"
"Come, Slanty, never mind Paddy M'Mahon," said another of them; "he
received the gift of grace in the shape of a purty Methodist wife and
a good fortune; ay, an' a sweet love-faist he had of it; he dropped the
Padereens over Solomon's Bridge, and tuck to the evenin' meetins--that's
enough for you to know; and now, Harte, about Maguire?"
"Why," said Harte, "if I'm not allowed to edge in a word, I had betther
cut."
"A most solemn promise, you say?"
"A most solemn and solemnious promise, that was what I said; never again
by night or day, wet or dry, high or low, in or out, up or down, here
or there, to--to--get himself snimicated wid any liquorary fluid
whatsomever, be the same more or less, good, bad, or indifferent, hot or
could, thick or thin, black or white--"
"Have done, Harte; quit your cursed sniftherin', an' spake like a
Christian; do you think you can manage to circumsniffle him agin?"
"Ay," said Harte, "or any man that ever trod on neat's leather--barrin'
one."
"And who is that one?"
"That one, sir--that one--do you ax me who that one is?"
"Have you no ears? To be sure I do."
"Then, Skinadre, I'll tell you--I'll tell you, sarra,"--we ought to add
here, that Harte was a first-rate mimic, and was now doing a drunken
man,--"I'll tell you, sarra--that person was Nelson on the top of the
monument in Sackville street--no--no--I'm wrong; I could make poor ould
Horace drunk any time, an' often did--an' many a turn-tumble he got off
the monument at night, and the divil's own throuble I had in gettin' him
up on it before mornin', bekaise you all know he'd be cashiered, or, any
way, brought to coort martial for leavin' his po-po-post.
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