enin' to your gosther, nor convarsin' with the likes
iv you, that I came UP--down I mane," says he--(an' as little as the
mistake was, my father tuk notice iv it). "Listen to me now, Terence
Neil," says he: "I was always a good masther to Pathrick Neil, your
grandfather," says he.

'"'Tis thrue for your honour," says my father.

'"And, moreover, I think I was always a sober, riglar gintleman," says
the squire.

'"That's your name, sure enough," says my father (though it was a big
lie for him, but he could not help it).

'"Well," says the sperit, "although I was as sober as most men--at laste
as most gintlemin," says he; "an' though I was at different pariods a
most extempory Christian, and most charitable and inhuman to the poor,"
says he; "for all that I'm not as asy where I am now," says he, "as I
had a right to expect," says he.

'"An' more's the pity," says my father. "Maybe your honour id wish to
have a word with Father Murphy?"

'"Hould your tongue, you misherable bliggard," says the squire; "it's
not iv my sowl I'm thinkin'--an' I wondther you'd have the impitence to
talk to a gintleman consarnin' his sowl; and when I want THAT fixed,"
says he, slappin' his thigh, "I'll go to them that knows what belongs to
the likes," says he. "It's not my sowl," says he, sittin' down opossite
my father; "it's not my sowl that's annoyin' me most--I'm unasy on my
right leg," says he, "that I bruk at Glenvarloch cover the day I killed
black Barney."

'My father found out afther, it was a favourite horse that fell undher
him, afther leapin' the big fence that runs along by the glin.

'"I hope," says my father, "your honour's not unasy about the killin' iv
him?"

'"Hould your tongue, ye fool," said the squire, "an' I'll tell you why
I'm unasy on my leg," says he. "In the place, where I spend most iv my
time," says he, "except the little leisure I have for lookin' about me
here," says he, "I have to walk a great dale more than I was ever used
to," says he, "and by far more than is good for me either," says he;
"for I must tell you," says he, "the people where I am is ancommonly
fond iv cowld wather, for there is nothin' betther to be had; an',
moreover, the weather is hotter than is altogether plisant," says he;
"and I'm appinted," says he, "to assist in carryin' the wather, an' gets
a mighty poor share iv it myself," says he, "an' a mighty throublesome,
wearin' job it is, I can tell you," says he; "for they're all iv them