, Venus in beauty, and
Diana in wisdom; so it's said, but I trust incorrectly, as respects one
of them--good-bye, mother--try your influence as touching Crazy Jane,
and report favorably--

"'Friend of my soul, this goblet sip,
'Twill chase the pensive tear. &c.'"

CHAPTER II.--Gerald Cavanagh and his Family

--Tom M'Mahon's return from Dublin.

The house of Gerald Cavanagh, though not so large as that of our
kind-hearted friend, Jemmy Burke, was a good specimen of what an Irish
farmer's residence ought to be. It was distant from Burke's somewhat
better than two miles, and stood almost, immediately inside the highway,
upon a sloping green that was vernal through the year. It was in
the cottage style, in the form of a cross, with a roof ornamentally
thatched, and was flanked at a little distance by the office-houses.
The grass was always so close on this green, as to have rather the
appearance of a well kept lawn. The thorn-trees stood in front of it,
clipped in the shape of round tables, on one of which, exposed to all
weathers, might be seen a pair of large churn-staves, bleached into a
white, fresh color, that caused a person to long for the butter they
made. On the other stood a large cage, in which was imprisoned a
blackbird, whose extraordinary melody had become proverbial in the
neighborhood. Down a little to the right of the hall-door, a pretty
winding gravelled pathway led to a clear spring well that was
overshadowed by a spreading white-thorn; and at each gable stood a
graceful elder or mountain-ash, whose red berries during the autumn had
a fine effect, and contrasted well with the mass of darker and larger
trees, by which the back portion of the house and the offices was almost
concealed. Both the house and green were in an elevated position, and
commanded a delightful expanse of rich meadows to the extent of nearly
one hundred acres, through which a placid river wound its easy way, like
some contented spirit that glides calmly and happily through the gentle
vicissitudes of an untroubled life.

As Peety Dhu, whilst passing from the residence of our friend Jemmy
Burke to that of Gerald Cavanagh, considered himself in his vocation,
the reader will not be surprised to hear that it was considerably past
noon! when he arrived at Fenton's Farm; for by this name the property
was known on a portion of which the Cavanaghs lived. It might be about
the hours of two or three o'clock, when Peety, on