kiss me again,” said she.  He stooped down, and kissed her tenderly.  The child then ascended a green ditch, and Owen, as he looked back, saw her standing upon it; her fair tresses were tossed by the blast about her face, as with straining eyes she watched him receding from her view.  Kathleen and the other children stood at the door, and also with deep sorrow watched his form, until the angle of the bridle-road rendered him no longer visible; after which they returned slowly to the fire and wept bitterly.

We believe no men are capable of bearing greater toil or privation than the Irish.  Owen’s viaticum was only two or three oaten cakes tied in a little handkerchief, and a few shillings in silver to pay for his bed.  With this small stock of food and money, an oaken stick in his hand, and his wife’s kerchief tied about his waist, he undertook a journey of one hundred and ten miles, in quest of a landlord who, so far from being acquainted with the distresses of his tenantry, scarcely knew even their names, and not one of them in person.

Our scene now changes to the metropolis.  One evening, about half past six o’clock, a toil-worn man turned his steps to a splendid! mansion in Mountjoy Square; his appearance was drooping, fatigued, and feeble.  As he went along, he examined the numbers on the respective doors, until he reached a certain one—­before which he stopped for a moment; he then stepped out upon the street, and looked through the windows, as if willing to ascertain whether there was any chance of his object being attained.  Whilst in this situation a carriage rolled rapidly up, and stopped with a sudden check that nearly threw back the horses on their haunches.  In an instant the thundering knock of the servant intimated the arrival of some person of rank; the hall door was opened, and Owen, availing himself of that opportunity, entered the hall.  Such a visitor, however, was too remarkable to escape notice.  The hand of the menial was rudely placed against his breast; and, as the usual impertinent interrogatories were put to him, the pampered ruffian kept pushing him back, until the afflicted man stood upon the upper step leading to the door.

“For the sake of God, let me spake but two words to him.  I’m his tenant; and I know he’s too much of a jintleman to turn away a man that has lived upon his honor’s estate, father and son, for upwards of three hundred years.  My name’s Owen ------”

“You can’t see him, my good fellow, at this hour.  Go to Mr. M------,
his Agent:  we have company to dinner.  He never speaks to a tenant on
business; his Agent manages all that.  Please, leave the way, here’s more
company.”

As he uttered the last word, he pushed Owen back; who, forgetting that the stairs were behind him, fell,—­received a severe cut, and was so completely stunned, that he lay senseless and bleeding.  Another carriage drove up, as the fellow now much alarmed, attempted to raise him from the steps; and, by order of the