not ours, for we're willin' as the flowers o' May to drink all sorts o'
good luck to her."

"Nogher," said the other, "it's truth a great dale of what you've
sed--maybe all of it."

"Faith, I know," returned Nogher, "that about the whiskey it's parfit
gospel."

"In one thing I'll be advised by you, an' that is, I'll go to my
knees and pray to God to set my heart right if it's wrong. I feel
strange--strange, Nogher--happy, an' not happy."

"You needn't go to your knees at all," replied Nogher, "if you give us
the whiskey; or if you do pray, be in earnest, that your heart may be
inclined to do it."

"You desarve none for them words," said Fardorougha, who felt that
Nogher's buffoonery jarred upon the better feelings that were rising
within him--"you desarve none, an' you'll get none--for the present at
laste, an' I'm only a fool for spaking to you."

He then retired to the upper part of the kiln, where, in a dark corner,
he knelt with a troubled heart, and prayed to God.

We doubt not but such readers as possess feeling will perceive that
Fardorougha was not only an object at this particular period of
much interest, but also entitled to sincere sympathy. Few men in his
circumstances could or probably would so earnestly struggle with a
predominant passion as he did, though without education, or such a