only an agreeable flirtation--not but that it's possible there may
be something in the shape of a noose matrimonial dangling in the
background. She combines, no doubt, in her unrivalled person, the
qualities of Hebe, Venus, and Diana--Hebe in youth, Venus in beauty, and
Diana in wisdom; so it's said, but I trust incorrectly, as respects one
of them--good-bye, mother--try your influence as touching Crazy Jane,
and report favorably--

"'Friend of my soul, this goblet sip,
'Twill chase the pensive tear. &c.'"




CHAPTER II.--Gerald Cavanagh and his Family

--Tom M'Mahon's return from Dublin.


The house of Gerald Cavanagh, though not so large as that of our
kind-hearted friend, Jemmy Burke, was a good specimen of what an Irish
farmer's residence ought to be. It was distant from Burke's somewhat
better than two miles, and stood almost, immediately inside the highway,
upon a sloping green that was vernal through the year. It was in
the cottage style, in the form of a cross, with a roof ornamentally
thatched, and was flanked at a little distance by the office-houses.
The grass was always so close on this green, as to have rather the
appearance of a well kept lawn. The thorn-trees stood in front of it,
clipped in the shape of round tables, on one of which, exposed to all
weathers, might be seen a pair of large churn-staves, bleached into a