The chapel green, as we have said, was covered by the great bulk of the peasantry who were waiting the arrival of the priest. Here was a circle in which stood some rustic politician, who, having had an opportunity of getting a glimpse at some newspaper of the day, was retailing its contents to a greedy circle of listeners about him. There again stood some well-known storyteller, or perhaps a live old senachie, reciting wild and stirring legends to his particular circle. Some were stretched indolently on the grass, or lying about the ditches in the adjoining fields, but by far the greatest and most anxious crowd was assembled under the tree against which Buck English--for by this name was he known--leaned. We should say here, however, that he was not called Buck English, because his name was English, but in consequence of his attempts at pronouncing the English tongue in such a manner as he himself considered peculiarly elegant and fashionable. The man's education was very limited, indeed he had scarcely received any, but he was gifted at the same time with a low vulgar fluency of language which he looked upon as a great intellectual gift, and which, in his opinion, wanted nothing but “tip-top prononsensation,” as he termed it, to make it high-flown and gentlemanly. Our friend “the Buck,” as he was universally called, was no sooner perceived in his usual station under the tree than there was a rapid gathering of the assembled crowd to hear him. “Hallo, Paddy! what's the matther? where are you goin' to in sich a hell of a hurry?” “Blood alive! man, sure Buck English is at his post to-day.” “How at his post?” “Why under the three where he always is when he comes here af a Sunday.” “Hut! sure I know that; come, begad, let us hear him.” “Faith, it's he that's up to the outs and ins of everything. Sure the Counsellor himself made mintion of him in a great speech some time ago. It seems the Buck sent him up five pounds in a letther, and the Counsellor read the letther, and said it came from a most respectable gentleman, a friend of his, one Barney--no, not Barney--it wasn't Barney he called him, but--but--let me see--ay, begad--Bir--Birnard--ay, one Birnard English, Esquire, from the Barony of Treena Heela; bekaise, as the Buck doesn't keep himself very closely to any particular place of livin', he dated his letther, I suppose, from the Barony at large.” “At any rate one thing's clear, that he's high up wid the Counsellor, an' if he wasn't one man in ten thousand he wouldn't be that.”