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"There isn't much more; but yet the cream of the joke remains," says Nolly, laughing heartily. "They seemed pretty jolly by that time, and he was speaking. 'I was afraid you would refuse me,' he said, in an imbecile tone. 'I always thought you liked Geoffrey best.' 'Geoffrey!' said Violet. (Oh, Mrs. Geoffrey, if you could have heard her voice!) 'How could you think so! Geoffrey is all very well in his way, and of course I like him very much, but he is not to be compared with you.' 'He is very handsome,' said Jack, fishing for compliments in the most indecent manner. 'Handsome! Oh, no,' said Violet. (You really should have heard her, Mrs. Geoffrey!) 'I don't think so. Passably good-looking, I allow, but not—not like you!' Ha, ha, ha!",

"Now, once for all, mother—" begins Nicholas, vehemently, but Geoffrey, with a gesture, silences him.,

"Oh, well, that's it," says Mr. Darling, somewhat relieved. "I'm an awful duffer not to have guessed that Geoffrey's being out would keep you awake.",

"There are times, I confess," goes on Mr. Darling, disposing of Geoffrey's mundane interruption by a contemptuous wave of the hand, "when light breaks in upon me, and a joyful, a thrice-blessed termination to my dream presents itself. For instance, if Geoffrey could only be brought to see things as they are, and have the grace to quit this mortal globe and soar to worlds unknown, I should then fling myself at your feet, and——"

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To-morrow will be market-day in Bantry, to which the week's butter must go; and now the churning is over, and the result of it lies cold and rich and fresh beneath Mona's eyes. She herself is busily engaged printing little pats off a large roll of butter that rests on the slab before her; her sleeves are carefully tucked up, as on that first day when Geoffrey saw her; and in defiance of her own heart—which knows itself to be sad—she is lilting some little foolish lay, bright and shallow as the October sunshine that floods the room, lying in small silken patches on the walls and floor.,

Here and there a pack is discovered, so unexpectedly as to be doubly welcome. And sometimes a friendly native will tell him of some quiet corner where "his honor" will surely find some birds, "an be able in the evenin' to show raison for his blazin'." It is a somewhat wild life, but a pleasant one, and perhaps, on the whole, Mr. Rodney finds Ireland an agreeable take-in, and the inhabitants of it by no means as eccentric or as bloodthirsty as he has been led to believe. He has read innumerable works on the Irish peasantry, calculated to raise laughter in the breasts of those who claim the Emerald Isle as their own,—works written by people who have never seen Ireland, or, having seen it, have thought it a pity to destroy the glamour time has thrown over it, and so reduce it to commonplaceness.,

And my day has no morning.',

"When am I to see you again?" says Rodney, anxiously.