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I am a bit of a fighter, Measter, at least I was before my wife made me join the Methodist connection, and I once fit with a Welshman at Wrexham, he came from the hills, and was a real Welshman, and shorter than myself by a whole head and shoulder, but he stood up against me, and gave me more than play for my money, till I gripped him, flung him down and myself upon him, and then of course t'was all over with him."
'It's what ye might call a judicious seliction fr'm th' best features iv thim ar-rts, I says. 'T'was too sthrong f'r me, he says. 'It was, says I. 'Ye're about up to simple thransom climbin', Cassidy, I says." "If this r-rush iv people to th' Paris exposition keeps up," said Mr. Hennessy, "they won't be enough left here f'r to ilict a prisidint." "They'll be enough left," said Mr. Dooley.
"You're a braw lassie, Jean Campbell," he said severely, "and you just telling about Angus Niel!" "T'was yourself and Sandy here telling about Angus Niel," Jean answered. "I said nothing at all about him. I'm not afraid of him, either." "Good for you!" said the new boy with admiration. "You can have a turn with my rod. Try it once before you get the skimmer!"
This feller come in then," he indicated Lee. "He hollered sumphin' an' started in t' chase me . . . so I beat it up inta th' loft agin'." He shivered. "'T'was cold up ther I well-nigh froze," he whined. The sergeant exhausted his no mean powers of exhortation. It was all in vain. The hobo protested that he had neither seen nor heard anyone else taking out, or bringing in, a horse during the night.
He made no sound, and submitted silently to the ministrations of his trainers. Flynn was philosophical. "The fortunes of war, Misther Canby. 'T'was a gran' fight, as fine a mill as you'll see in a loife time wid the best man losin' 'S a shame, sor; but Masther Jerry w'u'd have his way bad cess to 'm. You can't swap swipes wid a gorilla, sor. It ain't done."
"They tell me t'was vastly clever. He wrote a great many plays, did not he?" "I have heard of only one attempt, Madam." "Oh no, I beg your pardon; that was Mr. Shakespeare; I always confound them." Wooll's Warton, p. 394.
Jimmeny, though, that veal pie looks good. I should hated to have lost that. You was real good to fetch it up. "T'was only fair, though, this time," he continued, with his mouth full, "for t'was on 'count o' you I got to fightin." "What do you mean?" said she. "Why, Obadiah's been tellin the biggest set o' lies about you I ever heard of. He's been tellin em all over town.
She turned the tide of Persian encroachment back across the Hellespont, and Alexander only followed the refluent wave to the Indus. "'Twas then," as SOUTHEY says, "The fate Of unborn ages hung upon the fray: T'was at Plataea, in that awful hour When Greece united smote the Persian's power.
"Now, 'tis powerful dhry wurrk, bhoys, fightin' fire, an' may be Nobby well, I cannot account for ut otherwise him havin' th' nerve' tu du' fwhat he did onless p'raps 't'was just th' natch'ril tindher-hearthedness av th' man thryin' for tu comfort her.
But, bless you, my girl, I didn't not till you began to speak! And then t'was just like your mother." "Am I so much altered?" said Cynthia wistfully. "As much as you ought to be, my beauty, and no more. You ain't like the skinny little bit of a thing that ran wild round Beechfield lanes; but then you don't want to be. You're a good deal like your mother; but she wasn't as dark as you.
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