to himself)—you remember that queer adventure

you had in France ?”

"Throth I do, Sir," grins forth Pat.

"What!" exclaims Sir John, in feigned sur

prise, was Pat ever in France ?"

"Indeed he was," cries mine host; and Pat adds, "Ay, and farther, plase your honour."

"I assure you, Sir John," continues my host, "Pat told me a story once that surprised me very much, respecting the ignorance of the French."

"Indeed," rejoins the baronet; "really I always supposed the French to be a most accomplished people."

"Throth then, they're not, Sir," interrupts

Pat.

"Oh, by no means," adds mine host, shaking his head emphatically.

66

I believe, Pat, 'twas when you were crossing the Atlantic?" says the master, turning to Pat

with a seductive air, and leading into the "full

and true account"-(for Pat had thought fit to visit North Amerikay, for "a raison he had," in the autumn of the year ninety-eight)

"Yes, Sir," says Pat, "the broad Atlantic," a favourite phrase of his, which he gave with a brogue as broad, almost, as the Atlantic itself.

"It was the time I was lost in crassin' the broad Atlantic, a comin' home," began Pat, decoyed into the recital; "whin the winds began to blow, and the sae to rowl, that you'd think the Colleen dhas (that was her name) would not have a mast left but what would rowl out of her.

Well, sure enough, the masts went by the boord, at last, and the pumps was chok'd (divil choke them for that same), and av coorse the wather gained an us, and throth to be filled with wather is neither good for man or baste; and she was sinkin' fast, settlin' down, as the sailors calls it, and faith I never was good at settlin' down in my life, and I liked it then less nor ever;

accordianly we prepared for the worst, and put out the boat, and got a sack o' bishkits, and a cashk o' pork, and a kag o' wather, and a thriffe o'rum aboord, and any other little matthers we could think iv in the mortial hurry we wor inand faith there was no time to be lost, for my darlint, the Colleen dhas, went down like a lump o' lead, afore we wor many sthrokes o' the oar away from her.

Well, we dhrifted away all that night, and next mornin' we put up a blanket an the ind av a pole as well as we could, and thin we sailed iligant, for we darn't show a stitch o' canvass the night before, bekase it was blowin' like bloody murther, savin' your presence, and sure it's the wondher of the world we worn't swally'd alive by the ragin' sae.

"Well, away we wint, for more nor a week, and nothin' before our two good-lookin' eyes but the canophy iv heaven, an the wide ocean-the

broad Atlantic-not a thing was to be seen but the sae and the sky; and though the sae and the sky is mighty purty things in themselves, throth they're no great things when you've nothin' else to look at for a week together-and the barest rock in the world, so it was land, would be more welkim. And then, soon enough throth, our provisions began to run low, the bishkits, and the wather, and the rum-throth that was gone first of all-God help uz-and oh! it was thin that starvation began to stare us in the face-' Oh! murther, murther, captain darlint,' says I, 'I wish we could see land any where,' says I.

More power to your elbow, Paddy, my boy,' says he, for sitch a good wish, and throth it's myself wishes the same.'

"Oh,' says I, that it may plaze you, sweet queen iv heaven, supposing it was only a dissolute island,' says I, inhabited wid Turks, sure they

wouldn't be such bad Christlans as to refuse

uz a bit and a sup.'

"Whisht, whisht, Paddy,' says the captain, 'don't be talkin' bad of any one,' says he; 'you don't know how soon you may want a good word put in for yourself, if you should be called to quarthers in th' other world all of a suddent,' says he.

"Thrue for you, captain darlint,' says I—I called him darlint, and made free wid him, you see, bekase disthress makes uz all equal-' thrue for you, captain jewel-God betune uz and harm, I owe no man any spite'-and throth that was only thruth. Well, the last bishkit was sarved out, and by gor the wather itself was all gone at last, and we passed the night mighty cowldwell, at the brake o' day the sun riz most beautiful out o' the waves, that was as bright as silver and as clear as cryshthal. But it was only the