[ 44 ] [JULT, 



WALKS IN IRELAND : N"' II.— THE MURDEREU's DEATH. 



Gentle Reader : — I never published No. 1, and I never will, but 

 I have not the remotest intention of telling you why ; all the information 

 it contains, which it is necessary for you to possess is, that I am " a young 

 man of genteel connexions," as the grocers and linendrapers say, about 

 5 feet 11 inches in height, of a spare active habit, and somewhat choleric 

 complexion. When in town, I wear in the morning a black frock, slate 

 coloured gloves, sewed with black, a narrow-brimmed hat, and very thin 

 boots ; in the evening, a black coat, of an accuracy not to be sui*passed, 

 white waistcoat, pale straw coloured gloves, black stock, and particularly 

 low quartered shoes ; my brequet is perhaps the smallest about town : I 

 wear it in my bosom, not my waistcoat pocket. I am to be found at 

 Almack's, and the Opera, not to speak of private engagements ; in the 

 country, I am a mighty hunter before tlie lord, and a bitter and blood- 

 thirsty persecutor of grouse, partridge, and snipe : on these occasions, I 

 wear either a scarlet coat or a green frock, as the case requires ; when on 

 a pedestrian ramble, I patronize a sailor's jacket and straw hat ; when I 

 become very famous, I will employ some kind friend to publish, in the 

 Examiner, or some paper which sets an equal A^alue on the ties of friend- 

 ship, recollections of me and my cotemporaries, with all my domestic 

 faults, whims and oddities, for the purpose of publishing which, great 

 men now-a-days let little men into their intimacy, by which means they 

 are sure of a sufficient quantity of flattery during their lives, that they 

 may supply materials for calumny and vituperation after their exit from 

 the busy treacherous scene ; in plain English, they are pampered when 

 living, to be eaten when dead : 'till then let this short, ingenuous sketch 

 satisfy you ; and, 



Believe me (while you read me) your sincere friend. 



The Author. 



July 29lh, 1828. 



At eleven o'clock in the forenoon, I left Dublin for the County of 

 Wicklow. The day was sultry : fitter for Jamaica than Ireland. 



One found me at : poor ]\Irs. saw me from the window, and 



met me at the door with a kind welcome, and a smile that she wished 

 to be a cheerful one, but it made me sigh ; she looked pale and care- 

 worn, and no wonder, her lot is indeed a hard one ; her kind friends 

 and relations, however, look on, like the Levite, and pass by on the other 

 side, satisfying themselves with the reflection, that it was her own choice. 



Let me except her aunt, old Lady P , she is a good Samaritan 



indeed. 



On my way to Kilgobbin Castle and its most Irish village Step-aside, 

 I met with a civility unexpected so near the metropolis. An elderly 

 gentleman driving past me with a dashing equipage drew up, and 

 offered me a seat in his carriage ; I declined his offer, for I am luckily a 

 pedestrian from choice as well as necessity ; however, as we happened 

 to be at the foot of a somewhat steep ascent, he alighted, and joining 

 me, we entered into conversation : he was a sensible, well informed man, 

 and we parted, I believe, with a mutual desire to meet again, at least I 

 can answer for myself. 



At the Aitrance to the Dargle, I met Miss M and her uncle, 



