resolute attack of this kind in about six
weeks. An ordinary language-master is
little use unless you make a companion of
him, and then he is generally insufferably
tedious. Newspapers, novels, poetry,
anything that you find interesting to your own
peculiar tastes, will get you on faster in a
language, than all the set studies that were
ever bungled over by dunces.

For the rest, in your intercourse with
foreigners, avoid the least pride or stiffness
of manner. Do not expect them to give you
dinners, or to lend you money if you get into
a scrape, for they will do neither. They will
laugh at you, whether you agree to it or not,
therefore it is well to submit with a good
grace. Foreigners do not all of them think
England is the finest country in the world,
and they will not be taught: neither can
many of them ride, drive, hunt, shoot, fish,
box, or play at cricket, nor do they find
conversation on these subjects so entertaining
as Christchurch men, and cornets of the
cavalry. But they will sing with you, play
the piano, dominoes, or even chess. They
will dance, flirt, walk, talk, and make merry
with you, and spout poetry and ethics by
the yard. In a word, if you are good-
natured, you must be very hard to please
if you do not get on with them. Of one
thing, however, I have gradually become
quite certain, and the oldest traveller
who ever worried his grandchildren with
incredible stories, will certainly agree with
me in his heart—a year of foreign travel
may be good for any one. It enlarges the
mind, and teaches a lesson never forgotten
through life; a lesson of universal love,
toleration, and doubt of our own exclusive
merits. After this an Englishman is much
better at home; and whatever we may think
when it is over, travelling is a very troublesome
business while it lasts.

THE FAMINE TIME

I WAS looking, with some amusement, into
a back-yard in a little Irish town, from the
window of a house next to that to which the
yard belonged, when my hostess explained to
me that the beggarman whom I was watching
was irremoveable. He had been turned
out by the shoulders again and again, and
always came back, refusing to work,
and preferring to lean against the corner
of the wall, to beg. There was in the
yard a more active beggar;—the pig. Two
stout, merry girls, bare-legged and untidy,
were sitting on the ground, before a great
heap of potatoes and a mighty iron pot. They
were sorting potatoes; the better sort for
human eaters, the worse for the black pig.
The pig was in a hurry, poked in his nose,
and had to be driven away. There was
a third girl sitting on some steps with her
arms crossed, looking idle, and provoking the
others—one of whom got into a passion, and
showed it, as Irish people do when they get
angry.

"Ah!" said my hostess, "we see strange
people and strange doings in that yard; arid
it is not the pleasantest place to overlook.
But we are glad enough to see anything like
those potatoes and that pig, and people who
can laugh, after what we saw in the famine
time. For months together that yard was
crowded—so crowded, that you could not
have thrust in a hand among them—with
people groaning and wailing day and night;
some dying, and others bringing their dead,
till our hearts were almost broken."

"I wonder how you lived through it," said I.

"So do we. But we had to rouse ourselves,
and do our duty. There were only my husband
and Mr. Zachariah (the clergyman) to give out
the relief by which the whole country side was
kept alive. I was often at home, with that
yard full of people before my eyes, while my
husband was absent—gone to see to the landing
of the meal—and I uneasy about him—
the people grew so violent! There was
always an escort of constabulary to guard the
meal from the ship hither; but the people
were ready to tear them to pieces to get at
the meal. It was bad enough at first, when
the Government insisted that the men should
work on the roads, to earn their share. The
poor fellows could no more work on the roads
than my baby could; and they were dropping
and fainting by the roadside as soon as they
tried. We thought that the worst sight we
had ever seen till we saw worse. We knew
that the Government could not be aware of
the real need, if they could make such a condition;
and we were afraid to look forward.
It was just then that Mr. Yarding—a gentleman
of one of the most ancient families in
Ireland—brought home his bride to his estate,
close by the town. He drove her through
the town in as pretty a turn-out as you could
see; and a neighbour said to my husband,
when he looked from the carriage to the
people in the street, ' Mr. Yarding will repent
that pair of horses before six months are
over.' And so, no doubt, he did. The value
of his land sank to nothing: he could not
meet the calls upon him, nor pay his rates;
and now he is shut up in his own place, the
gates locked day and night (Sundays and all),
and he dares not look through the bars into
the road."

"And how did you get food for yourselves?"
I asked; " and how did you eat it, with that
multitude of groaning people before your
window?"

"We never enjoyed a meal during that
year. There seemed to be a poison over
everything. There was no flour to be had good
enough for us to give the children; and the
officers, and agents, and servants employed
in the distribution, were forbidden to buy any
of the meal that was sent. This was hard and
unjust, and, in fact, it could not be carried
out. They got it by sending their servants