Sure the Pope ought to make him a marthyr—
If myself was this moment Victoria, our queen,
I’d dhrink nothing but Whisky and Wather!
Anonymous.
“IT’LL MAKE YE, ALL OVER, AS WARM AS TOAST, AND YER HEART JIST AS LIGHT AS A FEATHER.”
THE THRUSH AND THE BLACKBIRD.
A stranger meeting Sally Cavanagh as she tripped along the mountain road would consider her a contented and happy young matron, and might be inclined to set her down as a proud one; for Sally Cavanagh held her head rather high, and occasionally elevated it still higher with a toss which had something decidedly haughty about it. She turned up a short boreen for the purpose of calling upon the gruff blacksmith’s wife, who had been very useful to her for some time before. The smith’s habits were so irregular that his wife was often obliged to visit the pawn office in the next town, and poor Sally Cavanagh availed herself of Nancy Ryan’s experience in pledging almost everything pledgeable she possessed. The new cloak, of which even a rich farmer’s wife might feel proud, was the last thing left. It was a present from Connor, and was only worn on rare occasions, and to part with it was a sore trial.
“NANCY FLEW AT HER LIKE A WILD CAT.”