The Purcell Papers

e Legacy of the late Francis

ful singer, an' an illegant dancer intirely, an' a mighty plisant boy in himself; but he had

he minute when he married her. She was as round an' as complate in all her shapes as a firkin

he divil's behaviour all out; an' it was impossible for him to be in the house with her for while you'd count tin without havi

up, or his back bint double, or his nose swelled as big as a pittaty, with the vilence iv her timper, an' his heart was scald

down very quite by the fire, for he had a scrimmidge with her in the mornin', an' all he wanted was an air iv the fire

an' don't be inthrudin'

a spoon in her hand, an' she took jist the smallest taste in life iv the boilin' wather out iv the pot, an'

barrian,' says she; 'you'll

him entirely, 'I'd take yourself,' says he, 'an' I'd stuff you into t

r every minute; 'but before I'm boiled,' says she, 'thry how you like THAT,' says she; an', sure enough, b

v ye, or I'll mur

h that she hot him another ti

ver give me,' says he; 'so take my last blessin',' says he, 'you ungovernable b

; 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 mig

s the by. says he, as soon

says Jim, roarin' out; 'what do you

the gossoon, 'it's Mick Ha

are, Micky asthore,' says Jim; 'how is all

n's jist aff, an' if you don't hurry like shot,' says

sorrowful enough, for he was mig

farm. "An'," says he, "take the ould black horse," says he, "for he's shure-footed for the road," says

back to the house, for it would be a consolation,' s

ind 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

sittin' up sthrong an' warm in the bed, an' improvin' every minute, an' no

at all at all; an' faix, instead iv gettin' betther, next mornin' it was only tin times worse

ned to get mighty anasy in herself whin she didn't see him comin' back at all; an' she was gettin' more an' more

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' famil

ed up all the sarvint bys, an' she tould them to go out an' to sarch every inch iv ground to

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 abo

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 f

be thinkin' iv nothin' but lamintin' an' the likes,' says he, 'an' linger

e I burried the poor man,' says she, 'an' isn'

e; '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

ys she, 'but I'm afeard the neighbours

e to the wor

ld you advis

urtis is the

y boy in hims

a gossoon as i

nd, an' you may be talkin' to Andy Curtis, an' if he

he neighbours that could make their way to it was there, an' there was three fiddlers an' lots iv pipers, an' ould Connor Shamus6 the piper himself was in it - by the same token it was the last weddin' he ever played music at, for the next mornin', whin he was goin

onymic. Connor is commonly used. Corney, pronounced Kurny, is j

livan, 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

verything quite, who should come to the door, sure enough, but Jim Soolivan himself, an' he beginned flakin' the

ther?' says Andy Curtis,

says Nell; 'what's all

n it?' s

me,' s

says Andy; 'wha

livan,'

, you lie,

m, hittin' the door a lick iv the

speech; it's his wandherin' sowl that can't ge

, 'or I'll dhrive the

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' y

at the divil you

go back to glory, for

y, or anywhere else,' says he, 'this blessed night;

forbid,'

n' wid that he fell to wallopin' the door till he was fairly tired, an' Andy an' h

'go back, for God's sake, an' don't be freakenin

'won't you let your husband in,' s

she, 'but it's well you know, Jim Sooliv

nk as can be co

name, pacibly to yo

sure enough,' says he, 'you hard-hearted bai

t,' says she; 'what is it's annoyin' your sowl, in the wide world, at all?' says she; 'had

or 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 fo

their prayers, with the fright, as if the life was lavin' them; an' the more h

' says he. An' he turned aff from the door, an' wint round to the cow-house, an' settled himself as well as he could, in the sthraw; an' he was tired enough

, like a shot, to the priest, an' to desire him, for the love o' God, to come to them an the minute, an' to bring, if it was plasin' to his raverence, all the little things he had for sayin' mass, an' savin' sowls, an' banishin' sperits, an' freakenin' the divil, an' the likes iv th

ndly, your raver

ery bad,' says he,' entirely, to disturb my devotions,

it,' says she; 'God rest his sowl, wherever it is,' says she, 'that was wandherin' up an' down, opossite

u want me, I suppos

o that same, it 'id be p

r expinsive,' s

out the price, your

t stop long?'

says Nell, 'the Lord be me

an I thought,' says he. 'An' di

stones,' says he, 'antil I fairly thought every minute,' says he, 'the ould b

priest; 'it'll cos

whatever you like,' says he; 'only make s

has the courage to come back,' says he, 'afther what I'll do this mornin', plase God,' says he; 'so we'll

ll, and he beginned to ring it for the bare life; an', by my sowl, he rung it so well, that he wakened Jim Sulivan in the cow-house, where he was sleepin', an' up he jumped, widout a minute's delay, an' med right for the house, where all the family, an' the priest, an' the little mass-boy was assimbled, layin' the ghost; an' as soon as his raverence seen him comin' in at the door, wid the fair fright, he flung

he was quite contint to lave her to Andy, entirely; but the priest would not hear iv it; an' he jist med him marry his wife over again, an' a merry weddin' it was, an' a

ever after, at all, at all; so, av coorse, no one offinded his rave

o be sure, for gettin' all the divarsion of a wa