middle height, and exquisitely proportioned, with a head and face that might have served as a model for a sculptor, she was truly a beautiful creature; fair, with very little colour, and hair of a pale brown hue, braided tastefully and falling low on her neck behind. Though Irish thoroughly, without a tinge of other blood in her veins, this young girl struck me as being very unlike the idea I had previously formed of the women of her country. She was neither boisterous nor particularly animated; she did not talk loudly about hunting or horse-racing, nor put one to the blush by cutting jokes and merciless quizzing. She was precisely like a well-bred lady of any civilised society; her accent not quite English, but only tinged sufficiently with that of her own country to give a peculiar charm to her tones. She advanced towards me with a winning smile, gave me her hand in an easy, graceful manner, and entered at once into a conversation which served to dispel the embarrassment that I felt overcoming me as I entered the house. We talked for some time before Sir Denis made his appearance, and from him I received a cordial welcome to Knockgriffin. He was a fine specimen of a Tipperary man—frank, good-looking, and of agreeable manners. Both sister and brother had travelled a good deal abroad, and were acquainted with many friends of my own. They were intimate with London and Parisian society, as well as with members of the higher circles of their own metropolis. I had never passed a pleasanter half hour than that of this morning call; and when on my departure Sir Denis expressed an indefinite sort of wish that I would join a party of visitors, whom he expected to remain for a few days at Knockgriffin, my delight was extreme. To be for a week perhaps domiciled under the same roof as that which sheltered the enchanting form of the most charming girl I had ever seen! It was a happiness almost too great to believe in.
I rode home in a dreamy frame of mind, more intensely sentimental than before, and decidedly very deeply in love. I had passed out of the demesne and was going over one of the narrow tortuous roads bounded by the thick green hedges I have mentioned as peculiar to Tipperary when a somewhat remarkable occurrence took place. I was buried in profound thought, grasping the reins somewhat loosely, and allowing my horse to go on as he pleased, when he gave a sudden start that roused me, and I beheld a man’s head peering curiously through the hedge, the eyes fixed intently on myself.
“Good day, Sir Denis,” said the fellow, after we had exchanged a scrutinising stare.
“Good day,” replied I, “but you have mistaken me. I am not Sir Denis Barnett, only a visitor coming from his place.”
“All right then,” observed the man, pulling his head back, and retreating without saying anything further. I watched him, however, as he cut swiftly across the fields on the left of the road, and observed that he carried a musket, which posed me a good deal. Should I put spurs to my horse and follow the fellow to demand what he wanted with Sir Denis or where he was going with firearms? was the question that rose to my mind while I observed him hurrying off in the distance. My first impulse was to do so, my next to let the matter pass unheeded. I never could expect to discover the truth from him, and nothing could be gained by a mere suspicion. Somehow the incident made a curious impression on me, after all I had read and heard of Tipperary morality, and I did not cease to ponder upon it when I reached my quarters at Cashel.
PILCHARDS.
The fish which form the subject of this short paper are not so well-known in most of our large inland towns and cities as in the sea-port towns where the fishery is carried on, and a few words, therefore, concerning them may be not out of place in these columns.
The pilchard, though a smaller fish than the herring, bears a considerable resemblance to the latter in shape, general appearance, and habits, and may be fairly considered one of the most important of the family of “Clupeidæ.” It is more plentiful on the coasts of Devon and Cornwall than in any other of our counties, and forms a large item in the revenues of Cornish men especially. To the pilchard fishermen “a good season” is synonymous with a full cupboard and prosperity, and a bad one equivalent to ruin and discomfort. The apparatus for taking pilchards is certainly an expensive one, and requires the outlay of a good deal of capital, as these fish are mostly caught in the “seine net,” which, as it is generally used, necessitates the services of three boats. The “seine” net is floated by corks, as are the herring-nets, and is leaded at the bottom in the same fashion as the casting-net used in fresh water for taking small fish to serve as baits for anglers. Of the three boats used, the first one carries the larger net, about ten fathoms deep, and any length that is required, whilst the second one carries a smaller “seine” as regards length, but nearly double the depth. The third boat is much smaller than either of