* My sorrow on you for a pig.

     ** Silence pig!  Silence, you pig!  Silence, you
     vagabond!

“You are an Irishman?” the gentleman inquired.

“I am, sir, from Connaught, yer haner, an’ ill sell the crathur dag cheap, all out.  Asy, you thief!”

“I don’t want the pig, my good fellow,” replied the Englishman, without evincing curiosity enough to inquire how he came to have such a commodity for sale.

“She’d be the darlint in no time wid you, sir; the run o’ your kitchen ’ud make her up a beauty, your haner, along wit no trouble to the sarvints about sweepin’ it, or any thing.  You’d only have to lay down the potato-basket on the flure, or the misthress, Gad bless her, could do it, an’ not lave a crumblin’ behind her, besides sleepin, your haner, in the carner beyant, if she’d take the throuble.”

The sluggish phlegm of the Englisman was stirred up a little by the twisted, and somewhat incomprehensible nature of these instructions.

“How far do you intend to proceed tonight, Paddy?” said he.

“The sarra one o’ myself knows, plaze yer haner:  sure we’ve an ould sayin’ of our own in Ireland beyant—­that he’s a wise man can I tell how far he’ll go, sir, till he comes to his journey’s ind.  I’ll give this crathur to you at more nor her value, yer haner.”

“More!—­why the man knows not what he’s saying,” observed the gentleman; “less you mean, I suppose, Paddy?”

“More or less, sir:  you’ll get her a bargain; an’ Gad bless you, sir!”

“But it is a commodity which I don’t want at present.  I am very well stocked with pigs, as it is.  Try elsewhere.”

“She’d flog the counthry side, sir; an’ if the misthress herself, sir, ‘ud shake the wishp o’ sthraw fwor her in the kitchen, sir, near the whoire.  Yer haner could spake to her about it; an’ in no time put a knife into her whin you plazed.  In regard o’ the other thing, sir—­she’s like a Christyeen, yer haner, an’ no throuble, sir, if you’d be seein’ company or any thing.”

“It’s an extraordinary pig, this, of yours.”

“It’s no lie fwhor you, sir; she’s as clane an’ dacent a crathur, sir!  Och, if the same pig ‘ud come into the care o’ the misthress, Gad bliss her! an’ I’m sure if she has as much gudness in her face as the hanerable dinnha ousahl (* gentleman)—­the handsome gintleman she’s married upon!—­you’ll have her thrivin’ bravely, sir, shartly, plase Gad, if you’ll take courage.  Will I dhrive her up the aveny fwor you, sir?  A good gintlewoman I’m sure, is the same misthriss!  Will I dhrive her up fwor you, sir? Shadh amuck—­shadh dherin!"*

     Behave yourself pig—­behave, I say!

“No, no; I have no further time to lose; you may go forward.”

“Thank your haner; is it whorid toarst the house abow, sir?  I wouldn’t be standin’ up, sir, wit you about a thrifle; an you’ll have her, sir, fwhor any thing you plase beyant a pound, yer haner; an’ ‘tis throwin’ her away it is:  but one can’t be hard wit a rale gintleman any way.”