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"Arrah, sir," said he to the steward, "you wouldn't have e'er an ould barn that I'd throw myself in fwhor the night? The sarra leg I have to put undher me, now that I've got stiff with the sittin' so lang; that, an' a wishp o' sthraw, to sleep an, an' Gad bliss you!"
"How far do you intend to proceed tonight, Paddy?" said he. "The sarra one o' myself knows, plaze yer haner: sure we've an ould sayin' of our own in Ireland beyant that he's a wise man can I tell how far he'll go, sir, till he comes to his journey's ind. I'll give this crathur to you at more nor her value, yer haner."
"A conjurer well, I shall see the conjurer myself to-morrow; but can you give me no more accurate information with respect to your niece?" "Sarra syllable as I tould you, she's never two nights in the same place; but, if I should see her, I'll let her know your wishes; and what might I say, sir, that you wanted her to do for you?"
"You're not a native of Lancashire, Missis," said I. "Why, wheer then? come, now; let's be knowin', as ye're so sharp." "Cumberland," said I. "Well, now; ye're reight, sewer enough. But how did ye find it out, now?" "Why, you said that you had been out to sarra t' pigs.
And I could add, that in the Relation made by two Russian Cossacks of their Journey into Catay , written to their Emperour, they mention'd their having been told by the people of those parts, that their King had a Stone, which Lights as the Sun both Day and Night, call'd in their Language Sarra, which those Cossacks interpret a Ruby.
He is excitable, hotheaded, easily carried away, honest and straightforward like most people of his class. He has lived on his estate and served on the Zemstvo. Sarra, who has seen his scientific farming and other crazes, says about him to the doctor: "He is a remarkable man, doctor, and I am sorry you did not meet him two or three years ago.
A native of Lancashire would have said 'serve' instead of 'sarra." "Well, that's varra queer; for I've bin a lang time away from my awn country. But, whereivver do ye belang to, as ye're so bowd wi' me?" said she, smiling, and turning over a cake which was baking upon the oven. I told her that I was born a few miles from Manchester.
Another favorite song of hers, God rest her, was 'Brian O'Lynn. Troth an' I'll sing it, so I will, for if she was livin' she'd like it. 'Och, Brian O'Lynn, he had milk an' male, A two-lugged porringer wanfcin' a tail. Oh, my head's through other! The sarra one o' me I bleeve, but's out o' the words, or, as they say, there's a hole in the ballad. Send round the punch will ye?
Well, the sarra one of him but appeared to thim at the hour o' midnight, but they were asleep at the time, you see, and didn't persave him go wid that he pulled out a horn like mine an', by the same token, it's lucky to wear horns about one from that day to this an' he put it to his lips, an' tuck a good dacent I mane, gave a good dacent blast that soon roused them.
Get up, I say agin, afore I take the stick to you!" "Why, thin, all sorts o' fortune to you, Condy ha, ha, ha! but you're the sarra's pet, for there's no escapin' you. What was that I hard atween you an' Ellish?" said Peter, getting up. "The sarra matther to you. If you behave yourself, we may let you into the wrong side o' the sacret afore you die.
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