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Updated: June 14, 2025
"I wint to the ould Colour-Sargint and I sez: 'Let me die in glory, sez I. 'I've seen a man this day! "'A man he is, sez ould Hother; 'the draf's as sick as a herrin'. They'll all go down to the sea like lambs. That bhoy has the bowils av a cantonmint av Gin'rals. "'Amin, sez I, 'an' good luck go wid him, wheriver he be, by land or by sea. Let me know how the draf' gets clear.
Shure the Cure was for iver broken-hearted, for that he was sick abed for days an' could not go to the house when the woman died, an' say to Rosalie, 'Let me in for her last hour. But the word of Rosalie shure 'twas as good as the words of a praste, savin' the Cure prisince wheriver he may be!" This was the story of Rosalie which Mrs.
Sure he'd be divil a ha'porth more use for an immigrant than the ould cat there I was ape enough to bring along to pacify the childer. So then Tishy gave some more impidence, but the last ind of it was we come to an agreement that I'd take the note and the silver, and they'd keep what bits of gould was in it, and they'd go off wid themselves wheriver they plased at all, and I'd thramp straight back here to be lookin' after the child and th' ould man.
"Oh, indeed, he has treated you in a gentlemanly manner?" "He has." "And do you think this is his usual manner with ladies?" "I do," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick with great emphasis. "A gintleman, a rale gintleman, is the same to a lady wheriver he mates her, an' the same to ladies whativer they be." "Mrs. Fitzpatrick," said Mr. Staunton, "you have evidently a most excellent taste in gentlemen."
She was 'an ill-favoured, overgrown thing'; 'just as bonny as the first rose i' June, and as sweet i' her nature as t' honeysuckle a-climbing round it; she was 'a vixen, with a tongue sharp enough to make yer very heart bleed; she was 'just a bit o' sunshine wheriver she went; she was sulky, lively, witty, silent, affectionate, or cold-hearted, according to the person who spoke about her.
"Did he meet any one he knew?" "He met Tim Hardcastle just outside Hallam, that night. Tim said, 'Thou's late starting wheriver to, Ben; and Ben said, 'Nay, I'm early. If a man wants a bit o' good wool he's got to be after it. This morning he came back wi' tax-cart full o' wool." "And my brother?" "He sailed from Whitehaven yesterday." "To what place?" "Ben asked no questions.
But Nicholas was absorbed in his carving. Again Mr. O'Flynn obliged, roaring with great satisfaction: "'I'm a stout rovin' blade, and what matther my name, For I ahlways was wild, an' I'll niver be tame; An' I'll kiss putty gurrls wheriver I go, An' what's that to annyone whether or no. Chorus. "'Ogedashin, den thashin, come, boys! let us drink; 'Tis madness to sorra, 'tis folly to think.
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