a perspiration I'm in:—we never think of matters of that kind in Ireland, at all—at all, when we get married." Mick was plunged in deep thought for a short time, when he said, with his face as blank as his pocket, "Och! the divil a shilling have I:—och, what'll we do—och, what'll we do?" He rushed over to the hatchway, and calling "Here darlint come up and spake wid me," resumed his old position near Hugh. A woman shortly appeared from below, and running over to Mick, cried out, "Here I am, darlint; " and throwing both her arms round him, imprinted several fervent kisses on his astonished countenance. —"Sure thin, Mick—darlint, didn't I always think you loved me best?" Mick looked the picture of confusion. After being subjected to a second volley of kisses, he tore her arms from about him, and exclaimed, "Why what the dickens is the matther wid the woman?—go to yer rale sweetheart, and not be stormin 'me that way, and forgetting yearself this way, Mary O'Rourke."
"Och! wirra! wirra! "she said, turning to Hugh: "Sure that dirty blackguard, Tim Flannagan, has hired and gone into the bush amongst the schnakes and the neaygers, and left me upon the wide world, and now what'll I do that Mick has desarted me?" and she burst out crying.
Hugh really began to fancy that Mick had been playing the part of a "gay Lothario," and must have expressed as much in his countenance; for Mick exclaimed, "I was always noted for my gallanthry, Mr. Hugh; but by the hole in my coat (he might have sworn by the fifty holes in that garment) I never wronged the young woman:—Faith how could I, don't I love Rose Blaney dearly? —Why Mary O'Rourke," he continued, turning to that disconsolate creature, "don't be crying that way: sure if yer sweetheart's left you, like a blackguard as he is, you'll soon find another in his room."
