Your father and your mother,
and your brother, and your three sisters, send their duty to you, and
their blessings too--and you may add my blessing, Terence, which is
worth them all; for won't I get you out of purgatory in the twinkling of
a bed-post? Make yourself quite aisy on that score, and lave it all to
me; only just say a _pater_ now and then, that when St Peter lets you
in, he mayn't throw it in your teeth, that you've saved your soul by
contract, which is the only way by which emperors and kings ever get to
heaven. Your letter from Plymouth came safe to hand: Barney, the
post-boy, having dropped it under foot, close to our door, the big pig
took it into his mouth and ran away with it; but I caught sight of him,
and _speaking_ to him, he let it go, knowing (the 'cute cratur!) that I
could read it better than him. As soon as I had digested the contents,
which it was lucky the pig did not instead of me, I just took my meal
and my big stick, and then set off for Ballycleuch.
"Now you know, Terence, if you haven't forgot--and if you have, I'll
just remind you--that there's a flaunty sort of young woman at the
poteen shop there, who calls herself Mrs O'Rourke, wife to a Corporal
O'Rourke, who was kilt or died one day, I don't know which, but that's
not of much consequence. The devil a bit do I think the priest ever gave
the marriage-blessing to that same; although she swears that she was
married on the rock of Gibraltar--it may be a strong rock fore I know,
but it's not the rock of salvation like the seven sacraments, of which
marriage is one.
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