“'It is,' says I; 'people thinks o' nobody but just their ownselves; and doesn't mind what inconvaniency they puts their fellow-cratures to, so as they ar'n't harried thimselves.' “'True,' says he, 'Mick:--did you ever rade o' the Romans?' “'I'm a Roman meeself, sir.' “'Phugh!' says he; 'it's of rulligion ye're spaking!--I mane the ould Romans,--Romulus and Rebus,--Brutus and Brian Bora,--that sacrificed themselves for the good of their country:--thim's the examples we ought to follow, Mick! We should help our fellow-cratures too, in necessity, if it lies in our power; and not stand, shilly-shally, thinking and turning it over whether it will be to our advantage or not.' “'Sir,' says I, 'your honour spakes my own sintimints; and sure never could a finer time come for practising what you preach, than now.--Luck up, your honour,--luck up, and see meeself, a poor fellow-crature, in distress fora mouthful;--I'm a part o' my country, and you're an Irishman born, I'll be sworn.' “'Mick,' says he; 'that's a different sort of a thing, intirely.' “'Not at all,' says I; 'it's a case in point.' “'Well, Mick,' says he; 'thin I will,--I will sacrifice meeself.' “'And no thanks to you, sir,' says I; 'you know you'd be sacrificed by me, whether you sacrificed yourself or no. Ah, ah!' “'Ha, ha!' says he; 'that's true; and it's the way o' the world, Mick.' “'And may be, sir,' says I, 'thim Romans yourself spoke about--' “'Blarney and humbug, Mick!--blarney and humbug!--They did just what Shawn O' Shaugnessy did, while ago,--jump overboard to show his bravery, when he knew the ship was sinking.--But don't be in a hurry, Mick,' says he, seeing me licking my lips, and getting nearer him;--'although, Mick, I have no wish to live; for an oysther's life is a sad one, Mick.' “'Ah! sir,' says I, 'and so is Mick Maguire's.' “'I've every wish in the world to travel into all foreign parts.' “'And so have I, sir.' “'But a snail's better off than I am.--Can't he take a trip, with his house on his back, and look about him whin he likes?' “'That's just my own case,' says I; 'there's John Carroll, the pedlar, takes his pack on his shoulther, and travels from Clonmell to Carrick,--from Carrick to Stradbally, and all over the rest of the world, two or three times a week.' “'Oh! musha! Mick,' says he, 'don't grumble; you're not half so bad off as I am:--it's tied by the back, I am, to the floor of my house, and I can't stir a foot.' “'It isn't much money yourself spinds in brogues and stockings, thin,' says I.--'Ah! thim brogues ates a man out of house and home, intirely!--Does your honour know one Darby Walsh, a brogue-maker?' “'No, I don't.' “'Then, mark this, sir,' says I; 'if ever you shake the fist of him, you'll have a rogue in your gripe.' “'I knew one Jack Walsh,' says he, 'at Calcutta?' “'And was your honour ever at Calcutta?' says I.