he fever came and went, and came and went, and lasted five days, and
the sixth he was sensible for a few minutes, and said to me, knowing me
very well, 'I'm in a burning pain all withinside of me, Thady.' I could
not speak, but my shister asked him would he have this thing or t'other
to do him good? 'No,' says he, 'nothing will do me good no more,' and
he gave a terrible screech with the torture he was in; then again a
minute's ease--'brought to this by drink,' says he. 'Where are all the
friends?--where's Judy? Gone, hey? Ay, Sir Condy has been a fool all his
days,' said he; and there was the last word he spoke, and died. He had
but a very poor funeral after all.

If you want to know any more, I'm not very well able to tell you; but
my Lady Rackrent did not die, as was expected of her, but was only
disfigured in the face ever after by the fall and bruises she got; and
she and Jason, immediately after my poor master's death, set about going
to law about that jointure; the memorandum not being on stamped paper,
some say it is worth nothing, others again it may do; others say Jason
won't have the lands at any rate; many wishes it so. For my part, I'm
tired wishing for anything in this world, after all I've seen in it; but
I'll say nothing--it would be a folly to be getting myself ill-will
in my old age. Jason did not marry, nor think of marrying Judy, as I
prophesied, and I am not sorry for it: who is? As for all I have here
set down from memory and hearsay of the family, there's nothing but
truth in it from beginning to end. That you may depend upon, for where's
the use of telling lies about the things which everybody knows as well
as I do?

The Editor could have readily made the catastrophe of Sir Condy's
history more dramatic and more pathetic, if he thought it allowable to
varnish the plain round tale of faithful Thady. He lays it before the
English reader as a specimen of manners and characters which are perhaps
unknown in England. Indeed, the domestic habits of no nation in Europe
were less known to the English than those of their sister country, till
within these few years.

Mr. Young's picture of Ireland, in his tour through that country, was
the first faithful portrait of its inhabitants. All the features in the
foregoing sketch were taken from the life, and they are characteristic
of that mixture of quickness, simplicity, cunning, carelessness,
dissipation, disinterestedness, shrewdness, and blunder, which, in