Ellish, during their short journey to the landlord's, commenced, in her own way, a lecture upon agricultural economy, which, though plain and unvarnished, contained excellent and practical sense. She also pointed out to him when to speak and when to be silent; told him what rent to offer, and in what manner he should offer it; but she did all this so dexterously and sweetly, that honest Peter thought the new and corrected views which she furnished him with, were altogether the result of his own penetration. The landlord was at home when they arrived, and ordered them into the parlor, where he soon made his appearance. “Well, Connell,” said he, smiling, “are you come to make me a higher offer?” “Why thin no, plase your honor,” replied Peter, looking for confidence to Ellish: “instead o' that, sir, Ellish here--” “Never heed me, alanna; tell his honor what you've to say, out o' the face. Go an acushla.” “Why, your honor, to tell the blessed thruth, the dickens a bit o' myself but had a sup in my head when I was wid your honor to-day before.” Ellish was thunderstruck at this most unexpected apology from Peter; but the fact was, that the instructions which she had given him on their way had completely evaporated from his brain, and he felt himself thrown altogether upon his own powers of invention. Here, however, he was at home; for it was well known among all his acquaintances, that, however he might be deficient in the management of a family when compared to his wife, he was capable, notwithstanding, of exerting a certain imaginative faculty in a very high degree. Ellish felt that to contradict him on the spot must lessen both him and herself in the opinion of the landlord, a circumstance that would have given her much pain. “I'm sorry to hear that, Connell,” said Mr. Eccles; “you bear the character of being strictly sober in your habits. You must have been early at the bottle, too, which makes your apology rather unhappy. Of all tipplers, he who drinks early is the worst and most incurable.” “Thrue for you, sir, but this only happens me wanst a year, your honor.” “Once a year! But, by the by, you had no appearance of being tipsy, Peter.” “Tipsy! Bud-a'-age, your honor, I was never seen tipsy in all my life,” said Peter,--“That's a horse of another color, sir, plase your honor.” The reader must at once perceive that Peter here was only recovering himself from the effects of the injurious impression which his first admission was calculated to produce against him in the mind of his landlord. “Tipsy! No, no, sir; but the rason of it, sir, was this: it bein' my birthday, sir, I merely tuck a sup in the mornin', in honor o' the day. It's altogether a lucky day to me, sir!” “Why, to be sure, every man's birthday may, probably, be called such--the gift of existence being, I fear, too much undervalued.” “Bedad, your honor, I don't mane that, at all.” “Then what do you mean, Peter?”