“‘Copteeine,’ says she, ‘ye know Tim Maley of Ramore?’ ‘Troth, and I do,’ says I, ‘and I know nothing good of the same lad--an infarnal ould skin-flint, who would rob his own father if he could. Whenever I want a sheep, I always give him the preference, and choose one that has his brand upon it.’ ‘May the Lord reward ye,’ says she, ‘for so doing, Well, copteeine, for two years he has been comin’ about our place, and when the times got bad, and my father and my husband were druv’ for rent, they borrowed money at _gompeein_ * from the miser. Well, they thought to pay it, with and with, ** but the crippawn *** seized the cattle, and the grate snow kilt the sheep, and the devil a _scurrick_ could they make up between them for the ould sinner, when their note fell due. Well, ye know that Pat and I were promised for two years, but as the world went hard against us, we were afeard to get married. On Monday come three weeks, we were sittin’ round the fire, heavy-hearted enough, when the latch was lifted softly. I thought it was Pat, but who should it be but ould Maloy. In he comes, coughing, with his “God save all here,” and draws a stool to the fire. “Ye’r kindly weleome,” says my father. “I hope so,” says the miser, “for I am come for at laste a part of the money that you and Pat Grady, (manin’ my husband,) are due me.” My poor father turned pale as a cloth. “Mister Maley,” says he, _mistering_ the ould ruffin, to plase him ye know; “you’ve heard of our loss--may the Lord look down upon us!” The miser gave a cough, “An’ am I,” says he, “to get nather less or more of what I lent ye?” My poor father gave a groan. “Mary,” says the ould divil to me, “put the boult in the door, and come here and sit beside me.” Well, copteeine, my heart grew cold, an’ I don’t know why the fear came over me so, but I did what he desired me, and came and sate down, but with my father betune us. “Well,” says be, “you’re asking time, Phil Connor, an’ may be, I might give it to ye--ay, an’ maybe I’ll do more--for I’ll make Mary my lawful wife, and forgive ye the debt along with it.” The light left my eyes as he said so; and when my poor father looked over at me so heart-broken, I thought I would have dropped. “What do ye say to the offer?” said ould Maley. “Och hone!” says my father, “it’s a grate honour ye do my little girl; but, Mister Maley, dear, ye’r too ould for her.” The miser bit his lip; “An’ do ye refuse me for a son-in-law?” says he, in a rage. “Let me just talk to the gentleman, father darlin’,” says I, for I knew we were in the ould villain’s power, and I thought that I might sofen him. My father left the cabin, ould Maley pulled in his stool, took me by the hand, and begun palaverin’ me, thinkin’ I would consint; “And now, Mary,” says he, “what have ye to say? Take me, or lave me, as ye like it.”