At length he added, “But you think not of yourself, my Maria.”

“I!” she replied; “ah! what am I?  Anything, you know, will suffice for me—­but you and they, my dearest Charles—­and then poor Lilly, the servant; but, dearest,” she exclaimed, with a fresh, and if possible, a more tender embrace, “I am not at all repining—­I am happy with you—­happy, happy—­and never, never, did I regret the loss of my great and powerful friends less than I do at this moment, which enables me to see and appreciate the virtues and affection to which my heart is wedded, and which I long since appreciated.”

Her husband forced a smile, and kissed her with an air of cheerfulness.

“Pardon me,” he said, “dearest Maria, for two or three minutes I wish to go to the library to make a memorandum.  I will soon return.”

He then left her, after a tender embrace, and retired, as he said, to the library, where, smote to the heart by his admiration of her affection and greatness of mind, he sat down, and whilst he reflected on the destitution to which he had brought the granddaughter of an earl, he wept bitterly for several minutes.  It was from this peculiar state of feeling that he was called upon to hear an account of the attempted assassination, with which the reader is already acquainted.

Our friend, the Cannie Soogah, having taken the town of Lisnagola on his way, in order to effect some sales with one of those general country merchants on a somewhat small scale, that are to be found in almost every country town, happened to be sitting in a small back-parlor, when a certain conversation took place between Mr. Temple and Molony, the proprietor of the establishment to which we have just alluded.  He heard the dialogue, we say, and saw that the mild and care-worn curate had been, not rudely certainly, but respectfully, yet firmly, refused further credit.  By whatever spirit prompted it is not for us to say; at all events he directed his footsteps to the glebe, and—­but it is unnecessary to continue the description, or rather to repeat it.  The reader is already aware of what occurred until the departure of Dr. Turbot and the proctor.

Temple, having seen them depart, walked out for a little, in order to compose his mind, and frame, if possible, some project for the relief of his wife and children.  In the meantime, our jolly pedlar, having caught a glimpse of Mrs. Temple at the parlor window, presented himself, and begged to know if she were inclined to make any purchases.  She nodded him a gentle and ladylike refusal, upon which he changed his ground, and said, “Maybe, ma’am, if you’re not disposed to buy, that you’d have something you’d like to part wid.  If you have, ma’am, bad cess to the purtier purchaser you’d meet wid—­shawls or trinkets, or anything that way—­I mane, ma’am,” he added, “things that arn’t of any use to you—­an’ I’m the boy that will shell out the ready money, and over the value.”