"An' from a hangman's cousin, too,
we're to bear this!--eh? Take that, anyhow, an' maybe you'll get more
when you don't expect it. Whoo! Success, Phelim! There's blood in you
still, abouchal!"
He accompanied the words by a spring of triumph from the ground, and
surveyed the already senseless turnkey with exultation. In a moment,
however, he was secured, for the purpose of being put into strong irons.
"To the devil's warmin' pan wid ye all," he continued, "you may do your
worst. I defy you. Ha! by the heavens above me, you'll suffer for
this, my fine gintleman. What can ye do but hang or thransport me, you
villains? I tell ye, if a man's sowl had a crust of sin on it a foot
thick, the best way to get it off 'ud be jist to shoot a dozen like you.
Sin! Oh, the divil saize the sin at all in it. But wait! Did ye ever
hear of a man they call Dan O'Connell? Be my sowl, he'll make yez rub
your heels together, for keepin' an innocent boy in jail, that there's
no law or no warrant out for. This is the way we're thrated by thim
that's ridin' rough shod over us. But have a taste o' patience, ye
scoundrels! It won't last, I can tell yez. Our day will soon come, an'
thin I'd recommend yez to thravel for your health. Hell saize the day's
pace or happiness ever will be seen in the country, till laws, an'
judges, an' Jries, an' jails, an' jailers, an' turnkeys, an' hangmen is
all swep out of it.
Pages:
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150