ch qualities had
not made him a favorite in Ireland.

It was almost a procession that accompanied him from the quay to the
great hotel of the Drogheda Arms, where they stopped to breakfast.

"I am glad to see you back amongst us, Carew!" said Joe Parsons, one of
my father's political advisers, a county member of great weight with the
Opposition. "We want every good and true man in his place just now."

"Faith! we missed you sorely at the Curragh meetings, Watty," cried a
sporting-looking young fellow, in "tops and leathers." "No such thing as
a good handicap, nor a hurdle race for a finish, without you."

"Harry deplores those pleasant evenings you used to spend at
three-handed whist, with himself and Dick Morgan," said another,
laughing.

"And where's Dick?" asked my father, looking around him on every side.

"Poor Dick!" said the last speaker. "It's no fault of his that he 's not
here to shake your hand to-day. He was arrested about six weeks ago, on
some bills he passed to Fagan."

"Old Tony alive still?" said my father, laughing. "And what was the
amount?" added he, in a whisper.

"A heavy figure,--above two thousand, I believe; but Tony would be right
glad to take five hundred."

"And couldn't Dick's friends do that much for him?" asked my father,
half indignantly. "Why, when I left this, Dick was the very life of your
city. A dinner without him was a failure. Men would rather have met him
at the cover than seen the fox. His hearty face and his warm shake-hands
were enough to inspire jollity into a Quaker meeting."

"All true, Watty; but there's been a general shipwreck of us all,
somehow. Where the money has gone, nobody knows; but every one seems out
at elbows. You are the only fellow the sun shines upon."

"Make hay, then, when it does so," said my father, laughing; and, taking
but his pocket-book, he scribbled a few lines on a leaf which he tore
out. "Give that to Dick, and tell him to come down and dine with us on
Friday. You'll join him. Quin and Parsons won't refuse me.--And what do
you say, Gervy Power? Can you spare a day from the tennis-court, or an
evening from piquet?--Jack Gore, I count upon you. Harvey Hepton will
drive you down, for I know you never can pay the post-boys."

"Egad, they 're too well trained to expect it. The rascals always look
to me for a hint about the young horses at the Curragh, and, now and
then, I do throw a stray five-pound in their way."

"We have not seen madam