The Purcell Papers

duous duties of a parish priest in the south of Ireland, I met with the following document. It is one of many such; for he was a

o writing, until, in the character of residuary legatee, his will put me in possession of all his manuscript papers. To such as may think the composing of such productions as these inconsistent with the character and habits of a country priest,

ast buried is obliged, during his juniority of interment, to supply his brother tenants of the churchyard in which

s have ensued in the case of two funeral parties approaching the same churchyard together, each endeavouring to secure to his own dead priority of sepulture, and a consequent immunity from the tax levied upon the pedestrian powers of the last-comer. An instance not long since occurred, in which one of two such parties, through fear of losing to their deceased friend this inestimable advantage, made their way to the churchyard by a short cut

rs of the late Rev. Franc

instructed the ingenious youth of his native parish in such of the liberal arts and sciences as he found it convenient to profess - a circumstance which may account for the occurrence of several big words in

l, for none of them could come up to him in mendin' the leg iv a stool or a table; an' sure, there never was a bone-setter got so much custom-man an' child, young an' ould - there never was such breakin' and mendin' of bones known in the memory of man. Well, Terry Neil - for that was my father's name - began to feel his heart growin' light, and his purse heavy; an' he took a bit iv a farm in Squire Phelim's ground, just undher the ould castle, an' a pleasant little spot it was; an' day an' mornin' poor crathurs not able to put a foot to the ground, with broken arms and broken legs, id be comin' ramblin' in from all quarters to have their bones spliced up. Well, yer honour, all this was as well as well could be; but it was customary when Sir Phelim id go anywhere out iv the country, for some iv the tinants to sit up to watch in the ould castle, just for a kind of compliment to the ould family - an' a

d night it kem to my father's turn. "Oh, tare an' ouns!" says he unto himself, "an' must I sit up all night, and that ould vagabone of a sperit, glory be to God," says he, "serenadin' through th

had to swally a cup iv the pottieen, to keep the cowld out iv his heart. It was the ould steward, Lawrence Connor, that opened the door - and he an' my father wor always very great. So when he

it iv fire in the

y father, for he knew that the squi

" says Lawrence, "for there's an o

he kitchen, for it's very unproper for the lik

; "if we keep up the ould custom at all, we

- to himself, do ye mind, for he didn't like to

he; and so down they both wint to the kitchen, until the fir

fire, and they beginned to talk, an' to smoke, an' to dhrink a small taste iv the pottieen

agreeable, until Lawrence beginn'd to get sleepy, as was but nathural for

" says my father, "it's

makin' them wather," says he. "So don't you mind other people's business," says he, stiff enough, for he had a mighty high st

it, that it was enough to waken a dormouse, let alone to pervint a Christian goin' asleep. But, faix, the way my father tould it, I believe there never was the likes heerd sinst nor before, for he bawled out every word av i

ay, an' us both in the very room with a sperit," says he. "The crass o' Christ about us!" says he; and with that he was goin' to shake Lawrence to

neither friendly nor good-nathured," says he, "to tormint him while he

until he worked himself into a sweat, savin' your presence. But it was

aybe," says he, "if I thried I could go asleep;" an' with that he pulled a big

s follyin' him about, an' starin' at him, an' winkin' at him, wheriver he wint. "Oh," says he, when he seen that, "it's a poor chance I have," says he; "an' bad luck was with me t

fe, an' sure enough he seen the ould squire gettin' out iv the picthur, for all the world as if he was throwin' aff his ridin' coat, until he stept out clane an' complate, out av the chimley-piece, an' thrun himself down an the floor. Well, the slieveen ould chap - an' my father thought it was the dirtiest turn iv all - before he beginned to do anything out iv the way, he stopped for a while to listen wor they both asleep; an' as soon as he thought all was quite, he put out his hand and tuk hould iv the whisky bottle, an dhrank at laste a pint iv it. Well, your honour, when he tuk his turn out iv it, he settled it back mighty cute entirely, in the very same spot it was in before. An' he beginned to wa

steps aff, and turnin' round facin' my father, "is it

the fright id let him, for he was more dead than alive),

(an' it was thrue for him), "an industhrious, sober man,

ettin' courage, "you were always a civil

"you mane, niggarly ignoramush," says he, "where did you lave your manners?" says he. "If I AM dead, it's no fault iv mine," says he; "an' it's not to be

"I'm only a foolish, ign

' with the likes iv you, that I came UP- down I mane," says he -(an' as little as the mistake was, my father tuk notice iv

or your honour,"

was always a sober, riglar

ays my father (though it was a big l

n' though I was at different pariods a most extempory Christian, and most charitable and inhuman to the po

ather. "Maybe your honour id wish

n' his sowl; and when I want THAT fixed," says he, slappin' his thigh, "I'll go to them that knows what belongs to the likes," says he. "It's not my sowl," says he, sittin

ite horse that fell undher him, afther leapi

, "your honour's not unasy

e; "for I must tell you," says he, "the people where I am is ancommonly fond iv cowld wather, for there is nothin' betther to be had; an', moreover, the weather is hotter than is altogether plisant," says he; "and I'm appinted," says he, "to assist in carryin' the wather, an' gets a mighty poor share iv it myself," says he, "an' a mighty throublesom

sperit at all), "I wouldn't have the impidence to do the likes to your honou

t up to him -"pull it for the bare life," says he; an' "if you don't, by the i

in', so he tuk hould iv the leg, an' he kep' pullin' an' pullin

divil!" say

ce, your honour,

der," says

pulled like

fairly split with it, an' made one chuck that sent the leg clane aff his body in my father's hands. Down wint the squire over the table, an' bang wint my father half-way across the room on his back, upon the flure. Whin he kem to himself the cheerful mornin' sun was shinin' through the windy shutthers, an' he was lying flat an his back, with the leg iv one of the great ould chairs pulled clane out iv the socket an' tight in his hand, pintin' u