THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.
| Number 47. | SATURDAY, MAY 22, 1841. | Volume I. |
JIMMY DELANY, OR THE ASCENDANT IDEA.
“A merry morning to Father Connellan! Well, I dare north, south, east, and west, of our sweet county of Wexford, to produce such another comfortable domicile as this of your reverence; and the proof that it is so in every respect, is, that master, man, dog, cat, cow, and horse, have the same sleek sides and sleek looks. I wish I could say as much for some of the poor parsons.” “Alack! alack!” sighed Father Connellan in a lachrymose tone, “you speak of what we were rather than what we are. Poor things! neither biped nor quadruped here carries the same port as formerly. Now, how can you speak of sleek sides and sleek cheeks to me?—to me? Take another glance at me: fancy me with a pink jacket and black cap, and am I not just the cut, weight, and girth for a jockey? ‘Ah! what a falling off is here,’” pointing to a paunch that he asserted, with serio-comic phiz, was lamentably diminished.
“Oh, most lamentably!” cried I, entering into his humour. “Bless me! what is the matter? Oh, thou poor, poor disciple of holy mother church! black was the fast indeed that hath reduced thee to this pickle!”
“Black it has been more than once, sure enough,” returned the priest, laughing; “and as I am a christianable man, this strict Lent has been for the sins and follies of others, and not for my own. But you shall know all.” Then raising his voice, he called, “Jimmy! Jimmy Delany!”
Thrice he shouted, and was still unanswered. “Ay,” continued his reverence, shaking his head and turning up his eyes, “this is the cut! Job’s boils and blisters were nothing to this! I may call and call, and have nothing but the echo of my own voice for my pains. Once more I’ll try, and if he doesn’t come then”—— and, placing his mouth close to the wall, he sang out, “Jimmy Delany!” so tremendously loud, that the delinquent must have heard it at half a mile’s distance. At this fourth summons, shuffling, lagging steps faltered up the hall, the parlour door opened, and the anatomy of a man presented itself—
So faint, so spiritless.