Tim took his family to this castle, and set up a splendid style of living. Nobody was troubled with work or care now, except in the pursuit of pleasure; and yet, to poor Tim's astonishment, nobody was happy. He was most miserable of all, for he found it hardest to get used to rich clothes, rich food, authority, and idleness. His wife had her carriage--but she was always driving about in it--never at home with him. His daughters put on fine airs, with fine clothes, and learned to despise their ignorant old father, His sons took to bad company, drinking, rioting, and fox-chasing--and, as they did not know much about riding, they were always getting tumbles, and breaking their necks. His old friends were too humble to come near him in his grandeur, and the gentry too proud to notice such a rough, vulgar fellow, who had got rich in some sudden, suspicious way. He had hoped that Lord Powerscourt, at least, would visit him, "for the sake of old times, and out of neighborly feeling just,"--and Mrs. O'Daly counted confidently on a "betther acquaintance with her Ladyship." "An' sure," she said, "our young folk will be mighty thick directly, and what should hinder the young lord from taking a fancy to our Peggy? Arrah! they would make an ilegant match, by raison of his height an' her shortness,--an' thin, haven't they hair of the same lively shade of red?" But Lord Powerscourt, who had always been a kind and affable master, seemed put upon the very tallest stilts of his dignity, when he met his old servant now; and though he congratulated him on his good fortune, never honored him with either a formal or friendly call--while Lady Powerscourt and her daughters, who had often visited the cottage by the Dargle, in times of sickness and trouble, were never seen driving up the avenue of O'Daly Castle,--and as for the young lord, he went abroad, about these days, and was lost to Miss Peggy O'Daly forever. Tim's new neighbors laughed at him for his pretensions, and the blunders his family made in "aping their betters,"--his servants imposed on him, and there was nothing but coldness, discord, and wicked waste in his grand old castle, so unlike the humble, happy home of the game-keeper. Even the Banshee, in whom he had felt so much pride, was no consolation; for, being indignant that low-born peasants had dared to take the place of the ancient and noble family she had so long patronized, she did nothing but howl about the castle, every night of her life. At length, things got to such a desperate pass, that Tim could endure them no longer, but took the few fairy jewels and guineas that remained, and went with them to the place where he had caught the _Clericaune_. There he was again, and he looked up at Tim with a wicked twinkle in his eye, for he knew, the rascal, what trouble unearned riches bring upon one. Tim emptied his pockets of gold and precious stones, and flung them at the little brogue-maker's head--crying out--