"Ye will be sorry to learn that your aunt O'Brien is dead, an' has bin waked and berried, rest her sowld." (She's a good religious girl, anyhow.) "Peter McMahon swears he'll kill ye the fust time he sets eyes on ye, as yer brother Michael split the skull of his father's uncle during the wake." (Never mind, Tim; I'll help you.) "Tim achushla machree, send us yer half pay, for the love of Mary--we're nigh starved at times, an' it's hard work for a poor girl to keep straight, and she so poor and so many temptations round her." (Poor girl, I'll send her my half pay if he don't. Tim ain't half thoughtful for her.) "Mary Connor is married, and her husband gone to sea with a black eye she gave him" (I suppose he deserved it, anyhow); "an' Kathleen Shea wants to know if ye mean to keep yer word with her." (If he don't I will.) "Yer mother sends her love, and with the same from yer loving "EILEY ROONEY." (Bless her dear heart, how life-like she do write; that's what I call a nateral sort of letter.) At the first quiet opportunity, the sailor questioned Tim as to what his Cousin Eily was like, and the answer he obtained was a quencher to his passion. "She's an ould devil, as keeps a fruit stall, an' is as ugly as the skipper, an' that's saying no little, me boy. But if ye wants to fall in love wid an illigant slip ov a colleen, I'll intrejuce yez to me Cousin Nora for a trifle ov grog." However, once bit twice shy, and the now enlightened sailor concluded to leave Tim's relations alone. Thompson received about twenty-five letters in all, including one in the German language from Miss Pferdscreptern, which having opened, turned over, and held in every conceivable position, he reluctantly sold to a foretopman, who, not being able to read, did not care whether it was in German or Hebrew. After picking out Mary Ann's epistles, Jerry sold the balance of his correspondence unopened, and realized thereby a very handsome profit. Clare had three short notes from Polly, that is, they were written for her by a friend, as she was unable to write even her own signature, although she contrived to spell out the letters Tom sent her, he always writing in a very round hand for her accommodation. Clare found that his wife had made him a father, and that the mother and child were doing well. "God bless the dear creetur and her babby," he murmured, and a big tear stole down his cheek and dropped upon the paper.