The circumstance now made some noise. It was whispered
about, that one of Mr. S------'s tenants, a drunken fellow from the
country, wanted to break in forcibly to see him; but then it was also
asserted, that his skull was broken, and that he lay dead in the hall.
Several of the gentlemen above stairs, on hearing that a man had
been killed, immediately assembled about him, and, by the means of
restoratives, he soon recovered, though the blood streamed copiously
from the wound in the back of his head.
"Who are you, my good man?" said Mr. S------.
Owen looked about him rather vacantly; but soon collected himself,
and implied in a mournful and touching tone of voice--"I'm one of
your honor's tenants from Tubber Derg; my name is Owen M'Carthy, your
honor--that is, if you be Mr. S------."
"And pray, what brought you to town, M'Carthy?"
"I wanted to make an humble appale to your honor's feelins, in regard to
my bit of farm. I, and my poor family, your honor, have been broken down
by hard times and the sickness of the sason--God knows how they axe."
"If you wish to speak to me about that, my good man, you must know I
refer all these matters to my Agent. Go to him--he knows them best;
and whatever is right and proper to be done for you, he will do it.
Sinclair, give him a crown, and send him to the ------ Dispensary, to
get his head dressed, I say, Carthy, go to my Agent; he knows whether
your claim is just or not, and will attend to it accordingly.
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