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These words were a joyful sound to our travellers, as with delighted steps they once more trod on terra firma, on their way to the door of the Canal Inn, where stood a slatternly dressed woman, shading a miserable candle with her hand (in default of a lantern.) It was pitch dark, more from the cloudiness of the night than the lateness of the hour: and a considerable time elapsed before the vociferous demand for lights was answered. In the mean time a universal uproar arose between the passengers, the people belonging to the boat and the inn, and those assembled to be listeners, for they could not be called spectators in the total darkness. Portmanteaux, trunks, bags, bundles, and bandboxes, were missent and scuffled for without end. At last "Order, Heaven's first law," and the prime cheerer Light, "of all material beings first and best," made their appearance together, and the Webberly party entered this cold comfortless inn. It had been built by an English speculator, who ruined himself in the project, and remains very nearly as he left it, the walls unpapered, the floors uncarpeted; the only change it has undergone since he was its proprietor being the breaking of the bell-wires and the spoiling of the locks. Two or three women serve in the double capacity of chambermaids and waiters. Each room shows that it once had a bell; but you are soon fatally convinced, that, to procure any thing you want, you must trust to vocal exertions alone. To the never-ceasing cry of "Waiter! Chambermaid!" the answer is something similar to the following, which assailed our travellers' ears soon after their entrance:—"Arrah an't I go—ing? sure I'm going! Sweet Jasus presarve me! I can't answer all the quality at oncest. Molly here, and Molly there, and Molly every where; my brain's moidered, so it is. Och! Mollying on ye, an't I going?" Mrs. Sullivan's servant, provoked at this harangue, thundered out, "You're always go—in;—I don't want you to go; can't you come for once and be damned to you?"

At last, after considerable delay, Molly procured our chilled party a turf fire and tea; but the water it was made with was so smoked, they could hardly taste it, and their patience underwent a second trial, waiting for a fresh supply. As Molly left the room, after bringing them this second edition, she muttered to herself, "A pretty lady that, with the brown peepers, and soft spoken too; if it wasn't for her, the devil a foot I'd go near one of them to-night. By the holy sticks, my mistress must get another maid. I can't be at every one's becks and commands; and then it's the worst word in their cheek after all."

Our weary party retired to their rooms as soon as they could accomplish having their apartments prepared, and had just fallen into a sound sleep when they were roused by a violent ringing of an immense bell. "Oh Lord have mercy on me!" shuddered out Mrs. Sullivan: "I thought we should have foundered in that 'ere melancholic bog, but now we're a going to perish by fire." A general rencontre in night-caps and dressing-gowns took place in the lobby. Again Molly's shrill voice was heard screaming out, "What a botheration you all keep! be aff to your beds wid ye. Might'n ye be after knowing it was only the up country boat coming in?" Molly's advice was immediately followed; but it was long before the house was quieted from the disturbance occasioned by the fresh arrival. Two hours after another boat came in with equal commotion, and the inn was but a short time silent from this new disturbance, when the warning bell rung for the packet to proceed, in which the Webberly family had come from Dublin. Many a female started up on hearing Boots enter her room by mistake, for that of some male passenger he had promised to call; and he as quickly retreated over the frail barricade of boxes and chairs she had placed against the door, to supply the place of key or bolt. To sleep was now impossible, therefore all our party got up: though Mrs. Sullivan the evening before had declared, she wouldn't go in a canal boat again not for St. Peter nor St. Paul. The Irish are perhaps the most noisy people in the world; the din of tongues on such occasions as the present, can better be fancied than described—every man committing his own business to the charge of some other person, and turning his particular attention to directing that of his neighbour.

The gentlemen, on looking out of the windows, saw many a comical figure issue from the house, some in Welsh wigs, some in red night-caps. Mrs. Sullivan's friend, of the blue satin hat and yellow poplin pelisse, now showed her jolly face, decked with numerous papillotes from beneath a fur cap, and her expansive shoulders wrapped in a scarlet cloak, her finery in her hand, as she had but a few miles to go ere she reached home.

Molly returned to her general good humour this morning, having few guests to attend to besides Mrs. Sullivan's family; and, to make up for her ill temper the night before, was particularly attentive, providing them with unsmoked water for their tea, and with bread, butter, eggs, and cream, of the best quality. They did not fail to profit by her care; and having made an excellent repast, prepared to recommence their journey. Mrs. O'Sullivan, as she now called herself, offered Colonel Desmond and Mr. Donolan seats in her carriages, which had arrived that morning from Dublin, from whence they had been sent two days before. These two gentleman accepting this accommodation, Caroline was consigned to the care of the maids, to make room for the dilettante in the barouche, Colonel Desmond taking the place of the servant on the driving seat.

Mrs. O'Sullivan vainly attempted to practise towards the lower Irish the "genteel economy" she had so successfully carried into effect in Wales. The dexterous Hibernians, either by flattering or wounding her pride, contrived to draw forth, bon grÉ mal grÉ, the money out of her pockets. As she was walking out of the Canal Inn, Molly ran after her, saying, "May I make bould to spake a word to your Ladyship?" At the word Ladyship, Mrs. Sullivan turned round. "You've made a small mistake, madam; it was tree tirteens (three shillings) you intended to bestow me, and its tree testers (three sixpences) I've got." "No mistake at all, my good girl." "Och! put your hand in your purse, and you'll see I'm right. Grand quality like you always gives me tree tirteens: my Lady Glenora always bestows it me every time she comes forenenst me." "Are you sure that's true?" "Arrah where did you ever hear that Molly Cavanagh tould a lie? May the breakfast I'm after eating be my poison, and the devil blow me, if it isn't as right as my leg." Mrs. Sullivan, that she might exceed Lady Glenora, gave her three and sixpence. Molly now tapped Adelaide on the shoulder, and presented her with a beautiful nosegay she had pulled from the inn gardens; but when she saw her proceeding to open her purse, laying her hand on her arm, she stopped her, saying with a half reproachful look of sorrow, "Is it you that's going to affront poor Molly? You're under no compliment to me at all. You gave me entirely too much before. I'll warrant me you're a grand lady when you're at home. You're as beautiful and as sweet as the posy yourself; and may your pretty brown eyes never look but on a friend, I pray God!" Adelaide, with one of her most charming smiles, and in the sweetest tone of her dulcet voice, thanked Molly for her good will; and as she stepped into the carriage thought to herself, "How my heart would ache, to see the kindness of these warm-hearted people treated with the scorn I fear is too often the only return it meets!" Colonel Desmond, directing the drivers to take that road which would most quickly lead them out of the bog of Allen, in a short time they got into a rich and beautiful country, and their ears were gratified by hearing the carriage wheels rattle against good hard stones. They had not long proceeded on this road, when their progress was impeded by a barricade of cars drawn across it, and a number of men immediately surrounded the carriages. Mrs. Sullivan, terrified to death, said in a very low voice, "They're going to rob and murder us;—what horrid looking creturs they be!" "They can have no such intention in broad day-light, my dear madam," whispered Adelaide. "Do look at them again; I assure you they seem perfectly good natured." One of the men, hat in hand, now stepped before the rest, saying, "Mending roads is dry work, your honours, this hot day; be pleased to give the poor boys something to drink." Shillings and sixpences were thrown to them in profusion. "Success to your cattle and carriage! Long life and a happy death to your honours!" resounded from all sides; and when the cars were removed, the hurraing setting the horses off in a full gallop, it was some time before the drivers could restrain them to a proper pace. About half an hour after this adventure, a stout but strange looking man, without stockings or shoes, though otherwise well clad, darted out of a house at the side of the road, and, without uttering a single syllable, ran beside the carriage for some miles. Mrs. Sullivan was again alarmed, supposing him to be the scout of robbers she expected to see start up from behind every stone or turf fence. Her fears were quieted by being told he was what in Ireland called "an innocent;" that is, a knave too idle to labour, who lives—not by his wits—but by pretending he has none. The profession of idiotism is one that always secures its followers a good maintenance in this country, and is considered by no means disreputable. Some one of this brotherhood frequents almost every high road, keeping up in this manner with the mail coaches and other carriages, till his strength, which appears miraculous, is exhausted, or till his extended hat has received money sufficient to satisfy him.

All the rest of the day the cavalcade proceeded most prosperously, through a rich and populous country, seeing ugly or pretty towns, and stopping at good or bad inns. At one of their earliest stages, Mrs. Sullivan was much provoked to recognize in the landlady her packet-boat friend, who asked her, with a self-conceited simper, if she had said a word too much for her house. In the course of the evening they entered Connaught, when the scenery gradually became more wild and romantic, with bold masses of rock, and beautiful sheets of water, called in the country loughs.

Mr. Donolan did not fail to profit by the opportunity, which being shut up in the carriage with Cecilia Webberly afforded him, of making the most sentimental love to her that was possible; though he was far from sure he should find it expedient to proceed further than fine speeches, for he felt nothing bordering on attachment to her. Perhaps his heart was enveloped in too many silken folds of vanity and self-love, for the charms of any woman to touch it with real affection; but a confused idea floated in his mind, that, by marrying her, he might be enabled to reside in England sooner than he otherwise could accomplish. Of her large fortune he was perfectly assured; he thought her very handsome, supposed her equally fashionable, and therefore determined, in the first instance, to endeavour to gain her affections, leaving his own decisions to futurity. She, on her part, thinking a lover might prove a very agreeable resource against the ennui she anticipated at Ballinamoyle, encouraged his attentions pro tempore, resolving, should they ever meet in England, to "cut him:—he knew nobody in London, therefore could be a man of no fashion." Thus this heartless pair mutually imposed on each other, whilst they plumed themselves on being the sole deceiver. Miss Webberly, on the contrary, began seriously to think "he would make a charming husband—so scientific! so agreeable!" Cecilia, suspecting her incipient partiality, for the sake of what she called fun, flirted incessantly with the dilettante, and retailed to Amelia all his florid compliments, which conduct made her sister still more envious of her beauty than ordinary.

Mr. Webberly and his companion in the barouche seat had but little conversation, though their thoughts were principally occupied by the same object. The taciturnity of the former, however, was enlivened by the idea of his fellow-traveller being thus effectually separated from Adelaide, during the greater part of their remaining journey. At the end of every stage there was a race between them, to hand Miss Wildenheim out of the carriage, where she generally sat bodkin between Mrs. Sullivan and Amelia, in order to avoid receiving that sign manual of Mr. Webberly's attention he had so graciously bestowed in Wales, and which was as little approved by his mother as coveted by herself. Colonel Desmond, being much more active and adroit than his youthful but unwieldy competitor, almost always gained the fair hand they contended for, at the same time giving his lovely mistress many an arch look and gesture of affected pity for his rival's disappointment. Sometimes they pulled open both the carriage doors at the same instant; in that case Mrs. O'Sullivan or her daughter pushed herself forward, so as to prevent her exit at the side on which their precious relative stood; and Adelaide's countenance then involuntarily betrayed how much she was amused at the unnecessary trouble they put themselves to.

Mrs. O'Sullivan being rather fatigued with her journey, was much rejoiced, when about seven in the evening she was informed they were entering the village of Ballycoolen, which was to be their resting place for the night. This miserable place consists of but one long straggling street, with houses built of all shapes and in all directions, forming, with each other, every possible angle, except a right angle, a straight line seeming to have formed no part of the builder's intentions.

Mrs. O'Sullivan's servant had been sent on before, to prepare their accommodation: he was standing at the door of a wretched tenement; and though by no means a very tall man, his hat touched the upper window, for the house was so built that you descended a few steps to enter it. The still despair of an English face was expressed in his, as with the utmost quietness he said to his mistress, "It is impossible, ma'am, you can put up here; you never saw such a slovenly place in your life." "I am sorry to say," replied Colonel Desmond, in answer to her interrogatories, "there is no better between this and Ballinamoyle: you may remember, I told you, the canal would take you out of the direction of the high road, and that you would be very miserably accommodated; you will now have to put up with a carman's inn."

There was no option; therefore the ladies entered through a kitchen, which also served as bar and larder. A set of carmen were sitting drinking whisky punch and smoking tobacco (the same pipe passed from one mouth to another in turn); they very civilly rose, and went out, till the newly arrived and unusual guests should make their arrangements. The ladies were shown into a parlour, where a pretty looking, but bare legged and bare footed girl, was turning up a press bed, that had remained untouched since the last occupier had slept in it. They agreed to walk out till this place should be swept, and get "a wipe," as the maid called dusting it, previously pushing up the window sash with some difficulty, as the paint stuck together, from the length of time it had been unopened. To the inquiry for beds, she answered, "Troth, we've four brave good beds; and ye'z can have dry lodging at Susy Gologhan's, or Gracy Fagan's, over the way, there beyant, for the sarvant maids and the boys." Mrs. Sullivan declined ascending to the second story, when she saw the house had no regular stairs, but that merely a sort of ladder, without any thing to serve as bannister, led to the loft above. The Miss Webberlys declaring once going up would be enough for them, requested Adelaide to reconnoitre the premises. "You know, Miss Wildenheim," said Amelia, "you're used to travelling in outlandish places; and an't afraid of nothing.—I think I'll sit up all night, rather than mount the ladder, and walk along that unrailed passage." Adelaide, quickly ascending the redoubtable ladder, opened a door the maid pointed to, which led into a small close room, with two beds.—It was lighted by three little panes of glass fastened in the wall, but looking up, she saw a large door with one hinge broken, laid against an aperture in the roof, which she determined to turn to account, and begged it might be set open to admit fresh air into the apartment. "Have you not another room?" said she. "Aye, sure, and that we have, dear," replied the maid, leading her along the passage. They went into a second, rather closer and smaller than the first, with no friendly hole in the roof, to admit the breath of heaven to visit it. Adelaide, looking on the bedstead, perceived the bed clothes move, and, out of a mass of black hair, saw two dark eyes shoot fire at her. "Pray, what's that?" said she, catching hold of her attendant's arm. "Och! it's only the poor soldier, Miss, just come back to his people, from the big battles over seas; but he'll give his bed to you, with all the pleasure in life, if you fancy it, Miss."—"Not on any account," quietly replied Adelaide, as she quickly retreated to the passage—"I should be very sorry to disturb him. Mrs. O'Sullivan will sleep below stairs; and we young ladies can occupy the double-bedded room: will you have the goodness to show me your sheets?" These she was surprised to find not only white, but fine, forgetting that linen was the staple manufacture of the country, though but lately introduced into this district.

This affair being settled, she joined the party in a walk; and, on their return, they found their little parlour laid out tolerably comfortably for tea; the kitchen, through which they had to pass, was swept clean; all traces of the carmen, their punch, and tobacco, had disappeared; and they might, by diverting themselves with the oddity of their situation, have found amusement for the evening, had not the Webberly family, encouraged by the dilettante, made, every five minutes, some acrimonious speech against the country and its inhabitants, which rendered themselves inclined to find every thing even more uncomfortable than it really was. Adelaide was pained by the rudeness of this conduct to Colonel Desmond, who, however, treated it as it deserved, and quizzing them all from right to left, his raillery soon silenced Felix and Amelia, who had sense enough to understand his ridicule. Tea was scarcely over, when the most extraordinary uproar was heard. Every man, woman, and child in the village seemed to have assembled about the house, all talking in the most vehement manner!

The gentlemen, much alarmed, went out to inquire "what was the matter?" and beheld two men, sawing across the wood-work of the upper part of the gateway belonging to the inn yard, which was too low to admit Mrs. O'Sullivan's carriages. As usual, when any thing is done out of doors in Ireland, every person within ken had repaired to the scene of action. Two out of three were giving contradictory directions, whilst the operators were swearing tremendously at the crowd, bidding them "go along about their business." "Hard for us to do that same!" answered one, in the name of the rest, "when sarra hand's turn of business we're got to our kin or kin kind, till shearing time comes, barring sitting in the chimney corner doing nothing." Messieurs Webberly and Donolan took this inauspicious moment to rate at the men who were sawing the gateway, expressing, in no very gentle terms, their dissatisfaction with the inn, and all its appurtenances. The men suspended their operations; and one of them, crossing his arms, his head on one side, and his chin stuck out with a gesture of contempt, said, in a drawling tone, as he looked down on them, from the top of the gateway, "Och! then, and it's grander quality than ever ye were have been here, and never gave me no bother at all at all! Upon my sowl, myself is cruel misgiving ye are but half sirs, both of ye'z. It's long before you'd see the Curnel, that's the real sort, (long life to his honour,) take on him so! If ye don't like the place, in the name of the Lord, make aff wid ye'z: if ye can't be agreeable, by the powers, we'd rather have your room nor your company."—"But where would ye see the likes of the Curnel any how?" rejoined a female orator of the assembly. "Sarra man, within twenty miles of himself, that's the fellow of his brother, for standing a poor man's friend on a pinch! It's the family that have been good to me and mine, these hundred year before I was born, and will be after I'm dead, if I've any luck."

The greater part of these harangues was unintelligible to Mr. Webberly, but the dilettante understanding the dialect of the country, though he often pretended he did not, as in the present instance, took his companion's arm, and, without proffering another syllable, walked into the house.

In nothing do the lower Irish show their quickness of apprehension more decidedly, than in distinguishing, as it were at a glance, what they call "the real quality," that is, those who inherit a certain station in society, from "les nouveaux riches." Their exact discrimination on this subject is quite astonishing. Mrs. O'Sullivan could not perhaps have visited ten cottages in Ireland, whose inmates would not, in a few minutes, have discovered she was a low bred woman, who attempted to give herself airs of consequence. During her stay in this country, this foible was every where perceived, and profited by. The adroit flattery she received, on this favourite point, perhaps drew more money from her than she had ever before, in a given space of time, spent gratuitously, either from motives of charity or of generosity. The cunning arts, that opened her purse, were, undoubtedly, highly reprehensible in a moral point of view. But why should we expect more upright disinterestedness from the ignorant and necessitous class of mankind, than we hourly meet with from the independent members of the upper ranks of society, who will delude a king or an emperor, with as little compunction as the poor Irish cottager cheated Mrs. O'Sullivan? In the latter instance, however, the mischief began and ended with the parties concerned; whilst in the former, generations yet unborn may mourn the evils resulting from base adulation.

As all the party assembled in the inn parlour were, with the exception of Adelaide and the merry little Caroline, out of temper, they, by a sort of tacit agreement, separated at an early hour. The parlour was then converted into a sleeping room, for Mrs. O'Sullivan and Caroline, a bed being constructed for the latter with the carriage cushions, and a contribution of pillows. When the Miss Webberlys ascended the ladder leading to their apartment, the maid of the house went before, and the mistress behind, to help them up; the former holding a candle, stuck into a hole scooped out of a large potato, all the candlesticks the inn was possessed of, three in number, being appropriated to the use of the ladies. Adelaide had reserved the worst looking bed to herself, and was scarcely deposited in it, when down she sunk, and a more romantic imagination might have supposed some such adventure was going to occur, as was said frequently to have happened in a remote auberge in the Black Forest, where travellers were drawn down through trap doors, and murdered. But she was only alarmed by the dread of the less heroic death of being knocked on the head by the bed posts. Springing up with the utmost expedition, she found, to her great delight, that the bedstead was perfectly secure; but, proceeding in her search as to the cause of her recent disaster, discovered that the sacking, which ought to have been laced to support the bed, had been deprived of its cord, in order to apply it to some other use. It never was, and most likely, never will be replaced; but the bed, being dexterously poised on the edge of the boards which connect the posts, will give the same surprise to every one who sleeps in it, for many a year to come. After no little laughter, Adelaide went into bed again, just as it was; and the inn being perfectly quiet, all its visitants slept till a late hour the following morning. After breakfast they recommenced their journey; and as they repaired to the carriages, their attention was attracted, by hearing the woman who had been so warm in praise of the Desmond family the evening before, say to her friend (carrying a basket of gingerbread on her arm), with the utmost seriousness of countenance and vehemence of gesticulation, "The low-lived blackguard! to even such a thing at me! All my people that went before me, and all that came after me, were gintlemin and gintle la—dies. See dat now, Susy dear!" Our party were not a little entertained at the figure and gesture of this extraordinary sprig of gentility, and continued to look after her as long as the carriages were in sight.

In the course of the morning they reached Tuberdonny, which was within a few miles drive of Ballinamoyle, but here only one pair of horses could be procured; they therefore had the pleasant prospect of spending another night as agreeably as the last, as no more horses were expected there till the following day. For some hours they found amusement in viewing the antiquities of Kilmacduagh, close by, consisting of seven antique churches; an abbey, with very curious workmanship on its walls; and the most remarkable round tower in Ireland, constructed with immense stones, which rises to the height of one hundred and twelve feet, and, strange to say, leans seventeen feet out of the perpendicular, which is four more than the celebrated leaning tower at Pisa.

As the travellers returned towards the place where the carriages had been put up, they saw five horses, mounted by twice as many men and boys, galloping furiously down the street; and, at the sight of the servants in livery, the riders set up such a hurraing as was quite deafening. Jumping quickly off, two or three of them came up with "Long life to your honours! Myself's right glad to see your honours!" "Why, what the devil do you know about our honours?" said Colonel Desmond, laughing. "Didn't I hear at Kurinshagud, that your honour passed through Ballycoolen, in two carriages? and haven't I been hunting ye all round the country this blessed morning, thinking you might want cattle? It's I that will drive you to the world's end in a crack!" The horses were soon harnessed, and Colonel Desmond and Mr. Donolan, after handing the ladies into the carriage, made their parting bows, and pursued their way to Bogberry Hall.

Mrs. O'Sullivan did not reach Ballinamoyle till half past twelve at night; for the horses, being not much the better for the morning's chase, proceeded but slowly up a mountainous road. From the lateness of the hour, she did not, on that night, see Mr. O'Sullivan; who, finding himself indisposed in the evening, had unwillingly retired to bed, delegating the task of receiving his guests to his cousin, an ancient virgin, who presided over his mÉnage, and who gave the travellers, if not a courtly, at least a cordial reception; and, after doing the honours of an excellent supper, conducted them to their sleeping rooms, which they most gladly occupied, and enjoyed all the luxury of the sensation of comfort, as they compared them to those they had the night before inhabited, in the miserable cabaret at Ballycoolen.

END OF VOL. II.

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Printed by S. Hamilton, Weybridge, Surrey.

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[Transcriber's Note: Hyphen variations within volume and between volumes left as printed.]