“O, DOCTHER, DEAR, I’VE PIZENED ME BOY.”
“Why, what’s the matter at the shanty, Fitzgibbon?”
“O, docther, dear, I’ve pizened my boy; what will I do intirely?”
“How did it happen? Don’t be alarmed, Fitzgibbon.” For his manner was frightful.
“Will, I’ll till yeze. He’s been sick wid the masles. Will, he’s ate nothin’ for a hole wake, and in the night he wanted some bread an’ sugar, do ye see? an’ I had no candle, an’ I wint in the dark, an’ spread him some bread, an’ he ate it intirely, an’ it was saleratus I put on it, instead of sugar; an’ it’s now atin’ him intirely! O, dear, dear, that I should iver give him saleratus instead o’ sugar!”
“Well, Fitzgibbon, if the boy is so big a fool that he don’t know the difference between saleratus and sugar, let him die.”
“O, docther, don’t say so!” exclaimed the poor fellow, in agony.
Then I suddenly recollected that the sense of taste was always vitiated in measles, and thus excused the matter, adding,—
“Now, run home, ’Gibbon, and give the little fellow a tea-spoonful of vinegar in a little sugar and water,—not saleratus and water, mind you.”