proportion of charity, doubtless owing to the moreartistic development to which he had brought his profession.
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"De prayers of de holy Joseph be an yez, and relieve de maimed; deprayers and blessins of all de Saints on dem that assists de suffering!"And there were pilgrims, some with heads venerable enough for thecanvass of an old master, with flowing beards, and relics hung roundtheir necks, objects of worship which failed not to create sentiments ofdevotion in the passers-by. But among these many sights and sounds, eachcalculated to appeal to different classes and ages of the motley mass,one object appeared to engross a more than ordinary share of attention;and although certainly not of a nature to draw marked notice elsewhere,was here sufficiently strange and uncommon to become actually aspectacle. This was neither more nor less than an English groom, who,mounted upon a thorough-bred horse, led another by the bridle, andslowly paraded backwards and forwards, in attendance on his master.
"Them's the iligant bastes, Darby," said one of the bystanders, as thehorses moved past. "A finer pair than that I never seen."
"They're beauties, and no denying it," said the other; "and they'veskins like a looking-glass."
"Arrah, botheration t' yez! what are ye saying about their skins?" crieda third, whose dress and manner betokened one of the jank of a smallfarmer. "'Tis the breeding that's in 'em; that's the raal beauty. Onlylook at their pasterns; and see how fine they run off over the quarter."
"Which is the best now, Phil?" said another, addressing the last speakerwith a tone of some deference.
"The grey horse is worth two of the dark chesnut," replied Philoracularly.
"Is he, then!" cried two or three in a breath. "Why is that, Phil?"
"Can't you perceive the signs of blood about the ears? They're long, andcoming to a point--"
"You're wrong this time, my friend," said a sharp voice, with an accentwhich in Ireland would be called English. "You may be an excellentjudge of an ass, but the horse you speak of, as the best, is not wortha fourth part of the value of the other." And so saying, a young andhandsome man, attired in a riding costume, brushed somewhat rudelythrough the crowd, and seizing the rein of the led horse, vaultedlightly into the saddle and rode off, leaving Phil to the mockery andlaughter of the crowd, whose reverence for the opinion of a gentlemanwas only beneath that they accorded to the priest himself.
"Faix, ye got it there, Phil!" "'Tis down on ye he was that time!""Musha, but ye may well get red in the face!" Such and such-likewere the comments on one who but a moment before was rather a popularcandidate for public honours.
"Who is he, then, at all?" said one among the rest, and who had come uptoo late to witness the scene.
"'Tis the young Mr. Leslie, the landlord's son, that's come over to fishthe lakes," replied an old man reverentially.
"Begorra, he's no landlord of mine, anyhow," said Phil, now speaking forthe first time. "I hould under Mister Martin, and his family was herebefore the Leslies was heard of." These words were said with a certainair of defiance, and a turn of the head around him, as though to imply,that if any one would gainsay the opinion, he was ready to stand by andmaintain it. Happily for the peace of the particular moment, the crowdwere nearly all Martins, and so, a simple buzz of approbation followedthis announcement. Nor did their attention dwell much longer on thematter, as most were already occupied in watching the progress of theyoung man, who, at a fast swinging gallop, had taken to the fieldsbeside the lake, and was now seen flying in succession over each dykeand wall before him, followed by his groom. The Irish passion for featsof horsemanship made this the most fascinating attraction of the fair;and already, opinions ran high among the crowd, that it was a racebetween the two horses, and more than one maintained, that "the littlechap with the belt" was the better horseman of the two. At last, havingmade a wide circuit of the village and the green, the riders were seenslowly moving down, as if returning to the fair.
There is no country where manly sports and daring exercises are heldin higher repute than Ireland. The chivalry that has died out in richerlands still reigns there; and the fall meed of approbation will ever behis, who can combine address and courage before an Irish crowd. It isneedless to say, then, that many a word of praise and commendationwas bestowed on young Leslie. His handsome features, his slight butwell-formed figure, every particular of his dress and gesture, hadfound an advocate and an admirer; and while some were lavish in theirepithets on the perfection of his horsemanship, others, who had seen himon foot, asserted, "that it was then he looked well entirely." There isa kind of epidemic character pertaining to praise. The snow-ball gathersnot faster by rolling, than do the words of eulogy and approbation; andso now, many recited little anecdotes of the youth's father, to shewthat he was a very pattern of landlords and country gentlemen, and hadonly one fault in life,--that he never lived among his tenantry.
"'Tis the first time I ever set eyes on him," cried one, "and I hould mylittle place under him twenty-three years come Michaelmas."
"See now then, Barney," cried another, "I'd rather have a hard man thatwould stay here among us, than the finest landlord ever was seen thatwould be away from us. And what's the use of compassion and pity whenthe say would be between us? 'Tis the Agent we have to look to."
"Agent! 'Tis wishing them, I am, the same Agents! Them's the boys hasno marcy for a poor man: I'm tould now"--and here the speaker assumeda tone of oracular seriousness that drew several listeners towardshim--"I'm tould now, the Agents get a guinea for every man, woman, andchild they turn out of a houldin." A low murmur of indignant anger ranthrough the group, not one of whom ventured to disbelieve a testimonythus accredited.
"And sure when the landlords does come, devil a bit they know aboutus--no more nor if we were in Swayden; didn't I hear the ould gentlemandown there last summer, pitying the people for the distress. 'Ah,' sayshe, 'it's a hard sayson ye have, and obliged to tear the flax out of theground, and it not long enough to cut!'"
A ready burst of laughter followed this anecdote, and many similarstories were recounted in corroboration of the opinion.
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"That's the girl takes the shine out of the fair," said one of theyounger men of the party, touching another by the arm, and pointing to atall young girl, who, with features as straight and regular as a classicmodel, moved slowly past. She did not wear the scarlet cloak of thepeasantry, but a large one of dark blue, lined with silk of the samecolour; a profusion of brown hair, dark and glossy, was braided on eachside of her face, and turned up at the back of the head with the graceof an antique cameo. She seemed not more than nineteen years of age, andin the gaze of astonishment and pleasure she threw around her, it mightbe seen how new such scenes and sights were to her.
"That's Phil Joyce's sister, and a crooked disciple of a brother shehas," said the other; "sorra bit if he'd ever let her come to the'pattern' afore to-day; and she's the raal ornament of the place nowshe's in it."
"Just mind Phil, will ye! watch him now; see the frown he's giving theboys as they go by, for looking at his sister. I wouldn't coort a girlthat I couldn't look in the face and see what was in it, av she ownedBallinahinch Castle," said the former.
"There now; what is he at now?" whispered the other; "he's left her inthe tent there: and look at him, the way he's talking to ould Bill; he'stelling him something about a fight; never mind me agin, but there'll be'wigs on the green' this night."
"I don't know where the Lynchs and the Connors is to-day," said theother, casting a suspicious look around him, as if anxious to calculatethe forces available in the event of a row. "They gave the Joyces theirown in Ballinrobe last fair. I hope they're not afeard to come downhere."
"Sorra bit, ma bouchai," said a voice from behind his shoulder; and atthe same moment the speaker clapped his hands over the other's eyes:"Who am I, now?"
"Arrah! Owen Connor; I know ye well," said the other; "and His yourselfought not to be here to-day. The ould father of ye has nobody butyourself to look after him."
&
nbsp; "I'd like to see ye call him ould to his face," said Owen, laughing:"there he is now, in Poll Dawley's tent, dancing."
"Dancing!" cried the other two in a breath.
"Aye, faix, dancing 'The little bould fox;' and may I never die in sin,if he hasn't a step that looks for all the world as if he made a hookand eye of his legs."
The young man who spoke these words was in mould and gesture the
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