284 THE CURSE OF KISHOGUE. 



of Kishogue to chate them out o* their honest penny, like ; but 

 they owed him no spite for all that, for they considhered his heart 

 was low on account of the disappointment ; and he was lookin' 

 mighty pale while they they wor makin' matthers tidy for hin>; 

 and, indeed, the last words he said himself was, " Put me out 

 o* pain at wanst, for my heart is low bekase Tim Riley desaived 

 me, when I thought he would rise it, that I might die like a rale 

 Rake o' Mallow !" And so, to make a long story short, my 

 jew'l, they done the business for him : it was soon over wid him, 

 it was just one step wid hin'i, aff o' the ladder into glory ; and 

 to do him justice, though he was lookin' pale, he died bowld, 

 and put his best leg foremost. Well, what would you think, 

 but just as all was over wid him, there was a shout outside o* 

 the crowd, and a shilloo that you 'd think, would split the sky, 

 and what should we see gallopin' up to the gallows, but a man 

 covered with dust an a white horse, to all appearance, but it 

 was n't a white horse but a black horse only white wid the foam. 

 He was dhruv to that degree, and the man hadn't a breath to 

 dhraw, and couldn't spake, but dhrew a ])iece o' paper out of 

 the breast of his coat, and handed it up to the sheriff; and 

 myjew'l, the sheriff grewn as white as the paper itself, when 

 he clapt his eyes an it; and says he, "Cut him down — cut him 

 down this minute!" says he; and the dhragoons made a slash 

 at the messenger, but he ducked his head and sarcumvinted them. 

 And then the sheriff shouted out, " Stop, you villians, and bad 

 luck to yiz, you murtherin' vagabonds,'* says he to the ^ojers; 

 "is it going to murther the man you wor? — It is n't him at all 

 I mane, but the man that 's hangin'. Cut him down," says he: 

 and tliey cut him down ; but it was no use. It was all over wid 

 poor Kishogue ; for he was as dead as small beer, and as stiff as 

 a crutch. " Oii, tare an ouns!" says the sheriff, tarin' the hair 

 aff his head at the same time, with the fair rage. " Is n't it a 

 poor case that he 's dead, and here is a reprieve that is come for 

 him? but, bad cess to him," says he, "it's his own fault, he 

 would n't take it aisy." " Oh, millia murther, millia murther! *' 

 cried out the Widdy Houlaghan, in the crowd. " Oh, Kishogue, 

 my darlint, why did you refuse my mulled wine? Oh, if you 

 had stopped wid me to take your dhrop o' dhrink, you M be 

 alive and meriy now ! " So that is the maynin' of the Curse o' 

 Kishogue; for, you see, Kishogue was hanged for lavin' his 

 liquor behind him. ' 



