so LIFE IN IRELAND 



friend Tom, Pat?' said L 'Don't I love him!' he 

 quickly rejoined ; ' by the holy mother ! I wish he was 

 drowning in that water that I might have the pleasure 

 to jump in and save his life.' 'Can you swim, Pat?' 

 'Devil a stroke! all's one for that, I'd have a plunge 

 after him if he were there.' 



It is the nature of an Irishman to let his tongue run 

 away with his heart, and surely the oath that involun- 

 tarily flows from a generous, kind, and benevolent 

 motive, will not be placed amongst the 'idle words 

 which man uttereth,' and has to be answerable for at 

 the last day. 



An instance of this careless mode of expression 

 occurred in mine own neighbourhood, no matter where, 

 I have sound family reasons for keeping it a secret. A 

 hearty young farmer, I knew him well ; he was never 

 ashamed of his name, and why should friendship blush 

 to write Tom Cahee? The typhus fever knocked him 

 off, the doctor gave him up for a bad job, and the 

 priest greased his joints to make him walk lissom up 

 the narrow road to render up his accounts; his wife 

 hung over him in all the tenderness of grief! 'Pray 

 for my soul when I am gone, Hannah ! ' whispered the 

 dying man. 'I will, my dear jewel,' she said, 'break 

 the patience of half the Saints by doing that same by 

 day and night, and many other times beside, and don't 

 forget me when you 're in Heaven, Tom.' ' If I do, God 

 damme ! ' faltered from his lips, and he shortly after 

 expired ! 



The man meant no harm ; it was a pledge of affec- 

 tion given to his wife ; he could not give it in stronger 

 terms. I have not a doubt but he kept his word, and 



