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Humours of Irish Life Part 20

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her the same story constant over an' over; ontil at last, sure enough, they heerd the ould man himself comin' up the boreen, singin' the "Colleen Rue"--a thing he never done barrin' whin he had a dhrop in; an'

the misthress walkin' in front iv him an' two illigant Kerry cows he just bought in the fair, an' the sarvint biys dhriving them behind.

"Oh, blessed hour!" says Molly, "here's my father."

"I'll spake to him this minute," says Bill.

"Oh, not for the world," says she; "he's singin' the 'Colleen Rue,'"

says she, "and no one dar raison with him," says she.

"An' where'll I go?" says he, "for they're into the haggard an top iv us," says he, "an' they'll see me iv I lep through the hedge," says he.

"Thry the pig-sty," says she, "mavourneen," says she, "in the name iv G.o.d," says she.

"Well, darlint," says he, "for your sake," says he, "I'll condescend to them animals," says he.

An' wid that he makes a dart to get in; bud, begorra, it was too late--the pigs was all gone home, and the pig-sty was as full as the Birr coach wid six inside.

"Och! blur-an'-agers," says he, "there is not room for a suckin'-pig,"

says he, "let alone a Christian," says he.

"Well, run into the house, Billy," says she, "this minute," says she, "an' hide yourself antil they're quiet," says she, "an' thin you can steal out," says she, "anknownst to them all," says she.

"I'll do your biddin'," says he, "Molly asth.o.r.e," says he.

"Run in thin," says she, "an' I'll go an' meet them," says she.

So wid that away wid her, and in wint Billy, an' where did he hide himself bud in a little closet that was off iv the room where the ould man and woman slep'. So he closed the doore, and sot down in an ould chair he found there convanient.

Well, he was not well in it when all the rest iv them comes into the kitchen, an' ould Tim Donovan singin' the "Colleen Rue" for the bare life, an' the rest i' them sthrivin' to humour him, an doin' exactly everything he bid them, because they seen he was foolish be the manes of the liquor.

Well, to be sure all this kep' them long enough, you may be sure, from goin' to bed, so that Billy could get no manner iv an advantage to get out iv the house, and so he sted sittin' in the dark closet in state, cursin' the "Colleen Rue," and wondhering to the divil whin they'd get the ould man into his bed. An', as if that was not delay enough, who should come in to stop for the night but Father O'Flaherty, of Cahirmore, that was buyin' a horse at the fair! An' av course, there was a bed to be med down for his Raverance, an' some other attintions; an' a long discoorse himself an' ould Mrs. Donovan had about the slaughter iv Billy Malowney, an' how he was buried on the field of battle; an' his Raverance hoped he got a dacent funeral, an' all the other convaniences iv religion. An' so you may suppose it was pretty late in the night before all iv them got to their beds.

Well, Tim Donovan could not settle to sleep at all at all, an' he kep'

discoorsin' the wife about the new cows he bought, an' the strippers he sould, an' so on for better than an hour, ontil from one thing to another he kem to talk about the pigs, an' the poulthry, and at last, having nothing betther to discoorse about, he begun at his daughter Molly, an' all the heartscald she was to him be raisin iv refusin' the men. An' at last says he:

"I onderstand," says he, "very well how it is," says he. "It's how she was in love," says he, "wid that bliggard, Billy Malowney," says he, "bad luck to him!" says he; for by this time he was coming to his raison.

"Ah!" says the wife, says she, "Tim darlint, don't be cursin' them that's dead an' buried," says she.

"An' why would not I," says he, "if they desarve it?" says he.

"Whisht," says she, "an' listen to that," says she. "In the name of the Blessed Vargin," says she, "what is it?" says she.

An' sure enough what was it bud Bill Malowney that was dhroppin' asleep in the closet, an' snorin' like a church organ.

"Is it a pig," says he, "or is it a Christian?"

"Arra! listen to the tune iv it," says she; "sure a pig never done the like iv that," says she.

"Whatever it is," says he, "it's in the room wid us," says he. "The Lord be marciful to us!" says he.

"I tould you not to be cursin'," says she; "bad luck to you," says she, "for an ommadhaun!" for she was a very religious woman in herself.

"Sure, he's buried in Spain," says he; "an' it is not for one little innocent expression," says he, "he'd be comin' all that way to annoy the house," says he.

Well, while they war talkin,' Bill turns in the way he was sleepin' into an aisier imposture; and as soon as he stopped snorin' ould Tim Donovan's courage riz agin, and says he.

"I'll go to the kitchen," says he, "an' light a rish," says he.

An' with that away wid him, an' the wife kep' workin' the beads all the time, an' before they kem back Bill was snorin' as loud as ever.

"Oh! b.l.o.o.d.y wars--I mane the blessed saints above us!--that deadly sound," says he; "it's going on as lively as ever," says he.

"I'm as wake as a rag," says his wife, says she, "wid the fair anasiness," says she. "It's out iv the little closet it's comin'," says she.

"Say your prayers," says he, "an' hould your tongue," says he, "while I discoorse it," says he. "An' who are ye," says he, "in the name iv all the holy saints?" says he, givin' the door a dab iv a crusheen that wakened Bill inside.

"I ax," says he, "who you are?" says he.

Well, Bill did not rightly remember where in the world he was, but he pushed open the door, an' says he:

"Billy Malowney's my name," says he, "an' I'll thank ye to tell me a betther," says he.

Well, whin Tim Donovan heard that, an' actially seen that it was Bill himself that was in it, he had not strength enough to let a bawl out iv him, but he dhropt the candle out iv his hand, an' down wid himself on his back in the dark.

Well, the wife let a screech you'd hear at the mill iv Killraghlin, an'--

"Oh," says she, "the spirit has him, body an' bones!" says she. "Oh, holy St. Bridget--oh Mother iv Marcy--oh, Father O'Flaherty!" says she, screechin' murdher from out iv her bed.

Well, Bill Malowney was not a minute rememberin' himself, an' so out wid him quite an' aisy, an' through the kitchen; bud in place iv the door iv the house, it's what he kem to the door iv Father O'Flaherty's little room, where he was jist wakenin' wid the noise iv the screechin' an'

battherin'; an', bedad, Bill makes no more about it, but he jumps, wid one boult, clever an' clane into his Raverance's bed.

"What do ye mane, you uncivilised bliggard?" says his Raverance. "Is that a venerable way," says he, "to approach your clargy?" says he.

"Hould your tongue," says Bill, "an' I'll do ye no harum," says he.

"Who are you, ye schoundhrel iv the world?" says his Raverance.

"Whisht!" says he, "I'm Bill Malowney," says he.

"You lie!" says his Raverance--for he was frightened beyont all bearin'--an' he makes bud one jump out iv the bed at the wrong side, where there was only jist a little place in the wall for a press, an'

his Raverance could not as much as turn in it for the wealth iv kingdoms. "You lie," says he; "but for fear it's the thruth you're tellin'," says he, "here's at ye in the name iv all the blessed saints together!" says he.

An' wid that, my dear, he blazes away at him wid a Latin prayer iv the strongest description, an', as he said to himself afterwards, that was iv a nature that id dhrive the divil himself up the chimley like a puff iv tobacky smoke, wid his tail betune his legs.

"Arra, what are ye sthrivin' to say," says Bill, says he; "if ye don't hould your tongue," says he, "wid your parly voo," says he, "it's what I'll put my thumb on your windpipe," says he, "an' Billy Malowney never wint back iv his word yet," says he.

"Thunder-an-owns," says his Raverance, says he--seein' the Latin took no infect on him, at all at all, an' screechin' that you'd think he'd rise the thatch up iv the house wid the fair fright--"an' thundher and blazes, boys, will none of yes come here wid a candle, but lave your clargy to be choked by a spirit in the dark?" says he.

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Humours of Irish Life Part 20 summary

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