_Teag._ And what should I make of them, do you imagine that I should give them into the hands of the butchers, as they had been a parcel of young hogs: by shaint Patrick I had more unnaturality in me, than to put them in an hospital as others do. _Tom._ No, I suppose you would leave them with your friends? _Teag._ Ay, ay, a poor man’s friends is sometimes worse than a profest enemy, the best friend I ever had in the world was my own pocket while my money lasted; but I left two babes between the priest’s door and the parish church, because I thought it was a place of mercy, and then set out for England in quest of another fortune. _Tom._ I fancy, Paddy, you came off with what they call a moon-shine flitting. _Teag._ You lie like a thief now, for I did not see sun, moon, nor stars, all the night then: for I set out from Cork at the dawn of night, and I had travelled twenty miles all but twelve, before gloaming in the morning. _Tom._ And where did you go to take shipping? _Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I came to a country village called Dublin, as big a city as any market-town in all England, where I got myself aboard of a little young boat, with a parcel of fellows, and a long leather bag. I supposed them to be tinklers, until I asked what they carried in that leather sack; they told me it was the English mail they were going over with; then said I, is the milns so scant in England, that they must send over their corn to Ireland to grind it, the comical cunning fellows persuaded me it was so: then I went down to a little house below the water, hard by the rigg-back of the boat, and laid me down on their leather sack, where I slept myself almost to death with hunger. And dear Tom to tell you plainly when I waked I did not know where I was, but thought I was dead and buried, for I found nothing all round me but wooden walls and timber above. _Tom._ And how did you come to yourself to know where you was at last? _Teag._ By the law, dear shoy, I scratched my head in a hundred parts, and then set me down to think upon it, so I minded it was my wife that was dead and not me, and that I was alive in the young boat, with the fellows that carries over the English meal from the Irish milns. _Tom._ O then Paddy, I am sure you was glad when you found yourself alive? _Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I was very sure I was alive, but I did not think to live long, so I thought it was better for me to steal and be hanged, than to live all my days and die directly with hunger at last. _Tom._ Had you no meat nor money along with you? _Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I gave all the money to the captain of the house, or gudeman of the ship, to take me into the sea or over to England, and when I was like to eat my old brogues for want of victuals I drew my hanger and cut the lock of the leather sack to get a lick of their meal; but allelieu, dear shoy, I found neither meal nor seeds, but a parcel of papers and letters--a poor morsel for a hungry man.