farm-servant, or behind one of her tall and
rosy sons, holding firmly by the broad belt
which girt his waist, she would proceed for
the despatch of needful business to any place,
however distant. It was a sight to see her,
such as is not to be met with now-a-days,
except it be in a wood-cut of Thomas Bewick's.
The old lady—not corpulent, though stoutly
built—clad in her grey cloak, often with a
large basket on her knee, went jogging, with
a stately attitude, thus attended, along the
valleys of the rocky district. Over her
Quaker bonnet was neatly drawn a long black
hood, tied under the chin, and with a sort of
cape, which served effectually to keep wind
and weather out of her neck.

In this style Mrs. Arrowman, twice a-year,
jogged along to pay the rent of the farm. It
had been the custom of the family—we are
speaking of the last generation—from time
immemorial, to pay it in person to the
Duke himself. With steward or with bailiff
it had been the maxim of the grandfather
never to deal, when he could transact his
business with the landlord himself. Not
that he was by any means shy with, or
uncourteous to, the steward; on the contrary,
he was very chatty and friendly whenever
they met; but he liked to have to do as much
as possible with principals; and he quoted
the anecdote of the farmer who went to the
Duke of Norfolk many a time in the course
of a year. "Always go," said the old man,
"whenever thou canst, to the head."

In the case of the Arrowmans this practice
had succeeded very well. The Dukes of
Anyshire had made an exception in their
favour, and always received their rent in
person. They seemed, through the knowledge
of them thus acquired, to have taken a
particular liking to the plain old friends, and
to have looked with pleasure on the half-
yearly interview. Orders were given that they
should always be immediately admitted; and
a friendly chat always took place, in which
the landlord, probably, learned a good deal
more about his estate and tenantry around
Ashridge, than he obtained from any other
quarter; though, no one ever had to charge
the Arrowmans with having said one unkind
or ungenerous thing of them, but, on many
an occasion, had found their mediation
essentially good.

Duly, therefore, on the half-yearly days,
might Mrs. Arrowman be seen riding onwards
towards the great house with something
large and round, tied up in an ample napkin,
on her knee. This was no other than a huge
green cheese, made of the richest milk of
Ash-Lum farm, and coloured, in ornamental
figures, with sage and other aromatic herbs.
It was the old-established present of the
Arrowmans to their ducal landlord, and it
was always graciously received, and its
predecessor's merits duly praised.

In one of these singular visits, Mrs. Arrowman
encountered, on the lordly steps of the
ducal residence, the most extraordinary-
looking personage that she had ever set eyes
upon. It was a man of tall and gaunt figure,
with a face as lean and as sharp as that of a
greyhound, and almost hid in a strange wild
mass of hair and beard, which had certainly
for a month felt no razor. His small and
ferret eyes gleamed keenly out of this strange
hairy wilderness, and with low bows and a
thick and spluttering jargon, that she could
make nothing of, he addressed her imploringly
as she ascended the flight of steps. His
nation was, evidently, Irish; his profession,
according to every appearance, was to beg.
His old sun-burnt hat was in the most perfect
keeping with a suit of patchwork, which
might safely be said to have no fellow in all
the neighbouring regions. He had a huge stick
in his hand, of the family of the shillelaghs,
and a capacious wallet at his side.

The grave Quaker dame, half alarmed at
this strange object, gave a hasty pluck at the
bell, and then plunging her hand into an
ample pocket, gave the man some copper,
with the advice to go to his own country.
As the Irishman was beginning to reply, the
lofty door opened, and a powdered porter,
with a smile of recognition and a solemn
bow, admitted Mrs. Arrowmau and the old
man-servant who bore the great green cheese
after her. The door was hastily closed, amid
the sound of some stern words from the
porter, and a windy torrent of uncouth
language from the Irish applicant. Mrs. Arrowman,
glad to escape from the vicinity of such
an object, was soon ushered into the ducal
presence, where this annual delivery of rent
and cheese, and the reception of refreshments
and friendly civility from the great landlord,
took place.

On returning from the great house, in a
mood of very soothing complacency, Mrs.
Arrowman was astonished to find the wild
Irishman seated on a stone, near the bridge
over a rivulet, where trees and bushes hid
him from the view of the house, and evidently
in great distress. Her experienced eye saw
at once that this was no mere mendicant
trick; it was genuine and deep trouble.
Forgetting, therefore, her previous alarm, she
turned to the man—who, wiping his face with
a wretched rag, appeared not to observe her,
but talked to himself in a wild rhapsody—
and said, in a clear, firm voice, to him—"What
aileth thee, friend ?"

At these words, the tall, gaunt Irishman
started to his feet, and, pulling his hat from
his head, began with vehemence:—"May
the Almighty bless your ladyship! Oh! if
your ladyship would take pity on a poor
stranger from Ireland, and spake a word of
favour to the Duke's highness, the Lord above
would surely bless your ladyship, and set
you high in heaven amongst his saints. It's
all the long way that I've come from my own
poor country, to spake to the Duke's highness,
your ladyship; and now the fine gintlemen