t say _well_, but decently, and how little justice has
been rendered to the talent of the authors; the translators having been
for the most part incompetent drudges, working by the square foot, or
persons of some ability, who apparently deemed it beneath them to bestow
upon translations even a small portion of the pains they devote to
original productions. We are aware of very few instances where this
description of labour, which to do well is not altogether so easy as is
usually supposed, has fallen into hands alike competent and conscientious.
We trust that whenever the works of our German Unknown are translated,
they will be undertaken by persons at once sensible of their merits, and
able to do them justice.

THE RECTOR'S DAUGHTER.

CHAPTER I.

The rapid shade of an October evening, borrowing deeper gloom from the
wildness of the adjacent Tipperary mountains, was falling over the lonely
town of Clogheen, within whose classic precincts took place that important
meeting between Sergeant Snap and Paddy Carey, which has been recorded
immortally in song. Forty years ago, (of which period we are about to
write,) when roads were not as good, travellers as adventurous, and
markets as abundant as at present, Clogheen was a smart, or, as the
_Itinerary_ of that day has it, "a thriving place with a decent church,"
boasting a comfortable inn and several hucksters' shops, where every
variety of merchandise, from brandy and bandle-linen to hand-saws and
halfpenny whistles, was procurable.

In a double-countered shop (for the appliances for the inward creature
were sold at one side, and those for the outward man at another) in one of
the handsomest houses of the town--where a double-story, slated roof, and
a sign-board with a red splash in the middle, and the characters, "General
Hutchinson," underneath, was the standard of excellence--on the evening in
question stood Curly Cahill,[22] spirit retailer, and, according to the
signboard just quoted, "dealer in soft goods, butter, leather, iron, eggs,
and tobacco," busily engaged in serving a customer.

"Beautyful baffety, Miss," said Curly, a dapper middle-aged worthy, his
short black hair combed sleek over his low forehead, with a face half
smooth, half smirking, and--for the little fellow pretended to no small
degree of sanctimony--his person dressed neatly in black, as closely as
possible to resemble the fashion just imported by the new _Co'juther_ from
Maynooth.

"B