Three Courses and a Dessert: Comprising Three Sets of Tales, West Country, Irish, and Legal; and a MelangeClarke, William
General
Three Courses and a Dessert: Comprising Three Sets of Tales, West Country, Irish, and Legal; and a Melange
Clarke, William
Ireland -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Legal stories, English; West Country (England) -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
on bonds, and annuities, and I don't know what else,--that if you'd give
Pierce the world he never could tell how the reckoning stood. It's been
said by many too, that Purcell bought up many of Pierce's debts that
was lying out against him, for a mere song; and contrived to keep him in
constant fear, and afraid to shew his face near the place of his
birth, if he wished it. And why so, you'll think? Why then, some people
suspect, that Purcell had a mind to make up to the lady that bought The
Beg, when it was sould by Pierce's creditors; and wished to keep him
away from her; as he well knew, they'd once been in love, and now that
she was a widow, he couldn't but fear that they might think of ould
times, and renew the connexion. And it's true for him, Purcell might
well think himself a match, as far as wealth went, for that lady, or any
other: his wife died two years after he run off with her, and he'd so
twisted and turned the money her dad gave him, and, though a rank rogue,
had such luck, that he was ten times richer than Andie Hogan could ever
expect to have seen his lame daughter's husband: but neither father nor
daughter lived to see him in them days, when he held his head highest.
Did you ever in your life awake and find a slip-knot tied round your
great toe, and somebody pulling away for the bare life at the other end
o' the cord, and you not able to see who your enemy was?--If you didn't
you've missed what's a million times worse than the night-mare,--or a
pair of cramps knitting the muscles into knots under each of your knees.
If you didn't ever get that trick played on you, it won't be possible
for you to imagine, or conceive, or picture to yourself, how matters
stood with the Mushroom, when dawn broke on him, there where he lay,
on the little louchaun bed, in Luke Fogarty's state cabin. It can't but
occur to you though, that he'd no right to consider himself quite in
paradise, when I tell you that he was awoke and dragged almost out over
the foot of the bed, by an invisible something which operated upon his
toe. He had felt two or three twitches before, but he wouldn't believe
that any thing much was the matter, and thought he'd go to sleep again,
and forget it.
[Illustration: 285]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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