says he; "it's only to poor crathurs like
myself I'd do it to," says he.

' "None iv your blarney," says the
squire. "Here's my leg," says he, cockin'
it up to him--"pull it for the bare life,"
says he; an' "if you don't, by the immortial
powers I'll not lave a bone in your carcish
I'll not powdher," says he.

'When my father heerd that, he seen
there was no use in purtendin', so he tuk
hould iv the leg, an' he kep' pullin' an'
pullin', till the sweat, God bless us, beginned
to pour down his face.

' "Pull, you divil!" says the squire.

' "At your sarvice, your honour," says
my father.

" 'Pull harder," says the squire.

'My father pulled like the divil.

' "I'll take a little sup," says the squire,
rachin' over his hand to the bottle, "to
keep up my courage," says he, lettin' an
to be very wake in himself intirely. But,
as cute as he was, he was out here, for he