at friends in the old days.

I have been told by, a relative that the many, Scullys who are
scattered over the south of Ireland fall into two categories the
round-headed and the long-headed; that the former are, as a rule,
fairly well off, but that the latter are usually poor. I regret to say
that I belong to the long-headed branch.

My paternal grandfather was a soldier, and my father was brought up by
Rodolph Scully, of Dualla. "Old Rody," who kept a pack of harriers
which my father hunted, was a well-known character in South Tipperary.
He departed this life when I was about six years old yet I seem
to remember him very clearly. A small, wiry, dapper man with a
clean-shaven red face, a cold, light-blue eye and fiercely beetling
brows, he occasionally filled my early childhood with terror. He
usually wore knee-breeches, buckled shoes, a frieze coat, and a white
choker. He had a most furious temper, and was consequently dreaded by
his relations and his domestics. I remember once seeing him administer
a terrible thrashing with a hunting-crop to a stable-boy for some
trivial fault.

My recollections of Dualla are very, faint; such fragmentary, ones as
survive are almost solely connected with its kennels and stables. There
was, I know, a turret at one end of the house. I believe the original
idea was to build a castle, but on account of scarcity of funds the
construction was continued on less ambitious architectural lines. An
unpleasant story used to be told in connection with this turret, which
was of considerable height. Old Rody, one night when in his cups, made
a bet that a goat, thrown from the top, would land uninjured on its
feet. The cruel experiment was tried. It may be some satisfaction to
know that Old Rody had to pay the bet, but it would be more if we knew
that he had been made to follow the poor animal. Once my people were on
a visit to Dualla. Old Rody, who was much addicted to the pleasures of
the table, was especially fond of roast goose. This, to satisfy him,
had to be done to a particular turn. On the occasion in question the
bird was brought to table slightly overdone, so Old Rody told the
butler to retire and send up the cook. No sooner had the butler left
the room than Old Rody picked up the goose by, its shanks and took his
stand behind the door. A dreadful silence reigned; the guests were as
though stiffened into stone. The cook, a stout, red-faced woman,
entered the room in evident trepidation,