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"So we got in, however, and he groped about, and he found a flint-andsteel,

And he skinned his ould knuckles all like a priddha peel,

Streck-streckin' away; and, when he gor

a light at last,

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"And It's too late,' he says, 'it's too late for supper, I suppose'

And ye might have sniffed and sniffed till ye straint your nose

Afore you'd ha' got a smell of supper in yandhar place

But he turned at last, and I saw his face

You navar seen such a rookery. A dresser Workin', workin', workin', most terrible,

there was

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Yis-but hardly a plate or a bason, or any other surt o' war', And a hape of mouldy turmits3 in a corner there could, comfortless things they are

And a rot-hole, or a shot-hole, I don't know which, and I don't care etha',5

And a barrel that looked like male, with a flag or a slate on the top of it, and a medha,"

And a pot, and nothin' in it, and no fire, if there had been, and as for bed or beddin'

Well, I dedn' throuble, no, faith, I dedn'.

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And screwin' the eye, and workin' still

And 'Let's sit down a bit,' he says, and he studdied the candle, if ye plaze, and he looks up as innocent as a linnet,

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And he says, 'That's a nice puss you've got,' he says; 'how much is there in it?'

And I tould him £4: 16s. and 21⁄2d. farlin'

So he says, 'That's a nice little bit o' money, my darlin'

Let's see it,' he says.

So I gev it to him, ye know; And he counted it out, I tell ye, every coin of it, very slow

Very slow he counted-and then-what d'ye think?

Whips it in his pocket! 'A nice lump of jink!'

Says Dan; and he snuggled up closer to me, and he began to fiddle and fiddle,

Lek tryin' to span me round the middleSome surt o' coortin'? thinks I, he's improvin', I doubt

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The ould villyan! He was just tryin' to find out

Had I any more stitched up in my stays!

And a man with such waysWould you call him a man? now would ye, Misthriss? would ye, though? That was the fiddlin'-aye! he said it, he said it hisself, the ould crow! Yis, and his dirty ould mouth all of a pucker, and grippin' and nippin', And declarin' he felt the shillin's slippin'

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"I says "This is no place for me,' I says; and up I jumps

'I'm off,' I says; and he rattles his ould stumps

And-Off?' he says 'Why you've not opened your box yet!'

'Clear out o' the road!' I says. 'I hevn'

scen your frocks yet,'

He says, 'nor the sheetin' nor nothin'! just give us that key

It's every bit my proppity!' he says. 'Out o' the way!'

I says, and I gript the box. But if I gript it, he gript it, and he shouted

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"And the crockery-what there wasall smashed-well to be sure! And the turmits rowlin' on the floorSo the box was mine, and I out on the door.

'Murdher! tieves!' and he run after me full trot

'You're a robber!' he says; 'you've robbed

me! everything you got Belongs to me-I'll bring a shuit,' he says; 'I'll bring a shuit

For damagers!' he says-the ould brute'I'll have your life!' he says,

'Ar'n' you my wife?' he says

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'Murdher!' he says, 'murdher!'

'Murdher-your granny,'

And I left him standin' in the road; and here I am, as you see

And, Misthriss! no more weddin's, aw good sakes! no, no more weddin's for me!"

JOSEPH CAMPBELL (1881- >

THE HORSE-BREAKER

A good nag knows the sinewy grip
That rides him without spur or whip,-
And Bat Muldowney knows his mind.
Here's at you, Bat! I love your kind:
The clean-jawed man with fearless eyes:
Yourself as worthy of a prize

As what you break. To-day I spied
Him cantering by the Anner side,
And "Christ!" says I, "but there's a man,
And there's a horse." Bat lightly ran 10
The chaser round with hand and knee,
Keeping him at a jump; till he,
Weary of dyke, or post and rail,
Showed temper, jibbed, stood on his tail,
And, if he could, would throw Bat. No,
By Christ! Good nags have got to go
Where good men ride them. At the sticks
Bat faces him again. He kicks,
As Irish blood will kick, head down;
But all the horses, bay and brown,
Were they to plunge till Judgment Day,
Could not put Bartle off his way.
"Woa, beauty. Up!" . . . and at one
stride

The chaser's found the other side.
For good nags know the sinewy grip
That rides them without spur or whip-
And Bat Muldowney knows his mind.
Here's at you, Bat! I love your kind.

THE NEWSPAPER-SELLER

(Times Square, New York, about t o'clock on a winter's morning.)

I says 'Good-bye, Dan Cowle! good- And how is Cabey's Lane?

bye, Danny!'

I'm forty years left Ennis, sir,

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He helped me when my right hand was a crock

Her hollow eyes were open wide;
He deemed she heard with special zest:

With blood-poison, and paid the rent for Her death's-head infant coldly eyed

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Sometimes his lips with laughter shook. "Sleep well, love; let your eyelids fall;

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