In other words, she lived by conveying illegitimate children from the places of their birth to the establishment just mentioned, which has been very properly termed a bounty for national immorality.

Whenever a birth of this kind occurred, Poll was immediately sent for--received her little charge with a name--whether true or false mattered not--pinned to its dress--then her traveling expenses; after which she delivered it at the hospital, got a receipt for its delivery, and returned to claim her demand, which was paid only on her producing it.

In the mean time, the unfortunate infant had to encounter all the comforts of the establishment, until it was drafted out to a charter school, in which hot-bed of pollution it received that exquisitely moral education that enabled it to be sent out into society admirably qualified to sustain the high character of Protestantism.
"Morrow, Poll," said Darby; "what's the youngest news wid you?
And Raymond, my boy, how goes it wid you ?" "I don't care for you," replied the fool; "you drove away Widow Branagan's cow, an' left the childre to the black wather.

Bad luck to you!" Darby started; for there is a superstition among the Irish, that the curse of an "innocent" is one of the most unlucky that can be uttered.
"Don't curse me," replied Darby; "sure, Raymond, I did only my duty." "Then who made you do your duty ?" asked the other.
"Why, Val the Vul--hem--Mr.M'Clutchy, to be sure." "Bad luck to him then!" His mother, who had been walking a little before him, turned, and, rushing towards him, put her hand hastily towards his mouth, with the obvious intention of suppressing the imprecation; but too late; it had escaped, and be the consequence what it might, Val had got the exciting cause of it.
"My poor unfortunate boy," said she, "you oughtn't to curse anybody; stop this minute, and say God bless him." "God bless who ?" "Mr.McClutchy." "The devil bless him! ha, ha, ha! Doesn't he harry the poor, an' drive away their cows from them--doesn't he rack them an' rob them--harry them, rack them, rob them-- "Harry them, rack them, rob them, Rob them, rack them, harry them-- Harry them, rack them, rob them, Rob them, rack them, harry them." This he sung in an air somewhat like "Judy Callahan." "Ha, ha, ha! Oh the devil bless him! and they say a blessin' from the devil is very like a curse from God." The mother once more put up her hands to his face, but only with the intention of fondling and caressing him.

She tenderly stroked down his head, and patted his cheek, and attempted to win him out of the evil humor into which the sight of Darby had thrown him.