“Indeed,” said James, “I can't--if I could I would. Sure I would be no way backward at all, so I wouldn't.” “Throth, an' you can an' must,” said the farmer: “the never a rise you'll rise, till you finish that”--putting over a complement out of all reasonable proportion with his age and size. “There now's a small taste, an' you must finish it. To go to ate nothin' at all! Hut tut! by the tops o' my boots, you must put that clear an' clane out o' sight, or I'll go mad an' barn them.” The lad recommenced, and continued to eat as long as he could possibly hold out; at length he ceased:-- “I can't go on,” said he; “don't ax me: I can't indeed.” “Bad manners to the word I'll hear till you finish it; you know it's but a thrifle to spake of. Thry agin, avick, but take your time; you'll be able for it.” The poor lad's heart was engaged on other thoughts and other scenes; his home, and its beloved inmates--sorrow and the gush of young affections, were ready to burst forth. “I cannot ate,” said he, and he looked imploringly on the farmer and his wife, whilst the tears started to his eyes--“don't ax me, for my heart's wid them I left behind me, that I may never see agin!” and he wept in a burst of grief which he could not restrain. Neither the strength nor tenderness of the lad's affection was unappreciated by this excellent couple. In a moment the farmer's wife was also in tears; nor did her husband break the silence for some minutes. “The Almighty pity an' strengthen him!” said the farmer's wife, “but he has the good an' the kind heart, an' would be a credit to any family.--Whisht, acushla machree--whisht, we won't ax you to ate--no indeed. It was out o' kindness we did it: don't be cast down aither; sure it isn't the ocean you're crossin'; but goin' from one county like to another. God 'll guard an' take care o' you, so he will. Your intintion's good, an' he'll prosper it.” “He will, avick,” said the farmer himself--“he will. Cheer up, my good boy! I know thim that's larned an' creditable clargy this day, that went as you're goin'--ay, an' that ris an' helped their parents, an' put them above poverty an' distress; an' never fear, wid a blessin', but you'll do the same.” “That's what brings me at all,” replied the boy, drying his tears; “if I was once able to take them out o' their distresses, I'd be happy: only I'm afeard the cares o' the world will break my father's heart before I have it in my power to assist him.” “No such thing, darlin',” said the good woman. “Sure his hopes out o' you, an' his love for you will keep him up; an' you dunna but God may give him a blessin' too, avick.”