careless, reckless impetuosity of demeanour, you might expect to be
the confidant of his joys and sorrows, his hopes and expectations,
his faiths and beliefs, his aspirations, fears, longings, at the
first interview. Not at all; you will sooner be admitted to a
glimpse of the travelling Scotsman's or the Englishman's inner life,
family history, personal ambition. Glacial enough at first and far
less voluble, he melts soon enough, if he likes you. Meantime, your
impulsive Irish friend gives himself as freely at the first
interview as at the twentieth; and you know him as well at the end
of a week as you are likely to at the end of a year. He is a
product of the past, be he gentleman or peasant. A few hundred
years of necessary reserve concerning articles of political and
religious belief have bred caution and prudence in stronger natures,
cunning and hypocrisy in weaker ones.

Our days are very varied. We have been several times into the town
and spent an hour in the Petty Sessions Court with Mr. Colquhoun,
who sits on the bench. Each time we have come home laden with
stories 'as good as any in the books,' so says Francesca. Have we
not with our own eyes seen the settlement of an assault and battery
case between two of the most notorious brawlers in that alley of the
town which we have dubbed 'The Pass of the Plumes.'* Each barrister
in the case had a handful of hair which he introduced on behalf of
his client, both ladies apparently having pulled with equal energy.
These most unattractive exhibits were shown to the women themselves,
each recognising her own hair, but denying the validity of the other
exhibit firmly and vehemently. Prisoner number one kneeled at the
rail and insisted on exposing the place in her head from which the
hair had been plucked; upon which prisoner number two promptly tore
off her hat, scattered hairpins to the four winds, and exposed her