The Irish Widow on Picnics.

Te Aroha News, Volume III, Issue 126, 31 October 1885, Page 5

The Irish Widow on Picnics.

|Mbs McGiaggerty was dozing on the stoop fat the back door of her shanty when Mrs Magoogin called to her across .the fence. She awoke with a start, and for a moment jaeemed • strangely bewildered; ' " Arrah, !f what's the matter wid you, woman, alqive ?" ! Mrs Magoogin asked. "Is it the thraymers ■ye're after bavin', or f what's tuk howld ay,, ye, annyhow?"— "o, it's you, Mrs Magoogin. is it ?" said the neighbour. I was havin the ' quairest dhraim ye uver dhrempt in all yer, life — about my Jurry. I dhraim'd that -he kern home drunk, an' fillin' his pipe wid dinnymite, he pit a match to the top ay it an' blew the roof ay his head aff out through, ;the chimbloy abow. Wid that I let out ,» scraim, an' was runnin' as hard as I kud to, your house, phin I thought I hurd Jurry callin' afther me, an' there an' thin I woke u p.»_»Divil a fear ye naid have, Mrs McGrlaggerty," said the widow, "ay yer Jurry bein' bloon up be dinnymoite or army uther moite aither, fur he's too careful ay. his hoide, an' is too gud a man— loike me own dear Dinny, the Lord have marcy on his sowl — to be cut short in his accounts wid this wurld."— "Faith'n to tell the truth, Mrs Magoogin, Jurry is a rail gud man, an' that's not sayin' that your Dinny mightn' have bin a grait dail betther in his toime."— " Well, here now, that'll do, my frind. Taffy is chaip, an' the sowls that are at resht don't naid army ay it. Fwhat is it the owld sayin' sez ? ' Sphake nothin' bad about the bones ay the dead.' An' let us do it. We'll dhrop that subject at wanst. But do ye know what I called ye for ? I want the kind ay the loan ay a big bashket, aff ye hay wan, for to morrow. Are-thoosy an' her beau is goin' to a pecknick, an' they 11 be takin' a bite to ait with them, an' devil a baehket have I in the house, small or large enough to shoot thim. Your markit bashket '11 be jisht the thing." — " Well, well, well, well," the widow continued after her neighbour had brought out the basket, "the wurld is gettin' quairer an' quairer uv'ry minnit that it lashts. It's full ay nothin' but balls an' parties an 1 muse'ms an' pecknicks wan day, an' the next it has nothin' but sore beads an' sorry for all ay us. Plinty ay fun to-day and plinty ay funerals to morrow. Lots to shpind this mornin' and mebbe not enough left at noight to buy a blind man a glass ay beer. Wanderfull foino shport, ain't it, dhraggin' a big bashkit foive or tin moiles through the woods, bhrampin' through wet grass an' marshy grounds, havin' the clothes torn aff ay of them be the bushes, gettin' shpoiders an' yallow bugs down their backs, moshkaties aitin' the noses aff them, shnakes boitin' holes in their shoes an' shtockins, an' comin' back to town wid their dhresses clinging to 'em loike dishrags, their foine three dollar hats rooned, their bashkits impty, their han'« kerchers losht an' thimselts so sick an' worn out that tin to wan they'll be brought to bed the nuxt day wid de diptheery or the pneumoony. That's fwthat they calls shport for you, Mrs McGlaggerty ; but do you ax wan ay thim same gerls to run to the shtore for tin cints' worth ay sugar an' she'll take howl ay her head an' say, ' Oh, moother, I'm so toired ; plaze don't ax me to go,' or do you thry to sind wan ay thim to the cooper shop for a bashkit ay chips, an' she'll tell you she's too waik to shstand on her feet, let alone to carry chips, but the same lassies '11 be glad to lug sixty pounds ay groole across moiles ay counthry fwhin'they have apecknick on hand, an' they'll dance all day, and shwing an' play coopinhagin 'till there's hardly a breath left in their body. It's jisht loike my Tammy, the toof . He'll play base bawl from morning' to noight an' nivver complain ay bein' toired, but if I ax him to chase the goat in out ay the alley or to sphlit a bit of wood, hell stick up his nose at me an' ax me fwhat I take him for. Oh, yis, Mrs McGlaggerty, this bashket '11 do. It'll hould enough to feed a whole gang ay shtevedores, but Arethoosy an' Hinry '11 manage to make away wid the contents. She's poy an' ham an' ceakes an' frost an' a bottle ay catawby woine, besoides suveral other kicknacks to pit into it, an' to tell ye the thruth she shpinds as mooch on that wan dinner as 'ould kape your house an mine goin together, for over a week. Bad shkure to thim, but I wish all th' uxcursions an' pecknicks were at the bottom ay the say, the way pay pie kud have a little resht an' comfort. An' as fur that bandy-legged an' loight headed little Dootch beau ay hers, I hope that fwhat he ates out ay this bashkit '11 do him more good than my blessin', fur if it doesn't it won't put army flesh an his bones, an' fwhin he gets it good into him, may the divil pull it out ay him agin — an' that's the ardint an' airnist pray'r ay Berdie Magoogin."