“Gad’s blessin’ upon your beauty an’ gudness, my lady; an’ a man might thravel far afore he’d meet the likes o’ you for aither o’ them.  Is it the other handsome young lady I’m to folly, ma’am?”

“Yes,” replied the young wit, with an arch smile; “come after me.”

“Thrath, miss, an’ it’s an asy task to do that, any way; wit a heart an’ a half I go, acushla; an’ I seen the day, miss, that it’s not much of mate an’ dhrink would thruble me, if I jist got lave to be lookin’ at you, wit nothing but yourself to think an.  But the wife an’ childher, miss, makes great changes in us entirely.”

“Why you are quite gallant, Paddy.”

“Trath, I suppose I am now, miss; but you see, my honerable young lady, that’s our fwhailin’ at home:  the counthry’s poor, an’ we can’t help it, whedor or not.  We’re fwhorced to it, miss, whin we come ower here, by you, an’ the likes o’ you, mavourneen!”

Phil then proceeded to the house, was sent to the kitchen by the young lady, and furnished through the steward with an abundant supply of cold meat, bread, and beer, of which he contrived to make a meal that somewhat astonished the servants.  Having satisfied his hunger, he deliberately—­but with the greatest simplicity of countenance—­filled the wallet which he carried slung across his back, with whatever he had left, observing as he did it:—­

“Fwhy, thin, ’tis sthrange it is, that the same custom is wit us in Ireland beyant that is here:  fwhor whinever a thraveller is axed in, he always brings fwhat he doesn’t ate along wit him.  An sure enough it’s the same here amongst yez,” added he, packing up the bread and beef as he spoke, “but Gad bliss the custom, any how, fwhor it’s a good one!”

When he had secured the provender, and was ready to resume his journey, he began to yawn, and to exhibit the most unequivocal symptoms of fatigue.

“Arrah, sir,” said he to the steward, “you wouldn’t have e’er an ould barn that I’d throw myself in fwhor the night?  The sarra leg I have to put undher me, now that I’ve got stiff with the sittin’ so lang; that, an’ a wishp o’ sthraw, to sleep an, an’ Gad bliss you!”

“Paddy, I cannot say,” replied the steward; “but I shall ask my master, and if he orders it, you shall have the comfort of a hard floor and clean straw, Paddy—­that you shall.”

“Many thanks to you, sir:  it’s in your face, in thrath, the same gudness an’ ginerosity.”

The gentleman, on hearing Phil’s request to be permitted a sleeping-place in the barn, was rather surprised at his wretched notion of comfort than at the request itself.

“Certainly, Timmins, let him sleep there,” he replied; “give him sacks and straw enough.  I dare say he will feel the privilege a luxury, poor devil, after his fatigue.  Give him his breakfast in the morning, Timmins.  Good heavens,” he added, “what a singular people!  What an amazing progress civilization must make before these Irish can be brought at all near the commonest standard of humanity!”