His melancholy visage dilated into a broad grin the moment he
saw me; and coming up, and making me a bow, he said, "Ah! thin, Poll,
agrah, you're welcome to ould Ireland. Would you take a taste of potato,
just to cure your say-sickness?" and he put a cold potato into my cage,
which he had been gnawing with avidity himself. The potato was among the
first articles of my food in my native paradise, and the recollection of
it awakened associations which softened me towards the poor, hospitable
creature who presented it. Still I hesitated, till he said, "Take it,
Miss, and a thousand welcomes,--take it, agrah, from poor Pat." I took
it with infinite delight; and holding it in my claws, and peeling it
with my beak, began to mutter "Poor Pat! poor Pat!" "Oh, musha, musha!
oh, by the powers!" He cried, "but that's a great bird, any how--just
like a Christian--look here, boys." A crowd now gathered round my
cage, and several exclamations, which recalled my old friends of the
Propaganda, caught my attention. "Oh! queen of glory!" cried one; "Holy
Moses!" exclaimed another; "Blessed rosary!" said a third. I turned
my head from side to side, listening; and excited by the excitement
I caused, I recited several scraps of litanies in good Latinity,--There
was first an universal silence, then an universal shout, and a general
cry of "A miracle! a miracle!" "Go to Father Murphy," said one; "Off
with ye, ye sowl, to the Counsellor," said a second; "Bring the baccah
to him," cried an old woman; "Mrs.
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