Bog-land Studies :: :: University of Virginia Library

But far on in the last of October, the news that come suddint one morn
Nearly dhruv us deminted wid joy; 'twas too good to be true we'd ha' sworn,
On'y somehow the Divil himself scarce seemed divil enough to go plot
Such a thrick on th' ould master as that; if he would, he deserves all he's got.
'Twas a letter, no less, from young master him- self, wrote the next day but one
From where else on the earth save ould Dublin, in reach 'twixt two shines o' the sun;
And ourselves had made sure we might thravel the world, an' his grave all we'd find
At its farthest—'twas grand. An' the letter explained how he'd made up his mind

That th' ould master was gone. For some folk comin' sthraight from this counthry, they said,
Havin' hould of the story's wrong end, that O'Neil o' the Inish was dead—
Inish Fay—no mistake could be in it at all at all —every one knew.
An' thin poor Misther Denis got desprit, not doubtin' the throuble was true;
For it happint the sweetheart he had wint an' died on him too, an' he thought
All his life was disthroyed, an' the rest just a rubbish that mattered for nought.
So he joined wid a party explorin' some big lonely hills afther gould,
An' they sted there I dunno how long, till the fortins they made was untould;
But whin once he got back among people, by chance the first thing he heard tell
Was how folks home from Connaught were sayin' his father was livin' an' well.

An' wid that he slipt into a boat that by luck was just puttin' to say,
Never waitin' to write by the wires. An' belike he'd be here the next day.