be rubbin' yourself against your betthers, but keep wid your aquils.
File your loose papers an' accounts, an' keep your books up to the day.
Never put off anything that can be done, when it ought to be done. Go
early to bed; but be the last up at night, and the first in the mornin',
and there's no fear o' you."

Having now settled all her children in comfort and independence, with
each a prospect of rising still higher in the world, Mrs. Connell felt
that the principal duties devolving upon her had been discharged. It was
but reasonable, she thought, that, after the toil of a busy life, her
husband and herself should relax a little, and enjoy with lighter minds
the ease for which they had labored so long and unremittingly.

"Do you know what I'm thinkin' of, Pether?" said she, one summer evening
in their farm-yard.

"Know, is it?" replied Peter--"some long-headed plan that none of us 'ud
ever think of, but that will stare us in the face the moment you mintion
it. What is it, you ould sprig o' beauty?"

"Why, to get a snug jauntin'-car, for you an' me. I'd like to see you
comfortable in your old days, Peter. You're gettin' stiff, ahagur, an'
will be good for nothin' by an' by."

"Stiff! Arrah, by this an' by--my reputation, I'm younger nor e'er a one
o' my sons yet, you----eh?" said Peter, pausing--

"Faith, then I dunna that. Upon my credit, I think, on second thoughts,
that a car 'ud be a mighty comfortable thing for me. Faith, I do, an'
for you, too, Ellish."

"The common car," she continued, "is slow and throublesome, an' joults
the life out o' me."

"By my reputation, you're not the same woman since you began to use it,
that you wor before at all. Why, it'll shorten your life. The pillion's
dacent enough; but the jauntin'-car!--faix, it's what 'ud make a fresh
woman o' you--divil a lie in it."

"You're not puttin' in a word for yourself now, Pether?"

"To be sure I am, an' for both of us. I'd surely be proud to see
yourself an' myself sittin' in our glory upon our own jauntin'-car. Sure
we can afford it, an' ought to have it, too. Bud-an'-ager! what's the
rason I didn't, think of it long ago?"

"Maybe you did, acushla; but you forgot, it. Wasn't that the way wid
you, Pether? Tell the thruth."

"Why, thin, bad luck to the lie in it, since you must know. About this
time twelve months--no, faix, I'm wrong, it was afore Dan's marriage--I
had thoughts o' spakin' ta you about it, but somehow it left my hea