“'I was once, Mick,' says he: 'I wint out in a porpus, who very politely gave me an inside place for nothing: but, arrah! Mick, I was obliged to work my way home.' “'Did you know one Tiddy Maguire, in the East Indies?' says I. “'No; but I heard talk of him.' “'He was a brother of mine, sir; and though I've axed every body that ever come from thim parts, if they knew one Tiddy Maguire, in the East Indies, divil a ha'p'orth o' news could ever I get about him before!--Will I tell your honour a story about Tiddy?--Sure, I will thin:--Tiddy was a boy that used to be given to walking in his sleep;--he'd go miles about, and bring home people's little pigs and poultry; and be all the while innocent of theft--quite intirely,--so he said, any how. Well! to make a long story short, one night Tiddy was awoke by a great knock on the head, abroad there in Morty Flynn's backyard, with a sucker from the ould sow's side, in his hand;--how it came there, Tiddy never could give any satisfactory account. Whin he got home,--'Arrah! Tid,' says I, 'what happened you, man?--and who's been braking the face of you?' And sure enough, the blood was streaming through his hair like a brook among underwood. 'Morty Flynn,' says he, 'struck me while ago.' 'Arrah! man, and had you nothing in your hand to defind yourself wid?' says I 'Troth! and I had thin,' says he; 'but what's a sucking-pig in a man's fist to a dung-shovel?' “'But, sir,' says I to the oysther, 'it's high time we should be better acquainted:--by your lave, sir,' says I, taking out my skean dubh, and a fine knife it was;--'by your lave, sir--' “'Luck up, luck up, Mick!' says he. “Meeself lucked up, as he bid me, and the curse of Cromwell on the crow that was flying over my head just thin;--the bird was bastely enough to dirt the face o' me;--down it fell, just thin as I lucked up, exactly betuxt my two eyes. I was in a terrible rage, you may guess; but hark to what a fool I was:--instid of getting my gun, and shooting the blackguard, what did meeself do, in the heat of the moment, but pick up the oysther, and away wid it at him, thinking to knock a hole in his black coat! “'Caw!' says he, sailing off; 'caw-aw!' grinning at me. “'Caw-aw!' says the oysther, says he to me too, from a ledge o' the rock below me, where he fell; 'caw-aw, Mick!--more sinse and bad luck to ye, Mick!' “'Ah! sir,' says I, putting a good face on the matter, and thinking whether or no I could get at him;--'ah! sir,' says I, 'did you think I'd be bad enough to devour you?' “'Faith! you would, Mick,' says he. “'Wasn't I polite?'