Devil afoot you'll come down, please your honor; but you'll come up and
prize the crap. It's worth five times the rent, at any rate--that's one
comfort. Hurroo!"

"Upon my honor, Regan, I'm tired of this I have done it several times
through kindness to yourself and family, but I cannot, really, do it any
more."

"Very well, sir--no offence--what one won't, another will; I can raise
three times the rent on it in four and twenty hours."

"What an unfortunate man you are, to be sure. Well, Regan, I shall
appraise your crops and take them, or a competent share of them in
payment, on this occasion--but mark me, it shall be the last."

"More power, I say.--Long life to you, sir. You know a hawk from a
hand-saw, any how--and be my sowl, kind father, for you--whish! I'm
rantin' Regan from sweet Anghadarra!"

So saying, poor, idle, drinking, negligent, pugnacious Regan, by his own
sheer neglect, put his property into the hands of the most relentless
harpy that ever robbed and fleeced a tenantry. This mode of proceeding
was, in fact, one of the many methods resorted to by rapacious agents,
for filling their own pockets at the expense of the tenant, who, by
this means, seldom received more than a fourth part of the value of his
crops. The agent under the mask of obliging him, and saving his crops
from the hammer, took them at a valuation when the markets were low;
and in order that he might be able to do so, he always kept over the
tenant's head what is called a hanging gale--which means that he was
half a year's rent in arrear. The crops were then brought home to the
agent's place, and frequently, to save appearances, to the haggard of
some friend of his, where they were kept until the markets got up to the
highest price. So that it was not an unusual thing for the iniquitous
agent to double the rent, one-half of which he coolly put into his own
pocket.--In pastoral lands the butter was appraised in the same manner,
mostly with similar results to both parties. To return--when Regan had
departed, Val asked Solomon what he thought of him. "Think of him," said
Solomon, who could not forgive the allusion to Susanna, "I would fain
think of him as becomes a Christian; but, somehow, I could not help
feeling, whenever I looked at him, there was the outline of an execution
in his face; however, I may be mistaken--indeed, I hope--I trust I
am--the villain!"

"M'Murt, call in Catharine Tyrrell."

"Yes," said Phil, "call in Widow Tyr