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Updated: June 24, 2025
"Wo ho, Bonyparty, shove yer head through. That's the way. Not give him enough to eat, my lad! Lor' bless you, the more he eats the thinner he gets. He finds the work too hard for him grinding his oats, for he's got hardly any teeth worth anything." "Is he so old, then?" I asked, as I saw collar and hames and the rest of the heavy harness adjusted. "Old! I should just think he is, my lad.
"What did he mane? I'll tell you that. The man is Bonyparty, which manes, when put into proper explanation, the right side; that is, the true cause. Larned men have found that out." That part of it where Ned M'Keown resided was peculiarly beautiful and romantic.
The lane was quite populous with waggons and hay-makers the men in their corduroys and blue hose the women in their trim jackets and bright calamanco petticoats. There were more women than men, by far, for the flower of the peasant youth of England had been drafted off to fight against "Bonyparty."
The worthy lawyer received him kindly, but not at all as if he wished to see him; for Christmas-tide was very nigh at hand, and the weather made the ink go thick, and only a clerk who was working for promotion would let his hat stay on its peg after the drum and fife went by, as they always did at dusk of night, to frighten Bonyparty.
"No," I said. "Didn't they hang the highwaymen in chains, Ike?" "To be sure they did. I see one myself swinging about on Hounslow Heath." "Wasn't it very horrible?" "I dunno. Dessay it was. Just look how reg'lar old Bonyparty goes along, don't he just in the same part of the road? I dessay he's a-counting all the steps he takes, and checking of 'em off to see how many more he's got to go through."
You may be sure Molly was proud iv that same, though she never spoke a word about it; until at last the news kem home that Billy Malowney was surrounded an' murdered by the Frinch army, under Napoleon Bonyparty himself.
The way it happened, accordin' as the corporal tould him, was jist how the Jook iv Wellington detarmined to fight a rale tarin' battle wid the Frinch, and Bonyparty at the same time was aiqually detarmined to fight the divil's own scrimmidge wid the British foorces.
But Bill still engrossed the poor mother's heart she could do nothing but weep over him, and curse "Bonyparty." Her mind was so full of this that she apparently failed to recognise in the decent young workman, John Halifax, the half-starved lad she had belaboured with her tongue in the alley.
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