, agrah,' said the smith, 'his hinder legs'; and he
again showed his fang.

'I dare not,' said I, 'he would kill me.'

'He would kill ye! and how do ye know that, agrah?'

'I feel he would,' said I, 'something tells me so.'

'And it tells ye truth, agrah; but it's a fine beast, and it's a pity to
see him in such a state: Is agam an't leigeas'--and here he uttered
another word in a voice singularly modified, but sweet and almost
plaintive; the effect of it was as instantaneous as that of the other,
but how different!--the animal lost all its fury, and became at once calm
and gentle. The smith went up to it, coaxed and patted it, making use of
various sounds of equine endearment; then turning to me, and holding out
once more the grimy hand, he said, 'And now ye will be giving me the
Sassannach tenpence, agrah?'

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A FINE OLD CITY--NORMAN MASTER-WORK--LOLLARDS' HOLE--GOOD BLOOD--THE
SPANIARD'S SWORD--OLD RETIRED OFFICER--WRITING TO A DUKE--GOD HELP THE
CHILD--NOTHING LIKE JACOB--IRISH BRIGADES--OLD SERGEANT MEREDITH--I HAVE
BEEN YOUNG--IDLENESS--THE BOOKSTALL--A PORTRAIT--A BANISHED PRIEST

From the wild scenes which I have attempted to describe in the latter
pages I must now transport the reader to others of a widely different
character. He must suppose himself no longer in Ireland, but in the
eastern corner of merry England. Bogs, ruins, and mountains have
disappeared amidst the vapours of the west: I have nothing more to say of
them; the region in which we are now is not famous for objects of that
kind: perhaps it flatters itself that it can produce fairer and better
things, of some of which let me speak; there is a fine old city before
us, and first of that let me speak.

A fine old city, truly, is that, view it from whatever side you will; but
it shows best from the east, where the ground, bold and elevated,
overlooks the fair and fertile valley in which it stands. Gazing from
those heights, the eye beholds a scene which cannot fail to awaken, even
in the least sensitive bosom, feelings of pleasure and admiration. At
the foot of the heights flows a narrow and deep river, with an antique
bridge communicating with a long and narrow suburb, flanked on either
side by rich meadows of the brightest green, beyond which spreads the
city; the fine old city, perhaps the most curious specimen at present
extant of the genuine old English town. Yes, there it spreads from north
to south, with