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About the time I was a boy, ArehyArchy [sic] Thompson lived in Cushendall, lower part of eountycountry [sic] Antrim. He was a great man; kept a groeergrocer [sic]'s shop, and was in fact a eompletecomplete [sic] JaekJack [sic] Factotum, and sold every thing portable, from a needle to anehoranchor [sic]; he was a ponderous fellow, wore a wig like a bee-hive, and was ealledcalled [sic] the king of Cushendall. One night, when he was returning home from a friend's wake, he found a male ehildchild [sic] at the shop door some months old; he embraeedembraced [sic] it—swore he would keep it, and was as fond of him as ever Squire Allworthy was of Tom Jones. A woman was sent for to nurse him; they ealledcalled [sic] her Snouter Shaughnessy, because she wanted the nose.—Snouter had no sueksuch [sic], and poor Paddy (for so he was ehristenedchristened [sic]) was spoon-fed, and soon grew a stout, well-built fellow, and to show his gratitude, (for Paddy had a heart) would do all the work about the house himself. He was like Scrub in the Beaux Stratagem, servant of all work; he milked the eowcow [sic]; he eleanedcleaned [sic] the byre; and thatehedthatched [sic] it; he went to market; he soled the shoes; he eleanedcleaned [sic] the knives; he shaved; and powdered his master's wig; and, in short, did as muehmuch [sic] work in one day as an ordinary servant would do in a week. Paddy's delight was in frequenting wakes and listening to all sorts of marvellous stories, whiehwhich [sic] he would swallow down