That these nephews of the poetess do look after the earth which her husband left behind him, though not after the stone, I learned while waiting in the village for the sexton. I fell into conversation with the woman at the cottage by which I stood. It was as follows:
Self. "Well, your landlord has a fine estate here. I hope he is good to you."
Woman. "Well, your honor, very good, very good."
Self. "Very good? What do you call very good? I find English and Irish notions of goodness don't always agree."
Woman. "Well, your honor, we may say he is mixed; mixed, your honor."
Self. "How mixed?"
Woman. "Why, your honor, you see I can't say that he was very good to me."
Self. "How was that?"
Woman. "Why, your honor, we were backward in our rent, and the squire sent for my husband, and told him that if he did not pay all next quarter, he would sell us up. My husband begged he would give him a little more time, as a neighbor said he had some money left him, and would take part of our land at a good rent, and then we should be able to pay; but now we got little, and the children were many, and it was hard to meet and tie. 'Oh!' said the squire, 'if you are going to get all that money, you will be able to pay more rent. I must have two pounds a year more.'"