MRS. MORIARTY ON MATRIMONY.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XV, Issue 40, 27 January 1888, Page 7

MRS. MORIARTY ON MATRIMONY.

Tim Doolan come in next evening, and, says I, Aren't you ashamed of yourself 1 What for, ma'am, says he ? For abusing the women the way you done last night, says I. It wasn't abusing them I was, ma'am, says he, but just telling the truth, says he. No one ever told a lie yet, says I, that was'n't ready, says I, to swear it was the truth.

Mrs. Moriarty, says- he, by your leave, ma'am, says he, and where did you learn > our manners 1 From them that waa well able to learn me, Tim Doolan, sayi I, and that 1 earned me not to belie my betters, says I. Aud who's my betters, ma'am ? says he. The women, of course, says I, and well you know it, says I. Tell that to them that's married, ma'am, says he, and they'll be afeard to contradict you, says he. Afeard, indeed, saya I. I wish it was afeard they were, says I. Look at that poor creature down the street with her two eyes shut up i.i her head, and you'll know how much afeard they are, sayg I. Oh, ma'am, says he, the women is very provoking. Tim Doolan, says I, if you haven't a wife itself to take care of you, says I, sure you ought to have behaviour, saya I, and talk like a Chri tian. I'm better behaved, ma'am, s^ys he, nor if I had one. I'm ashamed of you, Tim D ,olan, says I. Sure don't you know marriages is made in Heaven ? says I.

Oh, Heaveu's a long way off, ma'am, says he. I suppose, saya he, they get jolted out of joint on the road down, says he. Is that the way you learned your religion 1 says I. It's of marriage I'm talking, and;not,of religioD. There's a great difference between them, says he. Matrimony, says 1, is a holy ordination. Suie that's what I'm Baying, ma'am, says he. It would take a saint to put up with it, says he. There's not many saints going, says I. They're not as common as blackberries is, even in this conntry, says I, though there's few of them in it. The more's the pity ma'am, says he, that marriages is so plenty.* What would the world do without them 1 says I. A quiet end itself, ma'am, says he, is better than an uneasy life. Is it the world to come to an end, says I, for want of people get'ing married 1 says I. The sorrow a fear, of them, ma'am, says he, while there'i so many young girls on the look out. Is it on the look oat they are 1 says I. Nothing else, ma'am, says he. And who made you so wiße 1 sayß I. Themselves did, ma'am, says he.

How's that? says I. Have'nt I eyes in my head 1 says he. What are they trimming themselves up for, ma'am 1 says he. What are they sticking feathers and fl jwers and bobs and nobs and cock-sparrows and tomtits on their heads for, eaya he, and humps and protuberations ou their hinder parts 1 Is it to please one another ? says he. That came might be enoueh for them, says I. Now, Mrs. Moriarty, says he, tell the truth for once, and don't be trying to humbug us, says he. It's much they care for one another says he. And why wouldn't the girls dress themselves 1 says I. Why not, says he, and the boys in the neighbourhood t says he. Oh, bother the boys, says I. If, says I, they never were there the girls would like to look nice, says I. If they had nothing, says he, but their looking-glasses, Bays he they would soon drop the liking. There's satisfaction in a looking-glass itself, says I. There would be more, ma'am, says he, if, says he, they though there was someone behind it.

You ought to get married, Tim Doolan, says I, and not be belying the women, says I. You want a wife to teach you manners, says I. I'll make no poor girl commit perjurj, ma'am, saya he. They're bad enough without that, says he. Commit perjury, says I. What are you talking of ? says I. Just so, ma'am, says he. If I married her, says he, would'nt she have to swear to|obey me ? says he. And don't you know, ma'am, says he, she wouldn't have the least notion of doing that ? says he. How would I know that, says I, without I knew the gill f says I. Didn't you know yourself, Mrs. Moriarty ? says he. Is it calling me a perjurer you are ? says I. I'm calling you a woman, ma'am, says he, and didn't you get married, ma'am ? says he. Tim Doolan, says I, there's a pot-stick in the corner beyond, saya I, and if you wait till I get it, I'll give you your answer, says I, in spite of your tender conscience. Oh, not a wait, then, I'll wait, ma'am, says he. Good night Mm, Moriarty, says he,