“Yes; she is a clever artist, and might, it is said by competent judges, have attained high excellence as a painter had she pursued the study. I remember an illustration of the fact worth mentioning. Carringford, the well-known miniature-painter, who was making a tour of this country a couple of years back, passed some days at the cottage, and made a picture of old Con Corrigan, for which, I may remark passingly, poor Mary paid all her little pocket-money,--some twenty guineas, saved up from Heaven knows how long. Con did not know this, of course, and believed the portrait was a compliment to his granddaughter. Carringford's ability is well known, and there is no need to say the picture was admirably painted; but still it wanted character; it had not the playful ease, the gentle, indulgent pleasantry that marks my old friend's features; in fact, it was hard and cold,--not warm, generous, and genial: so I thought, and so Mary thought, and accordingly, scarcely had the artist taken his leave, when she set to work herself, and made a portrait, which, if inferior as a work of art, was infinitely superior as a likeness. It was Con himself; it had the very sparkle of his mild blue eye, the mingled glance of drollery and softness, the slightly curled mouth, as though some quaint conceit was lingering on the lip,--all his own. Mary's picture hung on one side of the chimney, and Carringford's at the other, and so they stood when the painter came through from Limerick and passed one night at Tubber-beg, on his way to Dublin. I breakfasted there that morning, and I remember, on entering the room, I was surprised to see the frame of Carringford's portrait empty, and a bank-note, carefully folded, stuck in the corner. 'What does that mean?' said I to him, for we were alone at the time. “'It means simply that _my_ picture cannot stand such competitorship as _that_, said he; _mine_ was a miniature, _that_ is the man himself.' I will not say one half of the flatteries he uttered, but I have heard from others since, that he speaks of this picture as a production of high merit. Dear girl! that meagre sketch may soon have a sadder interest connected with it; it may be all that I shall possess of her! Yes, Mr. Cashel, your generosity may stave off the pressure of one peril, but there is another, from which nothing but flight will rescue my poor friend.” A sharp knocking at the door here interrupted the doctor's recital, and soon Hoare's voice was heard without, inquiring if Dr. Tiernay was at home. Hoare's easy familiarity, as he entered, seemed to suffer a slight shock on observing Roland Cashel, who received him with cold politeness. Tiernay, who saw at once that business alone would relieve the awkwardness of the scene, briefly informed the other that Mr. Cashel was there to learn the exact amount and circumstances of Corrigan's liabilities, with a view to a final settlement of them.