early carried, but it breaks down before the
remark that the coachman, gardener, and two bailiffs are "Boycotted,"
bringing up the total number to about thirty-six, and that geese would
be better distributed among these than flung away on the enemy; and
the clock goes on to tick, the ticking growing louder and louder, and
then comes the harsh, grating sound of shooting bolts and the clank
of the chain on the front door.

There is some pretence on the part of one of my young hosts of going
into his uncle's office and drawing a lease, until he is reminded that
he will probably be performing a work of supererogation, that leases
and feudalism and property are going out of date, and that the land
agents of the future, if suffered to cumber the earth at all, will be
elected by the tenants, as the New York magistrates are elected by the
persons whom they will be called upon to judge. And the clock ticks
and the fox-terrier whines in his sleep. He is dreaming of rats,
perhaps. It is pleasant to dream, even if one is a dog.

A sudden start. The long-looked-for telegram has come announcing the
arrival of the daughter of the house shortly at Kilmallock Station.
There is another skirmish for rifles, rugs, and revolvers, and a sally
out of the fortress. No sooner has the brave young lady arrived, who
with her brother and cousin, and perhaps the representatives of the
British army, will form the Christmas dinner-party, than she draws up
a bill of fare, which includes, as well as turkey, ham, and plum
pudding, lobsters brought from afar, thanks to feminine foresight. The
retainers will feast on mighty joints of beef and on plum pudding
galore. And now another telegram--The troops will arrive before the
bells ring in Christmas-day.

As I approach the end of my letter, it occurs to me that although the
place, events, and persons described would be recognised by anybody
living in the counties of Limerick, Cork, or Tipperary, this account
might appear to English readers rather as an imaginative and
highly-coloured picture, painted for the Christmas market from a
number of models, than as a simple sketch in neutral greys as exactly
and faithfully drawn as is possible to the writer. To prevent any such
misapprehension, I will observe that the events which I describe as
occurring before me, have all taken place within forty-eight hours in
and near the house of Mr. Townsend, of Spa-hill, Kilfinane, county
Limerick, and are telegraphed fro