CHAPTER VII. —­ A Panorama of Misery.

Skinadre, thin and mealy, with his coat off, but wearing a waistcoat to which were attached flannel sleeves, was busily engaged in his agreeable task of administering to their necessities.  Such was his smoothness of manner, and the singular control which a long life of hypocrisy had given him over his feelings, that it was impossible to draw any correct distinction between that which he only assumed, and that which he really felt.  This consequently gave him an immense advantage over every one with whom he came in contact, especially the artless and candid, and all who were in the habit of expressing what they thought.  We shall, however, take the liberty of introducing him to the reader, and allow honest Skinadre to speak for himself.

“They’re beggars—­them three—­that woman and her two children; still my heart bleeds for them, bekase we should love our neighbors as ourselves; but I have given away as much meal in charity, an’ me can so badly afford it, as would—­I can’t now, indeed, my poor woman!  Sick—­troth they look sick, an’ you look sick yourself.  Here, Paddy Lenahan, help that woman an’ her two poor children out of that half bushel of meal you’ve got; you won’t miss a handful for God’s sake.”

This he said to a poor man who had just purchased some oat-meal from him; for Skinadre was one of those persons who, however he might have neglected works of mercy himself, took great delight in encouraging others to perform them.

“Troth it’s not at your desire I do it, Darby,” replied the man; “but bekase she an’ they wants it, God help them.  Here, poor creature, take this for the honor of God:  an’ I’m only sorry, for both our sakes, that I can’t do more.”

“Well, Jemmy Duggan,” proceeded the miser, addressing a new-comer, “what’s the news wid you?  They’re hard times, Jemmy; we all know that an’ feel it too, and yet we live, most of us, as if there wasn’t a God ta punish us.”

“At all events,” replied the man, “we feel what sufferin’ is now, God help us!  Between hunger and sickness, the counthry was never in such a state widin the memory of man, What, in the name o’ God, will become of the poor people, I know not.  The Lord pity them an’ relieve them!”

“Amen, amen, Jemmy!  Well, Jemmy, can I do any thing for you?  But Jemmy, in regard to that, the thruth is, we have brought all these scourges on us by our sins and our transgressions; thim that sins, Jemmy, must suffer.”

“There’s no one denyin’ it, Darby; but you’re axin’ me can you do any thing for me, an’ my answer to that is, you can, if you like.”

“Ah!  Jemmy, you wor ever an’ always a wild, heedless, heerum-skeerum rake, that never was likely to do much good; little religion ever rested on you, an’ now I’m afeard no signs on it.”

“Well, well, who’s widout sin?  I’m sure I’m not.  What I want is, to know if you’ll credit me for a hundred of meal till the times mends a trifle.  I have the six o’ them at home widout their dinner this day, an’ must go widout if you refuse me.  When the harvest comes round, I’ll pay you.”