Whilst Mrs. O'Reilly was telling her story, Mr. Hogan stood carefully wiping his hat; and when she had done, the magistrate asked him what he had to say for himself; at the same time telling him he thought he had behaved very grossly.
"Devil burn me! your worchip," replied Mr. Hogan—"but I'm just fit to split for spaking! Och! woman, woman! what is there half?——but my honour's consarned, your worchip, and I won't—I won't say nothing, come what will!"
The gallant Turncock persisted in this generous forbearance, and he was held to bail to answer for the loving assault at the ensuing Sessions.
THE END.
Footnotes:
[1] This was before the passing of the New Vagrant Act—
"When free to follow nature was the mode,
And tyrant tread-mills had not shackled man."
[2] A tailor, when asked what he is, never replies simply, "I am a tailor;" but, "I am a tailor, by trade"—thereby seeming to signify that he is not a tailor by nature.
[3] An ultra-napped driving, or box coat.