The Purcell Papers, vol 3 | Page 4

the
fire, an' boil you.' says he, 'into castor oil,' says he.
'That's purty behavour,' says she; 'it's fine usage you're givin' me, isn't
it?' says she, gettin' wickeder every minute; 'but before I'm boiled,' says
she, 'thry how you like THAT,' says she; an', sure enough, before he
had time to put up his guard, she hot him a rale terrible clink iv the iron
spoon acrass the jaw.
'Hould me, some iv ye, or I'll murdher her,' says he.
'Will you?' says she, an' with that she hot him another tin times as good
as the first.
'By jabers,' says he, slappin' himself behind, 'that's the last salute you'll
ever give me,' says he; 'so take my last blessin',' says he, 'you
ungovernable baste!' says he--an' with that he pulled an his hat an'
walked out iv the door.
Well, she never minded a word he said, for he used to say the same
thing all as one every time she dhrew blood; an' she had no expectation
at all but he'd come back by the time supper id be ready; but faix the
story didn't go quite so simple this time, for while he was walkin',
lonesome enough, down the borheen, with his heart almost broke with
the pain, for his shins an' his jaw was mighty troublesome, av course,
with the thratement he got, who did he see but Mick Hanlon, his uncle's
sarvint by, ridin' down, quite an asy, an the ould black horse, with a
halter as long as himself.
'Is that Mr. Soolivan?' says the by. says he, as soon as he saw him a
good bit aff.
'To be sure it is, ye spalpeen, you,' says Jim, roarin' out; 'what do you
want wid me this time a-day?' says he.
'Don't you know me?' says the gossoon, 'it's Mick Hanlon that's in it,'
says he.
'Oh, blur an agers, thin, it's welcome you are, Micky asthore,' says Jim;
'how is all wid the man an' the woman beyant?' says he.
'Oh!' says Micky, 'bad enough,' says he; 'the ould man's jist aff, an' if

you don't hurry like shot,' says he, 'he'll be in glory before you get
there,' says he.
'It's jokin' ye are,' says Jim, sorrowful enough, for he was mighty partial
to his uncle intirely.
'Oh, not in the smallest taste,' says Micky; 'the breath was jist out iv
him,' says he, 'when I left the farm. "An'," says he, "take the ould black
horse," says he, "for he's shure-footed for the road," says he, "an' bring,
Jim Soolivan here," says he, "for I think I'd die asy af I could see him
onst,' says he.'
'Well,' says Jim, 'will I have time,' says he, 'to go back to the house, for
it would be a consolation,' says he, 'to tell the bad news to the woman?'
says he.
'It's too late you are already,' says Micky, 'so come up behind me, for
God's sake,' says he, 'an' don't waste time;' an' with that he brought the
horse up beside the ditch, an' Jim Soolivan mounted up behind Micky,
an' they rode off; an' tin good miles it was iv a road, an' at the other side
iv Keeper intirely; an' it was snowin' so fast that the ould baste could
hardly go an at all at all, an' the two bys an his back was jist like a
snowball all as one, an' almost fruz an' smothered at the same time,
your honour; an' they wor both mighty sorrowful intirely, an' their toes
almost dhroppin' aff wid the could.
And when Jim got to the farm his uncle was gettin' an illegantly, an' he
was sittin' up sthrong an' warm in the bed, an' im- provin' every minute,
an' no signs av dyin' an him at all at all; so he had all his throuble for
nothin'.
But this wasn't all, for the snow kem so thick that it was impassible to
get along the roads at all at all; an' faix, instead iv gettin' betther, next
mornin' it was only tin times worse; so Jim had jist to take it asy, an'
stay wid his uncle antil such times as the snow id melt.
Well, your honour, the evenin' Jim Soolivan wint away, whin the dark
was closin' in, Nell Gorman, his wife, beginned to get mighty anasy in
herself whin she didn't see him comin' back at all; an' she was gettin'
more an' more frightful in herself every minute till the dark kem an, an'
divil a taste iv her husband was coming at all at all.
'Oh!' says she, 'there's no use in pur- tendin', I know he's kilt himself; he
has committed infantycide an himself,' says she, 'like a dissipated
bliggard as he always