u lie, I say, your faction never was able to fight ours; didn't we
lick all your dirty breed in Builagh-battha fair?"

"Silence there."--(Buz, buz, buz.)

"Will you meet us on Sathurday, and we'll fight it out clane!"

"Ha-ha-ha! Tim, but you got a big fright, any how: whist, ma bouchal,
sure I was only jokin' you; and sorry I'd be to bate your father's son,
Tim. Come over, and sit beside myself at the fire here. Get up, Micky
Donoghue, you big, burnt-shinn'd spalpeen you, and let the dacent boy
sit at the fire."

"Hulabaloo hoo-hoo-hoo--to go to give me such a welt, only for sitting
at the fire, and me brought turf wid me."

"To-day, Tim?"

"Yes, sir."

"At dinner time, is id?"

"Yes, sir."

"Faith, the dacent strain was always in the same family."--(Buz, buz,
buz.)--

"Horns, horns, cock horns: oh, you up'd vrid them, you lifted your
fingers--that's a mark, now--hould your face, till I blacken you!"

"Do you call thim two sods, Jack Laniran? why, 'tis only one long one
broke in the middle; but you must make it up tomorrow. Jack, how is your
mother's tooth?--did she get it pulled out yet?"

"No, sir."

"Well, tell her to come to me, and I'll write a charm for it, that'll
cure her.--What kept you' till now, Paddy Magouran?"

"Couldn't come any sooner, sir."

"You couldn't, sir--and why, sir, couldn't you come any sooner', sir?"

"See, sir, what Andy Nowlan done to my copy."--(Buz, buz, buz.)--

"Silence, I'll massacree yez if yez don't make less noise."--(Buz, buz,
buz.)

"I was down with Mrs. Kavanagh, sir."

"You were, Paddy--an' Paddy, ma bouchal, what war you doing there,
Paddy?"

"Masther, sir, spake to Jem Kenny here; he made my nose bleed."--

"Eh, Paddy?"

"I was br ingin' her a layin' hen, sir, that my mother promised her at
mass on Sunday last."

"Ah, Paddy, you're a game bird, yourself, wid your layin' hens; you're
as full o' mischief as an egg's full o' mate--(omnes--ha, ha, ha,
ha!)--Silence, boys--what are you laughin' at?--ha, ha, ha!--Paddy, can
you spell Nebachodnazure for me?"

"No, sir."

"No, nor a better scholar, Paddy, could not do that, ma bouchal; but
I'll spell it for you. Silence, boys--whist, all of yez, till I spell
Nebachodnazure for Paddy Magouran. Listen; and you yourself, Paddy, are
one of the letthers:

A turf and a clod spells Nebachod--
A knife and a razure, spells Nebachodnazure--
Three pair of boots and five pair of shoes--
Sp