“It has even better, sir, it has truth; and hence it is that the peasantry, as they approach nearer to the capital,--the seat of civilization,--have fewest of those traits that please or attract strangers; they are in the transition state I speak of; while down in _my_ wild country, you can see them in their native freshness, reckless and improvident, but light-hearted and happy.” “Where may the country be you speak of, sir?” said Forester. “The Far West, beside the Atlantic. You have heard of Mayo?” “Oh, that is my destination at this moment; I am going beyond Westport, to visit one of the chieftains there. I have not the honor to know him, but I conclude that his style of living and habits will not be a bad specimen of the gentry customs generally.” “I know that neighborhood tolerably well. May I ask the name of your future host?” “The Knight of Gwynne is his title--Mr. Darcy--” “Oh! an old acquaintance,--I may almost say an old friend of mine,” said the other, smiling. “And so you are going to pass some time at Gywnne?” “A week or so; I scarcely think I can spare more.” “They 'll call that a very inhospitable visit at Gwynne, sir; the Knight's guests rarely stay less than a month. I have just left it, and there were some there who had been since the beginning of the partridge-shooting, and not the least welcome of the party.” “I am sorry I had not the good fortune to meet you there,” said Forester. “Make your visit a fortnight, and I 'll join you, then,” said the old man, gayly. “I 'm going up to town to settle a wager,--a foolish excursion, you 'll say, at my time of life; but it's too late to mend.” “The horses is put to, sir,” said the waiter, announcing the fact for something like the fourth time, without being attended to. “Well, then, it is time to start. Am I to take it as a pledge that I shall find you at Gwynne this day fortnight?” “I cannot answer for my host,” said Forester, laughing. “Oh! old Darcy is sure to ask you to stay. By the way, would you permit me to trouble you with five lines to a friend who is now stopping there?” “Of course; I shall be but too happy to be of any service to you.” The old gentleman sat down, and, tearing a leaf from a capacious pocket-book, wrote a few hurried lines, which, having folded and sealed, he addressed, “Bagenal Daly, Esquire, Gwynne Abbey.” “There, that's my commission; pray add my service to the Knight himself, when you see him.” “Permit me to ask, how shall I designate his friend?” “Oh! I forgot, you don't know me,” said he, laughing. “I have half a mind to leave the identification with your own descriptive powers.” “I'd wager five guineas I could make the portrait a resemblance.” “Done, then; I take the bet,” said the other; “and I promise you, on the word of a gentleman, I am known to every visitor in the house.”