Ah, now; couldn't ye do somethin' for old Mary beyant there?
Sure the colour of hunger's in that woman's face.

Faith, it's a pity to see the way she is,--neither husband nor son, nor chick nor child, nor bit nor sup, barrin' what folk that has nothin' can give to her,--the crayter." " Oh, indeed, then, sir," said another, "I'll lave it to God; but that woman is starvin'.

She is little more nor skin an' bone,--and that's goin' less.

Faith, she's not long for this world, any how.

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