“What could come of their pretension?” said a colonel's widow, with a very large nose and a very small pension; “they attempted a style of living quite unsuited to them! The house always full of young men, too.” “You would n't have had them invite old ones, madam,” said Lady Janet, with the air of rebuke the wife of a commander-in-chief can assume to the colonel's relict. “It's a very sad affair, indeed,” summed up Mrs. White, who, if she had n't quarrelled with Mr. Howie, would have given him the whole narrative for the “Satanist.” “What a house to be sure! There's Lady Kilgoff on one side--” “What of her, my Lady?” said the blonde. “You did n't hear of Lord Kilgoff overtaking her to-day in the wood with Sir Harvey Upton?--hush! or he 'll hear us. The poor old man--you know his state of mind--snatched the whip from the coachman, and struck Sir Harvey across the face. They say there's a great welt over the cheek!” Mrs. White immediately arose, and, under pretence of looking for a book, made a circuit of the room in that part where Sir Harvey Upton was lounging, with his head on his hand. “Quite true,” said she, returning to the party. “It is so painful, he can't keep his hand from the spot.” “Has any one discovered who the strange-looking man was that was received by Mr. Cashel this morning in his own study?” asked the blonde. “My maid said he was for all the world like a sheriff's officer. It seems, too, he was very violent in his language; and but for Mr. Kennyfeck, he would not have left the house.” “Too true, I fear, ma'am,” said Mrs. Malone; “my husband, the Thief,”--this was Mrs. Malone's mode of abbreviating and pronouncing the words Chief Justice,--“told me it was impothible for Mr. Cashel to continue his extravaganth much longer.” “It's shameful--it's disgraceful,” said Lady Janet; “the kitchen is a scene of waste and recklessness, such as no fortune could stand.” “Indeed, so the 'Thief' said,” resumed Mrs. Malone; “he said that robbery went on, on every thide, and that Mr. Phillith, I think his name is, was the worst of all.” “Your husband was quite correct, ma'am,” said Lady Janet; “no one should know it better.” And then she whispered in her neighbor's ear, “If the adage be true, 'Set a thief to catch a thief.'” The party intrusted with this could not restrain her laughter, and for a space, a species of distrust seemed to pervade the circle. We are certain that no apology will be required, if we ask of our reader to quit this amiable society,--although seated at a comfortable fire, in the very easiest of chairs, with the softest carpet beneath his feet,--and accompany Roland Cashel, who now, with hasty step, trod the little path that led to Tubber-beg Cottage.