"
And it was the nixt mornin', sure, jist as I was making up me mind
whither it wouldn't be the purlite thing to sind a bit o' writin' to
the widdy by way of a love-litter, when up com'd the delivery
servant wid an illigant card, and he tould me that the name on it (for
I niver could rade the copperplate printin on account of being lift
handed) was all about Mounseer, the Count, A Goose, Look- aisy,
Maiter-di-dauns, and that the houl of the divilish lingo was the
spalpeeny long name of the little ould furrener Frinchman as lived
over the way.
And jist wid that in cum'd the little willian himself, and then he
made me a broth of a bow, and thin he said he had ounly taken the
liberty of doing me the honor of the giving me a call, and thin he
went on to palaver at a great rate, and divil the bit did I comprehind
what he wud be afther the tilling me at all at all, excipting and
saving that he said "pully wou, woolly wou," and tould me, among a
bushel o' lies, bad luck to him, that he was mad for the love o' my
widdy Misthress Tracle, and that my widdy Mrs.
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