A gentleman was one evening standing with some laborers by the wayside when a tattered Irishman, equipped in a pair of white dusty brogues, stockings without feet, old patched breeches, a bag slung across his shoulder, his coarse shirt lying open about a neck tanned by the sun into a reddish yellow, a hat nearly the color of the shoes, and a hay rope tied for comfort about his waist; in one hand he also held a straw rope, that depended from the hind leg of a pig which he drove before him; in the other was a cudgel, by the assistance of which he contrived to limp on after it, his two shoulder-blades rising and falling alternately with a shrugging motion that indicated great fatigue. When he came opposite where the gentleman stood he checked the pig, which instinctively commenced feeding upon the grass by the edge of the road. “Och,” said he, wiping his brow with the cuff of his coat, “_mavrone orth a muck_,* but I'm kilt wit you. Musha, Gad bless yer haner, an' maybe ye'd buy a slip of a pig fwhrom me, that has my heart bruck, so she has, if ever any body's heart was bruck wit the likes of her; an' sure so there was, no doubt, or I wouldn't be as I am wid her. I'll give her a dead bargain, sir; for it's only to get her aff av my hands I'm wanting plase yer haner--_husth amuck--husth, a veehone!_** Be asy, an' me in conwersation wid his haner here!” * My sorrow on you for a pig. ** Silence pig! Silence, you pig! Silence, you vagabond! “You are an Irishman?” the gentleman inquired. “I am, sir, from Connaught, yer haner, an' ill sell the crathur dag cheap, all out. Asy, you thief!” “I don't want the pig, my good fellow,” replied the Englishman, without evincing curiosity enough to inquire how he came to have such a commodity for sale. “She'd be the darlint in no time wid you, sir; the run o' your kitchen 'ud make her up a beauty, your haner, along wit no trouble to the sarvints about sweepin' it, or any thing. You'd only have to lay down the potato-basket on the flure, or the misthress, Gad bless her, could do it, an' not lave a crumblin' behind her, besides sleepin, your haner, in the carner beyant, if she'd take the throuble.” The sluggish phlegm of the Englisman was stirred up a little by the twisted, and somewhat incomprehensible nature of these instructions. “How far do you intend to proceed tonight, Paddy?” said he. “The sarra one o' myself knows, plaze yer haner: sure we've an ould sayin' of our own in Ireland beyant--that he's a wise man can I tell how far he'll go, sir, till he comes to his journey's ind. I'll give this crathur to you at more nor her value, yer haner.” “More!--why the man knows not what he's saying,” observed the gentleman; “less you mean, I suppose, Paddy?” “More or less, sir: you'll get her a bargain; an' Gad bless you, sir!” “But it is a commodity which I don't want at present. I am very well stocked with pigs, as it is. Try elsewhere.”