; oh, no! butther, as I said,
is only dirt now."

"For God's sake, thin," exclaimed the alarmed creature, "take it for
whatever you like."

"It 'ud go hard wid me to see your poor family in a state of outther
want," he replied, "an' it's not in my nature to be harsh to a
struggling person---so whether I lose or gain, I'll allow you
three-pence a pound for it."

A shade of bitterness came across her features at this iniquitous
proposal; but she felt the truth of that old adage in all its severity,
that necessity has no law.

"God help us," she exclaimed--"threepence a pound for such butther as
this!--however, it's the will of God sure, an' it can't be helped--take
it."

"Ay, it's aisy said, take it; but not to say what'll I do wid it, when
I have it; however, that's the man I am, an' I know how it'll end wid
me--sarvin' every one, workin' for every one, an' thinkin' of every one
but myself, an' little thanks or gratitude for all--I know I'm not fit
for sich a world--but still it's a consolation to be doin' good to our
fellow-creatures when we can, an' that's what lightens my heart."

A woman now entered, whose appearance excited general sympathy, as was
evident from the subdued murmurs of compassion which were breathed
from the persons assembled, as soon as she entered the room. There
was something about her which, in spite of her thin and worn dress,
intimated a consciousness of a position either then or at some previous
time, above that of the common description of farmer's wives. No one
could mistake her for a highly-educated woman--but there was in her
appearance that decency of manner resulting from habits of independence
and from moral feeling, which at a first glance, whether it be
accompanied by superior dress or not, indicates something which is felt
to entitle its proprietor to unquestionable respect. The miser, when she
entered, had been putting away the dish of butter into the outshot we
have mentioned, so that he had not yet an opportunity of seeing her,
and, ere he returned to the scales, another female possessing probably
not less interest to the reader, presented herself--this was Mave or
Mabel, the young and beautiful daughter of the pious and hospitable
Jerry Sullivan.

Skinadre on perceiving the matron who preceded her, paused for a moment,
and looked at her with a wince in his thin features that might be taken
for an indication of either pleasure or pain. He' closed the sympathetic
eye, and