He opened the window, and called to give some orders to the man, or, as he called him, the boy--a boy of sixty--who was ploughing. “Your team, I see, is worthy of your tackle,” pursued Sir Ulick--“A mule, a bull, and two lean horses. I pity the foremost poor devil of a horse, who must starve in the midst of plenty, while the horse, bull, and even mule, in a string behind him, are all plucking and _munging_ away at their hay ropes.” Cornelius joined in Sir Ulick’s laugh, which shortened its duration. “‘Tis comical ploughing, I grant,” said he, “but still, to my fancy, any thing’s better and more profitable _nor_ the tragi-comic ploughing you practise every sason in Dublin.” “I?” said Sir Ulick. “Ay, you and all your courtiers, ploughing the half acre [Footnote: Ploughing the half acre. The English reader will please to inquire the meaning of this phrase from any Irish courtier.] continually, pacing up and down that Castle-yard, while you’re waiting in attendance there. Every one to his taste, but-- ‘If there’s a man on earth I hate, Attendance and dependence be his fate.’” “After all, I have very good prospects in life,” said Sir Ulick. “Ay, you’ve been always living on prospects; for my part, I’d rather have a mole-hill in possession than a mountain in prospect.” “Cornelius, what are you doing here to the roof of your house?” said Sir Ulick, striking off to another subject. “What a vast deal of work you do contrive to cut out for yourself.” “I’d rather cut it out for myself than have any body to cut it out for me,” said Cornelius. “Upon my word, this will require all your extraordinary ingenuity, cousin.” “Oh, I’ll engage I’ll make a good job of it, in my sense of the word, though not in yours; for I know, in your vocabulary, that’s only a good job where you pocket money and do nothing; now my good jobs never bring me in a farthing, and give me a great deal to do into the bargain.” “I don’t envy you such jobs, indeed,” said Sir Ulick; “and are you sure that at last you make them good jobs in any acceptation of the term?” “Sure! a man’s never sure of any thing in this world, but of being abused. But one comfort, my own conscience, for which I’ve a trifling respect, can’t reproach me; since my jobs, good or bad, have cost my poor country nothing.” On this point Sir Ulick was particularly sore, for he had the character of being one of the greatest _jobbers_ in Ireland. With a face of much political prudery, which he well knew how to assume, he began to exculpate himself. He confessed that much public money had passed through his hands; but he protested that none of it had stayed with him. No man, who had done so much for different administrations, had been so ill paid.