a few estates were sold, and on the purchase price of one of those
for which I was agent I received two per cent. It should be also borne
in mind that the profession of a land agent in Ireland is on a far
higher social plane than in England. In many cases the younger son or
brother of the landlord is the agent for the family property; and in
some instances this has worked uncommonly well. In other cases,
gentlemen by birth conducted the business, or else the administration of
several estates was consolidated and carried on from one office.

In every case the billet was regarded as one for life, only forfeited by
gross misconduct, and the relations between landlord and agent have been
nearly always of an intimate and cordial character. Each agent began as
an assistant, obtaining an independent post by selection and influence,
and few entered the profession unless they had reasonable prospects of a
definite post on their own account in due course.

In my time the landlord was the sole judge of the agent's
qualifications, but the profession has become a branch of the
Engineering Surveyor's Institution.

As may be imagined, there are now remarkably few candidates for the
necessary examinations, because it is virtually annihilated.

Things were very different when I embarked without mistrust on a career
which has landed me comfortably into my eighties, although under
Government every appointment has to be compulsorily vacated at the age
of sixty-five. No one starting now could anticipate any such result in
old age, and so without affectation I can say _autres temps autres
moeurs_, which may be freely translated as 'present times much the
worst.'

More pleasant is it to turn to a few brief memories of Cork. It was a
cheerful place at the time I am speaking of, for there was plenty of
entertaining and truly genial hospitality. The general depression caused
by famine, fever, and Fenians hardly affected the great town, and after
those funereal shadows had once passed, Cork was as gay as any one could
reasonably desire.

The townsfolk are very witty and clever at giving nicknames, as the
following little tales will show.

When a citizen in Cork makes money, he generally builds a house, and the
higher up the hill his house is situated, the more is thought of him.

Mr. Doneghan, a highly respectable tallow chandler, built a fine
residence early in the nineteenth century, which he called Waterloo.

The populace said it sho