"Thirdly--hem--I now lave the thing to yourselves.

"But wasn't I match for Pettier Donovan, that would brake a stone for
the marrow *--Eh?--(a broad laugh at Pother's rueful visage.)--Pettier,
you Turk, will your heart never soften--will you never have dacency, an'
you the only man of your family that's so? Sure they say you're going to
be marrid some of these days. Well, if you get your wife in my parish, I
tell you, Pettier, I'll give you a fleecin', for don't think I'll marry
you as chape as I would a poor honest man. I'll make you shell out the
yallowboys, and 'tis that will go to your heart, you nager you; and then
I'll eat you out of house and home at the Stations. May the Lord grant
us, in the mane time, a dacent appetite, a blessing which I wish you
all,------&c."

* I know not whether this may be considered worthy of a
note or not. I have myself frequently seen and tasted
what is appropriately termed by the peasantry "Stone
Marrow." It is found in the heart of a kind of soft
granite, or perhaps I should rather say freestone. The
country people use it medicinally, but I cannot
remember what particular disease it is said to cure. It
is a soft, saponaceous substance, not unpleasant to the
taste, of a bluish color, and melts in the mouth, like
the fat of cold meat, leaving the palate greasy. How
far an investigation into its nature and properties
might be useful to the geologist or physician, it is
not for me to conjecture. As the fact appeared to be a
curious one, and necessary, moreover, to illustrate the
expression used in the text, I thought it not amiss to
mention it. It may be a _bonne bouche_ for the