I'm not as asy where I am now," says
he, "as I had a right to expect," says he.

' "An' more's the pity," says my father.
"Maybe your honour id wish to have a
word with Father Murphy?"

' "Hould your tongue, you misherable
bliggard," says the squire; "it's not iv
my sowl I'm thinkin'--an' I wondther you'd
have the impitence to talk to a gintleman
consarnin' his sowl; and when I want
THAT fixed," says he, slappin' his thigh,
"I'll go to them that knows what belongs
to the likes," says he. "It's not my sowl,"
says he, sittin' down opossite my father;
"it's not my sowl that's annoyin' me most
--I'm unasy on my right leg," says he,
"that I bruk at Glenvarloch cover the
day I killed black Barney."

'My father found out afther, it was a
favourite horse that fell undher him, afther
leapin' the big fence that runs along by the
glin.

' "I hope," says my father, "your
honour's not unasy about the killin' iv
him?"