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Updated: June 8, 2025
"Sure, Mr Fosset promised to give us the worrd whin she hove in sight, an' you're only distarbin' yoursilf for nothing, colonel! More's the pity, too, mabruchal, whin your leg is progressin' so illigantly an' the swillin' goin' down as swately as possible. Now kape aisy, if only to oblige me. Faith, colonel, me profissional reputation's at shtake!"
There was something so sweet and taking about the child that it made one feel nice to give her pleasure, and she pinned, and arranged, and tied ribbons with as much zest as if she were arranging her own toilette. "There! Now you are done. I think you look very nice. The collar goes so well with that black dress." "My worrd! Aren't I stylish!
In response to several clearly audible knocks, the front door failed to open, and Dirty Dan heard Don walk round the house to the back door. "The young divil!" he reiterated to himself. "Faith, whin the cat's away the mice'll play, an' divil a worrd o' lie in that!
Howsome'er, aw've a worrd to speak i' thy ear." "Thoo'rt the great Enderby of Enderby, maister," said the peasant, ducking his head and then putting on his cap; "aw've known thee sin tha wast no bigger nor a bit grass'opper i' the field. Wilt tha ride long, Sir John Enderby, and aw'll walk aside thee, ma grey nag with thy sorrel." He glanced down humorously at his own long wooden legs.
Polly, for her part, hated him. "My worrd, he do taak!" said she. And every Sunday he preached against Catholics, and the Pope, and such like. And as there were no Catholics anywhere near, but Mr. Helbeck at Bannisdale, and a certain number at Whinthorpe, people didn't know what to make of him.
They wouldn't take ye for a gift in the British Arrmy, for I doubt if ye'd weigh ninety pounds soakin' wet an' a rock in yer hand, but for all that, here's an iligant opporchunity for ye to serrve yer counthry, an' should worrd av yer brave action reach the king bad cess to him he may call ye Sir Thomas Riggins an' make ye consul-general av the Cannibal Islands. "Out wit' it, Riggins.
The fool is actually looking over my shoulder, and reading these words" A torrent of Scotch burst forth right here: "It's a lee, sir, it's a lee! I never read a worrd that yer wrort!" Screams from us; while Mr. Bennoch's sudden aspect of dramatic rage was as suddenly dropped, and he blazed once more with broad smiles, chuckling. I will insert here a letter written by this dear friend in 1861:
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