“Here,” said she, presenting him the infant, “take a proper look at this fellow.  That I may never, if a finer swaddy ever crossed my hands.  Throth if you wor dead tomorrow he’d be mistaken for you—­your born image—­the sorra thing else—­eh alanna—­the Lord loves my son—­faix, you’ve daddy’s nose upon you anyhow—­an’ his chin to a turn.  Oh, thin, Fardorougha, but there’s many a couple rowlin’ in wealth that ’ud be proud to have the likes of him; an’ that must die an’ let it all go to strangers, or to them that doesn’t care about them, ‘ceptin’ to get grabbin’ at what they have, that think every day a year that they’re above the sod.  What! manim-an—­kiss your child, man alive.  That I may never, but he looks at the darlin’ as if it was a sod of turf.  Throth you’re not worthy of havin’ such a bully.”

Fardorougha, during this dialogue, held the child in his arms and looked upon it earnestly as before, but without betraying any visible indication of countenance that could enable a spectator to estimate the nature of what passed within him.  At length there appeared in his eye a barely perceptible expression of benignity, which, however, soon passed away, and was replaced by a shadow of gloom and anxiety.  Nevertheless, in compliance with the commands of the midwife, he kissed its lips, after which the servants all gathered round it, each lavishing upon the little urchin those hyperbolical expressions of flattery, which, after all, most parents are willing to receive as something approximating to gospel truth.

“Bedad,” said Nogher, “that fellow ‘ill be the flower o’ the Donovans, if God spares him—­be goxty, I’ll engage he’ll give the purty girls many a sore heart yet—­he’ll play the dickens wid ’em, or I’m not here—­a wough! do you hear how the young rogue gives tongue at that? the sorra one o’ the shaver but knows what I’m savin’.”

Nogher always had an eye to his own comfort, no matter under what circumstances he might be placed.  Having received the full glass, he grasped his master’s hand, and in the usual set phrases, to which, however, was added much extempore matter of his own, he drank the baby’s health, congratulating the parents, in his own blunt way, upon this accession to their happiness.  The other servants continued to pour out their praises in terms of delight and astonishment at his accomplishments and beauty, each, in imitation of Nogher, concluding with a toast in nearly the same words.

How sweet from all other lips is the praise of those we love!  Fardorougha, who, a moment before, looked upon his infant’s face with an unmoved countenance, felt incapable of withstanding the flattery of his own servants when uttered in favor of the child.  His eye became complacent, and while Nogher held his hand, a slight pressure in return was proof sufficient that his heart beat in accordance with the hopes they expressed of all that the undeveloped future might bestow upon him.

When their little treat was over, the servants withdrew for the night, and Fardorougha himself, still laboring under an excitement so complicated and novel, retired rather to shape his mind to some definite tone of feeling than to seek repose.