Troth, somehow I feel a liking for you, an' for that very reason, devil a drop of draught ale I'll allow to cross your lips.

Jist be guided by me, an' you'll find that your health an' pocket will both be the betther for it.

Troth, it's fat and rosy I'll have you in no time, all out, if you stop with us.

Now ait your good dinner, and I'll bring you the porther immediately." "What's your name." asked the stranger, "before you go." "I'll tell you when I come back--wait till I bring you the portlier, first." In the course of about fifteen mortal, minutes, he returned with a quart of porter in his hand, exclaiming-- "Bad luck to them for pigs, they got into the garden, and I had to drive them out, and cut a lump of a bush to stop the gap wid; however, I think they won't go back that way again.

My name you want?
Why, then, my name is Paudeen Gair--that is, Sharpe, sir; but, in troth, it is n't Sharpe by name and Sharpe by nature wid me, although you'd get them that 'ud say otherwise." "How long have you been here," asked the other.
"I've been laborin' for the master goin' on fourteen years; but I'm only about twelve months attendin' table." "How long has your fellow-servant--Peggy, I think, you call her--been here ?" "Not long." "Where had she been before, do you know." "Do I know, is it?
Maybe 'tis you may say that." "What do you mean?
I don't understand you." "I know that well enough, and it is n't my intention you should." "In what family was she at service." "Whisper;--in a bad family, wid _one_ exception.