"Devil a heartier, barrin' my father, that's touched wid a loss of
appetite afther his meals--ha, ha, ha!"

"Musha, the dickens be an you, Condy, but you're your father's son, any
way; the best company in Europe is the same man. Throth, whether you're
jokin' or not, I'd be sarry to hear of anything to his disadvantage,
dacent man. Boys, won't you go down to the other room?"

"Go way wid yez, boys, till I spake to Ellish here about the affairs
o' the nation. Why, Ellish, you stand the cut all to pieces. By the
contints o' the book, you do; Pether doesn't stand it half so well. How
is he, the thief?"

"Throth, he's not well, to-day, in regard of a smotherin' about the
heart he tuck this mornin' afther his breakfast. He jist laid himself
on the bed a while, to see if it would go off of him--God be praised for
all his marcies!"

"Thin, upon my _sole_vation, I'm sarry to hear it, and so will all at
home, for there's not in the parish we're sittin' in a couple that our
family has a greater regard an' friendship for, than him and yourself.
Faix, my modher, no longer ago than Friday night last, argued down
Bartle Meegan's throath, that you and Biddy Martin wor the two portliest
weemen that comes into the chapel. God forgive myself, I was near
quarrelin' wid Bartle on the head of it, bekase I tuck my modher's part,
as I had a good right to do."

"Thrath, I'm thankful to you both, Condy, for your kindness."