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Updated: May 26, 2025
"A most lugubrious spot," said Will, surveying it sadly as he rode forward. "Faix, I'd recommend ye to sell it to the miners for whativer it'll fetch," said Larry, in a disappointed tone. "They're a jovial set of squatters, whatever else they may be," said Big Ben, as an uproarious chorus issued from the house. "Hallo! Bunco, what d'ye hear, lad?"
"I hope it's a coot w'an, Tonald, for the notions that usually git into it might stop there with advantage. They are not much to boast of." "You shall see. Just you keep talkin' out now an' then as if I wass beside you, an' don't, whativer ye do, fire into the bushes." "Ferry coot," answered Dougall.
This could only be Polly, for Mr. and Mrs. Cheeseman were together in their sitting-room above, their voices audible from time to time. "Now then, Mrs. Clover," said Gammon, "up you go. Don't be nervous; it's only Polly Sparkes, and she's more call to be afraid of you than you of her." "I should think so, indeed," assented Mrs. Bubb. "Don't give way, my dear. Whativer you do, don't give way.
"Ah, that ah deah," Widow Tapsy answered, with a heavy sigh, which rattled all the dishes on the waiter; "and sma' gude o' un, sma' gude, whativer. Geroot wi' un!" The landlady shut her firm lips with a smack, which Mordacks well knew by this time though seldom foreclosed by it now, as he had been before he became a Danish citizen.
And I'm not sayin' it isn't a merry-go-around-about, or whativer ye call thim noisy things that they do be havin' down by the circus tent, and I'm not sayin' it is." "Don't say any more about what it is or isn't, or I'll guess." "Indeed you wouldn't, Miss Mopsy, if ye guessed from now until ye're gray-headed."
Thin I'd cut th' cable to England; an' thin I'd gather all the journalists iv Paris together, an' I'd say, "Gintlemen," I'd say, "th' press is th' palajeem iv our liberties," I'd say; "but our liberties no longer requires a palajeem," I'd say. "This wan, whativer it means, is frayed at th' risbands, an' th' buttonholes is broken, annyhow," I'd say.
But whin a man with long whiskers comes r-ridin' up th' r-road an' says: 'Jan Schmidt or Pat O'Toole or whativer his name is, ye're wanted at th' front, he goes home an' takes a rifle fr'm th' wall an' kisses his wife an' childher good-bye an' puts a bible in th' tails iv his coat an' a stovepipe hat on his head an' thramps away. An' his wife says: 'Good-bye, Jan.
"Tis his intint to raise his voice in th' halls o' state and shout ear-rly and late, 'Whativer it is ye're about, gents, it all may be very well, but what will ye be doing for the cause o' free Ireland? That's th' kind of a hero we're putting in th' State House en the hill." "Putting a pest there, ye mean!" returned Lanigan. "Is that the blood o' yer race speaking?"
But help us out of this an' I'll bear ye no malice whativer." The guard had turned out at the report of the gun, and getting such planks as were available laid them on the floating ice; but still they could not reach the boat. The benumbed form of Mary was borne to the guard-room, and Ensign Roberts, the officer of the night, immediately sent for.
No north east a point east, he says. 'Th' inimies iv our counthry has been cr-rushed, he says, 'or is stuck down in Floridy with his rig'mint talkin', he says, 'his hellish docthrines to th' allygatars, he says. 'Th' nation is wanst more at peace undher th' gran' goold standard, he says. 'We ar-re bound, he says, 'to to re-elize our destiny, whativer it may be, he says.
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