United States or Grenada ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !


"Poot, ye mean," said Mr. Hennessy. "They'se no such wurrud in th' English language as putt. Belinda called me down ha-ard on it no more thin las' night." "There ye go!" said Mr. Dooley, angrily. "There ye go! D'ye think this here game iv goluf is a spellin' match? 'Tis like ye, Hinnissy, to be refereein' a twinty-round glove contest be th' rule iv three.

Ould Michael steed in silence beside his friend for some moments. "All well, Michael?" asked McFarquhar. "They are, that," answered the old soldier, with a happy sigh. "Och, 'tis the lovely land it is, and it's ha-ard to kape away from it." "I am thinking you are better away from it than in it," said McFarquhar, dryly.

The thought was more than he could bear: who could be brave in the face of such a blow? The bitter tears ran down his face again. "Here, here, odzookens, lad!" grinned the workman, stolidly, "thou'lt vetch t' river up if weeps zo ha-ard. Ztop un, ztop un; do now." Nick sat staring at the ground. A beetle was trying to crawl over a shaving.

And Mr. Hennessy went away with the rocking-chair under his arm, the doll in his pocket, and dumb anger in his heart. "'Tis ha-ard bein' a king these days," said Mr. Dooley.

"I'll explain it to ye," said Mr. Dooley. "'Tis this way. Ye see, this here Sagasta is a boonco steerer like Canada Bill, an' th' likes iv him. A smart man is this Sagasta, an' wan that can put a crimp in th' ca-ards that ye cudden't take out with a washerwoman's wringer. He's been through manny a ha-ard game.

An' fr'm that time on till he's r-ready to tur-rn in an' sleep peaceful an' quite, not like a lamb full iv vigetable food, but like a line that's wur-rked ha-ard an' et meat, he niver stops rampin' an' ragin'. Ye don't hear iv Fitz lookin' worn with th' sthruggle. Ye don't r-read iv him missin' anny meals. No one fears that Fitz will break down undher th' suspinse. That ain't in th' breed.

Th' diff'rence between me an' th' man that sets up in th' seat thumpin' his chest with his hands is no more thin th' diff'rence between him an' th' poor divvle that walks along behind th' wagon with his shovel on his shoulder, an' 'll thank th' saints f'r th' first chanst to put tin ton iv ha-ard coal into a cellar f'r a quarther iv a dollar.

He was in a bad way; f'r the la-ad's father was dead, th' ol' jook. He was a fine bucko. He had a divorce fr'm his wife, an' marrid another; an', whin he died, she marrid somewan else an' took the roly-boly with her. This was ha-ard on th' lad. "But he come iv a noble race, an' wan that had reed burruds whin their betthers had snowballs. Did ye iver read histhry, Jawn? Ye ought to.

They'll be some chance f'r a man with Swift over there; but, if this here Winter wint in, ye cudden't stand acrost La Salle Sthreet an' hand him a peach on th' end iv a window pole, he says. "Will he lose his job? Not much, Jawn. That la-ad 'll be swingin' bridges an' throwin' away th' crust iv his pie whin you an' me are atin' ha-ard coal. He will that. But what do I care?

But a rale sthrong inimy, specially a May-o inimy, wan that hates ye ha-ard, an' that ye'd take th' coat off yer back to do a bad tur-rn to, is a luxury that I can't go without in me ol' days. Dorsey is th' right sort. I can't go by his house without bein' in fear he'll spill th' chimbly down on me head; an', whin he passes my place, he walks in th' middle iv th' sthreet, an' crosses himsilf.