s if we had it here;" and he slapped his pockets as he
spoke.

Beecher shook his friend's hand with a warmth that showed all his wonted
cordiality, and with a hearty "Good-night!" they separated.

Grog had managed cleverly. He had done something by terror, and the rest
he had accomplished by temptation. They were the two only impulses to
sway that strange temperament.

CHAPTER XXI. A DARK DAY

It was the day appointed for the sale of Kellett's Court, and a
considerable crowd was assembled to witness the proceeding. Property was
rapidly changing hands; new names were springing up in every county,
and old ones were growing obsolete. Had the tide of conquest and
confiscation flowed over the land, a greater social revolution could not
have resulted; and while many were full of hope and confidence that
a new prosperity was about to dawn upon Ireland, there were some who
continued to deplore the extinction of the old names, and the exile
of the old families, whose traditions were part of the history of the
country.

Kellett's Court was one of those great mansions which the Irish
gentlemen of a past age were so given to building, totally forgetting
how great the disproportion was between their house and their rent-roll.
Irregular, incongruous, and inelegant, it yet, by its very size and
extent, possessed a certain air of grandeur. Eighty guests had sat down
to table in that oak wainscoted dinner-room; above a hundred had been
accommodated with beds beneath that roof; the stables had stalls
for every hunting-man that came; and the servants' hall was a great
galleried chamber, like the refectory of a convent, in everything save
the moderation of the fare.

Many were curious to know who would purchase an estate burdened by so
costly a residence, the very maintenance of which in repair constituted
a heavy annual outlay. The gardens, long neglected and forgotten,
occupied three acres, and were themselves a source of immense expense;
a considerable portion of the demesne was so purely ornamental that
it yielded little or no profit; and, as an evidence of the tastes and
habits of its former owners, the ruins of a stand-house marked out where
races once were held in the park, while hurdle fences and deep drains
even yet disfigured the swelling lawn.

Who was to buy such a property was the question none could answer.
The house, indeed, might be converted into a "Union," if its locality
suited; it was strong enough for a