ord was really cut, for
he did not feel much relaxation of it or abatement of the pain. He
resolved, at any rate, to give no further cause for rough treatment, but
to await the issue of events as patiently as he could.

True to his promise, the Irishman after supper sang several songs,
which, if not characterised by sweetness of tone, were delivered with a
degree of vigour that seemed to make full amends in the estimation of
his hearers. After that he told a thrilling ghost story, which drew the
entire band of men round him. Paddy had a natural gift in the way of
relating ghost stories, for, besides the power of rapid and sustained
discourse, without hesitation or redundancy of words, he possessed a
vivid imagination, a rich fancy, a deep bass voice, an expressive
countenance, and a pair of large coal-black eyes, which, as one of the
Yankee diggers said, "would sartinly bore two holes in a blanket if he
only looked at it long enough."

We do not intend to inflict that ghost story on the reader. It is
sufficient to say that Paddy began it by exclaiming in a loud
voice--"`Now or niver, boys--now or niver.' That's what the ghost
said."

"What's that you say, Paddy?" asked Gashford, leaving his own separate
and private fire, which he enjoyed with one or two chosen comrades, and
approaching that round which the great body of the diggers were already
assembled.

"I was just goin' to tell the boys, sor, a bit of a ghost story."

"Well, go on, lad, I'd like to hear it, too."

"`Now or niver!'" repeated the Irishman, with such startling emphasis
that even Tom Brixton, lying bound as he was under the shelter of a
spreading tree at some distance from the fire, had his curiosity
aroused. "That's what the ghost said, under somewhat pecooliar
circumstances; an' he said it twice so that there might be no mistake at
all about it. `Now or niver! now or niver!' says he, an' he said it
earnestly--"

"I didn't know that ghosts could speak," interrupted Crossby, who, when
not in a bad humour, was rather fond of thrusting bad jokes and blunt
witticisms on his comrades.

"Sure, I'm not surprised at that for there's many things ye don't know,
Crossby; besides, no ghost with the smallest taste of propriety about it
would condescind to spake wid _you_. Well, boys, that's what the ghost
said in a muffled vice--their vices are muffled, you know, an their
virtues too, for all I know to the contrairy. It's a good sentiment is
tha