The Purcell Papers, vol 3 | Page 6

ever played music at,
for the next mornin', whin he was goin' home, bein' mighty hearty an'
plisint in himself, he was smothered in the snow, undher the ould castle;
an' by my sowl he was a sore loss to the bys an' girls twenty miles
round, for he was the illigantest piper, barrin' the liquor alone, that ever
worked a bellas.
[1] Literally, Cornelius James--the last name employed as a patronymic.
Connor is commonly used. Corney, pronounced Kurny, is just as much
used in the South, as the short name for Cornelius.

Well, a week passed over smart enough, an' Nell an' her new husband

was mighty well continted with one another, for it was too soon for her
to begin to regulate him the way she used with poor Jim Soolivan, so
they wor comfortable enough; but this was too good to last, for the
thaw kem an, an' you may be sure Jim Soolivan didn't lose a minute's
time as soon as the heavy dhrift iv snow was melted enough between
him and home to let him pass, for he didn't hear a word iv news from
home sinst he lift it, by rason that no one, good nor bad, could thravel
at all, with the way the snow was dhrifted.
So one night, when Nell Gorman an' her new husband, Andy Curtis,
was snug an' warm in bed, an' fast asleep, an' everything quite, who
should come to the door, sure enough, but Jim Soolivan himself, an' he
beginned flakin' the door wid a big blackthorn stick he had, an' roarin'
out like the divil to open the door, for he had a dhrop taken.
'What the divil's the matther?' says Andy Curtis, wakenin' out iv his
sleep.
'Who's batin' the door?' says Nell; 'what's all the noise for?' says she.
'Who's in it?' says Andy.
'It's me,' says Jim.
'Who are you?' says Andy; 'what's your name?'
'Jim Soolivan,' says he.
'By jabers, you lie,' says Andy.
'Wait till I get at you,' says Jim, hittin' the door a lick iv the wattle you'd
hear half a mile off.
'It's him, sure enough,' says Nell; 'I know his speech; it's his wandherin'
sowl that can't get rest, the crass o' Christ betune us an' harm.'
'Let me in,' says Jim, 'or I'll dhrive the door in a top iv yis.'
'Jim Soolivan--Jim Soolivan,' says Nell, sittin' up in the bed, an' gropin'
for a quart bottle iv holy wather she used to hang by the back iv the bed,
'don't come in, darlin' --there's holy wather here,' says she; 'but tell me
from where you are is there anything that's throublin' your poor sinful
sowl?' says she. 'An' tell me how many masses 'ill make you asy, an' by
this crass, I'll buy you as many as you want,' says she.
'I don't know what the divil you mane,' says Jim.
'Go back,' says she, 'go back to glory, for God's sake,' says she.
'Divil's cure to the bit iv me 'ill go back to glory, or anywhere else,' says
he, 'this blessed night; so open the door at onst' an' let me in,' says he.
'The Lord forbid,' says she.

'By jabers, you'd betther,' says he, 'or it 'ill be the worse for you,' says
he; an' wid that he fell to wallopin' the door till he was fairly tired, an'
Andy an' his wife crassin' themselves an' sayin' their prayers for the
bare life all the time.
'Jim Soolivan,' says she, as soon as he was done, 'go back, for God's
sake, an' don't be freakenin' me an' your poor fatherless childhren,' says
she.
'Why, you bosthoon, you,' says Jim, 'won't you let your husband in,'
says he, 'to his own house?' says he.
'You WOR my husband, sure enough,' says she, 'but it's well you know,
Jim Soolivan, you're not my husband NOW,' says she.
'You're as dhrunk as can be consaved, says Jim.
'Go back, in God's name, pacibly to your grave,' says Nell.
'By my sowl, it's to my grave you'll sind me, sure enough,' says he, 'you
hard- hearted bain', for I'm jist aff wid the cowld,' says he.
'Jim Sulivan,' says she, 'it's in your dacent coffin you should be, you
unforthunate sperit,' says she; 'what is it's annoyin' your sowl, in the
wide world, at all?' says she; 'hadn't you everything complate?' says she,
'the oil, an' the wake, an' the berrin'?' says she.
'Och, by the hoky,' says Jim, 'it's too long I'm makin' a fool iv mysilf,
gostherin' wid you outside iv my own door,' says he, 'for it's plain to be
seen,' says he, 'you don't know what your're sayin', an' no one ELSE
knows what you mane, you unforthunate fool,' says he; 'so, onst