i88 DAYS STOLEN FOR SPORT 



'That, my boy, is due to a sweet memory of a sweet 

 voice — only one other like it — and it used to say, 

 "Phillie, dear, do'ee sleep," and I would say, to please 

 her, "I'se seeping, mother," and the eyelids that 

 closed to cheat often lost power to open. You have 

 heard a voice as sweet as my mother's was. It's sweet 

 memories that lull us to content and sleep.' 



I heard the echo of a voice in the waves that lovely 

 Autumn morning, and could plainly see the face and 

 form of the little maid I married, and, quite forgetting 

 that a son of hers sat near, I whispered : — 



* And I as rich in having such a jewel 

 As tAventy seas, if all their sand were pearl, 

 The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.' 



Then my boy's strong arms came under mine to 

 lift me up and march me off. 



The bustle of an Irisliman who has overslept him- 

 self is out of all proportion to its effect, excepting only 

 the soothing influence it has on himself. He is inclined 

 to think the first half of a day well spent when he has 

 thus asserted his manhood, and is quite prepared 

 thereafter to stretch himself or sit upon a fence. 

 Where's the need for hurry? The waves still roll and 

 the fly-fisher waits for rain ; he knows this, and perhaps 

 handsome, happy Boniface is right in saying by his 

 actions, 'Take it easy, boys ; sun yourselves ; to- 

 morrow's near; leave all till then.' A sixty-miles-per- 

 hour man who thinks himself the only person who has 

 a right to be upon the road is a hvely creature that is 

 only a temporary bore, but the late-rising, lazy man is 

 so much with you in the briefest time that you have 

 fears he is to be with 3^ou for evermore. He worries 

 me quickly, and I hunger to kick him when he stretches, 

 and thirst to put a thorn betwixt his sitting and the 

 fence. 



It was t5n a.m. when I caught sight of our host. 

 He was on the other side of the road resting his back 



