be soon our fate to be better acquainted.

The gentleman who had slowly risen from the sofa was his son, Mr.
Mollett junior--Mr. Abraham Mollett, with whom also we shall become
better acquainted. The father has been represented as not being
exactly prepossessing; but the son, according to my ideas, was much
less so. He also would be considered handsome by some persons--by
women chiefly of the Fanny O'Dwyer class, whose eyes are capable of
recognizing what is good in shape and form, but cannot recognize
what is good in tone and character. Mr. Abraham Mollett was perhaps
some thirty years of age, or rather more. He was a very smart man,
with a profusion of dark, much-oiled hair, with dark, copious
mustachoes--and mustachoes being then not common as they are now,
added to his otherwise rakish, vulgar appearance--with various rings
on his not well-washed hands, with a frilled front to his not lately
washed shirt, with a velvet collar to his coat, and patent-leather
boots upon his feet.

Free living had told more upon him, young as he was, than upon his
father. His face was not yet pimply, but it was red and bloated;
his eyes were bloodshot and protruding; his hand on a morning was
unsteady; and his passion for brandy was stronger than that for
beefsteaks; whereas his father's appetite for solid food had never
flagged. Those who were intimate with the family, and were observant
of men, were wont to remark that the son would never fill the
father's shoes. These family friends, I may perhaps add, were
generally markers at billiard-tables, head grooms at race-courses, or
other men of that sharp, discerning class. Seeing that I introduce
these gentlemen to my readers at the Kanturk Hotel, in South Main
Street, Cork, it may be perhaps as well to add that they were both
Englishmen; so that mistakes on that matter may be avoided.

The father, as soon as he had rid himself of his upper coat, his
dripping hat, and his goloshes, stood up with his back to the
bar-room fire, with his hands in his trousers-pockets, and the tails
of his coat stuck inside his arms.

"I tell you, Aby, it was cold enough outside that infernal coach. I'm
blessed if I've a morsel of feeling in my toes yet. Why the d----
don't they continue the railway on to Cork? It's as much as a man's
life is worth to travel in that sort of way at this time of the
year."

"You'll have more of it then if you intend going out of town
to-morrow," said the son.

"Well;