istress's heart, and the delight you have brought upon the whole
family."

"Well, Lilly dear, sure if I did, amn't I well paid, for it? thanks to
your two sweet lips for that. Sure, bad cess to me, but it was on your
account I did it."

A vile grin, or rather an awkward blank smile, forced by an affectation
of gallantry, accompanied the lie which he uttered.

"Oh, yes, indeed," replied Lilly, "on my 'account, don't think to
pass that upon me; however, I can forgive you a great many things in
consequence of your behavior--just now."

"And yet you abused me for it," he replied, laughing, "but sure I knew
that a purty girl always likes to be kissed; bad cess to me, but the
same behavior comes naturally to me."

"Go now," said Lilly, with a comic and peremptory manner; "go your
rounds, I say; you know very well that I mane your behavior about the
shawl, and not your great strong impudence."

The pedlar, after winking and nodding meanings into her words that she
had never thought of, slung his pack over his shoulder as usual, and
proceeded on his rounds.

We have always been of opinion that there is scarcely anything more
mysterious than the speed with which popular report travels apparently
with very inadequate machinery throughout a large district of country.
Before the day was more than half-advanced, fame had succeeded in
circulating a report that Matthew Purcel and Dr. Turbot had been both
shot dead in the garden of the rectory. This report spread rapidly,
and it is with equal pain and shame we are obliged to confess that in
general it was received with evident and undisguised satisfaction. John
and Alick Purcel, on their way home, were accosted at a place called
"Murderer's Corner," by two of the men who had attended at their
father's office that morning, and informed that he and Dr. Turbot had
been murdered in the course of the day, a piece of information which
was conveyed by them with a sneer of cowardly triumph that was perfectly
diabolical.

"God save ye, gintlemen!" said one of them, with a peculiar emphasis on
the last word; "did ye here the news?"

"No, Jemmy, what is it?" asked John.

"Why, that Darby Hourigan is very ill," he replied, with mock gravity.

"No thanks for your information, Jemmy," replied the other; "if you told
us something of more interest we might thank you."

"Never mind him, gintlemen," replied his companion, "there's nothing
wrong wid Darby Horaigan, barrin' that he occasion