Breeches they want patchin’,
Patch them with a nice cat-skin,
All the claws turned outside in,
To tickle my little darlin’.
It being now noon (noni), or Solomon’s meal-time, he left me, promising to give me a call in the evening.
“Yes, and you must take a glass of finkel with me; it will refresh your mind as well as body.”
“Not a drop, thank you. If I begin, I can’t stop.”
“That’s the way with these bonders,” observed the Lehnsman to me, when we were alone; “even the most intelligent of them, if they once get hold of the liquor, go on drinking till they are furiously drunk.”
This then is pre-eminently the country for Father Mathews!