"But ’tis my belafe that the besht job o’ work he ever done was markin’ the divil so if you’d meet him an the road, you’d know in a minnit that it was himself an’ no other that was in it, an’ so make ready, aither fur to run away from him, or to fight him wid prayin’ as fast as ye cud, bekase, ye see, it’s no use fur to shtrive wid him any other way, seein’ that no waypon can make the laste dint on his carkidge. "In thim days, an’ before phat tuk place I’m tellin’ ye av, the divil was all as wan as a man, a tall felly like a soger, wid a high hat comin’ to a pint an’ feathers on it, an’ fine boots an’ shpurs an’ a short red jacket wid a cloak over his shoulder an’ a soord be his side, as fine as any gintleman av’ the good ould times. So he used to go about the counthry, desavin’ men an’ wimmin, the latther bein’ his chice as bein’ aisier fur to desave, an’ takin’ thim down wid him to his own place, an’ it was a fine time he was havin’ entirely, an’ everything his own way. Well, as he was thravellin’ about, he heard wan day av Saint Kevin an’ the church he was afther buildin’ an’ the haythens he was convartin’ an’ he says to himself, ’Sure this won’t do. I must give up thriflin’ an’ look afther me bizness, or me affairs ’ull go to the dogs, so they will.’ "It was in Kerry he was when he heard the news, an’ was havin’ a fine time there, fur when Saint Patrick convarted Ireland, he didn’t go to Kerry, but only looked into it an’ blessed it an’ hurried on, but though he didn’t forget it, intindin’, I belave, to go back, the divil tuk up his quarthers there, to make it as sure as he cud. But when he heard av Saint Kevin’s doin’s, it was too much fur him, so he shtarted an’ come from Kerry to Glendalough wid wan jump, an’ there sure enough, the walls o’ the church were risin’ afore his eyes, an’ as he stud on that hill he heard the avenin’ song o’ the monks that were helpin’ Saint Kevin in the work. So the divil was tarin’ mad, an’ stud on the brow o’ the hill, cursin’ to himself an’ thinkin’ that if any more churches got into Ireland, his job o’ work ’ud be gone, an’ he’d betther go back to England where he come from. He made up his mind though, that he’d do fur Saint Kevin if he cud, but mind ye, the blessed saint was so well beknownst to all the counthry, that the divil was afeared to tackle him. So he laid about in the grass, on his breast like a sarpint fur three or four days till they were beginnin’ to put the roof on, and then he thought he’d thry.