what I never taught you, nor never will tache you to the day of my death!  To be sure, a fellow-creature may say, ‘Help me, my brother, I am distressed,’ or, ’I am bent on a good purpose, that your kindness can enable me to accomplish.’  But suppose that you have not the money about you at the time, wouldn’t you feel sorry to the back-bone?  Ay, would yez—­to the very core of the heart itself.  Or if any man—­an’ he’d be’ nothing else than a bodagh that would say it—­if any man would tell me that you would not, I’d—­yes—­I’d give him his answer, as good as I gave to ould Cokely long ago, and you all know what that was.

“The next point is, what would you do if you hadn’t it about you?  It’s that can tell you what you’d do:—­you’d say, ’I haven’t got it, brother,’—­for ev’ry created bein’ of the human kind is your brother, barrin’ the women, an’ they are your sisters—­[this produced a grin upon many faces]—­’but,’ says you, ’if you wait a bit for a day or two, or a week, or maybe for a fortnight, I’ll try what I can do to help you.’

“Picture to yourselves a fellow-creature in distress—­suppose him to have neither hat, shoe, nor stocking—­[this was a touch of the pathetic]—­and altogether in a state of utter destitution!  Can there be a more melancholy picture than this?  No, there can’t.  But ’tisn’t the tithe of it!—­a barefaced robbery is the same tithe—­think of him without father, mother, or friend upon the earth—­both dead, and ne’er another to be had for love or money—­maybe he has poor health—­maybe he’s sick, an’ in a sthrange country—­[here Jemmy’s mother and friends sobbed aloud, and the contagion began to spread]—­the priest, in fact, knew where to touch—­his face is pale—­his eyes sunk with sickness and sorrow in his head—­his bones are cuttin’ the skin—­he knows not where to turn himself—­hunger and sickness are strivin’ for him.—­[Here the grief became loud and general, and even the good-natured preacher’s own voice got somewhat unsteady.]—­He’s in a bad state entirely—­miserable! more miserable!! most miserable!!! [och, och, oh!] sick, sore, and sorry!—­he’s to be pitied, felt for, and compassionated!—­[a general outcry!]—­’tis a faver he has, or an ague, maybe, or a rheumatism, or an embargo (* lumbago, we presume) on the limbs, or the king’s evil, or a consumption, or a decline, or God knows but it’s the falling sickness—­[ooh, och, oh!—­och, och, oh!] from the whole congregation, whilst the simple old man’s eyes were blinded with tears at the force of the picture he drew.—­[Ay, maybe it’s the falling-sickness, and in that case how on earth can he stand it.—­He can’t, he can’t, wurra strew, wurra strew!—­och, och, oh!—­ogh, ogh, ogh!]—­The Lord in heaven look down upon him—­[amin, amin, this blessed an’ holy Sunday that’s in it!—­och, oh!]—­pity him—­[amin, amin!—­och, och, an amin!]—­with miseracordial feeling and benediction!  He hasn’t a rap in his company!—­moneyless, friendless, houseless, an’ homeless!  Ay, my friends,