amped and stiffened
with age, and the bold, upright letters were gnarled and twisted like a
rustic fence, and demanded great patience and much time in unravelling. It
ran thus:--

THE PRIORY, Lady-day, 1809.
MY DEAR MASTER CHARLES,--Your uncle's feet are so big and
so uneasy that he can't write, and I am obliged to take up the pen
myself, to tell you how we are doing here since you left us. And,
first of all, the master lost the lawsuit in Dublin, all for the want
of a Galway jury,--but they don't go up to town for strong reasons
they had; and the Curranolick property is gone to Ned M'Manus,
and may the devil do him good with it! Peggy Maher left this on
Tuesday; she was complaining of a weakness; she's gone to consult
the doctors. I'm sorry for poor Peggy.

Owen M'Neil beat the Slatterys out of Portunma on Saturday,
and Jem, they say, is fractured. I trust it's true, for he never was
good, root nor branch, and we've strong reasons to suspect him for
drawing the river with a net at night. Sir Harry Boyle sprained his
wrist, breaking open his bed-room, that he locked when he was inside.
The count and the master were laughing all the evening at
him. Matters are going very hard in the country,--the people paying
their rents regularly, and not caring half as much as they used
about the real gentry and the old families.

We kept your birthday at the Castle in great style,--had the
militia band from the town, and all the tenants. Mr. James Daly
danced with your old friend Mary Green, and sang a beautiful song,
and was going to raise the devil, but I interfered; he burned down
half the blue drawing-room the last night with his tricks,--not that
your uncle cares, God preserve him to us! it's little anything like
that would fret him. The count quarrelled with a young gentleman
in the course of the evening, but found out he was only an attorney
from Dublin, so he didn't shoot him; but he was ducked in the pond
by the people, and your uncle says he hopes they have a true copy of
him at home, as they'll never know the original.

Peter died soon after you went away, but Tim hunts the dogs
just as well. They had a beautiful run last Wednesday, and the
Lord[2] sent for him and gave him a five-pound note; but he says
he'd rather see yourself back again than twice as much. They
killed near the