a fire in the best room, returned to await the dispersion of the smoke it occasioned. She leaned indolently over a table, with her hands wrapped in her apron, or as she called it, her praskeen, and cast a glance of curiosity, directed alternately at her guests, in anxious hope that they would call for some refreshment. None, however, was demanded until the entrance of Owney, the driver, broke the spell; for he addressed her with

"You would'nt have such a thing as a cuppan * of parliament in the house, Mrs. Gaffney?"

"Och! then, if I would not have that, what would I have, Sir, when I sould the bed from under me to pay the license; and would be sorry to see the barony fined, after the murther we had in the mountains about ould Sulivan's still, last week, and the waylaying of

*Cuppan, a little cup.-Parliament whiskey, that is, licensed.

the exciseman, and two men and one soger kilt in the action. Since the attempt at a rescue made for the Rabragh, never was known the likes in the province of Munster, many a day."

Mrs. Gaffney was helping the driver to a little vessel of licensed whiskey, which he had termed a cuppan of parliament, when the ill-looking man, who sate tête-a-tête with the pedlar, asked, "What's gone of the Rabragh, I wonder?"

"Och! Sir, he's about the world again, I hear tell," replied the landlady, "though never saw him, 'bove all the boys in the county. They say, the Ban-Tierna * had him released from prison last assizes twelvemonth, and went herself to the judges at Tipperary, in regard of her being his foster-sister."

* Ban-Tierna, the female chief; literally, the woman of the chief, or noblewoman. This epithet is occasionally applied to female representatives of noble houses.

"Long may she reign," exclaimed the ill-looking man; "for she's a fine woman, and the poor man's friend.Here's, may she live a thousand years,” and he tossed off a glass of spirits.

"Amen," said the driver, moving his hat reverentially as he pledged the toast, in a voice tremulous with emotion.

"I drink to her in water, wishing it was wine," said the poor man in the chimney corner: "for I come from the land where her forefathers reigned. Here's to the Countess of Clancare."

66

"Why then, if this were the last drop I had in the world," said the driver, drawing his hat over his face, as he advanced in the light, you shall go my halves in it;" and he presented what remained in his cuppan to the water-drinker, who swallowing it eagerly, observed,

"That's the first bit or sup passed my lips the day, barring a dry potatoe

and a draught of water; and came all the ways from the barony of Dunkerron, district of Clancare in Kerry, over bog and mountain, to sell my little bit of an hobby* at the fair of Kittish, to pay the rent of the shed I break my heart under."

Why then, is that hobby with the saddle your's, Sir?" asked the driver. "She is," said the poor man, sighing, "to my sorrow: and a finer bit of a baste for bog or mountain journey doesn't breathe, for all I'm carrying her back with me this night; and offered her for a thirty shilling Cork note and a pair of brogues, to a hawker this morning."

Why then, Sir, see hear," said the driver in a voice full of compassion.

The little hobbies of this country are the most proper to travel through it; and a man must abandon himself entirely to their guidance, which will answer much better than if one should strive to manage and direct their steps.

"If I had the money, myself, I'd take her off your hands the night, if it was only to hire her out by the job to travellers, and to sarve you into the bargain, God help you.'

"Then purchase her for me," said the Commodore, who, with his companion, had stood listening to this local and desultory conversation, uttered in an accent so strange to their ears as not always to be comprehended. The bargain was soon struck, and the owner of the hobby, with eyes streaming with joy, and a tongue profuse in gratitude, received a small sum over the price he had demanded.

"I believe," said the elder stranger, addressing him as he counted out his money, "at least I have read or heard, that your barony of Dunkerron was famous for this small breed of horses?"

“And is so, your honor, to this day, and that's all it is famous for now,

barring St. Crohan's cell, the patron