hangman. He is,
however, an Irishman at heart, though little indeed of the national
bearing is visible in his deportment.

Here again comes a second group. Keep your eye on that good-humored,
ruddy-faced young man, compact and vigorous, who is evidently the wag of
his party. Observe his tight-titling, comfortable frize, neat brogues,
and breeches, on the knees of which are two double knots of silk ribbon.
See with what a smart, decisive air he wears his hat--"jauntily," as
Leigh Hunt would say--upon one side of his head. That fellow has a high
character for gallantry, and is allowed to be "the very sorrow among
the girls"--"a Brinoge," "wid an eye that 'ud steal cold praties off
a dresser." He is now leading in a girl, handsome no doubt, but who,
nevertheless, does not possess sixpence, or sixpence worth for her
portion. Not so the sword-fish we have pointed out to you a while ago,
the tail of whose short coat lay as closely to him as that of a crab.
The cassoway has secured a girl who, in point of wealth and dower, will
be the making of him. However, you know the secret, Solomon says that
a soft answer turneth away wrath; but what will not a soft question do,
when put to a pretty girl, where there is no wrath?

Here comes another party, fewer in point of number than those we have
shown you; a young man, a middle-aged woman, and her two daughters--one
grown,the other only about fifteen. Who is--ah!--it is not necessary to
inquire. Alley Bawn Murray! Gentle reader bow with heartfelt respect to
humble beauty and virtue! She is that widow's daughter, the pride of the
parish, and the beloved of all who can appreciate goodness, affection,
and filial piety. The child accompanying them is her sister, and that
fine, manly, well-built, handsome youth is even now pledged to the
modest and beautiful girl. He is the son of a wealthy farmer, some time
dead; but in purity, in truth, and an humble sense of religion, their
hearts are each rich and each equal.

Alas! alas! that it should be so! but we cannot control the inscrutable
designs of Heaven. The spirit of our narrative must change, and our tale
can henceforth breathe nothing but what is as mournful as it is true.
There they pass into that public-house, true-hearted and attached;
unconscious, too, poor things, of the almost present calamity that
is soon to wither that noble boy and his beautiful betrothed. Their
history, up to the period of their entering the public-house, is