“The first of March!—why, my good fellow, you have a day to spare then,—the first of March will not be here till to-morrow. It is Leap Year, and February has twenty-nine days.”
The soldier was thunderstruck.—“Twenty-nine days, is it—You’re sartin of that same!—Oh, Mother, Mother!—the Divil fly away wid yere ould Almanack—a base cratur of a book, to be deceaven one, afther living so long in the family of us!”
His first impulse was to cut a caper on the roof of the coach, and throw up his cap, with a loud Hurrah!—His second was to throw himself into the arms of his Kathleen, and the third, was to wring my hand off in acknowledgment.
“It’s a happy man I am, your Honour, for my word’s saved, and all by your Honour’s manes—Long life to your Honour for the same!—May ye live a long hundred—and lape-years every one of them!”
SINGLE BLESSEDNESS.
NUMBER ONE.
VERSIFIED FROM THE PROSE OF A YOUNG LADY.
IT’S very hard!—and so it is,