misapplied to so simple an edifice) refers the date of its erection, and indeed correctly, to the beginning of the last century. The small windows are nearly square, and deep set in the massy stonework, while the lofty gables, comprising more than half the height of the whole building, present, when viewed from the end, an angle almost as acute as that of a wedge. Around, in a still more dilapidated condition than the dwelling-house, may be traced the ruins of numerous out-offices, the stable, the cow-house, the turf-house, the piggery, the fowl-house, and even (a contrast to the present poverty of the surrounding country) the coach-house. At a little distance, the urchins of the neighbourhood point out the remains of earthen fences, not much more distinct than the immortal Roman entrenchment of Monkbarns, as all that is left of what was once the kitchen and flower-garden. Polyanthuses, almost dwindled into primroses, bachelors'-buttons impoverished both in size and colour, and a gooseberry or currant bush, choked up in furze, furnish corroborative testimony to the tradition. The neighbouring peasantry still preserve the history of the building from its earliest foundation, as well as of its successive owners, who were persons of no little notoriety in their time.

In the beginning of the last century, the tract of land on which the ruin stands was purchased by a certain Mr. Patrick Moynehan (more commonly known by the familiar diminutive Paddy Monehan, or Paddy the Lad). As, although respectably descended, Mr. Moynehan was not heir to any property whatever, and as his subsequent habits did not furnish any indications of that thrift which Shylock tells us,

"Is blessing, if men steal it not",

there was very general whispering, and great perplexity as to how Paddy Moynehan could have acquired the means of purchasing an estate, and building a handsome house.

As the stories circulated upon the subject were numerous, and characteristic both of the place and period, we will venture to relate a few.

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It was said by some, that on an occasion, when yet a young man, Pat Moynehan went to attend the berrin of a friend. While the remainder of the crowd were occupied at their devotions in the place of death, young Moynehan, little impressed by the solemnity of the scene before him, rambled about among the graves, "funning" and amusing himself, and paying little attention to the severe glances that were occasionally directed towards him from the kneeling crowd. On one occasion, it happened that he found, placed upon the corner of a monument, a bleached skull, the eyeless sockets directed towards him, and seeming to convey a more terrible rebuke than ever could have proceeded from the eyes that once moved within their orbits. Moynehan, however, was nothing checked in his career of mirth.

"Look there!" he said, pointing out the skull to a companion, who in vain endeavoured to repress his unseasonable levity, 66 much as you think of yourself, that was once as fine a man as you are, and you'll have as ugly a grin upon your own face yet; he was just as good a gentleman, and as devout a Christian". Then turning to the skull, and taking off his hat with an air of mock politeness, he added: "I am happy, sir, to have the pleasure of making your acquaintance, and will feel obliged by your giving me the honour of your company at breakfast next Sunday". And off he turned with another bow of mock respect, and left the churchyard with his companion.

Before breakfast hour on the following Sunday (the legend still continues), young Moynehan went out to speak with a neighbour; while he was absent, and while the servant girl was occupied in preparing breakfast, the door was opened from without, and "a big man" entered. He did not say "God save you", nor "God bless you", as he

came in, and walked silently to a chair that stood near the fire, and took his seat without speaking. His singular conduct was but the counterpart of his appearance. His dress was that of a gentleman, and rich, but so grotesque in form, and strange in material, that it was impossible to decide on the rank or country of the wearer. A high standing collar, a flowered silk waistcoat, ruffles at the wrists, a handsome pair of plush under garments, with golden knee-buckles, and silver ones of an enormous size across the insteps of his square-toed shoes; these, together with a well-powdered head of hair, brushed backward and gathered behind into a handsome queue, a cocked hat, which he carried under his arm, and a slender rapier by his side, constituted the chief portion of that costume which looked so perplexing in the eyes of the mountain handmaiden. With all this, there was in the expression of his eyes, and in the mechanical regularity of his movements, an air of she knew not what, that chilled the spirit of the young woman, and left her scarce the power to ask his business. Being, however, naturally of a free and hearty disposition, she did not suffer herself to be altogether daunted, but said, in a laughing manner, and after waiting a considerable time to hear him speak:

"Why, then, sir, arn't you a droll gentleman, to walk into a house in that kind o' way, an' sate yourself without sayin' a ha'p'orth ?"

"It is a law where

The stranger looked fixedly at her. I come from", says he, "that none of us shall speak until we are spoken to; and if the same law prevailed among people I know here, there are many of their friends that would have reason to be glad of it. But where's the man o' the house? isn't it a shame for him to ask a gentleman to breakfast with him, and

before him?"

not to be at home

While he was speaking, Moynehan entered.

"Isn't it a burning shame for you", said the stranger,

in a loud voice, "to ask a gentleman to breakfast with you, and not to be at home before him?”

"Me ask you to breakfast!" exclaimed the astonished Moynehan; "I never laid eyes on you before; but you are as welcome as if you got fifty invitations".

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Indeed, but you did ask me", said the stranger, "and I'll tell you where, too" ;--and stooping over towards him, he whispered in his ear.

The instant Moynehan heard the whisper, he fell in a death-like faint upon the floor. The stranger showed not the least concern, nor made any effort to relieve him, but waited with the utmost indifference until he should revive. While he was yet insensible, the girl, standing in awe of this mysterious guest, requested him to sit down to breakfast.

"No, no", he answered; "I can eat nothing until your master sits with me; it was with him I came to breakfast".

When Moynehan came to himself, understanding from the girl what the stranger had said, he repeated the invitation, which was immediately accepted, and both sat down together. The effect of the first shock having passed away, Moynehan made up his mind to perform the part of host with true Irish hospitality. He laughed, talked, jested, told his best stories, shook his guest by both hands together, and protested that he was as welcome as a rose in June". He ordered the freshest eggs, and fried the richest bacon, and treated the stranger with the most perfect hospitality.

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They had scarcely done breakfast, when a bell was heard ringing at a distance.

"What's that bell?" asked the stranger, in a sharp

tone.

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"Oh, it's nothing", said Moynehan, with a careless air; only the bell for chapel".

The stranger said nothing, but looked very serious. At

L

length, rising from his chair, he addressed his host as follows:

"You're an honest fellow, after all, and you may thank your hearty, hospitable conduct that I do not make you suffer severely for the trouble you gave me by your invitation; however, you must not say that you gave your breakfast for nothing. Meet me this evening by the elder tree near the river side, and you shall hear something that you will thank me for".

Moynehan kept the appointment, and those who gave credit to the story (and they comprised no small portion of the inhabitants of the surrounding cottages) asserted that during their evening conference, his unearthly visitor revealed to him a quantity of hidden treasure in a neighbouring ruin, more than sufficient to warrant the expensive style in which he soon began to live; others, while they admitted the truth of the greater portion of the story, denied that there was anything supernatural in the case. They asserted that the whole was a hoax played upon Moynehan, by a young man, a stranger in the place, who observed his conduct at the funeral, and availed himself of the mock invitation which he overheard, to read the wag a lesson, and to help himself to a comfortable breakfast. It was certain, indeed, that Moynehan himself never liked to have the story alluded to in his hearing, but this circumstance was urged, by the advocates of the wonderful, as evidence in favour of their own version of the tale. Those who contended for the common-place, were in the habit of accounting for Moynehan's great accession of wealth by other than supernatural means. He had become engaged, they said, in common with many other persons in his time, in a species of commerce which is viewed with a jealous eye by all governments; and by his share in the disposal of two or three cargoes of tobacco and other expensive luxuries, had amassed money enough to rest on his oars for all his after life.