y of money and did not know what else to do with it. Toby,
however, remained on board the old "Porpoise," intending to go round in
her to Portsmouth, where she was next bound with provisions. It was no
easy matter making a journey in the West of Ireland in those days.
There were the coaches, but they were liable to upset and to be robbed.

Although, therefore, posting was dear, Pat settled that such was the
only becoming way for the widow of the "Grecian's" late boatswain to
travel. My mother at length consented to go part of the way in a coach,
performing the remainder in a chaise, when no coach was available.

The place for which we were bound was Ballybruree, a town, it called
itself, on the west coast of the green island. Her father, Mat Dwyer,
Esquire, he signed himself, and her mother, were both alive, and she had
a number of brothers and sisters, and a vast number of cousins to boot.
But I must reserve an account of our reception at Rincurran Castle, for
so my grandfather called his abode, for another chapter.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

"Ben, my boy, you are approaching the home of your ancestors," exclaimed
Pat Brady, who was seated on the box of the old battered yellow
post-chaise, on the roof of which I had perched myself, while my poor
mother sat in solitude inside. "They are an honoured race, and mighty
respected in the country. You will see the top of the ould Castle
before long if you keep a bright look-out, and a hearty welcome we'll be
after getting when they see us all arrive in this dignified way--just
like a great foreign ambassador going to court. It is a fine counthry
this of ours, Ben, barring the roads, which put us too much in mind of
our run home in the `Porpoise'. But we have mighty fine hills, Ben. Do
you see them there? And lakes and streams full of big trout, and
forests. But the bogs, Ben, they beat them all. If it was not for them
bogs, where should we all be? Then the roads might be worse, Ben. Hold
on there, lad, or you will be sent into the middle of next week. But
Ben, my boy, as the song says:--

"`If you'd seen but these roads before they were made,
You would have lift up your hands and blessed General Wade'."

Thus Pat continued running on as he had been doing the whole of our
journey. It was certainly hard work holding on at the top of the
chaise, as it went pitching and rolling, and tumbling about over the
ill-formed path, which scarcely deserved the name of a