sh to watch the scene.

"'Tis going we are; God be good to us!"

"Ye needn't be cursing that way," said an old hag, with a sack on her
back, large enough to contain a child.

"Eyah! the Lord look down on the poor," said a little fat fellow, with
a flannel night-cap and stockings without any feet; "there's no pity now
at all, at all."

"The heavens be your bed, any way," said a hard-featured little woman,
with an accent that gave the blessing a very different signification
from the mere words.

"Blessed Joseph! sure it isn't robbers and thieves we are, that ye need
hunt us out of the place."

Such were the exclamations on every side, intermingled with an
undergrowl of the "Scotch naygur"--"the ould scrape-gut," and other
equally polite and nattering epithets.

"This is no a place for ye, ye auld beldames and blackguards; awa wi'
ye--awa wi' ye at once."

"Them's the words ye'll hear in heaven yet, darlint," said an old fiend
of a woman with one eye, and a mouth garnished by a single tooth.
"Them's the very words St. Peter will spake to yourself."

"Begorra, he'll not be strange in the other place anyhow," muttered
another. "'Tis there hell meet most of his countrymen."

This speech was the signal for a general outburst of laughter.

"Awa wi ye, ye ragged deevils; ye'r a disgrace to a Christian country.'

"Throth we wear breeches an us," said an old fellow on crutches; "and
sure I hear that's more nor they do, in the parts your honour comes
from."

Sir Archy's passion boiled over at this new indignity. He stormed and
swore, with all the impetuous rage of one beside himself with passion;
but the effect on his hearers was totally lost The only notice they took
was an occasional exclamation of--

"There it is now! Oh, blessed father! hear what he says! Oh, holy
mother! isn't he a terrible man?"--comments by no means judiciously
adapted to calm his irritation. Meanwhile symptoms of evacuating the
territory were sufficiently evident. Cripples were taken on the backs
and shoulders of their respective friends; sacks and pouches were slung
over the necks. Many a preparatory shake of the rags showed that the
wearer was getting ready for the road, when Sir Archy, suddenly checking
himself in the full torrent of his wrath, cried out--

"Bide a wee--stay a minit, ye auld beasties--I hae a word to say to some
amang ye."

The altered tone of voice in which he spoke seemed at once to have
changed the whole current o