a very;
gipsy-like countenance. Her dress was always black, and very much worn;
in fact, everything about her was black--black stockings, black bonnet,
black hair, and black kerchief. Poll's occupation was indeed a singular
one, and not very creditable to the morals of the day. Her means of
living were derived from the employment of child-cadger to the Foundling
Hospital of Dublin. In other words, she lived by conveying illegitimate
children from the places of their birth to the establishment just
mentioned, which has been very properly termed a bounty for national
immorality. Whenever a birth of this kind occurred, Poll was immediately
sent for--received her little charge with a name--whether true or false
mattered not--pinned to its dress--then her traveling expenses; after
which she delivered it at the hospital, got a receipt for its delivery,
and returned to claim her demand, which was paid only on her producing
it. In the mean time, the unfortunate infant had to encounter all the
comforts of the establishment, until it was drafted out to a charter
school, in which hot-bed of pollution it received that exquisitely
moral education that enabled it to be sent out into society admirably
qualified to sustain the high character of Protestantism.

"Morrow, Poll," said Darby; "what's the youngest news wid you? And
Raymond, my boy, how goes it wid you?"

"I don't care for you," replied the fool; "you drove away Widow
Branagan's cow, an' left the childre to the black wather. Bad luck to
you!"

Darby started; for there is a superstition among the Irish, that the
curse of an "innocent" is one of the most unlucky that can be uttered.

"Don't curse me," replied Darby; "sure, Raymond, I did only my duty."

"Then who made you do your duty?" asked the other.

"Why, Val the Vul--hem--Mr. M'Clutchy, to be sure."

"Bad luck to him then!"

His mother, who had been walking a little before him, turned, and,
rushing towards him, put her hand hastily towards his mouth, with the
obvious intention of suppressing the imprecation; but too late; it had
escaped, and be the consequence what it might, Val had got the exciting
cause of it.

"My poor unfortunate boy," said she, "you oughtn't to curse anybody;
stop this minute, and say God bless him."

"God bless who?"

"Mr. McClutchy."

"The devil bless him! ha, ha, ha! Doesn't he harry the poor, an' drive
away their cows from them--doesn't he rack them an' rob them--harry
them, rack