a nager himself, the same Rody. So, acushla,
keep a light heart, for, be Gorra, you're sure o' the thin pair o'
throwsers, any how. Don't think you're desarted--for you're not. It's
all in regard o' bein' afeard o' this faver, or it's not this way you'd
be; but, as I said a while agone, when you want anything, spake, for
you'll still find two or three of us beside you here, night an' day.
Now, won't you promise to keep your mind asy, when you know that we're
beside you?"

"God bless you," replied Jemmy, "you've taken a weight off of my heart.
I thought I'd die wid nobody near me at all."

"Oh, the sorra fear of it. Keep your heart up. We'll stale lots o' milk
for you. Bad scran to the baste in the parish but we'll milk, sooner nor
you'd want the whay, you crathur you."

The boy felt relieved, but his malady increased; and were it not that
the confidence of being thus watched and attended to supported him, it
is more than probable he would have sunk under it.

When the hour of closing the day's labor arrived, Major ------ came down
to inspect the progress which his mowers had made, and the goodness of
his crop upon his meadows. No sooner was he perceived at a distance,
than the scythes were instantly resumed, and the mowers pursued their
employment with an appearance of zeal and honesty that could not be
suspected.

On arriving at the meadows, however, he was evidently startled at the
miserable day's work they had performed.

"Why, Connor," said he, addressing the nurse-tender, "how is this? I
protest you have not performed half a day's labor! This is miserable and
shameful."

"Bedad, Major, it's thrue for your honor, sure enough. It's a poor day's
work, the I never a doubt of it. But be all the books; that never was
opened or shut, busier men! than we wor since mornin' couldn't be had;
for love or money. You see, Major, these meadows, bad luck to them!--God
pardon me for cursin' the harmless crathurs, for sure 'tisn't their
fau't, sir: but you see, Major, I'll insinse you into it. Now look
here, your honor. Did you ever see deeper: meadow nor that same, since
you war foal---hem--sintce you war born, your honor? Maybe, your honor,
Major, 'ud just take the scythe an' sthrive to cut a swaythe?"

"Nonsense, Connor; don't you know I cannot."

"Thin, be Gorra, sir, I wish you could; thry it. I'd kiss the book, we
did more labor, an' worked harder this day, nor any day for the last
fortnight. If it was light grass,