The Colonel come in wid an affable air, An' he sat down quite natteral-loike in a chair. "So, Rory," ses he, "'tis a vote ye've got now?" "That's thrue though ye ses it," ses Oi, wid a bow.
"Deloighted!" ses he, "'tis meself that is g'ad, For shure ye're disarvin' it, Rory me lad. An' how are ye goin' to use it?" ses he, "Ye could scarcely do betther than give it to me."
Oi stared at the Colonel, amazed wid surprise. "What! Give it away, Sorr?—Me vote, Sorr?" Oi cries. "D'ye think that Oi've waited ontil Oi am gray, An' now Oi'm jist goin' to give it away?"
The Colonel he chuckled, an "Rory," ses he. But "No, Sorr," Oi answers, "ye don't diddle me." Thin he hum'd an' he haw'd, an' he started agin, But he'd met wid his equal in Rory O'Flynn.
Thin the smoile died away, an' a frown come instead, But for all that he tould me, Oi jist shook me head, An' he gnawed his moustache, an' he cursed an' he swore, But the more that he argued, Oi shook it the more.
Thin he called me a dolt an' an ignorant fool, An' he said that Oi ought to go back to the school, An' he flew in a rage an' wint black in the face, An' he flung in a hullaballoo from the place.
Bedad, Oi was startled. Him beggin' me vote, An' he'd three of his own too!—The gradiness o't! Ye could scarcely belave it onless it was thrue, An' him sittin' oop for a gintleman too!
Was it betther he thought he could use it than Oi? Begorrah, Oi'll show he's mistaken, me bhoy. Oi'll hang it oop over me mantlepace shelf, For now that Oi've got it, Oi'll kape it meself.
The Zuyder Zee.—"Wha' be the Zider Zee?" repeated a Devonian farmer. "Why, I always thought as the Zee of Exeter were the Zider Zee. Ain't it pratty well in the middle o' Zider Country?"