at them.

But beauty is not the thing all through, an' as beautiful as she was
she had the divil's tongue, an' the divil's timper, an' the divil's
behaviour all out; an' it was impossible for him to be in the house with
her for while you'd count tin without havin' an argymint, an' as sure
as she riz an argymint with him she'd hit him a wipe iv a skillet or
whatever lay next to her hand.

Well, this wasn't at all plasin' to Jim Sulivan you may be sure, an'
there was scarce a week that his head wasn't plasthered up, or his back
bint double, or his nose swelled as big as a pittaty, with the vilence
iv her timper, an' his heart was scalded everlastin'ly with her tongue;
so he had no pace or quietness in body or soul at all at all, with the
way she was goin' an.

Well, your honour, one cowld snowin' evenin' he kim in afther his day's
work regulatin' the men in the farm, an' he sat down very quite by the
fire, for he had a scrimmidge with her in the mornin', an' all he wanted
was an air iv the fire in pace; so divil a word he said but dhrew a
stool an' sat down close to the fire. Well, as soon as the woman saw
him,

'Move aff,' says she, 'an' don't be inthrudin' an the fire,' says she.

Well, he kept never mindin', an' didn't let an' to hear a word she was
sayin', so she kim over an' she had a spoon in her hand, an' she took
jist the smallest taste in life iv the boilin' wather out iv the pot,
an' she dhropped it down an his shins, an' with that he let a roar you'd
think the roof id fly aff iv the house.

'Hould your tongue, you barbarrian,' says she; 'you'll waken the child,'
says she.

'An' if I done right,' says he, for the spoonful of boilin' wather riz
him entirely, 'I'd take yourself,' says he, 'an' I'd stuff you into the
pot an the fire, an' boil you.' says he, 'into castor oil,' says he.

'That's purty behavour,' says she; 'it's fine usage you're givin' me,
isn't it?' says she, gettin' wickeder every minute; 'but before I'm
boiled,' says she, 'thry how you like THAT,' says she; an', sure enough,
before he had time to put up his guard, she hot him a rale terrible
clink iv the iron spoon acrass the jaw.

'Hould me, some iv ye, or I'll murdher her,' says he.

'Will you?' says she, an' with that she hot him another tin times as
good as the first.

'By jabers,' says he, slappin' himself behind, 'that's the last salute
you'll ever give me,' says he; 'so take my last blessin',' says he, 'you
ungovernable baste!