“Well,” says the cake, “I think I can go no further.” “Oh, yes,” says he, and he shot it up in the air, caught it in his mouth, and sent it down the Red Lane. And that was the end of the cake.
 |  |
(A Tale of Chivalry.) ou see, there was awaiver lived wanst upon a time in Duleek here, hard by the gate, and a very honest, industherous man he was by all accounts. Well, it was one mornin’ that his housekeeper called to him, and he sitting very busy throwin’ the shuttle; and says she, “Your brekquest is ready!” “Lave me alone,” says he; “I’m busy with a patthern here that is brakin’ my heart, and until I complate and masther it intirely I won’t quit.” |
“Oh, think o’ the iligant stirabout that’ll be spylte intirely.”
“To the divil with the stirabout!” says he.
“God forgive you,” says she, “for cursin’ your good brekquest.”
Well, he left the loom at last and wint over to the stirabout, and what would you think, but whin he looked at it, it was as black as a crow; for, you see, it was in the hoighth o’ summer, and the flies lit upon it to that degree that the stirabout was fairly covered with them.
