United States or Gambia ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
"Wasn't it he that used to appear?" inquired M'Roarkin. "Sure enough he did, Tom." "Lord save us," said Nancy, "what could trouble him, I dunna?"
Secondly, Bob Gott, who filled the foreign and military departments, and related the wonderful history of the ghost which appeared to him on the night after the battle of Bunker's-hill. To him succeeded Tom M'Roarkin, the little asthmatic anecdotarian of half the country, remarkable for chuckling at his own stories.
"Well, to be sure, larnin's a great thing, entirely," said M'Roarkin, aside, to Shane Fadh. "Ah, Tom, there's nothing like it: well, any way, it's wonderful what they know!" "Indeed it is, Shane and in so short a time, too!
The succeeding evening found them all assembled about Ned's fireside in the usual manner; where M'Roarkin, after a wheezy fit of coughing and a draught of Nancy's Porter, commenced to give them an account of Larry M'Farland's Wake.
"I'm no judge of instrumental music, as you are," said the curate, "but I think it's liker the 'Dead March of Saul, than 'God save the King; however, if you be right, the gentleman certainly snores in a truly loyal strain." "That," said little M'Roarkin, "is liker the Swine's melody, or the Bedfordshire hornpipe he he he!"
"Thrue for you, Nancy," said M'Roarkin, "and, indeed, Tom was well spoken of by the neighbors for his kindness to his brother after his death; and luck and grace attended him for it, and the world flowed upon him before it came to his own turn."
At last, as the wind fell again, it melted away, weeping most sorrowfully, but so sweetly, that the likes of it was never heard. Sally then went to bed, and the poor woman was so harrished with one thing or another, that at last she fell asleep." "'Twas the Banshee," said Shane Fadh. "Indeed it was nothing else than that same," replied M'Roarkin.
* Each pair have been since married, and live not more happily than I wish them. Fulton still lives in Ned's house at the Cross-roads. "I wondher," said Andy Morrow, "what makes Joe M'Crea throw down that fine ould castle of his, in Aughentain?" "I'm tould," said M'Roarkin, "that he expects money; for they say there's a lot of it buried somewhere about the same building."
We have observed before, that M'Roarkin was desperately asthmatic, a circumstance which he felt to be rather an unpleasant impediment to the indulgence either of his mirth or sorrow. Every chuckle at his own jokes ended in a disastrous fit of coughing; and when he became pathetic, his sorrow was most ungraciously dissipated by the same cause; two facts which were highly relished by his audience.
"So it appears that horses have sowls," observed M'Roarkin, philosophically, giving, at the same time, a cynical chuckle at the sarcasm contained in his own conceit.
Word Of The Day