"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.
"'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 that shtruck me in me eye;' and wid that Tim he commenced a shtrikin' out, and he shtruck Dennis Marony under the but of the lug. Whin they saw Tim out of his coffin, they stopped a fightin', and fell on their knees, and commenced a sayin' their prayers. 'What's the matther wid yez?' says Tim.
"'Are ye not dead?' says Larry O'Brien.
"'Yes, as dead as a nest of live flaze,' says Tim.
"'Then yer alive,' says they.
"'Thry me wid some whisky,' says he; and wid that they got up and give Tim some whisky, which he never dhrank wid a betther grace nor thin. Well, as Tim wasn't dead, they couldn't howld the wake, but they said it would be a pity to lave the whisky to spoil, so they agreed that they'd have the spree just the same. Tim was purty wake from his fit, and so it didn't take long to make him dead dhrunk, whin we laid him in his bed. Afther that, yer honor, they kept on a dhrinkin', and was fightin' in the most frindly way, whin the M.P.s come into the door, and tuck some of thim off to the station-house. I thin shut up the house, and the rest wint to bed.
"Judge.—Mrs. Hennesy, where is Timothy, the corpse?
"'Here, sir,' said a cadaverous-looking Hibernian, 'a little the worse for dyin' widout bein' very dead.'