bear to repeat its own iniquity, even in the presence of those who are
aware of it, and in this predicament stood Valentine M'Clutchy.

"Maybe he has relented," said Phil, "or that he will give me his pretty
daughter yet--and you know they have the cash. The linen manufactory of
M'Loughlin and Harman is flourishing."

"No, no, Phil," replied the father, "you must give her up--that's
past--but no matter, I'll forgive him."

Phil looked at him and smiled. "Come, come, father," said he, "be
original--that last is a touch of M'Slime--of honest Solomon. Keep back
the forgiveness yet awhile, may be they may come round--begad, and upon
my honor and reputation, I shouldn't wish to lose the girl--no, father,
don't forgive them yet awhile."

"Phil, we'll do better for you, boy--don't be a fool, I say, but have
sense--I tell you what, Phil," continued his father, and his face
assumed a ghastly, deadly look, at once dark and pallid, "listen to
me;--I'll forgive him, Phil, until the nettle, the chick-weed, the
burdock, the fulsome preshagh, the black fungus, the slimiest weed that
grows--aye, till the green mould of ruin itself, grows upon the spot
that is now his hearth--till the winter rain beats into, and the whiter
wind howls over it."

"No marriage, then," said Phil. "No marriage; but what keeps Darby
O'Drive? the rascal should have been here before--oh no," said he,
looking at his watch, "he has better than half an hour yet."

"What steps do you intend to take, father?"