Lewisburg chronicle. [volume] (Lewisburg, Pa.) 1850-1859, 1853-12-30


Sullivan, to spake the sarious word wild ye
the morrow morn, sez the ould man,
dhrawin' hisself up grand-likc, for, on my
conscience, there's many things about ye
as does be puzzlin' me exthramely.
IT'S no matther, says Tim to hisself,
follyin' afther the sarvint. Sure. I'm in
for it now, anyhow. Ayeh! is thin the
stairs? Musha, thin, but It's wide enough
they are for drove of fat cattle. HOuld
on bit, will yc, or I'll be fallin' over the
ballisthers. | wonder where thin Grass
passiges ladies' too beyant? Sure, I'd give
all I'll be likely to have in the wureid to
quit the place. Och, Tim Delaney, It's a
bad ind ye're comm to wid settin' yerself
up for jintleman an, begorra, if the
young masther murdhers ye entirely, 1t
sarves ye right, anyway, an that's 10 lie.
VIII ye be p'lased to inter? sez the
sarvint, THROWN open the dure Of big
room, where the windys wor all Ornamin'ed
wild b'utyful curt'ins, an likewise the CRATE
bed wild goold angels at the corners Of the
posts, le:tin' alone the fringes an tassc.s,
an many other b'utyful things too tadious
to mintion.
Och, sez Tim, is that my bid? How
will | Git in widout tumblin' myself on
the fure? Thin steps, did yc mane :!
Arrah, now, have done wild yer nonslnee !.
Sure, l niver heard of goin' to bid wid 4
step-laddher afore.
Trims the flshi'n, sez the futman.
To the divil wild the fashi'n. seq Tim.
What are yc laughin' at, ye ugly spalpeen -?
Lave the light, an go. Oh, mur'her .
seq Tim, whin he was all alone by hisself-
If wor out of this scrape, thousand
goold guineas wouldn't timpt me to 30 the
likes agin.
An, wild that, he sarches the windys,
manen' to make his escape, but they wor
too high an thin he opens the dure saffly
an looks into the passiges, but they twisted
all about, so he didn't dare to thry thin
for fear they would DE af,her takin' him
for a rcbbcr so, wid many muttherin'. SAN
moanin's, he lays hisself down on the bid
wild all his clothes on, an, by an by, falls
into throubled SLEEP.
Well, all this time, yc may be sure
young Masther Maurice wor not lcttin' the
grass grow undher his feet: So, whin he
had b,ught the land, he takes i fresh ba,te
an hurries afthcr Tim. BY hard ridin' he
got to the town late tha. same nj ght; an
whin he Earned that Tim wor gone up to
Carrigathroid all cock -a-hoop in his own
fine clo'es an jooels, he flies into a tarin
passion, and makes bould TO ride over at
wanst. As it happened, the squreen an
Miss Norah wor still up, for the raal gen
teels do kape mighty late hours ; and so it
worn't long afore he makes hisself be-
knownst to the ould jntlcman an his
daughther, an up an tells EN- his sthcry.
Oh, but thin they all laughed more nor
liver they did in their born days afore; more
by token that the squireen wor glad to have
a disilushin of the mysthery, an Miss No
rah bein' aiquilly pl'ased to find the thrue
Masther Maurice wild the best quality man.
ners, an, at the same time, so mortal ham
some
An now, sez Maurice, what'll l do wild
that rogue Of Tim?
Lave him to me, scz the sqrircen, wild
a KNOWN wink Myself bein' justus-o'
pace, a good frikenin' III be of sarvice to
the saucy Omadhaun. But we'll say no
more till the morn, seq he; an, in the
name time, we'll thry an find ye supper
an bed.
Well, to be sure, bright an airly, while
Tim wcr tossn' an tumblin' about in his
fine flahool bid, an dhramin' of witches,
an spooks, an leprawhauns, an even of
the ould bouchal hissclf, there's comes a
t 'undherin' whack at his dure an, pris-
intly, in walks four sthrappin' fellows righ,
to his bedside
What's wantin'? sez Tim, sc,;in' boult
up, wild his curly hair all untwi>tin' itself
an standin on end like porkcpine's. Is
it lookin' for me ye arc?
Troth, but ye're quick hand at cuessin',
sez the bisgist man. Where's yer mas,her,
ye thafc Of the wurcld2 Tell me hat
Oh, mur,her. SEE Tim. It's all out
Sure, he confsses it already, sez another.
Bring him along, Tony.
Confsses what? sez Tim, wild his face rs
white as the bed-bangin's. Conisscs what?
Spakc out, will yc?
The murthcr! sez Tony. Isn't thin his
cloes ye're wcarin' now?
Mur;her? Och. ochonc, ochone. SEE
Tim, wringin' his hands. That iver lived
to see this day. An is the young mas
thcr dead? Why, thin, upon my oath an
INV conscience, l nivcr had hand it.
Sure, it's we'll the darlin' knowed Id lay
dhwn my life for him. Oh, jintlomen,
1 IL