the rights of vassalage had given their forefathers three hundred years before. These personages, from the retired life in which they were brought up, had little intercourse with the world, and resolved all their thoughts and actions to a standard founded on the customs of their ancestors, and not a little on their sole will and discretion. If one of those Chieftains happened to be of savage or violent. dispositions, nothing but the fear of a fellowpotentate would prevent him from resorting frequently to oppression and cruelty, and the injured had no refuge but in the protection of some rival Chief-this was rarely denied to the suppliant; and, as the oppressor knew that a call would be made upon him, which the honour of Ireland rendered it impossible for him to refuse, he frequently stopped short in his career of tyranny. If he chose, however, to persevere at all risks, he was generally removed from the scene of life, a victim to his own bad passions and misconduct. As the country became more open and civilized, these causes of complaint, in a great measure, disappeared. The laws became usefully and generally opera、

tive, and causes of aggravated oppression were seldom heard of.

There were other injuries, however, which custom continued to refer to personal decision. An Irish gentleman rarely troubled a court of law with libel or defamation; he took justice into his own hands, and if that atonement which the code of honour authorised him to exact, was refused by the offending party, his character suffered so much in general estimation, that any thing short of excessive vengeance was fully satisfied by his degradation. Grievances of another kind, also, were referred to this sort of decision; -any slight offered towards a lady set all her relations in a blaze; and if a gentleman trifled with female affections, no special jury was empanelled, no florid advocate was employed, no pecuniary damages were awarded a father, a brother, or a cousin to the remotest degree, was ever ready to do battle in the cause, and the delinquent paid with his best blood the forfeit of his indiscretion. We are, however, getting into the refinement of our English masters; and, if the gentleman unties his pursestrings handsomely, his pistols may occasionally

be dispensed with. But to return to my story.

It was late next morning when the family at Castle Carra assembled at the breakfasttable. Major O'Hara was reading the newspapers, when his son and the ladies entered together. After the usual inquiries of the morning, the Major handed a letter to Henry, and at the same time mentioned generally its contents. The sudden death of Sir Philip Blood, Member for the County of

was announ

ced; and O'Hara observed, that in expectation of that event taking place, which had been long expected, from the late Member's delicate state of health, a large and respectable body of the Freeholders had communicated their wishes of putting him in nomination for their representation. He remarked, that were his own feelings to direct him, he should at once decline the intended honour, but he conceived himself called upon to assert the independence of the county, by acceding to their wishes, and offering himself as a candidate. Preliminary measures had been already arranged, and he should go off to Newbridge, to meet a Com

mittee of the Electors, and (he continued with a smile) as a canvass would occupy him for some days, he must confide the seneschalship of his castle, and the defence of the fair dames who honoured it with their presence, to the heir-apparent. In a short time after, he ordered his horses, and took leave of his guests.

Lady Sarah was charmed with the idea of an election, with its balls and bustle-it would be quite delightful; and to prepare dresses of party-colours for herself and her fair daughter would occupy the intermediate time. Henry was now unavoidably the constant companion of Emily, and in riding and walking, the week of O'Hara's absence was consumed. Of his successful canvass, he frequently acquainted his son; and on the morning of his expected return, Henry rode into Newbridge to meet him, the ladies announcing their intention of following in the course of the day.

He had nearly reached the town when a young gentleman of the neighbourhood overtook him. "Oh! Thornton, good morning. Well, what have you been doing since we met at the Melange?"

"Oh! curse the mummery of that crazy Cordwainer. I was sick for two days, by making Nugent and Scanlan drunk, hoping they would either fight themselves, break a mirror, splinter a vase, burn Miss Carney's MS. or Mrs. Glossin's wig, or do some notable mischief, but, confound them, they did not answer my expectations. And pray, gallant sir, what have you been doing? Turned sonnetteer, to eulogise an eyebrow. have you a contributor to the next Melange. "Stanzas on seeing Stella with a sprig of sweet briar;"" Sonnet to her slipper," or some amatory morceau. Are you gone, man? Is it all over with you? Are you, as we say in Ireland, kilt out and out?"

Come, we'll

“I see, William, you are still the same hearty, careless fellow; but as we must make inquiries, how comes on your affair with Miss Nugent ?"

"Pho! I will answer you in one word just as well as could be wished, all pour passer le tems; but as I am a liberal lover, if the dear creature could slay a Dragoon or Bombadier, I would hand her to the altar in

per