On another occasion, being about to visit the island castle on Lough Corrib, called Caislean-na-Circe, Paddy expressed to us his desire to accompany us, as he said he never had an opportunity of _seeing_ it. We took him with us accordingly; and there was not a spot on the rocky island that with the aid of his stick he did not examine, or a crumbling wall that he did not scale, even to places that we should have supposed only accessible to jackdaws. “Dear me, Sir,” he exclaimed on our return, “but that’s a mighty curious castle, and must be very ancient. I never _saw_ walls in a castle so thick before, and how beautiful and smooth the arches were! I think they were a kind of grit-stone?” This was added inquiringly; and so they were--red sandstone chiselled. But we are dwelling too long on these characteristics, forgetting that we have others to notice of greater interest; and of these perhaps the most eminent is his habitual, and, as we might say, constitutional benevolence. Of this trait in his character we heard many interesting instances, but our space will only allow us to notice one or two which we artfully extracted from himself. Having heard of his kindnesses to some of his neighbours who are poorer than himself, we had determined to make himself speak on the matter; and, accordingly, when passing through the village in which he resides, about two miles and a half from Galway, we remarked to him that some of those neighbours seemed very poor. “Indeed they are, Sir, very,” he replied; “they have been very badly off this year in consequence of the wet, the want of firing, and the dearness of potatoes.” “And how,” I rejoined, “have they contrived to keep body and soul together?” “Why, Sir, just by the assistance of those a little better off than themselves.” Paddy would not name himself as their benefactor, so we had to ask him if he had been able to give them any aid, and then his ingenuousness obliged him to confess that he had: he had lent thirty shillings to one family to buy seed for their bit of ground, ten shillings to another to buy meal, and so on. “And will they ever pay you, Paddy?” we inquired. “Och! the creatures, they will, to be sure, Sir,” Paddy replied in a tone expressive of surprise at the imputation on their honesty; but added in a lower voice, “if they can; and if they can’t, Sir, why, please God, I’ll get over it; sure one couldn’t see the creatures starve!” This was last year. In the present summer we had heard that Paddy’s turf was all stolen from him shortly after--perhaps by some of the very persons whom he had assisted--and we were curious to ascertain how he took his loss. So we inquired, “How were you off, Paddy, for firing last winter?” “Very badly, Sir. I had no turf of my own, and was obliged to buy turf in Galway at four shillings the kish. It would have been cheaper to buy coal, only I don’t like a grate, for the children burn themselves at it.” “And how did it happen