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Sketches and Tales,

&c. &c.

NO. I.


Oh! ever thus, from childhood's hour,

I've seen my fondest hopes decay ;
I never lov'd a tree or flower,

But 'twas the first to fade away.
I never nurs’d a dear gazelle,

To glad me with its soft black eye,
But when it came to know me well,

And love me, it was sure to die !


It was a joyful day in the townland of Mullinabrack, when the Nabob, as he is called, took

possession of Mulgatawny Lodge. The country people, in Ireland, are apt to expect prodigious things from every 'Squire Newcome. To this sanguine disposition we may attribute the frequent disappointments



66 The

poor Paddy experiences ; for, as he looks for too much, he finds too little. Every body knows now what a Nabob is, or at least what he ought to be ; my description therefore of Mr. Wilford need not be tedious.

Anthony Wilford, esquire, designated in the following tale by his familiar appellation, Nabob,” was a spruce little man of withered-up face and sallow complexion, who had spent five-andtwenty years of his life in Bengal and the Carnatic. He wore a snuff-coloured wig, a coat of the same shade, smallclothes and leggings of various colours ; waistcoats of fancy patterns; and in his neck-linen he was quite a gentleman. He was equally particular, indeed, about every thing. Our houses were horrible! absolutely unlive-in-able. He, therefore, built Mulgatawny Lodge, with a viranda running round it, and a terraced roof. That it might not be at all like other men's houses, he made his kitchen in the garret, or at least as high up as the terrace would permit him to go. It was not till after a hunt through Gladwin's Moonshee, and the Hindostannee Dictionary, that he struck on the distinguishing name of “ Mulgatawny” for his new lodge.

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