One hundred years ago
IRISH beggars are still eminently com- plimentary . . . . A most assuming vag- rant of this type is Micheal L—, whose witty sayings, which rise incessantly and spontaneously to his lips, would fill a volume. He greatly affects the Protes- tant clergy, though a devout Roman Catholic himself. When asked if he had called at the Deanery, the residence of the Roman Catholic dignitary, his reply was generally after this fashion: — 'Is it the Dane yer talking about? Oh! the divvle a Dane I'll go near; sure I niver saw a threepenny-bit betune meself and daylight from him yet. The Dane, in- deed!' Poor Michael! it is to be feared that the attachment to the national beverage is proving too strong for him, and that, to quote one of his own favourite expressions, he's 'booked for the down-train.' It was a brother-in- alms of his who used to say, when requesting a change of linen, 'Me shirt is aiting me, yer Reverence.' The fol- lowing is Michael's latest. When asked if he would join the League of the Cross (a well-known Temperance Society), he replied, 'The Lord knows, yer Rever- ence, I have "crasses" enough already without that!' Did Mr So-and-So give you anything, Michael?' Is it him, yer Reverence? he would'nt give tuppence to God Almighty, if it was to put him into Paradise, and that's the last parish coming out of hell.'
The Spectator, 11 December 1886
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