that you had no turf of your own?” “Because, Sir, it was all stolen from me, after I had paid two pounds for cutting and drying it.” “Did you ever,” I inquired, “discover who were the robbers?” “Oh, yes, Sir,” he replied. “And could you prove the theft against them?” “I could, to be sure.” “Did you prosecute them?” “Tut, tut, Sir, what good would that do me?” and Paddy added, in a tone of pity, “the creatures! sure they were poor rogues, or they would not have taken every bit away.” “Well, then, Paddy,” I inquired, “did you ever speak to them about it?” “I did, Sir.” “And what answer or apology did they make?” “They said, Sir, that they wouldn’t have touched it if they knew it was mine.” “Did they ever return any of it?” Paddy replied with a laugh, “Oh, no!” Reader, are you richer in a worldly sense than Paddy Coneely? And if, as it is probable, you are so, let us ask you, do you just now feel an unusual warmth in your cheeks? If so, you need not be greatly ashamed of it, for believe us, there are many nobles in our land who might well feel a similar sensation on reading these anecdotes of the benevolence of Paddy Coneely. Paddy, like all or most genuine Irishmen, has a dash of quiet Irish humour and much excitability in his character, of which we must venture to give an instance or two. On a certain day, while Paddy was stopping at Mr O’Flaherty’s of Knock-ban, the coachman, who was blind of one eye, was airing two horses, one of which was similarly wanting in a visual organ, and the other stone blind. A gentleman present remarking that here were four animals, two men and two horses, that had but two eyes among them, proposed a race, to which Paddy and the coachman assented. Paddy was placed upon the horse which could see a little, and the coachman got up on the blind one. Off they started with whip and spur, and to his great delight, Paddy won. This is one of the feats of which Paddy is most proud.