and conviction had worked in her so thorough a change, that she now
almost worshipped the very spot in which Lady Fitzgerald habitually
sat. She had the faculty to know and recognize goodness when she saw
it, and she had known and recognized it in her brother's wife.

Him also, her brother himself, she warmly loved and greatly
reverenced. She deeply grieved over his state of body and mind, and
would have given all she ever had, even her very self, to restore him
to health and happiness.

The three children of course she loved, and petted, and scolded;
and as children bothered them out of all their peace and quietness.
To the girls she was still almost as great a torment as in their
childish days. Nevertheless, they still loved, and sometimes obeyed
her. Of Herbert she stood somewhat more in awe. He was the future
head of the family, and already a Bachelor of Arts. In a very few
years he would probably assume the higher title of a married man of
arts, she thought; and perhaps the less formidable one of a member of
Parliament also. Him, therefore, she treated with deference. But,
alas! what if he should become a Puseyite!

CHAPTER VI.

THE KANTURK HOTEL, SOUTH MAIN STREET, CORK.

All the world no doubt knows South Main Street in the city of Cork.
In the "ould" ancient days, South and North Main Streets formed the
chief thoroughfare through the city, and hence of course they derived
their names. But now, since Patrick Street, and Grand Parade, and the
South Mall have grown up, Main Street has but little honour. It is
crowded with second-rate tobacconists and third-rate grocers; the
houses are dirty, and the street is narrow; fashionable ladies never
visit it for their shopping, nor would any respectable commercial
gent stop at an inn within its purlieus.

But here in South Main Street, at the time of which I am writing,
there was an inn, or public-house, called the Kanturk Hotel. In dear
old Ireland they have some foibles, and one of them is a passion
for high nomenclature. Those who are accustomed to the sort of
establishments which are met with in England, and much more in
Germany and Switzerland, under the name of hotels, might be surprised
to see the place in South Main Street which had been dignified with
the same appellation. It was a small, dingy house of three stories,
the front door of which was always open, and the passage strewed
with damp, dirty straw. On the left-hand side as you entered was