A bunch of large gold seals, depending from a massive jack-chain of the
same metal, oscillated with becoming dignity from the lower verge of his
waistcoat, over the goodly prominence of his "fair round belly." Glancing
his half-closed, but piercing eye around his auditory, as if calculating
the contents of every pocket present, he commenced his address as
follows:--"Well, my good people, I suppose ye know that to-morrow will be
the _pattern_[1] of Saint Fineen, and no doubt ye'll all be for going to
the blessed well to say your _padhereens_;[2] but I'll go bail there's few
of you ever heard the rason why the water of that well won't raise a
lather, or wash anything clean, though you were to put all the soap in
Cork into it. Well, pay attintiou, and I'll tell you.--Mrs. Delany, can't
you keep your child quiet while I'm spaking?--It happened a long while
ago, that Saint Fineen, a holy and devout Christian, lived all alone,
convaynient to the well; there he was to be found ever and always praying
and reading his breviary upon a cowld stone that lay beside it.
Pages:
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44