An'
when it plased Him to grant us a son, we oughtn't to 've spoiled him by
over-indulgence, an' by lettin' him have his own head in everythin'
as we did. If we had sint him to school, an' larned him to work, an'
corrected him when he desarved it, instead of laughin' at his lies, an'
misbehavior, and his oaths, as if they wor sport--ay, an abusin' the
nabors when they'd complain of him, or tell us what he was--ay!--if we
had, it's a credit an' a comfort he'd be to us now, an' not a shame an'
a disgrace, an' an affliction. We made our own bed, Larry, an' now we
must lie down an it. An' God help us! We made his bed too, poor boy, an'
a hard one it is. God forgive us! but, anyhow, my heart a breakin', for
bad as he was, sure we havn't him to look upon!"
"Thrue," replied Larry. "Still he was game an' cute to the last. Biddy
Doran's ten guineas will sarve him beyant, poor fellow. But sure the
boys' kep their word to him, anyhow, in regard of shootin' Foodie
Flattery. Myself was never betther plased in my life, than to hear that
he got the slugs into his heart, the villain!"
*****
We have attempted to draw Phelim O'Toole as closely as possible to the
character of that class, whose ignorance, want of education and absence
of all moral principle, constitute them the shame and reproach of
the country. By such men the peace of Ireland is destroyed, illegal
combinations formed, blood shed, and nightly outrages committed.
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