f if I forget that same; but I tell
you that instead of bein' the laughin'-stock of the same Hunt, it's
betune the stilts of a plough you ought to be, or out in the fields
keepin' the men to their business."

"I paid three guineas earnest money, at all events," said the son; "but
'it matters not,' as the preacher says--

"'When I was at home I was merry and frisky,
My dad kept a pig and my mother sold whiskey'--

Beg pardon, mother, no allusion--my word and honor none--to you I mean--

"'My uncle was rich, but would never be aisy
Till I was enlisted by Corporal Casey.'

Fine times in the army, Mr. Burke, with every prospect of a speedy
promotion. Mother, my stomach craves its matutinal supply--I'm in
excellent condition for breakfast."

"It's ready. Jemmy, you'll--Misther Burke, I mane--you'll pay for
Misther Hycy's mare."

"If I do--you'll live to see it, that's all. Give the boy his
breakwhist."

"Thank you, worthy father--much obliged for your generosity--

"'Oh, love is the soul of a nate Irishman
He loves all that's lovely, loves all that he can,
With his sprig of--'

Ah, Peety Dhu, how are you, my worthy peripatetic? Why, this daughter
of yours is getting quite a Hebe on our hands. Mrs. Burke,
breakfast--breakfast, madam, as you love Hycy, the accomplished." So
saying, Hycy the accomplished proceeded to the parlor we have described,
followed by his maternal relative, as he often called his mother.

"Well, upon my word and honor, mother," said the aforesaid Hycy, who
knew and played upon his mother's weak points, "it is a sad thing to see
such a woman as you are, married to a man who has neither the spirit nor
feelings of a gentleman--my word and honor it is."

"I feel that, Hycy, but there's no help for spilt milk; we must only
make the best of a bad bargain. Are you coming to your breakfast," she
shouted, calling to honest Jemmy, who still sat on the hob ruminating
with a kind of placid vexation over his son's extravagance--"your tay's
filled out!"

"There let it," he replied, "I'll have none of your plash to-day; I tuck
my skinful of good stiff stirabout that's worth a shipload of it. Drink
it yourselves--I'm no gintleman."

"Arrah, when did you find that out, Misther Burke?" she shouted back
again.

"To his friends and acquaintances it is anything but a recent disco
very," added Hycy; and each complimented the observation of the other
with a hearty laugh,