ey went up to dress for dinner. Walter Blake was an effeminate-looking, slight-made man, about thirty or thirty-three years of age; good looking, and gentlemanlike, but presenting quite

utt of one. Nevertheless, his society was greatly sought after. On matters connected with racing, his word was infallible. He rode boldly, and always rode good hor

assed man, of good property, strictly entailed, and, when Walter came of age, he and his father, who could never be happy in the same house, though possessing in most things similar tastes, had made such a disposition of the estate, a

losely as the person whom he paid for doing so. But it was in the betting-ring that he was most formidable. It was said, in Kildare Street, that no one at Tattersall's could beat him at a book. He had latterly

not mind "the dot and carry on" part of the business; meaning thereby, that he did not attend to the necessary calculations. For a short time after giving this piece of friend

Lodge, though there was nothing to be done in the way of racing for months to come. Yet Blake knew his business too well to suppose that his presence was necessary on

topics, when the waiter knocked at the door and informed th

the only one that I've got; a sort of subagent, and a fifteenth cousin, to boot, I believe. I am going to p

title-deeds. When I want lawyer's business done, I go to a lawyer; and when I want to borrow money, I go to my own man of business; he m

I don't put my nose into that little back room, but what every wor

't think you'll make money by being afraid of your agen

wn myself much afraid; but I don't choose to make him my guardian, just when he's

over there from the

t like me a bit too well, when I'

pated old Don doesn't mean to close his doors against you, what business has he to inquire where you came from? I suppos

l Fanny's of age. She only wants a month of it now; and then I can

that not so very long ago; and his own son, Kilcullen, is deeper a good deal on the turf than I am, and, by a long chalk less likely to pull through, a

es Dublin agree with you?" And, "I hope I se

l at Dunmore and

, except Sim Lynch-and he's dead. Bu

here's promotion. Peter Mahon, that was the agent at Cas

re's some of Sim's breed still left at Dunmore. I

st the gentleman's friend that he spoke of; and doubtless h

till I know he deserves it. Well, Frank, I'll go and dress, and

lord," began Martin. "May-be he mayn't be so bad. Not bu

m? There's not more friendship, I suppose, betwee

s why I'd wish you not to belittle the Lynches. Your lo

y, except when I thrashed Barry at Eton, for calling himself the son of a gentleman.

it was dark, his blushes couldn't be seen. So, after dangling his hat about for a minut

, your lordship, I mane-I

from his recumbent position on the sofa, "You don't

wered Martin; "av' y

can I object? Why, she's six

lord, I think's

d I don't suppose you ow

[10] to your lordship-and we

se the idea; "and now, Martin, tell me all about it,-how the devil you managed it-when it's to come off-and h

one, you won't, with

know. She mayn't like Toneroe. But tell m

ou anything. I didn't say I was going to marry her-at

rry her, or rather, is she goin

ur lordship just how it is. You

y, I was at Kelly's

d didn't hear how Barry tried to come round his sisther, when he heard how the w

you wouldn't let me call a

's own people bad names. Not that he belongs to me yet, and may-be never will.

im when he's your brother-in-law. But how did

they set her up to going to old Moylan-he that receives the rents on young Barron's property, away at Strype. Moyla

ows the value of a name at the back o

s an honest old fellow, is Moylan

because he belongs to you. You know

and you may be sure Barry'd have to get up very 'arly before he'd come round him. Well, after a little, the ould chap came to me one morning, and asked me all manner of questions-whether I knew Anty Lynch? whether we didn't

tin, eh? if it wasn't

ying that, as he was Anty's agent, of course he wouldn't see her wronged. 'Quite right, Mr. Moylan,' says I; 'and, as I mane to be her husband, I won't see her wronged neither.' 'Ah! but,' says he, 'I mane that I must see her property properly settled.' 'Why not?' says I, 'and isn't the best way for her to marry? and then, you know, no one can schame her out of it. There's lots of them schamers about now,' says I. 'That's thrue for you,' says he, 'and they're not far to look for,'-and that was thrue, too, my lord, for he and I were both schaming about poor Anty's money at that m

Lynch, or Barry, for the biggest rogues in Connaught-to

in course it was but right that they should settle it so that av' I died first, the poor crature shouldn't be out of her money. But I didn't let on to him about all that; for, av' he was angered, the ould fool might perhaps

e been the sharpest rogue of the two! Is there

my lord; but there'll be two, plaze G

the good company. But let me hear how on earth you ever g

rom that day out-from afther Moylan's visit, you know-I began really to think of it. I'm sure the ould robber meant

her honest m

e he's a far-off cousin of your own, and

d! But go

ke to pull down Barry Lynch; and my second that I'd not demane myself by marrying the sisther of such an out-and-out

d after that himself. If those are all your sc

irls helped me. They put it into her head, I think, before I mentioned it at all. However, by degrees, I aske

t at her? I'm told Barry watches her like a d

er way down to mother's shop now and again. Or, for the ma

may marry whom she pleases, and needn't tell him, u

. She's fond of Barry, though, for the life of me, I can't see what there is in him for anybody to be fond of. He and his father led her the divil's own life mewed up there, because she wouldn't be a nun. B

must do something ext

t I wanted was, to ask your lords

tion for marrying a wife with four hundred a-year. But, if

my lord. T

ould take out of my schoolfellow, Barry. Not but that I think you're a deal too good to be his brother-in-law. And you know, Kelly, or ought t

oming to. What'd your l

yourself how the matter stands. Tal

in her. She wouldn't do

at once. I suppose yo

did. He'd bully the life out of her, o

nth or so. When he's out, let the priest w

d he smells something in the wind. There's that blackguard Moylan, too, he'd be telli

p here, or in Galway or down in Connemara, or

at I'm thinking myself. Unless I take her o

that? I think you're quite right; and what's more, I think you

ttle talking, I

man? Hurry down, and off with her! I th

my lord, I'd bett

o! What is ther

ey; that is, in course, I wouldn't marry her without it. And I tould her, out open, before her face, and before the girls, that, av' she'd ten times as much, I wouldn't marry her unless I was to be masther, as lo

fterwards. When she's once Mrs Kelly, yo

d, it's difficult to unsay it. The like of me, my lord, can't do things like you noblemen and gentry. Besides, mother'd never forgive me. They think, down there, that poor Anty's simple like; tho' she's cute enough, av' they

At any rate you're on the right side.

self when I die, and on her children, av' she has any,-so that I couldn't spend it you know; she could sign it, and so coul

'm no lawyer, but I should think there'd not be muc

ther John's people; they're attorneys; but it's about robberies, and hanging, and such things they're most engaged; and I was thinking, av' your lordship wouldn't

wyers-that's my friend that was sitting here-and I've no doubt we'll get the matt

yourself! I knew you'd stick by me. And shall I

ll meet me there. Grey and Forrest's the name; it's in Cl

I suppose I'm de trop then. Only mind, dinner's ordered for

ou know; and you needn't mind my telling Mr Blake. Here's this fellow going to el

n indecently dishonest clergyman would have

commend one. But at present he wants a lawyer; and, as I h

ready to do anything in the wa

wouldn't he, Blake? It's a s

up five, for my five sisters, and thereby ru

-morrow, wouldn't he?

we're to be off early. We ought

see him at ten?"

ished to see him, at his office, at ten o'clock the next morning; it was also agreed that Martin shoul

n as the door was closed, "and ha

I've not

going to elope with an heiress, h

ling me all about this woman before I thought of my own concerns-and I didn't like to be talking to him of

me, ca thee,' as the Scotch call it, is the best system to go by. I never do, or ask, a favour

s. After all, that'll be the bes

ll lend it you as long as you've means to repay it; and I'm

med to do for him, for he soon roused himself, and said, "I wonder how the devil, Dot, you do without borrowing? My income's larger than yours, bad as it is; I've only three horses in training, a

cond, I haven't a mother; in the third, I haven't a pack of hounds; in the fourth,

jointure; as for the hounds, they eat my own potatoes; and as for the title, I don't sup

But, the truth is, I manage better; I know where my money goes to, and you don't; I work hard, and you don't; I spend my money on what's necessary to my style of living, you spend yours on what's not necessary. What the deuce have the fellows in Mayo and Roscommon done for you,

l my grandfather got the property, and they looked upon him as no better than an old woman, because he gave them up. Besides, I sup

ou'll go and live at Paris, Florence, or Naples, and there'll be another end of the O'Kellys, for thirty or forty years, as far as Ireland's concerned. You'll never do for a poor country lord; you're not sufficiently proud, or stingy. You'

one thousand go as far as five, I've sense enough to see that a poor absentee la

ll poor men are curses, to

f; and, if he doesn't give his neighbours the profit which must arise somewhere, from his own consumption, he can gi

oor devil waiting for his dinner. At present, give your profit to Morrison, and come

ch the thoughts of his poverty had brought on, and he spent the rest of the evening comfortably enough, listening to his friend's comical version of Shell's speech; receiving instruction

ir wine, they sauntered in

hem very sanguine of late. Lord Ballindine found himself the centre of a little sporting circle, as being the man with the crack nag of the day. He was talked of, courted, and appealed to; and, I regret to say, that before he left the club he was again nearly forgetting Kelly's Court and Miss Wyndham, had altogether go

in the morning he was to be seen standing on one of the tables at Burton Bindon's oyster-house, with a pewter pot, full of porter, in his hand, and insisti

ers were so drunk that they could understand nothing; as, otherwise, the publicity of h

; and, after being there for some half hour, left the office, with the assurance that, whenever he and the lady might please

two o'clock the next day, Martin left, by the boat, for Ballinaslie, having evinced his patriotism by paying a year's subscription