LIFE IN IRELAND 249 



The reading of this humorous epistle made all parties 

 laugh, and none louder than Patrick Mooney. Och, 

 said Mooney, by the blood of the Macguehans, that 

 is, my grandmother's royal family, I am more glad than 

 if I had been knocked on the head by a limestone. 

 Master has all his own again, and I shall have my share 

 of it — and I shall — what shall I do — by the holy Jasus, 

 I '11 get drunk this very evening for joy — no I won't, 

 neither ; I '11 keep sober, and get my mass-book^ and go 

 to prayers. No, I won't do that same — I '11 have a 

 song and a "^ * "^ "^ ■^. Och, hoi och, that I will, and as 



pratty a one as the city boasts, and I '11 go . Go 



to Hell, hallo'd Brian, the scoundrel is dreaming or 

 mad ; get out of the room. Faith, that I will, said 

 Mooney ; but I '11 never get the room, and what I heard 

 in it, out of my head : it has made me so happy, that I 

 am the most miserablest in the creation. 



Here, friend, said Sir Shawn, clapping his hand on 

 his shoulder, which made Mooney stand bolt upright 

 like a milestone, and just as stiff — here, friend, is 2. five 

 poujid ?iote — Go to Merrion Square, invite my servants, 

 give them a ball and supper at your own expense, and 

 in honour of your Master ; and mark me, Sir — you are 

 a rude uncultivated honest Irishman, of the true 

 Hibernian breed : you are possessed of an affectionate 

 heart, and a bold hand to support it ; keep on in the 

 strict path of integrity, and you shall never want a hand 

 to support you through the toils of life. 



Patrick Mooney would have spoken, but his heart 

 was too full — he bowed and withdrew. 



There goes, said Brian, as honest a fellow as ever 

 skinned a potatoe — he has fought for me when there 



