They were but shallow impostors, and little knew the task they had in hand; love, fear, joy, anger, may be concealed or feigned, but intense grief, never.

"Hoo, thin, I hear the horn!" said Barney, rising up. "Good-by, father; good-by, mother;" throwing an arm round each of their necks: 66 good-by, Bessy; good-by, Jane;" adding them both to the family embrace: "I'll never see—never see ye agin!"

My boy! my Barney! good-by, goodby!" They all hung together, it was their last embrace they were a compound animal, a human polypus, and they went out clinging to each other, all crying, sobbing, choking, and blubbering together.

In the passage there was another explosion : it was the moonfaced Judy adding herself to the family mass, and "Hoo, thin, good-by, Judy," was heard above all.

Barney's box was on the roof of the coach, himself on the wheel, another step would have done it, when he turned and saw old Rush, the rough old dog who had gone up the mountain with him since he could walk, and was as old as himself. The old dog was standing midway between the family tree and the

severed branch; doubt and wonder were in his ears, and deep despondency in his tail-he clearly did not know what to make of it.

No creature is gifted with such power of mute expression as the dog, he has it at both ends. Can any one be so insensible as not to see in the ears thrown back the most engaging smile, increasing to a laugh, as the tail takes up the feeling? And how unmistakeably does doubt sink into sadness, sadness to grief, grief to despair, an inch at a time, till with a frantic re-action the feature rises into terror between the legs! People when they trim their puppies should remember that they are depriving the poor dogs of their laugh; cutting away smiles as well as gristle, and chopping off the silent eloquence of the passions with every curtailment of the caudal vertebræ.

Hoo, thin, how will I lave him at all?" said the poor boy, jumping down and sobbing till he was half stifled upon his neck; "how will I part him, the cratur, that knows me so long? Will I ever go up the mountain agin with him? I'll never, never, see the ould cratur agin!”

In another minute Barney O'Hay was on his way to Bengal.

1

:

HEAD-BREAKING,

AN Irishman may be called, par excellence, "the bone-breaker" amongst men, the homo ossifragus of the human family; and in the indulgence of this their natural propensity, there is a total and systematic disregard of fair play there is no such thing known, whether at a race or a fight. Let an unfortunate stranger-a man not known in the town or village get into a scrape, and the whole population are ready to fall upon him, right or wrong, and beat him to the ground; when his life depends upon the strength of his skull or the interference of the police. There is no ring, no scratch, no bottle-holder. To set a man upon his legs after a fall is a weakness never thought of. Faith, we were hard set to get him down, and why would we let him

66

up again?" expresses the feeling on such an occasion.

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Sure, it's a Moynehan!" was repeated by fifty voices in a row at Killarney, where all who could come near enough were employed in hitting, with their long blackthorn sticks, at an unfortunate wretch lying prostrate and disabled amongst them. Fortunately, the eagerness of his enemies proved the salvation of the man, for they crowded so furiously together that their blows fell upon each other, and scarcely any reached their intended victim on the ground. It was ridiculous to see the wild way in which they hit one another; but so infuriated were they, that no heed was taken of the blows, or probably in their confusion the hurts were ascribed to the agency of the man on the ground. It was no uncommon thing to see columns, of many hundreds strong, march into Killarney from opposite points, for the sole purpose of fighting on a market-day. Why they fought nobody could tell-they did not know themselves; but the quarrel was a "very pretty quarrel," and no people in the best of causes could go to work more heartily than they did. The screams, and yells, and savage fury of the combatants

would have done credit to an onslaught of Blackfeet or New Zealanders, whilst the dancing madness was peculiarly their own. But in spite of the vocal efforts of the combatants, and the constant accompaniment of the sticks, you could hear the dull thud which told when a blackthorn fell upon an undefended skull.

Next to these faction fights at Killarney, the wildest collection of people I ever saw was at the races near Clonakilty. There they were all friends, at least no rival factions, and if knocking down be a proof of Irish friendship, the general amicability of the assembled multitude was abundantly proved. It was painfully ludicrous to see a man rush from a tent, flourishing his stick, dancing about, and screaming "High for Cloney!"

He is speedily accommodated with a man who objects to the exaltation of Cloney, and pronounces a "High" for some other place. A scuffle ensues, and many hard blows given and taken by those who know nothing of the cause of the row. But in this case the fight is soon over. The women rush in, in spite of the blackthorns-tender Irish epithets are lavished—every man finds himself encircled with, at least, one pair of fair but powerful