The next morning a relation of Mrs. Kelly’s came down to my brother, hoping that, as they wished to have as decent a funeral as possible, he would be so kind as to attend it.

“Musha, God knows, sir,” said the man, “it’s poor Denis, heavens be his bed! that had the regard and reverence for every one, young and ould, of your father’s family; and it’s himself that would be the proud man, if he was living, to see you, sir, riding after his coffin.”

“Well,” said my brother, “let Mrs. Kelly know that I shall certainly attend, and so will my brother, here, who has come to puy me a visit.  Why, I believe, Tom, you forget him!”

“Your brother, sir!  Is it Master Toby, that used to cudgel the half of the counthry when he was at school?  Gad’s my life, Masther Toby (I was now about thirty-six), but it’s your four quarters, sure enough!  Arrah, thin, sir, who’d think it—­you’re grown so full and stout?—­but, faix, you’d always the bone in you!  Ah, Masther Toby!” said he, “he’s lying cowld, this morning, that would be the happy man to lay his eyes wanst more upon you.  Many an’ manys the winther’s evening did he spind, talking about the time when you and he were bouchals (* boys) together, and of the pranks you played at school, but especially of the time you both leathered the four Grogans, and tuck the apples from thim—­my poor fellow—­and now to be stretched a corpse, lavin’ his poor widdy and childher behind him!”

I accordingly expressed my sorrow for Denis’s death, which, indeed, I sincerely regretted, for he possessed materials for an excellent character, had not all that was amiable and good in him been permitted to run wild.

As soon as my trunk and traveling-bag had been brought from the inn, where I had left them the preceding night, we got our horses, and, as we wished to show particular respect to Denis’s remains, rode up, with some of our friends, to the house.  When we approached, there were large crowds of the country-people before the door of his well-thatched and respectable-looking dwelling, which had three chimneys, and a set of sash-windows, clean and well glazed.  On our arrival, I was soon recognized and surrounded by numbers of those to whom I had formerly been known, who received and welcomed me with a warmth of kindness and sincerity, which it would be in vain to look for among the peasantry of any other nation.  Indeed, I have uniformly observed, that when no religious or political feeling influences the heart and principles of an Irish peasant, he is singularly sincere and faithful in his attachments, and has always a bias to the generous and the disinterested.  To my own knowledge, circumstances frequently occur, in which the ebullition of party spirit is, although temporary, subsiding after the cause that produced it has passed away, and leaving the kind peasant to the natural, affectionate, and generous impulses of his character.  But poor Paddy, unfortunately, is as combustible a material in politics or religion as in fighting—­thinking it his duty to take the weak side*, without any other consideration than because it is the weak side.