IO ANDY COTTER. 



that the cows will frighten either the wild duck, 

 the snipe, or the hares. The wild fowl are 

 familiar with the wretched cattle who pant and 

 stagger through the gloomy marsh, or stand 

 with hungry wistful looks on the edge of a 

 pool, sending now and again into the air a 

 melancholy moan, in reply, as it were, to the 

 scream of the frantic pewits who are tumbling 

 overhead in sheer delight and high spirits at 

 the prospect of quarters so suited to their deso- 

 late habits. As you approach the dwelling of 

 Andy Cotter the good man beholds you from 

 afar, and sticking the spade in the garden-ooze 

 which conceals a rare potato, advances to greet 

 the fowler, and invite him to the hospitalities 

 of his mansion. The interior of the Villa 

 Cotter is so clouded with turf-smoke, that on 

 entering it your eyes are filled with tears, and 

 you are only conscious of a fine glow in a 

 corner, of the voice of Mrs. Cotter giving you 

 welcome, and of a smothered grunt of mingled 

 jealousy and surprise from a pig in that stage 

 of favour which immediately precedes his being 

 sold at the fair. By-and-by you begin to dis- 

 tinguish objects in the Villa Cotter. The 



