“And what do they do with them?”
“Is it what they do with them? Oh; they make fences of them for the beasts.”
He was a dry, shrewd old fellow, not very amiably disposed, I was sorry to find, towards my own country.
“Ah! it’s America, sorr, that’s been the ruin of us entirely.”
“Pray, how is that?”
“It’s the storms they send; and then the grain; and now they tell me it’s the American beasts that’s spoiling the market altogether for Ireland.”
“Is that what your member tells you?”
“The member, sorr? which member?”
“The member of Parliament for your district, I mean. What is his name?”
“His name? Well, I’m not sure; and I don’t know that I know the man at all. But I believe his name is Mulloy.”