‘From a preparatory school about forty miles from this, I was sent to Maynooth College, where I had been about two years, when I was summoned home, in consequence of my father’s illness, and arrived only in time to witness his last moments. My mother was in great distress of mind, and urged me strongly to give up my studies, and remain at home; but I needed little solicitation, for I had no taste for the life of a priest. I had been too early taught the sympathies, charities, and pleasures of domestic life, to prefer celibacy and seclusion in their stead; so I left college and settled at home. ‘I have been residing in town for these two months back, in consequence of my uncle’s absence in England, whose business I have to look after; but I expect him home in a few days, when, I trust, you will accompany me to see our little farm, when I will introduce you to her whom I have been describing, and I am sure you will say that I have not done more than justice to her character.’ Accordingly, when Eugene was relieved from his trust, I accompanied him out to B——. At the foot of a small avenue of trees, leading up to his house, we were met by a large Newfoundland dog, who came bounding down to meet his master, followed by Billy M’Daniel, who was a kind of _fac totum_ on the farm. ‘Welcome home, master! Are you come for good and all to us? It’s the mistress, and Miss Mary, and Catherine, that will be glad to see you. Your servant, sir,’ turning about to me—‘Get down, Cæsar, and don’t be dirtying the gentleman’s clothes; but he’s so proud to see yees all, that he doesn’t know what to make of himself.’ ‘Well, Billy,’ said Eugene, ‘how’s the hay getting on?’ ‘Mighty well, sir, never better; we finished the low meadow this morning.’ We had now reached the lawn in front of the cottage, where we were met by his mother, ‘Welcome, child,’ said she; ‘is your uncle come home, or is this only a visit?’ ‘My uncle arrived yesterday; but he is still so busy that he will not be able to get out to see you until next week—Give me leave to introduce you to a friend of mine, whom I have brought out to see how the _wild Irish_ grow in the country—he has had a specimen of it in the village.’ ‘Any friend of Eugene’s is always welcome to me,’ said she, ‘but a soldier in particular; my favourite brother belonged to that profession; he was an officer in the eighty-eighth regiment; but, alas! he is now no more: he fell at the battle of Talavera. Was your regiment in Spain?’ ‘Yes,’ replied I, ‘but it had not arrived in the Peninsula when the battle of Talavera was fought.’ ‘Come, mother,’ said Eugene, seeing the tear standing in her eye, ‘Let us drop all conversation about “war’s alarms” now—Have you got anything for us to eat? remember we have had a brisk walk. Where’s Mary and Catherine?’ ‘They are out in the garden weeding,’ said she, ‘but when they hear you have returned, they will not stop long.’