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Tell me y'r old dispensation's past? A could preach a sermon from th' oldest book in the Bible w'ud burn up Fifth Avenue an' have y'r churches sendin' in a call for the p'lice t' cart me away t' a lunatic asylum! Ah, yes, A know they'll tell y' A'm not learned an' don't know Hebrew!
Sure, ye can't blame me f'r wantin' to thry him against good 'uns. He ain't awake yet, sor, an' he's too good-nachured. Holy pow'rs! If the b'ye ever cud be injuced to get mad-like, he'd lick his weight in woild-cats so he w'ud." There were times, as you may imagine, when I felt much like Frankenstein in awe of the creature I had created.
He glanced at the pan of his rifle, then again fixed his keen, blue eyes on the tiny glimmer of white which even I could distinguish now, though Heaven only knows how his eyes had found it in all that tangle. "That's raw wood," he repeated. "A deer might bark a twig," said I. "Maybe, sorr," muttered Murphy; "but there's divil a deer w'ud nibble sheep-laurel."
"Aven av he w'ud of befoor, he'll see to ut that no har-rm comes to ye now t'rough fault av his own, fer well he knows the men 'ud think 'twas done to pay ye back, an' he'll have no wish to play th' title rôle at a hangin'. "From now on, 'tis only Moncrossen ye'll have to watch, fer ye're in good wid th' men. We undershtand ye now.
"That w'ud ye! that w'ud ye!" said Magrath, growing more and more Scotch, as he warmed in the discourse; "ye'd board a mackerel-hoy, rather than not have an engagement. Ye'r a varra capital vice-admiral of the red, Sir Gervaise, but I'm judging ye'd mak' a varra indeeferent loblolly-boy."
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