Slobberly Hall? Her consequence had not yet recovered, nor probably ever would, from the blow which it received some three or four-and-twenty years ago, when one of those ladies, seizing the hint from Theodore Hook's "Sayings and Doings," had sported a dozen of silver forks at a dinner party given expressly for the purpose of taking them all by surprise. But the sugar-candy might go some way towards restoring her supremacy; and, therefore, at the eleventh honr-that is to say, about five o'clock-a poor breathless urchin, who had twice toiled over the same weary two miles before, was despatched once more to the town to fetch half a pound of sugar-candy, and to tell Mr. Maurice Foley not to stay out all the night, as he had staid out all the day.

The same message, in effect, though differing in terms according to the time of day, had been sent to that functionary, on three or four previous occasions; but Maurice knew his importance to himself too well to put himself out of breath, and therefore he came home just when he thought he ought to come home, not one moment sooner or later.

Fortunately for himself perhaps, that was not until his master had regained the command of his temper, which was ruffled in no slight degree immediately upon his return from Dunbrown Castle; and Mr. Macarthy was a gentleman, who, wheni itated beyond control, had in him "something dangerous," which servants and persons

of an inferior rank of life, were very wise to avoid. Scarcely had he set his foot within the hall door, when he heard a loud jingling crash, followed by ejaculations of wrath and lamentation, in voices both male and female, from the region below; and on hastening to the spot, he found the tiger expectant wringing his claws over a tray of glasses, which his awkwardness had upset upon the floor; while the mistress, with the cook, the cook's help, the housemaid, and John Tracey, all stood around, and asked with the utmost earnestness, as if the reply could mend the matter." How did you do it?"

vase.

Every claret glass in the house had been upon that tray, and only three were picked up from the ground, in a condition fit for duty. All the rest were reduced to smithereens no bigger than the fragments of the Portland But it was a comfort yet, that the claret itself, better than half a dozen of it, was to the good; and Mr. Macarthy, after horsewhipping the boy, and wishing at every blow, until he wished himself into a calm, that he had the rascal who employed the boy, within his arm's length, made up his mind that small glasses were better than none, and proceeded at once to the cellar, to grope among its capacious recesses for wine enough, of other kinds, to entertain his company. It would have been easy to perceive, by the uprooted and untenanted condition of the saw-dust there, that the wine-merchant's bill had been renewed more than once already.

When Maurice Foley returned at last, the bustle of dressing and expectation was at its height. Mr. Macarthy was inquiring for his black clothes and thin boots, and the young ladies were running up and down stairs with bouquets from the garden, and sundry small articles of very transparent millinery across their arms. The housemaid might be tracked from the kitchen door to the top of the house, by the stream of hot water which, in her careless haste and manifold journeys, she allowed to trickle after, or rather, perhaps, before her, from the spout of the kettle; for, "to save throuble, and because she liked everything handy," she preferred that vessel to a jug.

It was at such a time, that our "broth of a butler," as the cook somewhat professionally called him, slipped in noiselessly at the back-door. This, he had learned from experience, was one of the advantages of staying out late upon such occasions. There was no longer time for scolding; that is to say, for scolding him. But he found plenty of time, as soon as he was apprised of the accident which had occurred, to exercise his own lungs at the expense of the devoted deputy.

"An onloocky crathur you wor, egg and bird; when'll I ever get my own out of you? I thought to make you undher butler to myself, and get you stuck up with a cockade in your hat, going to Church of a Sunday behind the carriage; but you spylte it all. Go now and polish the masther's thin boots till you see your oogly countenance shinin out of them, like the brass lion on the rapper of the hall doore. And mind now, if you're half a minute at it, you'll see what I'll not do to you. At any rate, if anything goes conthrairy, they may thank theirselves for it; for if the masther did not go send me out of the house—and sitch a day for it too-to fetch a jar of Day & Martin, and a bottle of porther for Misther Ryan, it's none of these things would ha' happened. I'd

ha' washed them glasses up myself, and its only the the infinite entertainment of the youngest Miss Macarthy, tumblers you'd ha' smashed, ye kitthogue ye.”

All this time, Mr. Macarthy was singing out at intervals from the top of the stairs-the bell ropes having been broken long ago, and the wires too-for his black clothes; and Mr. Foley went on brushing them with the most leisurely indifference.

that he was "extramely partial to musharoons, but either they had lost their flavour, or he had lost his taste with the influenza." And he applied a proper allowance of catsup to make up the deficiency of both. At the special suggestion of Maurice, who patronised this gentleman, as being himself an old fosterer of the Ryan

"Don't you hear the Masther, Maurice," said Jack family, he washed them down with a glass of his favourite Tracey; "what a hurry he's in for his clothes?""

"And may be its deaf I am, Jack ;” replied Mr. Foley, who had certainly applied his lips to some other fountain, while he was out, than that of the "pure limpet stream" that flows through the village of Kilmacree into the Bay

of

“I b'leeve you, magra, in a hurry he is sure enough; but he must wait till his hurry is over, if his name was Macarthy more. It does gintlemen a power of good to larn a little patience by times; and it is the likes of you and me Jack, that is appointed by Act of Parliament, to taich it to them."

The master of the horse grinned in spite of himself, and told the butler that he-the said butler-was a certain personage's "boy." But who that personage is, we must not name; only this we are enabled to state, that to be accounted his "boy," is, in certain society in Ireland, to be recognised as the pink of all that is gay, facetious, rollicking, and reckless.

"No, I'm not, Jack," said Maurice, evidently flattered by the compliment-"not yet, any how." And then steadying himself by a walk across the kitchen, he took up the boots and the black clothes, and marched away with them to his master.

The company poured in at the expected time; that is to say, having been invited to come at six to an early dinner, they did not begin to arrive for half an hour afterwards. But that did not signify much, for the repast was not ready to set upon the table till it had gone a quarter past seven; so they were all too soon, except Minor Dawson, a gentleman of ton, some fifty years of age, though he is still called a Minor, and always will be so called till he joins his Majores in Dunmanway churchyard, in regard for the fine estate he inherited before he was fifteen years of age, and ran out before he was five and twenty-not that it would be much of a misnomer if they would dub him minus upon the head of that same. But minor or minus, he entered the room when the soup was going out of the door; and did not his coat sleeve, not to mention things unmentionable, know the colour of giblets for many a day, after that jostle against the tottering Mr. Foley? However, as Maurice philosophically observed, while he wiped the gentleman dry with his napkin, "there is no help for spilled milk, in this accidental world." The minor resigned himself to the same view of the matter, and seeing it was partly his own fault for being so late, sat down to his fish with the most perfect good humour.

The pen of Monsieur Soyer might do justice to the entertainment, which, as far as disguise constitutes perfection, was in many points faultless. Nobody could tell what the poor turkey (boned upon a chopping block by the black fists of Dolly Gorman) was meant to represent. Mrs. Kilroach covered herself with confusion by mistaking it for a suet dumpling. Mr. Ryan helped himself to three or four little balls of boiled paste, declaring to

beverage, and wished to himself, and to goodness, that he could see something else on the table that he knew the name of, and it would be safe to eat.

The removes were more inexplicable still than the courses, and though nobody seemed to think them very good, they were evidently subjects of admiration to no small proportion of the company. The attendance was not to be complained of, though Maurice's white cotton gloves were wet and discoloured by the accident of the giblets; and no farther casualty of any account occurred to check the pride of the hostess, or mar the satisfaction of the polite amphitryon.

There was no lack of wine at table nor after dinner; but scarcely had the dessert been laid down when the butler, with wicked speed, marched across the floor to the tinkling music of a dozen tumblers, each with a silver spoon in it, upon a tray, and deposited them, tray and all, in the centre of the table. The attendant sprite stood ready with a huge jug of hot water, which, spite of his mistress's angry signs, he also laid down in the same place, and then flanking the array with sugar on one side and whisky on the other, he walked off with an air of triumph, which spoke as plainly as words could speak it-"The genteel thing is the genteel thing."

Maurice had been often remonstrated with for the directness and prematureness of his suggestions about punch. In vain had he been drilled to keep the materials for compounding that pleasant beverage in the background, till they should be called for. He never thought a table looked like itself without them, any more than a dinner felt like a dinner, to his favourite Mr. Ryan, without a glass of Guiness's stout. So, no matter who dined at Slobberly hall, he continued to forget his orders on this point. He had an excuse, however, (such as it was) for not attending to them on the present occasion, inasmuch as Mrs. Macarthy had not had an opportunity (owing to his own loitering) of reminding him of them; and it was quite evident that he rejoiced in the omission which allowed even so shallow a pretext for keeping up, in all its glory, one, at least, of the good old customs of the house.

"How bad she is indeed," he remarked, when he was outside the door, after encountering the indignant glances and dumb show expostulations of his mistress. "Wasn't it always done in the ould misthress's time, that dhruv her coach and four, and wore diamonds on every finger she had; and I won't say but on her toes too, for I never seen to the conthrary. Punch arragh! and it's glad enough they'll be to get it, I'll go bail; besides its being the liquor they're best used to at home, with all their murzelles, and hockses, when they do be playin' up for fine lords and ladies before one another. Och then, sure and it's well I know them."

If the entertaintment in the parlour was grand, that in the kitchen was extravagant. The servants of the guests sat down with those of the family, increased by the addition of

the herd at the gate, and a small shopkeeper or two from the town, whom Maurice thought it safe as well as neighbourly to invite, at a moment's notice, on the presumption that the master and mistress would be too much engaged up stairs to be any the wiser of the compliment paid them below, and that what two or three mouths additional might consume, out of such a plentiful repast, could never be missed.

One of the good old family customs, whose desuctude Maurice winked at, was that of some member of the family slipping out of the room, even upon the most festive occasions, and securing under lock and key whatever choice or superfluous viands might leave the table untouched or comparatively so. But that was never known to be done at my Lord's or Sir John's-probably because my Lord and Sir John had housekeepers or other trusty servants who were charged with such precautions-of course then it was out of the question to have the practiee continued at Slobberly Hall. One of Mrs. Macarthy's public boasts was that the eldest child in her house scarcely knew the way to the kitchen; which saying—if it had not been a lady's-historical fidelity would compel us to hold in doubt; for in the ordinary slip-slop ways of the house, the kitchen stairs were scarcely ever free from one or other of them. But their absence from that part of the house on state occasions was a sure thing; and Maurice, therefore, felt quite confident, that his guests were secure upon this, from the inquisitive stares of soft blue eyes overshadowed by light brown ringlets. Accordingly, with merry hearts and keen stomachs the whole party took close order around the large table in the kitchen, upon which joints which had been merely tasted in the parlour, were demolished, one after another, with the most astonishing avidity and despatch. time was lost in the changing of plates and knives, nor in the nice successions and distinctions of various meats. Every thing was welcome in the order in which chance presented it. Fish after beef, pastry between both, a carrot and a slice of blanc-mange, all came, all vanished, all went the same way. Why trouble themselves about which should go first or which last?

No

Nor was there any lack of drink, the pass-book had been used discreetly, and yet with a zealous regard to the honour of the house. Nobody thirsted who could put up with what Maurice thought good enough for the gentlefolk above stairs, "may be too good (he said) for some of them;" and those ladies and gentlemen who had long and intricate roads to travel homeward that night, were provided with very valiant drivers to conduct them. It is well that horses are sober animals, and even safer to go by night, than in the open day. If it were otherwise, how many accidents should we not have to bewail, brought on by the kitchen hospitalities of many Irish country houses.

Well might Mr. Macarthy say, as he did say in reference to this very entertainment, that a gentleman might see his own friends easily enough, if he could only lock his kitchen door. Yet he might have done that too, without any disparagement of his dignity, for Lord Dunbrown does it, and so does Sir John; but a gentleman must have a higher rating in the property scale than Mr. Macarthy, who can venture to adopt such an innovation, without being made the kitchen talk and the stable talk of the country, within twenty miles of his residence, as a

"poor Nagur;

a term of disgrace which the Squire of Slobberly Hall wanted strength of mind to deserve. It has been said that two American citizens cannot enter into conversation together, without talking of dollars. Whatever charms those flat pieces may have in their eyes, they have lately shown that they know how to make a noble and a generous use of them. The hearty manner in which Brother Jonathan has come forward, where, according to the usage of "this narrow world," he could not have been expected to make himself prominent, for the relief of the poor famished Irish and Scotch, has given him a hold upon the affections of the people of these countries-at least I can answer for one of them—which will make tidings of his prosperity at all times an agreeable piece of intelligence amongst us. Long live honest Jonathan ; and if it be his fancy to speak about dollars, why thenmore dollars to him to speak about.

It is not peculiar, however, to the people of the new world, to make the acquisition or possession of riches the theme of admiration and discussion. Where is Mammon so universally worshipped as in England? Where is a man or a woman without money so cruelly despised? Where is the lust of pelf so pampered by all public and private means? It is made the distinguishing reward of learning in the gravest professions, the meed of valour, the prize of high desert in the arts, the spur to exertion in the service of the State; and the most popular writers of the day-those whose exciting fictions have gone through the greatest number of editions, and who, therefore, may be understood to know best what it is that tickles the palate of the intellectual and reading classes-these men uniformly make money the great end and crowning happiness of a virtuous life.

If a prominent character in a modern novel winds up at less than five hundred a year, he is sure to be one of the villains of the tale. Of "honest poverty," allowed to retain its dignified position in life, there is no example. The book would not be bought, which made such a mistake. You may murder your hero, and the world will weep over him; make him kill himself, and the world will deify him; but bring him to poverty at the latter end, or leave him in anything less than affluent circumstances, and the world (the British world I mean) will think that you teach a very dangerous doctrine, and will hold the tendency of your book to be decidedly immoral.

All this is apropos de Slobberly Hall, just so far as I was going to observe, that the word "property" has a charm to raise a spirit in Hibernian circles also. In all companies the "thousands a year," real or imaginary, possessed by the person who happens to be the subject of conversation, impart the essential unction to the discourse. We brag a good deal of our family stocks, and our ancestral trees, especially when we have no other trees to brag of; and when two or three threadbare gentlemen come together, they keep up their hearts, like El Conde de Montemolin and his Dukes and Marquises, by the most ceremonious observances and respects. But real property is the sterling Nobilitas. Say what we will, we all bow to it. The man who is endowed with it, no matter how lately, or from what beginnings he may have gained it, is the theme of our involuntary praise.”

At Irish tables in the country, the conversation is pretty equally divided between the rem venaticam, and rem by itself, and the " 'quocunque modo rem." The subjects

are usually blended together in an amusing manner. The following instructive interchange of money and money's worth, at Mr. Macarthy's table, may serve for an example.

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"Such a man has a good two thousand a year: as well and could not sufficiently admire the foliage of the trees, paid rents as any in the county."

"Yes, but he owes a great deal of money. If he has eight hundred to spend, 'tis the most. But Daly up yonder-that's the man. A clear five thousand: every penny of it."

"If you had all he wants of it, you'd be the richest man in the present company. By the bye, that was a splendid horse young Daly rode at the last hunt: well he rode him too. Where did he get that horse?"

"Well, you may call him a splendid horse: there's no better blood in the kingdom. He bought that horse from me for 100 guineas. I have his own brother to dispose of, for which I would not take less than 150. In fact, I was offered my price, if I would take a bill in part payment."

or the steeples of the churches (albeit the latter seemed a little out of the perpendicular), which adorned the landscapes unfolded, one after another, to their view.

After that succeeded a review of Berlin wool work, exhibiting dogs, cats, and flowers in every stage of progress. And finally, in a kind of desperation while the candles themselves seemed to nod and flicker under the influence of these drowsy resources, one or two tried what virtue there might be in a book.

The appearance of the gentlemen dissipated the gloom without imparting much vivacity to the scene, for they came in too late. The time for mirth and pleasant converse had nearly passed away, and the aptitude of some of them for ladies' society had been a little impaired. Their coming, however, was an improvement to the aspect of affairs; for although the elderlies formed select groups apart from the general company, for the farther discussion of properties and magisterial functions, the younger ones did their best to be pleasant, and in some instances succeeded. But the whole affair was dull and

"Do you say so? What hounds was he hunted with?" "Why, the Blazers, to be sure. Don't you remember how Tom Browne (Tom of Ballagh) pounded the swells out of Cork that day, the dragoon officers, you know, with the moustaches, near Glengariffe ?" "Ah now-was that the horse? Well, I'd never have unsatisfactory, and Mr. Macarthy could not help lamentknown him. Whom did you get him from?"

ing, as the last carriage left his hall door, that modern

"From Whelan of the Folly. I gave fifty for the pair, convivialities, in comparison with the joyous and friendly when they were rising two and three."

"A good sportsman is that same Whelan, only he keeps himself very much to himself. What's his property?"

hospitalities of byegone times, were remarkably heavy in point of expense, and remarkably insipid in point of social enjoyment.

Mr. Maurice Foley was the only member of the family who appeared on the following morning to retain an agreeable recollection of this entertainment, for he had

"O, faith, he's warm-does not owe a farthing and has money in the bank. What are you laughing at, you sleeveen?" This last question was addressed to a rakish looking fel- received a couple of his own friends, at no expense to low near the other end of the table, who answers

"Will I tell now, Ned? Will I tell?"

himself, and was the richer, besides, by some shillings, which he had all but bespoken by hiding the gentlemen's

"Tell! what do I care what you tell? Come, if hats in a back hall. But all this-he remarked with a you've anything to say, out with it.”

"Well then, all I have to say is, that if Whelan has money in the bank itself, he has one that he can give it to; and that's what you know very well, master Ned. We'll drink Miss Whelan's health, Mr. Macarthy, if you've no objection, in a bumper."

The toast was pledged with uproarious hilarity; and the conversation went on without flagging, from ladies to hunters, and from hunters to rentals, until it was higher than high time to adjourn to coffee and sugar-candy in the other room.

grunt-was "nothing at all to the good old leg-of-mutton days, when, as sure as a gentleman killed a sheep, so sure he would have a dinner party, without the bother of claret jugs and finger glasses, and the butler's whole time taken up in filling the gentlemen's glasses with wine, when it stood to raison and was far more sociable, that every one should help himself and the ladies too."

The following post brought the not-unexpected intimation that the bill passed to the wine merchant had been protested, but as it had been "only protested," that fact did not give much concern to the master of Slobberly Hall. Some time must elapse before farther proceedings could be taken, and so it seemed prudent and consistent with his business habits to dismiss so disagreeable a subject from his mind for the present, relying upon some happy chance, yet in the wheel of fortune, to enable him to wipe away the debt or to propitiate the debtor.

That chance did not turn up. In less time than a

The ladies, in patient expectation of this movement, had endeavoured to wear out the evening by a variety of expedients, foremost among which they tried, until their heads could no longer bear it, that great instrument of execution, the piano. Every young lady's mamma was charmed with every other young lady's singing, and amazed at her improvement, so rapid, so surprising, so self acquired. These were their expressions in the draw-gentleman is apt to suspect, who accustoms his mind to ing-room of Slobberly Hall; but next morning at their respective breakfast tables, as soon as family prayers were over, and the servants gone out of the room, it was curious what a change of opinion had been brought about in the interval of a single night. Then it was a subject of astonishment, which no allowances for parental blindness could repress, how any people could suffer their children

run upon improbable events, in preference to preparing it for those which are sure to come, the first day of term arrived and with it a writ, well known to many generations of the Slobberly family by its classical sobriquet of a Latitat. The boast of one member of the illustrious race was well known. He could paper the largest room in the Hall with copies of originals, which had been

Having stated the place and date of his last service, he was required to produce his discharge.

"Here it is, your honour," he said, "in the master's own writing; ondeniable hand and sail.”’

shown to him and to his fathe, by too obliging process- | profitable to the knaves of a falling house, than to those servers. Mr. Macarthy had received a few similar re- of a master who lives at ease in his possessions. miniscences in his day, and paid dearly for neglecting to give timely attention to them. But, happily for the attorneys, rubs of this kind rarely make those who are accustomed to receive them more cautious. Somehow or other he had hobbled through former difficulties, and was still on his legs, though tottering. Doubtless he need not distress himself by too great eagerness to scramble out of this. He would, therefore, remit to his law agent who could stave it off till the fair of Braree, when-if prices were much better than at present, as who knew but they might be ?-the sale of his store cattle would set every thing right again, and then he would transfer his patronage to another wine merchant.

To many men, including many gentlemen, and not a few of the number Irish gentlemen, a debt is like a decayed tooth, which they would gladly get rid of by any means except the one only known method of having it pulled out by the roots. But wanting resolution for this, they have recourse to creosote, oil of cloves, and mineral succedanea, which may allay the agony for a moment, but which generally have the effect of making it more insupportable in the end, while they taint the adjoining sound teeth, and render them also meet subjects for extraction. It was so in this case. The Latitat at the wine merchant's suit was put out of sight for some weeks, to the great ease and relief of Mr. Macarthy's feelings, as long as he recollected that such a thing had ever disturbed his tranquillity. It was, however, speedily forgotten, and might have remained buried in oblivion to this day, had his adversary been as unmindful as himself.

But the law sleeps not, though it winks. Its processes went on; and in due time the joke-which, while it was a joke, and nothing else, Mrs. Macarthy could not laugh at because it had been so often repeated-was brought home to her door in a practical form, at which the most facetious rarely smile. An execution, which swept away the piano, along with valuables more difficult to dispense with, came into the house, and Mr. Macarthy was reduced to a condition to put the professions of his great friends to the test. They stood it, as the friends of men who will not befriend themselves, generally do. Sir John had no money to lend, and never went security for any man. Lord Dunbrown was extremely sorry that his friends were out of office, otherwise, he would have exerted himself, to have so excellent a sportsman, and so useful a county gentleman made a stipendiary magistrate, or an assistant poor-law commissioner. The gentleman who had sold young Daly the horse, and was supposed to have an eye upon Miss Whelan of The Folly, would have been surprised if a man who, with so encumbered a property, gave claret and moselle, had come to any other end; and Mr. Ryan attributed the calamity wholly to the system of cookery, which had produced fabricated "musharoons" and turkeys without drumsticks.

"There is nothing here," said the gentleman, "about your fitness for a butler's place. This is merely a general character, which would suit any person, no matter what his office might be."

"Why, your honour, hasn't it honest, sober, and quite,' in it? I sartify that he behaved himself honest, sober, and quite ?'"'

The gentleman allowed that it did contain words to that effect.

"And sure nothing can go beyond that," said Maurice; "them's the three essentials of a good keracthur-honest, sober, and quite. You never heard tell of a good butler that had not all them in his keracthur."

"That may be," said the gentleman; "but a man may be all three, and yet a very indifferent butler. At the same time, honesty, sobriety and quietness, would be often very sad things in reality, were we to take our notions of them from the servants out of place, who go about with discharges recommending them for such qualities, under the hands and seals of their late masters.''

Unfortunately, there is too much justice in this observation. Nothing is more frequent than for gentlemen, and ladies too, in Ireland, when they are parting with a servant, to give such testimonials, though sometimes in contradiction to their own knowledge and experience— nay, even in direct opposition to the offence for which they have been induced to dismiss him. This proceeds from what is, unjustly, considered an amiable desire to give the poor fellow another chance, and also from a most lax view of the obligations of truth, which is too prevalent in Ireland, with regard to what are called forms and matters of course.

This heedless fashion of giving undeserved characters to servants, tends directly to demoralize the whole class, by rendering them indifferent about the means of deserving them. The veriest termagant of the kitchen sees no necessity of restraining her temper, while she feels assured that her mistress is too kind a lady to see a poor body out of bread, for want of putting such a little word as "quiet" into her discharge. By the same reasoning, petty pilferings are deemed quite safe, quoad the future character, while a servant keeps his hands from the key of the cellar; and a confirmed muddler, whose breath, from morning to night, betrays his devotion to the concealed bottle in some recess of the pantry, or between the pillow and his bed, may be confident that, while he avoids what the world calls drunkenness, he will go to his next place with the stamp of sobriety legibly indorsed upon him. This is most unwarrantable towards the public in general, and extremely prejudicial to the interests of servants and to their real characters, on which their permanent interests entirely depend.

essen

There was an instant break up of the establishment at Slobberly Hall; and in a few days afterwards, a gentle- Mr. Maurice Foley was not to be persuaded that any man who had dismissed his butler, received an application | body had a right to travel from the record in his case. from Maurice Foley for the vacant place. His occupa- Mr. Macarthy had described him by the three “ tion was gone at Slobberly Hall, and he had walked away tial" attributes; and those three attributes was he. minus a year's wages due to him, but, per contra, pretty As for the omission of his peculiar fitness to clean plate, strong in pickings and stealings, which are often more and take good care of his glasses, to keep lamps in order,

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