A verse
from the last may serve to show their _peculiar_ character.
"The night before Larry was stretch'd,
The boys they all paid him a visit;
And bit in their sacks too they fetch'd,
They sweated their duds till they riz it.
For Larry was always the lad,
When a friend was condemn'd to the squeezer.
But he'd fence all the foss that he had
To help a poor friend to a sneezer,
And moisten his sowl before he died."
Ere eleven o'clock had arrived, the copious potations of whiskey and
strong beer, joined to the fumes of the tobacco, had caused a powerful
alteration in the demeanor of the assembled group, who now became
most indecorously vociferous. "By the powers of Poll Kelly!" said the
raw-boned fellow who had howled the lament over the corpse, "I'd be
arter making love to the widow mysel', only it mightn't be altogether
dacent before Teddy's put out o' the way." "You make love to the widow!"
responded the smart-looking Florence M'Carthy; "to the divil I pitch
you, you bouncing bogtrotter! it's myself alone that will have that
onor, bekase Teddy O'Rafferty wished me to take his wife as a legacy.
'It's all I've got, Mr. Florence,' ~32~~said he to me one day, 'to lave
behind for the redemption of the small trifle I owe you.
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