"Among the gionts that lived about the Causeway there was wan, a young giont named Finn O’Goolighan, that was the biggest av his kind, an’ none o’ thim cud hide in a kish. So Finn, for the size av him, was a livin’ terror. His little finger was the size av yer Anner’s arrum, an’ his wrist as big as yer leg, an’ so he wint, bigger an’ bigger. Whin he walked he carried an oak-tree for a shtick, ye cud crawl into wan av his shoes, an’ his caubeen ’ud cover a boat. But he was a good-humored young felly wid a laugh that ’ud deefen ye, an’ a plazin’ word for all he met, so as if ye run acrass him in the road, he’d give ye ’good morrow kindly,’ so as ye’d feel the betther av it all day. He’d work an’ he’d play an’ do aither wid all the might that was in him. Av a week day you’d see him in the field or on the shore from sun to sun as busy as a hen wid a dozen chicks; an’ av a fair-day or av a Sunday, there he’d be, palatherin’ at the girls, an’ dancin’ jigs that he done wid extrame nateness, or havin’ a bout wid a shtick on some other felly’s head, an’ indade, at that he was so clever that it was a delight for to see him, for he’d crack a giont’s shkull that was as hard as a pot wid wan blow an’ all the pleasure in life. So he got to be four or five an’ twinty an’ not his betther in the County Antrim. "Wan fine day, his father, Bryan O’Goolighan, that was as big a giont as himself, says to him, says he, ’Finn, me Laddybuck, I’m thinkin’ ye’ll want to be gettin’ marr’d.’ "’Not me,’ says Finn. "’An’ why not?’ says his father. "’I’ve no consate av it,’ says Finn. "’Ye’d be the betther av it,’ says his father. "’Faix, I’m not sure o’ that,’ says Finn; ’gettin’ marr’d is like turnin’ a corner, ye don’t know phat ye’re goin’ to see,’ says he. "’Thrue for ye,’ says owld Bryan, for he’d had axpayrience himself, ’but if ye’d a purty woman to make the stirabout for ye av a mornin’ wid her own white hands, an’ to watch out o’ the dure for ye in the avenin,’ an’ put on a sod o’ turf whin she sees ye comin’, ye’d be a betther man,’ says he. "’Bedad, it’s not aisey for to conthravene that same,’ says Finn, ’barrin’ I mightn’t git wan like that. Wimmin is like angels,’ says he. ’There’s two kinds av ’em, an’ the wan that shmiles like a dhrame o’ heaven afore she’s marr’d, is the wan that gits to be a tarin’ divil afther her market’s made an’ she’s got a husband.’