seventh month of any year of our Lord, and you will find us breaking the Protestant peace and Catholic heads with all the ferocity of Kickeraboo islanders. That's one of the charms of Irish residence; but to my Claddagh. Sevenpence-halfpenny, in halfpence, were summarily offered up as a sacrifice to appease the sacred thirst for copper of the little brown herd; who departed, with many cries, and much (to me) foreign expressions of rejoicing, to a distant bank, whereon sat a many-coloured crowd of women, with apple-baskets, and creels of apples, and sacks of apples, and apples shot down on the ground on straw-heaps,-a crowd more like that of the oyster-women on the Santa Lucia at Naples than any thing else in nature. Among these Hesperides rose much shrill clamour of competition at the sudden influx of bullion, which threatened seriously to disturb the level of market values; and then the little brown herd were silent for a little space, emulating the action of the sailor's chestnutmunching wife in Macbeth, and getting as near English cholera as the largesse of the Saxon would enable them to go. So I proceed on my way once more, and am in The Claddagh. The place is a little dirty, a little smoky, a little fishy. I have remarked similar characteristics elsewhere, by the shores of the ever-sounding sea, and therefore divert my attention from the "nate mud edifices" to their inhabitants. These I exultingly discover to be really a very Peculiar People,-peculiar in their appearance, peculiar in their dress, peculiar in their walk, and uncommonly peculiar in their conversation. They are very foreign: they have very brown skins, and very black eyes, and very bare legs; and are partly Spanish, partly Italian, partly Arab, wholly un-English. The men are as like lazzaroni as possible, only of a heavier build; wear the same costume of bright-coloured garments trimmed with dirt; lounge a good deal; have a great affinity for posts, and boat-thwarts, and low walls, and other places of public repose. But they are strong and sturdy, and look as if they could work when they liked. Some of the girls are very pretty, like Calabrian or Capriote contadine, and they carry pails on their heads, and so are upright. The Mediterranean parallel is carried out by the old ladies, who are remarkably ill-favoured, and have that charming complexion of an over-ripe, withered gourd, which has been forgotten to be eaten, and so has become wrinkled with crossness and disappointment. The public of The Claddagh goes freely in and out of other people's houses in an easy way, which shows that there is no nasty spirit of exclusiveness or reserve; and young Claddagh flirts ponderously with the good-looking girls who pass and repass in fulfilment of engrossing occupations, which, somehow, compel them always to cross close by where the young men are lounging. The conversation, I observe, is general; and I am a little confused at finding that, apparently, I am a current topic. The clatter of Irish as I walk along is very strange to the ear; and I feel quite continental, and enjoy the sensation amazingly. But I give myself a mental pull up, and remember that I ought to be acquiring information; and I look around for a desirable source. I think I see one: I approach him

blandly and interrogatively. My source is courteous, but wholly unintelligible. I next essay a fine young woman, who, seated on a pile of turf, hard by a door, is nursing a little brown baby; but I find, on near approach, that the baby is absolutely talking Irish baby-talk, and so I retreat, in conscious humiliation. A plump damsel, adjacent, looks encouraging; but my conversational attempt in that quarter evokes a rippling peal of merry laughter, and such a show of pearly teeth as somebody I know-but wouldn't for the world mention-would give twenty guineas for, if the property were transferable. I begin to feel uncomfortable, and am thinking that it is nearly time to despair, when Hope dawns upon me. Hope wears a bright red cap, of the once Phrygian, and now Capof-Liberty, style; a bright blue coat, cut fok'sle fashion; fawn-coloured knee-breeches, heather-purple woollen stockings, and ponderous brogues. I like the costume: I don't quite admire the dirt and the patches, but that is entirely a matter of taste. Fine ladies of the present days wear very dirty pigments; and still finer ladies of the past days wore still dirtier patches, as well as pigments. My Hope is probably sixty-and-five years old, has snow-white hair, coal-black eyes, and a very brown skin: he has one gold earring in his right ear, and one short black pipe in his mouth, which he withdraws, preparatory, I see, to his proceeding to tell me a flattering tale. My honour is welcome to The Claddagh; which is very pleasant to know. Hope's tale, to my great joy, is about to be continued in the English version. I at once fraternise. On inquiry, I ascertain that Hope has no objection to a slight spirituous refreshment at my expense, as testimony of the interest he feels in my sanatory condition. This preliminary measure adjusted,—the exact measure was half-a-pint,-my source expands and swells with latent information, until he is like a huge intellectual bladder. I prick him, and he rushes forth in a torrent of statistical and ethnological particulars. The Peculiar People, I learn, are upwards of a thousand strong: they allow no stranger to settle or make his abiding-place among them: they speak Irish exclusively; they are all fishermen, without exception,-no other trade or occupation being recognised in The Claddagh; they have an elected sovereign," The King of the Claddagh,"-whom they loyally obey, and who carries a royal ensign, of his own pattern, at the masthead of his "hooker." When one king dies, they elect a new one by universal suffrage. The King of the Claddagh settles the times and the seasons of the fishing, and controls all the outgoings and incomings of the Claddagh Fleet: without his royal leave no net is thrown. He appoints the day on which it is his sovereign will and pleasure that the herring-catching shall begin; and, although the bay may be full of shoals of fish,-as it was during my visit,-before the appointed day not a man will launch his boat to catch them. The rights of women are strangely recognised in The Claddagh; the moment the fleet of boats comes in from sea, the mistresses become masters; their lords surrender up the fishy fruits of their labours. The women share and sell the produce, and give over

to their liege lords the balance not needed for home expenses. That balance is usually applied to the prevention of the destruction of tissue. When in full dress the men wear many flannel vests, with a white one on top; a bright blue rough jacket, blue or fawn colour breeches, blue or heather-purple stockings, and finish off with a crimson silk neckerchief. The women wear large scarlet or blue mantles, and madder-red petticoats. Sometimes the mantle may be white or gray, when it is dreadfully like a flannel petticoat that has somehow slipped up to the shoulders; but the madder-red skirt alters never. Ribbons are not favoured by the ladies of The Claddagh, who are surely singular in that. Fearful and wonderful are these women-kind of ours! The feminine "Galway Blazers" are brave in ribbons of all kinds, and their adjacent Claddagh sisters will not wear one. English women like and French women luxuriate in perfumes, and Italians cannot endure them! But, though they love not ribbons, the ladies of The Claddagh are fond of lace; and laces, often of the most superb quality, are to be discerned by the educated eye on the caps of young damsels who are not married, but want to be. Curious, this version of the phrase, “Setting her cap at him." Notwithstanding the strict limitation to their own community, and stern discountenance of intermarriage with outsiders, it was formerly the correct thing for young Claddagh to elope with the object of his affections; altogether for the fun of the thing, apparently, for it was quite unnecessary, but quite the fashion. It was the Claddagh equivalent for St. George's, Hanover Square. Qualification for matrimony is the ownership of a boat, or a share in one; that acquired, Claddagh Coelebs goes in search of a wife, and assumes marital honours. On shore the men are exceedingly careful of their tissue, and take the most approved means to avert its destruction; but when they go to sea in their shark-shaped boats, or "hookers," they never take any spirits on board with them, save those that rise from their own merry, careless hearts. At the mention of spirits, Hope, who is leading me on through all these accounts of his Peculiar People, becomes thoughtful and grave, and trifles with his empty half-pint measure. I take the hint,-he takes the liquor. Shortly after his tale changes from flattery to wild improbability, not to say extravagance. Strange words of creaking sound rush in and out of his narrative; statements of the most marvellous character are advanced with confidence and maintained with resolution, not to say fierceness. As he advances towards insensibility, he becomes more Irish, and decidedly less nice. His long eyelashes droop, his dark eye glazes, his snow-white head nods in a godlike fashion, quite unaffectedly. Silence,-sleep. Hope for a season bids the world farewell; my source of information as to the Peculiar People is exhausted.

F. D. F.

John Marchmont's Legacy.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET," &c. &c.

CHAPTER XLII.

"THERE IS CONFUSION WORSE THAN DEATH."

THE brother and sister exchanged very few words during the drive between Stony Stringford and Marchmont Towers. It was arranged between them that Mrs. Weston should drive by a back way leading to a lane that skirted the edge of the river; and that Paul should get out at a gate opening into the wood, and by that means make his way, observed, to the house which had so lately been to all intents and purposes his own.

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He dared not attempt to enter the Towers by any other way; for the indignant populace might still be lurking about the front, of the house, eager to inflict summary vengeance upon the persecutor of a helpless girl.

It was between nine and ten o'clock when Mr. Marchmont got out at the little gate. All here was as still as death; and Paul heard the croaking of the frogs upon the margin of a little pool in the wood, and the sound of horses' hoofs a mile away upon the loose gravel by the water-side.

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"Good night, Lavinia," he said. "Send for the things as soon as you go back; and be sure you send a safe person for them."

"Oh, yes, dear; but hadn't you better take any thing of value your self?" Mrs. Weston asked anxiously. "You say you have no money. Perhaps it would be best for you to send me the jewelry, though, and I can send you what money you want by my messenger."

"I shan't want any money-at least I have enough for what I want. What have you done with your savings?"

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'They are in a London bank. But I have plenty of ready money in the house. You must want money, Paul ?"

"I tell you, no. I have as much as I want."

"But tell me your plans, Paul; I must know your plans before I leave Lincolnshire myself. Are you going away?"

"Yes."

"Immediately?" "Immediately."

"Shall you go to London ?"

"Perhaps. I don't know yet."

"But when shall we see you again, Paul? or how shall we hear of

"At the post-office in Rathbone Place. Don't bother me with a lot of questions to-night, Lavinia; I'm not in the humour to answer them." Paul Marchmont turned away from his sister impatiently, and opened the gate; but before she had driven off, he went back to her:

"Shake hands, Lavinia," he said; "shake hands, my dear; it may be a long time before you and I meet again."

He bent down and kissed his sister.

"Drive home as fast as you can, and send the messenger directly. He had better come to the door of the lobby, near Olivia's room. Where is Olivia, by the by? Is she still with the stepdaughter she loves so dearly?"

"No; she went to Swampington early in the afternoon. A fly was ordered from the Black Bull, and she went away in it."

"So much the better," answered Mr. Marchmont. "Good night, Lavinia. Don't let my mother think ill of me. I tried to do the best I could to make her happy. Good by."

"Good by, dear Paul; God bless you!"

The blessing was invoked with as much sincerity as if Lavinia Weston had been a good woman, and her brother a good man. Perhaps neither of those two was able to realise the extent of the crime which they had assisted each other to commit.

Mrs. Weston drove away; and Paul went up to the back of the Towers, and under an archway leading into the quadrangle. All about the house was as quiet as if the Sleeping Beauty and her court had been its only occupants.

The inhabitants of Kemberling and the neighbourhood were an orderly people, who burnt few candles between May and September; and however much they might have desired to avenge Mary Arundel's wrongs by tearing Paul Marchmont to pieces, their patience had been exhausted by nightfall, and they had been glad to return to their respective abodes, to discuss Paul's iniquities comfortably over the nineo'clock beer.

Paul stood still in the quadrangle for a few moments, and listened He could hear no human breath or whisper; he only heard the sound of the corn-crake in the fields to the right of the Towers, and the distant rumbling of wagon-wheels on the high-road. There was a glimmer of light in one of the windows belonging to the servants' offices,only one dim glimmer, where there had usually been a row of brilliantlylighted casements. Lavinia was right, then; almost all the servants had left the Towers. Paul tried to open the half-glass door leading into the lobby; but it was locked. He rang a bell; and after about three minutes' delay, a buxom country girl appeared in the lobby carrying a candle. She was some kitchen-maid, or dairy-maid, or scullery-maid, whom Paul could not remember to have ever seen until now. She opened the door, and admitted him, dropping a curtsey as he passed her. There was some relief even in this. Mr. Marchmont had scarcely expected to get

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