my pipe and tobacco, should, I verily believe, have broke my heart for
poor Sir Murtagh.

But one morning my new master caught sight of me. "And is that Old
Thady?" says he. I loved him from that day to this, his voice was so
like the family, and I never saw a finer figure of a man.

A fine life we should have led had he stayed among us, God bless him!
But, the sporting season over, he grew tired of the place, and was off
in a whirlwind to town. A circular letter came next post from the new
agent to say he must remit £500 to the master at Bath within a
fortnight--bad news for the poor tenants. Sir Kit Rackrent, my new
master, left it all to the agent, and now not a week without a call for
money. Rents must be paid to the day, and afore--old tenants turned out,
anything for the ready penny.

The agent was always very civil to me, and took a deal of notice of my
son Jason, who, though he be my son, was a good scholar from his birth,
and a very cute lad. Seeing he was a good clerk, the agent gave him the
rent accounts to copy, which he did for nothing at first, being always
proud to serve the family.

By-and-by, a good farm fell vacant, and my son put in a proposal for it.
Why not? The master, knowing no more of the land than a child unborn,
wrote over, leaving it to the agent, and he must send over £200 by
return post. So my son's proposal was just the thing, and he a good
tenant, and he got a promise of abatement after the first year for
advancing the half-year's rent to make up the £200, and my master was
satisfied. The agent told us then, as a great secret, that Sir Kit was a
little too fond of play.