nd him doesn't
know the differ atween a Cork-red a Yellow-leg."**

* A soft booby easily hoaxed.

**Different kinds of potatoes.

"Faith, he's the boy that knows how to make a Judy of himself any way,
Pether," exclaimed another. "The divil a hapurt'h asier nor to
give these Quality the bag to hould, so there isn't. An' they think
themselves so cute, too!"

"Augh!" said a third, "couldn't a man find the soft side o' them as asy
as make out the way to' his own nose, widout being led to it. Divil a
sin it is to do them, any way. Sure, he thinks we wor tooth an' nail at
the meadow all day; an' me thought I'd never recover it, to see Pether
here--the rise he tuck out of him! Ha, ha, ha--och, och, murdher, oh!"

"Faith," exclaimed Connor, "'twas good, you see, to help the poor
scholar; only for it we couldn't get shkamin' the half-crown out of him.
I think we ought to give the crathur half of it, an' him so sick: he'll
be wantin' it worse nor ourselves."

"Oh, be Gorra, he's fairly entitled to that. I vote him fifteen pince."

"Surely!" they exclaimed unanimously. "Tundher-an'-turf! wasn't he the
manes of gettin' it for us?"

"Jemmy, a bouchal," said Connor, across the ditch to M'Evoy, "are you
sleepin'?"

"Sleepin'! Oh, no," replied Jemmy; "I'd give the wide world for one wink
of asy sleep."

"Well, aroon, here's fifteen pince for you, that we skham--Will I tell
him how we cot it?"

"No, don't," replied his neighbors; "the boy's given to devotion, and
maybe might scruple to take it."

"Here's fifteen pince, avourneen, on the shovel, that we're givin' you
for God's sake. If you over * this, won't you offer up a prayer for us?
Won't you, avick?"

*That is--to get over--to survive.

"I can never forget your kindness," replied Jemmy; "I will always pray
for you, and may God for ever bless you and yours!

"Poor crathur! May the Heavens above have prosthration on him! Upon my
sowl, it's good to have his blessin' an' his prayer. Now don't fret,
Jemmy; we're lavin' you wid a lot o' neighbors here. They'll watch
you time about, so that whin you want anything, call, avourneen, an'
there'll still be some one here to answer. God bless you, an' restore
you, till we come wid the milk we'll stale for you, wid the help o' God.
Bad cess to me, but it 'ud be a mortual sin, so it would, to let the
poor boy die at all, an' him so far from home. For, as the Catechiz
says 'There is but one Faith, one Church, and