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Updated: May 14, 2025
Hould your tongue, Paddy; do you think the masther's honor would allow us to lose our voices in his behalf. It's himself that hasn't his heart in a trifle, God bless him." "Ah, thin, your honor," said another fellow, in tatters, "isn't this dust and hate enough to choke a bishop? O Lord, am I able to spake at all? Upon my sowl, sir, I think there's a bonfire in my throath."
Bad luck to this cowld I have! it's stickin' in my throath entirely, so it is! hem! to a what?" "Why to an ould woman, wid a great deal of the hard goold!" Phelim put his hand instinctively to his waistcoat pocket, in which he carried the housekeeper's money. "Would you oblage one wid her name?" "You know ould Molly Kavanagh well enough, Phelim." Phelim put up an inward ejaculation of thanks.
Why, sir, good luck to the one of him but suffered as much, wid the help o' God, as 'ud overcome fifty men!" "How did you provide him with drink at such a distance from any human habitation?" "Throth, hard enough we found it, sir, to do that same: but sure, whether or not, my Lord, we couldn't be sich nagers as to let him die all out, for want o' sometlrm' to moisten his throath wid."
He thrated my father an' mother wanst to share of half a pint in the Lammas Fair, when I was along wid them; but he never broke discoorse wid me barrin', as I sed, in civility an' friendship." "An' do you mane to put it down my throath that you never had a sweetheart at all?" "The nerra one." "Oh, you thief!
"I did say it," replied Darby, "an' that afore a bit crassed my throath this mornin'; but, you see, he broke his promise of not goin' to the mountains, an' that was what made the dhrame come thrue." "Well, well, Darby, I beg your pardon, an' God's pardon, for judgin' you in the wrong.
The consequence is, that the child is named after and dedicated to some particular saint, in the hope that his influence may obviate his evil doom. "Make yourself aisy, I say; don't I tell you I have the prayer to keep it back hach! hach! why, there's a bit stuck in my throath, some way! Wurrah dheelish, what's this!
"Thin, upon my solevation, I'm sarry to hear it, and so will all at home, for there's not in the parish we're sittin' in a couple that our family has a greater regard an' friendship for, than him and yourself. Faix, my modher, no longer ago than Friday night last, argued down Bartle Meegan's throath, that you and Biddy Martin wor the two portliest weemen that comes into the chapel.
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