But he wasn't well in, whin the cord o' the lateh was dhrawn, and in marched big Fairly, and the garran more, his mother, without "by your lave," or "God save you," for they had no breedin' at allt. Well, my jewel, the minit they clapped their eyes an the goold, you'd think the sight id lave their eyes; and indeed not only their eyes, let alone, but their tongues in their heads was no use to thim, for the divil a word either o' them could spake for beyant a good five minutes. So, all that time, little Fairly kept never mindin' them, but wint an a weighin' the goold, as busy as a nailor, and at last, whin the big brute kem to his speech, Why, thin," says he, "what's that I see you doin'," says he.

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Oh, it's only divartin' myself I am," says little Fairly, "thryin' what woight o' goold I got for my goods at the fair," say he.

"Your goods indeed," says the big chap, I suppose you robbed some honest man an the road, you little vagabone," says he.

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"Oh, I'm too little to rob any one," says little Fairly. "I'm not a fine big able fellow, like you, to do that same." "Thin how did you come by the goold," says the big savage. I towld you before, by sellin' my goods," says the little fellow. 66 Why, what goods have you, you poor unsignified little brat," says big Fairly, "you never had any thing but your poor beggarly cow, and she's dead."

"Throth, then, she is dead, and more by token, 'twas yourself done for her, complate, anyhow; and I'm behoulden to you for that same, the longest day I have to live, for it was the makin' o' me. You wor ever and always the good brother to me; and never more than whin you killed my cow, for it's the makin' o' me. The divil a rap you see here I'd have had if my cow was alive, for I wint to the fair to sell her hide, brakin' my heart to think that it was only a poor hide I had to sell, and wishin' it was a cow was to the fore; but, my dear, whin I got there, there was no ind to the demand for hides, and the divil a one, good bad or indifferent, was there but my own, and there was any money for hides, and so I gota hundher guineas for it, and there they are."

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Why thin do you tell me so," says the big chap, "Divil a lie in it," says little Fairly." I got a hundher guineas for the hide.”—“Oh I wish I had another cow for you to kill for me,-troth would I!"

"Come home, mother," says big Fairly, without sayin another word, and away he wint home, and what do you think he done but he killed every individyal cow he had, and "by gor," says he, "its the rich man I'll be when I get a hundher guineas a piece for all their hides," and, accordingly off he wint to the next fair, hardby, and he brought a car load o'hides, and began to call out in the fair, "Who wants the hides?-here's the chape hides-only a hundher guineas apiece."

"Oh do you hear that vagabone that has the assurance to come chatin' the counthry again," says some people that was convaynient, and that heerd o'the doin's at the other fair, and how the man was chated by a sleeveen vagabone-" and think of him, to have the impudence to come here, so nigh the place, to take in uz now, but we'll be even wid him," says they, and so they went up to him, and says they to the thievin rogue, honest man," says they, "what's that you have to sell?" Hides," says he.

"What do you ax for them?" says

they.

"A hundher and ten guineas apiece," says he-for he was a greedy crathur, and thought he never could have enough.

Why you riz the price on them siuce the last time," says they.

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Oh these are better," says big Fairly, "but I dont mind if I sell them for a hundher a-piece, if you give me the money down," says he.

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You shall be ped an the spot," says they-and with that they fell an him, and thrash'd him like a shafe, till they didn't lave a spark o' sinse in him, and then they left him sayin', are you ped now, my boy!-faix you'll be a warnin to all rogues for the futhur, how they come to fairs, chatin' honest min out o' their money, wid cock and bull stories about their hides-but introth I think your own hide isn't much the better of the tannin' it got to dayfaix an it was the rale oak bark was put

to it, and that's the finest tan stuff in the world, and I think it'ill sarve you for the rest o' your life"-and with that they left him for dead.

But you may remark, its hardher to kill a dirty noxious craythur than any thing good,--and so by big Fairly-he conthrived to get home, and his vagabone mother sawdhered him up afther a manner, and the minit he was come to his sthrenth at all, he detarmint to be revenged on little Fairly for what he had done, and so off he set to catch him while he'd be at brekquest, and he bowlted into the cabin wid a murtherin shillely in his fist-and "oh," says he, "you little mishievious miscrayant," says he," what made you ruinate me by makin' me kill my cows," says he.

"Sure I din't bid you kill your cows," says little Fairly and that was all thrue, for you see, there was the cute ness o' the little chap, for he did'nt bid him kill them sure enough, but he let an in that manner, that deludhered the big fool, and sure divil mind him.

Yes you did bid me," says big Fairly, "or all as one as bid me, and I haven't a cow left, and my bones is bruk all along o' your little jackeen manyeuvers, you onlooky sprat that you are, but by this and that I'll have my revinge o' you now," and with that he fell an him and was goin to murther poor little Fairly, only he run undher a stool, and kept tiggin' about from one place to th' other, that the big botch couldn't get a right offer at him at all at all, and at last the little owld mother got up to put a stop to the ruction, but if she did, my jew'l, it was the unlooky minit for her, for by dad, she kem in for a chance tap o' the cudgel that big Fairly was weltin' away with, and you know there's an owld sayin, "a chance shot may kill the divil," and why not an owld woman?

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Well, that put an ind to the skrimmage, for the phillilew that little Fairly set up whin he seen his ould mother kilt, would ha' waked the dead, and the big chap got frekened himself, and says little Fairly by gor if there's law to be had," says he, " and I think I have a chance o' justice, now that I have money to spare, and, if there's law in the land I'll have you in the body o' the jail afore to-morrow," says he, and wid that the big chap got cowed, and wint off like a dog without his tail, and so poor little Fairly escaped bein' mur

thered that offer, and was left to cry over his mother, an' indeed the craythur was sorry enough, and he brought in the neighbours and gev the ould woman a dacent wake, and there was few pleasanther evenin's that night in the county than the same wake, for Fairly was mighty fond of his mother, and faix he done the thing ginteely by her, and good raison he had, for she was the good mother to him while she was alive, and by dad by his own cuteness he conthrived she should be the useful mother to him afther she was dead too. For what do you think he done? Oh! by the Piper o' Blessintown you'd never guess, if you wor guessin' from this to Saint Tib's eve, and that falls neither before nor afther Christmas we all know. Well, there's no use guessin', so I must tell you. You see the ould mother was a nurse to the Squire that lived hard by, and so, by coorse, she had a footin' in the house any day in the week she pleased, and used often to go over to see the Squire's childhre, for she was as fond o' them a'most as if she nursed thim too; and so what does Fairly do but he carried over the ould mother, stiff as she was, and dressed in her best, and he stole in unknownst into the Squire's garden, and he propped up the dead old woman stan'n hardby a well was in the gardin, wid her face forninst the gate, and her back to the well, and wid that he wint into the house, and made out the childhre, and says he, "God save you Masther Tommy," says he, " God save you, Masther Jimmy, Miss Matty and Miss Molshee," says he, an I'm glad to see you well, and sure there's the old Mammy nurse come to see yiz, childhre," says he, "and she's down by the well in the garden, and she has gingerbread for yiz," says he, and whoever o' yiz runs to her first 'ill get the most gingerbread; and I'd rekimmind yiz to lose no time but run a race and sthrive who'll win the gingerbread." Well, my dear, to be sure off set the young imps runnin' and screechin' "here I am mammy nurse, here I am," and they wor brakin' their necks a'most, to see who'd be there first, and wid that, they run with sitch voylence that the first o thim run whack up agin the poor ould woman's corps, and threwn it over plump into the middle o' the well. To be sure the childre was frekened, as well they might, and back

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agin they ran, as fast as they kem, roarin' murdher, and they riz the house in no time, and little Fairly was among the first to go see what was the matther, (by the way) and he set up a hullagone my jewel that ud split the heart of a stone; and out kem the Squire and his wife, and "what's the matther?" says they; "is it what's the matther?" says Fairly," don't yiz see my lovely ould mother is dhrowned by these devil's imps o' childhre?" says he, "oh Masther Jimmy, is that the way you thrated the poor ould mammy nurse, to go dhrownd her like a rot afther that manner?" 66 Oh, the childhre didn't intind it," said the Squire. "I'm sorry for your mother, Fairly, but

"

"But what?" says little Fairly, "sorry-in troth and I'll make you sorry, for I'll rise the counthry, or I'll get justice for sitch an unnathral murther; and whoever done it must go to jail, if it was even Miss Molshee herself."

Well the Squire did not like the matther to go to that, and so says he, “Oh, I'll make it worth your while to say nothing about it, Fairly, and here's twenty goolden guineas for you," says he.

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Why thin do you think me sitch a poor-blooded craythur as to sell my darlin' ould mother's life for twenty guineas? no in throth, tho' if you wor to make it fifty I might be talkin' to you."

Well, the Squire thought it was a dear mornin's work, and that he had very little for his money in a dead ould woman, but sooner than have the childhre get into throuble and have the matther made a blowin' horn of, he gev him the fifty guineas, and the ould mother was dhried and waked over agin, so that she had greather respect ped to her than a Lord or a Lady. So you see what cleverness and a janius for cuteness does.

Well, away he wint home afther the ould woman was buried, wid his fifty guineas snug in his pocket, and so he wint to big Fairly's to ax for the loan of the scales once more, and the brother ax'd him for what? "Oh, its only a small thrifle more o'goold I have" says the little chap, "that I want to weigh." "Is it more goold?" says big Fairly, why its a folly to talk, but you must be either a robber or a coiner to come by money so fast.”

"Oh, this is only a thrifle I kem

You said you kem by the money by your mother's death," says the big brother.

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Well, an' that's thrue," says the little fellow," an' I'll tell you how it was. You see afther you killed her I thought I might as well make the most I could of her, and says I to myself, faix and I had great good luck wid the cow he killed for me, and why would'nt I get more for my mother nor a cow? and so away I wint to the town, and I offered her to the docthor there, and he was greatly taken wid her, and by dad he would'nt let me lave the house without sellin' her to him, and faix he gev me fifty guineas for her."

"Is it fifty guineas for a corps?"

"It's thruth I'm tellin' you, and was much obleeged into the bargain, and the raison is, you see, that there's no sitch thing to be had, for love or money as a dead ould woman-there's no killin' them at all at all, so that a dead ould woman is quite a curosity."

"Well there's the scales for you," says big Fairly, and away the little chap wint to weigh his goold (as he let on) as he did before. But what would you think, my dear-throth_you'll hardly b'lieve me whin I tell you. Little Fairly had'nt well turned his back, whin the big savage wint into the house where his ould mother was and tuck up a rapin' hook, and kilt her an the spot-divil a lie in it. Oh, no wondher you look cruked at the thoughts of it; but its morially thrue,

faix he raped the life out iv her, and he detarmined to turn in his harvist, for that same as soon as he could, and so away he wint to the docthor in the town hardby, where little Fairly towld him he sowld his mother, and he knocked at the door and walked into the hall with a sack on his shouldher, and settin' down the sack, he said he wanted to spake to the docthor. Well, when the docthor kem, and heerd the vagabone talkin' of fifty guineas for an owld woman, he began to laugh at him; but, whin he opened the sack, and seen how the poor owld craythur was murthered, he set up a shout.

"Oh, you vagabone," says he, " you sack-im up villian," says he, "you've Burked the woman," says he, "and now you come to rape the fruits o' your murdher." Well, the minit big Fairly heerd the word murdher, and rapin' the reward, he thought the docthor was up to the way of it, and he got frekened, and with that the docthor opened the hall-door, and called the watch, but Fairly bruk loose from him, and ran away home; and when once he was gone, the docthor thought there would be no use in rising a ruction about it, and so he shut the door, and never minded the police. Big Fairly, to be sure, was so frekened, he never cried stop, antil he got clean outside the town, and with that, the first place he wint to was little Fairly's house, and, burstin' in the door, he said, in a tarin' passion, "What work is this you have been at now, you onlooky miscrayint," says he.

"I haven't been at any work," says little Fairly, "See, yourself," says he, my sleeves is new," says he, howldin' out the cuffs av his coat to him at the same time, to show him.

"Don't think to put me aff that-a-way, with your little kimmeens, and your divartin' capers," says the big chap, "for I tell you I'm in airnest, and it's no jokin' matther it 'ill be to you, for, by this an that, I'll have the life o' you, you little spidhogue of an abortion, as you are, you made me kill me cows. Dont say a word, for you know it's thrue." "I never made you kill your cows," says little Fairly, no ways danted by the fierce looks o' the big bosthoon.

"Whisht! you vagabone!" says the big chap. "You didn't bid me do it, out o' the face, in plain words, but you made me sinsible."

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Faix, an that was doin' a wondher," says little Fairly, who couldn't help havin' the laugh at him, though he was sore afeard.

"Bad luck to you, you little sneerin' vagabone," says the big chap again, "I know what you mane, you longheaded schkamer, that you are; but, by my sowl, your capers 'ill soon be cut short, as you'll see to your cost. But, before I kill you, I'll show you, to your face, the villian that you are, and it is no use your endayvourin' to consale your bad manners to me, for if you had a veil as thick as the shield of A-jax,

which was made o' siv'n bull hides, it would not sarve for to cover the half o' your inni-quitties."*

"Whoo! that's the ould schoolmasther's speech you're puttin' an us now," says little Fairly, "and faith it's the only thing you iver larned, I b'lieve, from him."

to

"Yis, I larned how fine a thing it is whop a little chap less than myself, and you'll see, with a blessin', how good a scholar I am at that same; and you desarve it, for I towld you just now, before you intherrupted me, how you made me kill all my cows, (and that was the sore loss), and afther that, whin you could do no more, you made me kill my mother, and divil a good it done me, but nigh hand got me into the watch-house; and so now I'm detarmint you wont play me any more thricks, for I'll hide you, snug, in the deepest bog-hole, in the Bog of Allen, and if you throuble me afther that, faix I think it 'ill be the wondher;" and, with that, he made a grab at the little chap, and, while you'd be sayin' "thrap stick," he cotch him, and put him, body and bones, into a sack, and he threwn the sack over the back of a horse was at the door, and away he wint in a tarin' rage, straight for the Bog of Allen. Well, to be sure, he couldn't help stoppin' at a public-house, by the road-side, for he was dhry, with the rage; an he tuk the sack where little Fairly was tied up, an he lifted it aff o' the horse, an put it standin' up beside the door goin' into the public-house; an he wasn't well gone in, whin a farmer was comin' by too, and he was as dhry wid the dust, as ever big Fairly was with the rage, (an indeed it's wonderful how aisy it is to make a man dhry); and so, as he was goin' in, he sthruck agin the sack that little Fairly was in, and little Fairly gev a groan that you'd think kem from the grave; and, says he, (from inside o' the sack), “God forgive you," says he.

"Who's there?" says the farmer, startin', and no wondher.

"It's me," says little Fairly, "and may the Lord forgive you," says he, "for you have disturbed me, and I half-way to heaven."

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"though, if you didn't disturb me, I'd have been an angel of glory in less than no time," says he.

"How do you make that out, honest man?" says the farmer.

I can't explain it to you," says little Fairly, "for it's a mysthery; but what I tell you is thruth," says he, "and I tell you that, whoever is in this sack, at this present," says he," is as good as half-way to heav'n, and indeed I thought I was there, a'most, only you sthruck agin me, an disturbed me.' "An do you mane for to say," says the farmer, that whoiver is in that sack will go to heaven."

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Faix, they are an their road there, at all events," says little Fairly," and if they lose their way, it's their own fault."

"Oh thin," says the farmer, "may be you'd let me get into the sack along wid you, for to go to heaven too."

"Oh, the horse that's to bring us doesn't carry double," says little Fairly. Well, will you let me get into the sack instead iv you," says the farmer.

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Why, thin, do you think I'd let any one take sitch a dirty advantage o' me as to go to heaven afore me?" says little Fairly.

Oh, I'll make it worth your while," says the farmer.

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Why, thin, will you ontie the sack," says little Fairly," and jist let me see who it is that has the impidince to ax me to do the like." And with that, the farmer ontied the sack, and little Fairly popped out his head. "Why, thin, do you think," says he, "that a hangin'bone lookin' thief, like you, has a right to go to heaven afore me."

"Oh," says the farmer, “I've been a wicked sinner in my time, and I havn't much longer to live; and, to tell you the thruth, I'd be glad to get to heaven in that sack, if it's thrue what you tell me."

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Why," says little Fairly, "don't you know it is by sackcloth and ashes that the faithful see the light o' glory." "Thrue for you indeed," says the farmer. "Oh murther, let me get in there, and I'll make it worth your while." "How do you make that out ?" says little Fairly.

Why, I'll give you five hundher guineas," says the farmer, and I think that's a power o' money."

"But what's a power o' money com

Tut, man," says the farmer, "I've twice as big a sowl as you; and, besides, I'm owld, and you're young, and I have no time to spare, and you may get absolution aisy, and make your pace in good time."

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"Well," says little Fairly, "I feel for you," says he, an I'm half inclined to let you overpersuade me to have your will o' me."

"That's a jewel," says the farmer. "But make haste," says little Fairly, " for I don't know how soon you might get a refusal."

"Let me in at wanst," says the farmer." So, my dear, Fairly got out, and the farmer got in, and the little chap tied him up; and, says he to the farmer, "there will be great norations made agin you, all the way you're goin' along ; and you'll hear o' your sins over and over agin, and you'll hear o' things you never done at all," says little Fairly, "but never say a word, or you wont go where I was goin'. Oh! why did I let you persuade me.'

"Lord reward you!" says the poor farmer.

"And your conscience will be sthreckin' you all the time," says little Fairly; "and you'll think a'most it's a stick is sthreckin' you, but you mustn't let an, nor say a word, but pray inwardly in the sack."

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I'll not forget," says the farmer. "Oh! you'll be reminded of it," says Fairly, "for you've a bad conscience I know; and the seven deadly sins will be goin' your road, and keep