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Updated: May 17, 2025
O my!" says he, "fetch me a basin! Don't spake to me. Oh! oh! blood alive! O, my head, my head, hould my head! oh! ubh! I'm poisoned! ach!" "It was them plaguy pasthries," says his Riv'rence. "Hould his head hard," says he, "and clap a wet cloth over his timples. If you could only thry another dhraw o' the pipe, your Holiness, it 'ud set you to rights in no time."
The Pope ordhered up the ingredients, and they were brought in by the head butler. "That'll not do at all," says his Riv'rence, "the ingredients won't combine in due proportion unless ye do as I bid yes.
"As easy as kiss," says his Riv'rence. "In the first, we're to understand that the exprission, 'Every sinsible man, signifies simply, 'every man that judges by his nath'ral sinses'; and we all know that nobody follying them seven deludhers could ever find out the mysthery that's in it, if somebody didn't come in to his assistance wid an eighth sinse, which is the only sinse to be depended on, being the sinse ov the Church.
Michael Heffernan, Master of the National School at Tallymactaggart, in the County Leitrim, to a friend, during his official visit to Dublin for the purpose of studying political economy, in the spring of 1838. When his Riv'rence was in Room, ov coorse the Pope axed him to take pot-look wid him.
"What's that?" says the Pope. "Put in the sperits first," says his Riv'rence; "and then put in the sugar; and remember, every dhrop ov wather you put in after that, spoils the punch." "Glory be to God!" says the Pope, not minding a word Father Tom was saying. "Glory be to God!" says he, smacking his lips. "I never knewn what dhrink was afore," says he.
At any rate, it can't be denied but that he had a sthrong imprission that sich was the case; for he wheeled about as quick as thought, jist as his Riv'rence was sitting down, and charged him wid the offince plain and plump. "Is it kissing my housekeeper before my face you are, you villain!" says he.
"Faix, Thomaus," says he, smiling across the table at him mighty agreeable, "it's no lie what they tell me, that yourself is the pleasant man over the dhrop ov good liquor." "Would you like to thry?" says his Riv'rence. "Sure, and amn't I thrying all I can?" says the Pope.
"I dunna what's wrong wid me, at all at all," says he; "I'm mortal sick." "I thrust," says his Riv'rence, "the pasthry that you ate at dinner hasn't disagreed wid your Holiness's stomach." "O my! oh!" says the Pope, "what's this at all?" gasping for breath, and as pale as a sheet, wid a could swate bursting out over his forehead, and the palms ov his hands spread out to cotch the air. "O my!
So, not to be outdone altogether, he says to his Riv'rence, "you're a man that's fond of the brute crayation, I hear, Misther Maguire?" "I don't deny it," says his Riv'rence. "I've dogs that I'm willing to run agin any man's, ay, or to match them agin any other dogs in the world for genteel edication and polite manners," says he.
"Only," says he, "it's hardly fair to expect a brute baste to be so well skilled in the science ov chronology." In troth his Riv'rence was badly used in the same bet, for he won it clever; and, indeed, I'm afeard the shabby way he was thrated had some effect in putting it into his mind to do what he did. "Will your Holiness take a blast ov the pipe?" says he, dhrawing out his dhudeen.
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