and it was evident that he was prepared for it.
He rode hastily into Dennis's yard, shouting
to his followers to turn out cows, horses, pigs,
and poultry. There was a hasty running to
the stable and the cowshed; the swine were
driven squealing from the manure-heap into
a corner of the yard, where half-a-dozen
fellows, armed with stout poles, stood guard
over them. The steward rode round; and.
glancing over the neighbouring fields,
declared that there was not enough on the
whole place to pay the rent and arrears.
All should, therefore, be seized. Dennis was
nowhere to be seen; and the steward sent
three or four fellows into the house to order
him and his family out. Dennis was sitting
unceremoniously before the fire, and his wife
and children were standing about, by no
means much distressed or apprehensive.

When the men advised Dennis to evacuate,
he very quietly rose; and, going out, went
up to where the steward sate on his horse,—
"Well, sir," he said, "and what's your will?"

"My will is that you march off, with all
your brood. You have no business here."

"More than you have, Mr. Gripps, I fancy."

"Pack! I say; or, I'll soon show you what
business I have. Here," he shouted to his
followers, "pitch the scamp out of the premises."

"Stand off!" said Dennis, seizing a pitchfork,
"stand off! or ye'll be ruing it, ye will. I
told you, Mr. Gripps, T would be ready for you."

"Knock him down! Haul him off!"
shouted Gripps; and a crowd of well-armed
men rushed upon him. But Dennis, with a
whirl of his fork, made them stand a moment
at bay; and in that moment he drew a large
letter from his bosom, and, holding it up to
the steward, said,—"Don't be in a hurry, Mr.
Gripps; read that first, and then do as the
devil bids ye."

As Dennis approached to hand the letter,
Gripps drew out a pistol, and shouted,—"Back,
rogue! or I'll blow out your brains!"

"Then give him the Duke's highness's
letter—you there!" said Dennis, sticking his
fork into the ground, and going up to one of
the steward's attendants. The man hesitated.
—"It's the Duke's highness's own letter, I
tell you," cried Dennis, "and it's not the
likes of you that need fear it; but the man
on the horse there. He will shake in his
shoes when he sees who it comes from."

On hearing this, wonder and curiosity
beamed from the faces of all, and a man
started forward, took the letter, and handed
it to the steward. As Gripps received it,
and turned it to look at the seal, an expression
of surprise distorted his features. There
was a profound silence, as he proceeded to
open it. All the assembled men and
neighbours stood with their eyes fixed on him;
and Dennis's family also had come out, and
were gazing on as intently. As the steward
read, a ghastly paleness overspread his face;
his hand shook so much, before he had
reached the end, that he could not manage to
read the whole,—but he had read enough. He
crushed it convulsively together, and said, in a
husky voice,—"It is the Duke's, pleasure,—we
may leave things as they are, for the present."

"Was I ready for ye, Michael Gripps?"
asked Macarthy. But the steward had turned,
and was riding slowly away, with his wondering
slaves at his heels. Nor was wonder
confined to them alone; it was in full force in
the hearts of the assembled neighbours, who
had expected to see Dennis driven from his
farm; but now saw the steward struck, as
by an invisible hand, and sent defeated from
the field. A thousand questions were asked.
"What is the meaning of it all, Dennis?"

"It manes just this," said Dennis: "Gripps
has got an order, not for my discharge, but
for his own." He then related his journey
to England, his interview with the Duke, at
his splendid palace, and the good services of
the Quaker lady. He also declared that the
Duke had sent him the letter, with instructions
not to deliver it to Gripps until he came
to ask for the rent.

Wonder and joy flew like wildfire through
the village, and over the estate far and wide.
The steward lost no time in disappearing
from the scene; and a new one was sent by
the Duke from England.

The fame of Dennis, for his bold enterprise,
became great; but it did not lift him off his
feet. On the contrary, he seemed to feel it
incumbent on him to deserve the good opinion
of the Duke, and of his benevolent intercessor,
Mrs. Arrowman. In a few years, the farm
which Dennis rented was doubled in the
number of its acres, and, eventually, trebled.
No farm was found to be better cultivated,
nor was any farmer in Waterford more
prosperous in his degree, nor more punctual in
the payment of rent. Often as Mrs. Arrowman
arrived at the palace, with her green
cheese, and her rent, was the wild Irish farmer
and his story referred to. Nor is it yet
forgotten at the "Great House," though both
the Duke of that day and Mrs. Arrowman
have long passed away.

WONDERFUL TOYS.

THE Pedigree of Puppets * will scarcely be
complete without a sketch of those mechanical
figures, which have excited the wonder and
admiration of all ages and nations. Even
in the days of Horace, Archytas, the astronomer,
made a pigeon of wood, which, by the
aid of machinery, flew from one place to
another; not, however, in quite so wonderful
a way as the fly made by John Müller
(who, after the affected custom of the day,
chose to call himself Regiomontanus), which
could skim the air round a dinner-table; and,
to the astonishment of the guests, finally settle
upon the hand of its master and maker.

But these are trifles compared with the

* See page 438 of the present volume.