"’It’s right ye are,’ says the gintleman, ’but I’ve hopes o’ betther times when the tinants get the land in their own hands,’ says he. ’I’m goin’ to right thim avils. I’m the new Lord Liftinant,’ says he, ’an’ able to help ye an the job, undher a proper undhershtandin’,’ says he. "At foorst Saint Kevin was that surprised that he’d like to dhrop an the road, fur he hadn’t heard av the ’pintmint av a new Lord Liftinant, but he raizoned wid himself that it cud aisily be done widout his knowin’ av it, an’ so he thought he’d a shtrake av luck in seein’ av him. "’God be good to yer Lordship,’ says he, ’an’ make yer bed in the heavens, an’ it’s thankful I’d be fur any shmall favors ye plaze to give, fur it’s very poor we are.’ "’An’ phat ’ud ye say to a prisint av tin thousand pound,’ says the gintleman, ’purvided ye spind it an the church ye have an’ not in buildin’ a new wan,’ says the gintleman, an’ wid that word, Saint Kevin knew the ould inimy, an’ shtarted at him. "But the divil had enough o’ Saint Kevin’s heels, for he’d felt the kick he cud give wid ’em, an’ faix, the blessed saint was as well sarcumstanced in that quarther as a donkey, an’ Belzebub knew that same, so he niver stayed, but when he saw Saint Kevin comin’, immejitly the black horse changed into a big dhraggin, an’ the illigant close dhrapped aff the divil an’ in his own image he went aff shpurrin’ the dhraggin, he an’ the baste flappin’ their wings as fast as they cud to get out of the saint’s way an’ lavin’ afther thim the shmell av sulfur that shtrong that the blessed saint did nothin’ for an hour but hould his nose an’ cough. "Afther thim two axpayriences, the divil seen it was no use o’ him offerin’ fur to conthraven Saint Kevin, so he rayjuiced his efforts to botherin’ the monks at the work. He’d hang about day an’ night, doin’ all the mischief that he cud, bekase, says he, ’If I can’t shtop thim, by Jayminy, I’ll delay thim to that degray that they’ll find it the shlowest job they ever undhertuk,’ says he, an’ so it was. When they’d finish a bit o’ the wall an’ lave it to dhry, up ’ud come the divil an’ kick it over; when two o’ them ’ud be carrying a heavy shtone, the divil, unbeknownst to thim, ’ud knock it out o’ their hands so as to make it dhrop on their toes, a-thinkin’ belike, that they’d shwear on the quiet to thimselves: that they never did; when a holy father ’ud lay down his hammer an’ turn his back, the divil ’ud snatch it up an’ fling it aff the wall; till wid his knockin’ over the wather-bucket, an’ shcrapin’ aff the morthar, an’ upsettin’ the hod o’ bricks, an’ makin’ the monks forgit where they’d put things, it got so that they were in a muck o’ shweat every hour o’ the day; an’ from that time it got to be said, when anything wint wrong widout a raizon, that the divil’s in it.