house, I'll ax ye wonst more, do ye keep?

"_Mrs. H._--It's a respectable, honest boordin'-house; bad luck to the
blackgaird that says it's not.

"_Mr. O'G._--Will you plase to state to the Coort the facts of the
unfortunate occurrence that thranspired in yer house last night?

"_Mrs. H._--For the matther o' that, there's mighty little for to tell;
for it was nothin' more nor a wake, barrin' that the corpse come to life
widout showin' the civility of first tellin' the mourners that he wasn't
dead at all at all, and sayin', 'By yer lave, I'd rather not be, av it's
all the same to yez.'

"_Mr. O'G._--It's about that, Misthress Hennesy, that his honor is a
waitin' for ye to spake of. Now, thin, will ye relate the facts?

"_Mrs. H._--Well, plase yer honor, it was yestherday mornin' airly that
I heard Timothy Garretty was up stairs in his room, very sick, and like
to die. I dhressed myself, and sent for the docther, and went up stairs;
and throth Tim was a lyin' there in wan of his fits, wid which he had
been often throubled before; and before the docther could come to him,
the circulation of his brathin' had stopped entirely. Well, yer honor,
Tim had manny frinds in the house, and as he was an owld boordher, we
thought to howld a wake over his body. He was laid out, and put into a
coffin. At night all of his frinds come into the room, where everything
was illegantly arranged for the wake. They had begun to dhrink their
whisky, and was enjoyin' themselves in a gintale way, whin Pat
Mulholland, he sthruck Mike O'Shea over the eye for somethin' that Mike
had said, and wid that Mike's frinds and Pat's frinds got themselves
mixed up in a free fight together. At that time, plase yer honor, who
should I see arisin' from the coffin but Timothy Garretty himself, and
restin' on his hands. By my sowl I was freckened, for I thought it was
Tim's apparition that was appearin'. Thin Tim spoke up; 'Bad luck to
yez,' says he, 'isn't it a fine thing yez is doin'--havin' the whisky
flowin' free, and a free fight, too, and keepin' me a lyin' in this
blackgaird box on the broad of me back, widout ever so much as axin' me
if I had a mouth on me at all at all?' Wid that somebody who was a
strikin' happened to hit Timothy a clout in the eye, which knocked him
back into the coffin.

[Illustration]

"'Who the divil did that?' sez Tim, as he made a spring from the coffin
on to the floor, dhressed all up in his white clothes. 'Show me the man