os buildin' a
palace in the say, to put ships in afther they wos wrecked on the coast
of Ameriky, so ye couldn't be expected to send home much money at
prisint. An' he just said, "Well, well, Kathleen, you may just kaip the
cow, and pay me whin ye can." So put that off yer mind, my swait Ned.

"`I'm sorry to hear the Faries rowls so bad, though what the Faries
mains is more nor I can tell.' (I spelled the word quite krect, lads,
but my poor mistress hain't got the best of eyesight.) `Let me know in
yer nixt, an' be sure to tell me if Long Forsyth has got the bitter o'
say-sickness. I'm koorius about this, bekaise I've got a receipt for
that same that's infallerable, as his Riverence says. Tell him, with my
luv, to mix a spoonful o' pepper, an' two o' salt, an' wan o' mustard,
an' a glass o' whisky in a taycup, with a sprinklin' o' ginger; fill it
up with goat's milk, or ass's, av ye can't git goat's; bait it in a pan,
an' drink it as hot as he can--hotter, if possible. I niver tried it
meself, but they say it's a suverin' remidy; and if it don't do no good,
it's not likely to do much harm, bein' but a waik mixture. Me own
belaif is, that the milk's a mistake, but I suppose the doctors know
best.

"`Now, swaitest of men, I must stop, for Neddy's just come in howlin'
like a born Turk for his tay; so no more at present from, yours till
deth, Kathleen O'Connor.'"

"Has she any sisters?" enquired Joe Dumsby eagerly, as Ned folded the
letter and replaced it in his pocket.

"Six of 'em," replied Ned; "every one purtier and better nor another."

"Is it a long way to Galway?" continued Joe.

"Not long; but it's a coorious thing that Englishmen never come back
from them parts whin they wance ventur' into them."

Joe was about to retort when the men called for another song.

"Come, Jamie Dove, let's have `Rule, Britannia.'"

Dove was by this time quite yellow in the face, and felt more inclined
to go to bed than to sing; but he braced himself up, resolved to
struggle manfully against the demon that oppressed him.

It was in vain! Poor Dove had just reached that point in the chorus
where Britons stoutly affirm that they "never, never, never shall be
slaves," when a tremendous roll of the vessel caused him to spring from
the locker, on which he sat, and rush to his berth.

There were several of the others whose self-restraint was demolished by
this example; these likewise fled, amid the laughter of their
compani