The Purcell Papers, vol 3 | Page 5

was,' says she, 'God rest his soul. Oh, thin, isn't it

me an' not you, Jim Soolivan, that's the unforthunate woman,' says she,
'for ain't I cryin' here, an' isn't he in heaven, the bliggard,' says she. 'Oh,
voh, voh, it's not at home comfortable with your wife an' family that
you are, Jim Soolivan,' says she, 'but in the other world, you aumathaun,
in glory wid the saints I hope,' says she. 'It's I that's the unforthunate
famale,' says she, 'an' not yourself, Jim Soolivan,' says she.
An' this way she kep' an till mornin', cryin' and lamintin; an' wid the
first light she called up all the sarvint bys, an' she tould them to go out
an' to sarch every inch iv ground to find the corpse, 'for I'm sure,' says
she, 'it's not to go hide himself he would,' says she.
Well, they went as well as they could, rummagin' through the snow,
antil, at last, what should they come to, sure enough, but the corpse of a
poor thravelling man, that fell over the quarry the night before by rason
of the snow and some liquor he had, maybe; but, at any rate, he was as
dead as a herrin', an' his face was knocked all to pieces jist like an
over-boiled pitaty, glory be to God; an' divil a taste iv a nose or a chin,
or a hill or a hollow from one end av his face to the other but was all as
flat as a pancake. An' he was about Jim Soolivan's size, an' dhressed out
exactly the same, wid a ridin' coat an' new corderhoys; so they carried
him home, an' they were all as sure as daylight it was Jim Soolivan
himself, an' they were wondhering he'd do sich a dirty turn as to go kill
himself for spite.
Well, your honour, they waked him as well as they could, with what
neighbours they could git togither, but by rason iv the snow, there
wasn't enough gothered to make much divarsion; however it was a
plisint wake enough, an' the churchyard an' the priest bein' convanient,
as soon as the youngsthers had their bit iv fun and divarsion out iv the
corpse, they burried it without a great dale iv throuble; an' about three
days afther the berrin, ould Jim Mallowney, from th'other side iv the
little hill, her own cousin by the mother's side--he had a snug bit iv a
farm an' a house close by, by the same token--kem walkin' in to see
how she was in her health, an' he dhrew a chair, an' he sot down an'
beginned to convarse her about one thing an' another, antil he got her
quite an' asy into middlin' good humour, an' as soon as he seen it was
time:
'I'm wondherin', says he, 'Nell Gorman, sich a handsome, likely girl, id
be thinkin' iv nothin' but lamintin' an' the likes,' says he, 'an' lingerin'

away her days without any consolation, or gettin' a husband,' says he.
'Oh,' says she, 'isn't it only three days since I burried the poor man,'
says she, 'an' isn't it rather soon to be talkin iv marryin' agin?'
'Divil a taste,' says he, 'three days is jist the time to a minute for cryin'
afther a husband, an' there's no occasion in life to be keepin' it up,' says
he; 'an' besides all that,' says he, 'Shrovetide is almost over, an' if you
don't be sturrin' yourself an' lookin' about you, you'll be late,' says he,
'for this year at any rate, an' that's twelve months lost; an' who's to look
afther the farm all that time,' says he, 'an' to keep the men to their
work?' says he.
'It's thrue for you, Jim Mallowney,' says she, 'but I'm afeard the
neighbours will be all talkin' about it,' says she.
'Divil's cure to the word,' says he.
'An' who would you advise?' says she.
'Young Andy Curtis is the boy,' says he.
'He's a likely boy in himself,' says she.
'An' as handy a gossoon as is out,' says he.
'Well, thin, Jim Mallowney,' says she, 'here's my hand, an' you may be
talkin' to Andy Curtis, an' if he's willin' I'm agreeble--is that enough?'
says she.
So with that he made off with himself straight to Andy Curtis; an'
before three days more was past, the weddin' kem an, an' Nell Gorman
an' Andy Curtis was married as complate as possible; an' if the wake
was plisint the weddin' was tin times as agreeble, an' all the neighbours
that could make their way to it was there, an' there was three fiddlers
an' lots iv pipers, an' ould Connor Shamus[1] the piper himself was in
it--by the same token it was the last weddin' he