The Kellys and the O'Kellys. Anthony Trollope

either."

      "Av' she's no beauty, she's not downright ugly, like many a girl that gets a good husband; and av' she's not over young, she's not over old. She's not so much older than myself, after all. It's only because her own people have always made nothing of her; that's what has made everybody else do the same."

      "Why, Martin, I know she's ten years older than Barry, and Barry's older than you!"

      "One year; and Anty's not full ten years older than him. Besides, what's ten years between man and wife?"

      "Not much, when it's on the right side. But it's the wrong side with you, Martin!"

      "Well, John, now, by virtue of your oath, as you chaps say, wouldn't you marry a woman twice her age, av' she'd half the money?—Begad you would, and leap at it!"

      "Perhaps I would. I'd a deal sooner have a woman eighty than forty. There'd be some chance then of having the money after the throuble was over! Anty's neither ould enough nor young enough."

      "She's not forty, any way; and won't be yet for five years and more; and, as I hope for glory, John—though I know you won't believe me—I wouldn't marry her av' she'd all Sim Lynch's ill-gotten property, instead of only half, av' I wasn't really fond of her, and av' I didn't think I'd make her a good husband."

      "You didn't tell mother what you're afther, did you?"

      "Sorrow a word! But she's so 'cute she partly guesses; and I think Meg let slip something. The girls and Anty are thick as thiefs since old Sim died; though they couldn't be at the house much since Barry came home, and Anty daren't for her life come down to the shop."

      "Did mother say anything about the schame?"

      "Faix, not much; but what she did say, didn't show she'd much mind for it. Since Sim Lynch tried to get Toneroe from her, when father died, she'd never a good word for any of them. Not but what she's always a civil look for Anty, when she sees her."

      "There's not much fear she'll look black on the wife, when you bring the money home with her. But where'll you live, Martin? The little shop at Dunmore'll be no place for Mrs Kelly, when there's a lady of the name with £400 a-year of her own."

      "'Deed then, John, and that's what I don't know. May-be I'll build up the ould house at Toneroe; some of the O'Kellys themselves lived there, years ago."

      "I believe they did; but it was years ago, and very many years ago, too, since they lived there. Why you'd have to pull it all down, before you began to build it up!"

      "May-be I'd build a new house, out and out. Av' I got three new lifes in the laise, I'd do that; and the lord wouldn't be refusing me, av' I asked him."

      "Bother the lord, Martin; why you'd be asking anything of any lord, and you with ££400 a-year of your own? Give up Toneroe, and go and live at Dunmore House at once."

      "What! along with Barry—when I and Anty's married? The biggest house in county Galway wouldn't hould the three of us."

      "You don't think Barry Lynch'll stay at Dunmore afther you've married his sisther?"

      "And why not?"

      "Why not! Don't you know Barry thinks himself one of the raal gentry now? Any ways, he wishes others to think so. Why, he'd even himself to Lord Ballindine av' he could! Didn't old Sim send him to the same English school with the lord on purpose?—tho' little he got by it, by all accounts! And d'you think he'll remain in Dunmore, to be brother-in-law to the son of the woman that keeps the little grocer's shop in the village?—Not he! He'll soon be out of Dunmore when he hears what his sister's afther doing, and you'll have Dunmore House to yourselves then, av' you like it."

      "I'd sooner live at Toneroe, and that's the truth; and I'd not give up the farm av' she'd double the money! But, John, faith, here's the judges at last. Hark, to the boys screeching!"

      "They'd not screech that way for the judges, my boy. It's the traversers—that's Dan and the rest of 'em. They're coming into court. Thank God, they'll soon be at work now!"

      "And will they come through this way? Faith, av' they do, they'll have as hard work to get in, as they'll have to get out by and by."

      "They'll not come this way—there's another way in for them: tho' they are traversers now, they didn't dare but let them go in at the same door as the judges themselves."

      "Hurrah, Dan! More power to you! Three cheers for the traversers, and Repale for ever! Success to every mother's son of you, my darlings! You'll be free yet, in spite of John Jason Rigby and the rest of 'em! The prison isn't yet built that'd hould ye, nor won't be! Long life to you, Sheil—sure you're a Right Honourable Repaler now, in spite of Greenwich Hospital and the Board of Trade! More power, Gavan Duffy; you're the boy that'll settle 'em at last! Three cheers more for the Lord Mayor, God bless him! Well, yer reverence, Mr Tierney!—never mind, they could come to no good when they'd be parsecuting the likes of you! Bravo, Tom—Hurrah for Tom Steele!"

      Such, and such like, were the exclamations which greeted the traversers, and their cortège, as they drew up to the front of the Four Courts. Dan O'Connell was in the Lord Mayor's state carriage, accompanied by that high official; and came up to stand his trial for conspiracy and sedition, in just such a manner as he might be presumed to proceed to take the chair at some popular municipal assembly; and this was just the thing qualified to please those who were on his own side, and mortify the feelings of the party so bitterly opposed to him. There was a bravado in it, and an apparent contempt, not of the law so much as of the existing authorities of the law, which was well qualified to have this double effect.

      And now the outer doors of the Court were opened, and the crowd—at least as many as were able to effect an entrance—rushed in. Martin and John Kelly were among those nearest to the door, and, in reward of their long patience, got sufficiently into the body of the Court to be in a position to see, when standing on tiptoe, the noses of three of the four judges, and the wigs of four of the numerous counsel employed. The Court was so filled by those who had a place there by right, or influence enough to assume that they had so, that it was impossible to obtain a more favourable situation. But this of itself was a great deal—quite sufficient to justify Martin in detailing to his Connaught friends every particular of the whole trial. They would probably be able to hear everything; they could positively see three of the judges, and if those two big policemen, with high hats, could by any possibility be got to remove themselves, it was very probable that they would be able to see Sheil's back, when he stood up.

      John soon began to show off his forensic knowledge. He gave a near guess at the names of the four counsel whose heads were visible, merely from the different shades and shapes of their wigs. Then he particularised the inferior angels of that busy Elysium.

      "That's Ford—that's Gartlan—that's Peirce Mahony," he exclaimed, as the different attorneys for the traversers, furiously busy with their huge bags, fidgetted about rapidly, or stood up in their seats, telegraphing others in different parts of the Court.

      "There's old Kemmis," as they caught a glimpse of the Crown agent; "he's the boy that doctored the jury list. Fancy, a jury chosen out of all Dublin, and not one Catholic! As if that could be fair!" And then he named the different judges. "Look at that big-headed, pig-faced fellow on the right—that's Pennefather! He's the blackest sheep of the lot—and the head of them! He's a thoroughbred Tory, and as fit to be a judge as I am to be a general. That queer little fellow, with the long chin, he's Burton—he's a hundred if he's a day—he was fifty when he was called, seventy when they benched him, and I'm sure he's a judge thirty years! But he's the sharpest chap of the whole twelve, and no end of a boy afther the girls. If you only saw him walking in his robes—I'm sure he's not three feet high! That next, with the skinny neck, he's Crampton—he's one of Father Mathews lads, an out and out teetotaller, and he looks it; he's a desperate cross fellow, sometimes! The other one, you can't see, he's Perrin. There, he's leaning over—you can just catch the side of his face—he's Perrin. It's he'll acquit the traversers av' anything does—he's a fair fellow, is Perrin, and not a red-hot thorough-going Tory like the rest of 'em."

      Here John