have gone with them, but there was poor Judy yet to be got over. Mrs. Tilson recommended me here. I told her, was it the work I cared for, so I was sure of being well paid; she said I would get plenty of work, and she would see I was well paid, and she it was herself that made the bargain for me; but sure, Lucy, I would rather live with the Tilsons' for the salt to my gruel, than with this woman for the best wages in New-York. But when you have a rason for it, Lucy, you can do and bear till you die. At last the money went, and Judy came, and sure I was as plased as if all Ireland had been in my arms; and it was all to me, my poor father, and mother, and Mike, and my sister, that was the last and least of us all, lying low, and her husband that was to be, gone—the Lord knows where! Sure I have wronged you, Lucy, and sorry am I for that same; but was not it natural-like I should want Judy to snug down under my wing. I did not let on to Mrs. Broadson she was my own dare sister's child, for the ladies are not fond of getting near kin together, lest they should favour one another, bad luck to them that would keep all God's blessings to themselves. I said she was my cousin, and is not she? and a dale more; and Mrs. Broadson engaged with her, and the steps were scarce cold from her feet when you came with your mother. You know the rest; but maybe you don't know that, when poor Judy came that morning with her bits of things, Jaboski had orders to send her away without calling me; and when you came, my breast was all on fire, and so it kept burning, for Judy was fretting, and I looking for a place for the two, and could
