to a mutual consent of their respective connections.  This, however, is not always so; for it often happens that a match is broken off after many a friendly compotation has been held “upon the head of it,” which means upon that subject.  Let the reader stand with us for a few minutes, and we will point out to him one or two groups who have met for the purpose of settling a marriage.  Do you see that tall sthreel of a fellow, who slings awkwardly along, for which reason he is nicknamed by his acquaintances “a sling-poke”?  Observe the lazy grotesque repose of his three-featured face, for more it does not present, viz.—­mouth, eyes, and nose.  His long legs are without calves, and he is in-kneed; yet the fellow has such taste, that in order to show his shape he must needs wear breeches!  Look at his coat, which was made for him about five years ago, when he was but “a slip of a boy.”  The thin collar only reaches to the upper part of his shoulder; and as he is what is called “crane-necked,” of course the distance between his hat and the collar is incredible.  The arms of the said coat are set so far in, that they appear almost to meet behind; but, on the other hand, two naked bones, each about six inches in length, project from the cuffs, which come not far below his elbows.  The coat itself is what is called a jerkin; and as the buttons behind are half-way up his back, it is a matter of course that the tail, which runs rapidly to a point, is ludicrously scanty.  Now, that youth, who is probably under no sense of gratitude to the graces, has put his “co-medher” on the prettiest girl, with one or two exceptions, in the whole parish.  The miserable pitch-fork, the longitudinal rake—­we speak now in a hay-making sense—­has contrived to oust half a dozen of the handsomest and best-looking fellows in the parish.  How he has done this is a mystery to his acquaintances; but it is none to us—­we know him.  The kraken has a tongue dripping with honey—­one that would smooth a newly-picked millstone.  There they go, each of them laughing and cheerful, except himself; yet the fellow, though conscious of his own influence, enters the public-house as if he were going on the forlorn hope, or trailing his straggling limbs to confide his last wishes to the ear of the sheriff or hangman.  He is, however, an Irishman at heart, though little indeed of the national bearing is visible in his deportment.

Here again comes a second group.  Keep your eye on that good-humored, ruddy-faced young man, compact and vigorous, who is evidently the wag of his party.  Observe his tight-titling, comfortable frize, neat brogues, and breeches, on the knees of which are two double knots of silk ribbon.  See with what a smart, decisive air he wears his hat—­“jauntily,” as Leigh Hunt would say—­upon one side of his head.  That fellow has a high character for gallantry, and is allowed to be “the very sorrow among the girls”—­“a Brinoge,” “wid an eye that ’ud steal cold praties