“We'll see about it!” From that simple sentence has arisen more evil to Ireland than any person, ignorant of the strange union of impetuosity and procrastination my countrymen exhibit, could well believe. They are sufficiently prompt and energetic where their feelings are concerned, but in matters of business, they almost invariably prefer seeing about, to doing.

I shall not find it difficult to illustrate this observation: – from the many examples of its truth, in high and in low life, I select Philip Garraty.

Philip, and Philip's wife, and Philip's children, and all the house of Garraty, are employed from morning till night in seeing about everything, and, consequently, in doing nothing. There is Philip – a tall, handsome, good-humoured fellow, of about five-and-thirty, with broad, lazy-looking shoulders, and a smile perpetually lurking about his mouth, or in his bright hazel eyes, the picture of indolence and kindly feeling. There he is, leaning over what was once a five-barred gate, and leads to the hag-yard; his blue worsted stockings full of holes, which “the suggan,” twisted half-way up the well-formed leg, fails to conceal; while his brogues (to use his own words), if they do let the water in, let it out again. With what unstudied elegance does he roll that knotted twine, and then unrol it; varying his occupation by kicking the stones that once formed a wall, into the stagnant pool, scarcely big enough for full-grown ducks to sail in.

But let us take a survey of the premises.

The dwelling house is a long rambling abode, much larger than the generality of those that fall to the lot of small Irish farmers; for Philip rents a respectable farm, and ought to be “well to do in the world.” The dwelling looks very comfortless, notwithstanding: part of the thatch is much decayed, and the rank weeds and damp moss nearly cover it; the door-posts are only united to the wall by a few scattered portions of clay and stone, and the door itself is hanging but by one hinge; the window-frames shake in the passing wind, and some of the compartments are stuffed with the crown of a hat, or a “lock of straw;” very unsightly objects.