In the first place, two uncles, five cousins, and an elder brother of his own, had all stood between him and the family property, worth three hundred a-year, or thereabouts, but with an alacrity and good nature quite exemplary to all uncles and cousins under similar circumstances, they all within a couple of years quitted the scene. Before the last of them was sodded, however, Charley took it into his head to borrow some money, on the chance of his inheritance, at twenty per cent. As the aforesaid chance was rather a good one, he was soon accommodated; but the wax on the bond was scarce cold when he was called to the joy of mourning at the funeral of his last impediment. Oh, if he had had but the luck to wait one week!--he was the most unfortunate dog in the world! Still, matrimony might enable him to retrieve all, and accordingly to work he went, and wild work, sure enough, he made of it. His last affair in that line, however, being that which fairly convinced him of the unprofitable nature of his pursuit, and likewise being rather a good thing in its way, is the only one which I shall offer in illustration of Charley’s luck and Charley’s mode of managing it. A letter, directed in female fashion, was handed to him one morning by the postmaster of B----, the town contiguous to which lay his mansion; thus ran its contents, with the commentary of the reader:-- “Dear Charles--[has she the _tin_, I wonder?] a severe attack of rheumatism [pooh! it’s from my aunt Bindon--hum--ay--Marsh’s prescriptions--Mr Gregg’s new chapel--have to sacrifice all and quit Dublin--hallo! what’s this?] Your cousin Lucy [they say she has three thousand] has suffered so much from the bad air of the city, that I must endeavour to procure her the benefit of a country residence. I would prefer the town of B----, if there be a good house to let in it. Pray let me know as soon as you can, and the rent, and every thing about it, &c. &c.--Your attached aunt, LUCY BINDON.”