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Updated: May 18, 2025
There was a man, a procthor, an' he was a Catholic too, for I needn't tell you, boys, that there never was a Protestant procthor half as hard and cruel as one of our own ralligion, an' thas well known.
M'Carthy, I wish you to understand that you are wid a friend mark my words avoid the man they call Buck English, for of all men livin' he hates you the most; and listen, whenever you come to this country don't stop in procthor Purcel's, otherwise you may draw down ruin and destruction upon him and his; and, if I'm not mistaken, you're the last man livin' who would wish to do that."
"I think, boys," said a person, whose voice was evidently that of a man advanced in years, "I think you ought to give this procthor Purcel a cardin'. He lifts the tithes of four parishes, and so far he's a scourge over four parishes; himself and his blasted citations to the bishop's court and his blasted decrees hell purshue him, as it will. Ah, the Carders wor fine fellows, so were the Sextons."
Well, there was this procthor I'm tellin' of, his name was Callaghan; he was a dark-haired I'll-lookin' fellow, with a squint and a stutther; but for all that, he had a daicent, quiet, well-behaved family that offended nobody not like our proud horsewhippin' neighbors; an', indeed, his daughters did not mount their side-saddles like some of the same neighbors, but sure we all know the ould proverb, set a beggar on horseback, and we needn't tell you where he'll ride to.
"Aisy, Ned," said one or two of them, "bad as it was, let us hear Billy Bradly's story out." "Well," proceeded Billy, "when the ticklin' was over, we took the scraws off of the grave, lined wid thorns as it was, and laid the procthor, naked and bleedin' scarified into gris-kins " "Let me at at him, the ould cardin' mur urdherer; plain murdher's daicency compared to that.
Shure, avick, Bill Daly, the procthor, that sazed poor Black Bess, was murdhered the very mornin' you wint to shoot the hares; an' on account ov yer borryin' the gun, an' threatenin' him the day ov the sale, they said it was you that done id; but I gev thim all the lie, fur I knew you wor innocent. Now, Owen, ahagur, you look tired, sit down, an' I'll get you somethin' to ate.
Some days after the whole country was in a tumult Daly, "the procthor," was found murdered in the centre of the high road; and there was no clue perceptible, by which the perpetrators of the crime could be discovered.
The stranger started at the tones of her voice, and on gazing at her for a moment, flung the card to a distance, and catching her in his arms, kissed away the tears which covered her cheeks, as she struggled for release. "Is it you," he said with much emotion, "that I promised to purtect? You, who succored an' saved me when I was dyin' for want? An' are you the daughter ov Whelan the procthor?"
"'Nothing to you; but we've been tould that you're well acquainted wid Procthor Purcel, and that you know a young man, by name M'Carthy, that stops for the present wid Mr. Magistrate O'Driscol. "'I do, says myself; 'I'll not deny but I know them all well I mane in the way o' business for I call there often to sell my goods.
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