of them all; and to be thrown, without a farthing in my pocket, upon the
protection of one who expects so much at first setting out.--So I assure
you, sir, whatever you may expect, I shall not put on the Limerick
gloves."

Mr. O'Neill was not without his share of pride and proper spirit;
nay, he had, it must be confessed, in common with some others of his
countrymen, an improper share of pride and spirit. Fired by the lady's
coldness, he poured forth a volley of reproaches; and ended by wishing,
as he said, a good morning, for ever and ever, to one who could change
her opinion, point blank, like the weathercock. "I am, miss, your most
obedient; and I expect you'll never think no more of poor Brian O'Neill,
and the Limerick gloves."

If he had not been in too great a passion to observe any thing, poor
Brian O'Neill would have found out that Phoebe was not a weathercock: but
he left her abruptly, and hurried away, imagining all the while that it
was Phoebe, and not himself, who was in a rage. Thus, to the horseman,
who is galloping at full speed, the hedges, trees, and houses, seem
rapidly to recede; whilst, in reality, they never move from their
places. It is he that flies from them, and not they from him.

On Monday morning Miss Jenny Brown, the perfumer's daughter, came to pay
Phoebe a morning visit, with face of busy joy.

"So, my dear!" said she: "fine doings in Hereford! but what makes you
look so downcast? To be sure you are invited, as well as the rest of
us."

"Invited where?" cried Mrs. Hill, who was present, and who could never