THE
PURCELL PAPERS.

BY THE LATE
JOSEPH SHERIDAN LE FANU,
AUTHOR OF 'UNCLE SILAS.'

With a Memoir by
ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES

IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.

LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON,
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen.
1880.

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

LeFanu, Joseph Sheridan, 1814-1873.

The Purcell papers.

Reprint of the 1880 ed. published by R. Bentley,
London.

I. Title.
PZ3.L518Pu5 [PR4879.L7] 823'.8 71-148813
ISBN 0-404-08880-5

Reprinted from an original copy in the collection of
the University of Chicago Library.

From the edition of 1880, London
First AMS edition published in 1975
Manufactured in the United States of America

International Standard Book Number:
Complete Set: 0-404-08880-5
Volume III: 0-404-08883-X

AMS PRESS INC.
NEW YORK, N. Y. 10003

CONTENTS OF VOL. III.
----
                                                          
JIM SULIVAN'S ADVENTURES IN THE GREAT SNOW 
A CHAPTER IN THE HISTORY OF A TYRONE FAMILY
AN ADVENTURE OF HARDRESS FITZGERALD, A ROYALIST CAPTAIN
'THE QUARE GANDER' 
BILLY MALOWNEY'S TASTE OF LOVE AND GLORY  

THE PURCELL PAPERS.
----
JIM SULIVAN'S ADVENTURES IN THE GREAT SNOW.

Being a Ninth Extract from the Legacy of the late Francis
Purcell, P.P. of Drumcoolagh.

Jim Sulivan was a dacent,
honest boy as you'd find in the
seven parishes, an' he was a
beautiful singer, an' an illegant dancer
intirely, an' a mighty plisant boy in
himself; but he had the divil's bad luck, for
he married for love, an 'av coorse he niver
had an asy minute afther.

Nell Gorman was the girl he fancied, an'
a beautiful slip of a girl she was, jist twinty
to the minute when he married her. She
was as round an' as complate in all her
shapes as a firkin, you'd think, an' her two
cheeks was as fat an' as red, it id open your
heart to look at them.

But beauty is not the thing all through,
an' as beautiful as she was she had the
divil's tongue, an' the divil's timper, an'
the divil's behaviour all out; an' it was
impossible for him to be in the house with
her for while you'd count tin without havin'
an argymint, an' as sure as she riz an
argymint with him she'd hit him a wipe
iv a skillet or whatever lay next to her
hand.

Well, this wasn't at all plasin' to Jim
Sulivan you may be sure, an' there was
scarce a week that his head wasn't
plasthered up, or his back bint double, or his
nose swelled as big as a pittaty, with the
vilence iv her timper, an' his heart was
scalded everlastin'ly with her tongue; so
he had no pace or quietness in body or soul
at all at all, with the way she was goin'
an.

Well, your honour, one cowld snowin'
evenin' he kim in afther his day's work
regulatin' the men in the farm, an' he sat
down very quite by the fire, for he had
a scrimmidge with her in the mornin', an'
all he wanted was an air iv the fire in pace;
so divil a word he said but dhrew a stool
an' sat down close to the fire. Well, as
soon as the woman saw him,

'Move aff,' says she, 'an' don't be
inthrudin' an the fire,' says she.

Well, he kept never mindin', an' didn't
let an' to hear a word she was sayin', so
she kim over an' she had a spoon in her
hand, an' she took jist the smallest taste
in life iv the boilin' wather out iv the pot,
an' she dhropped it down an his shins, an'
with that he let a roar you'd think the
roof id fly aff iv the house.

'Hould your tongue, you barbarrian,'
says she; 'you'll waken the child,' says
she.

'An' if I done right,' says he, for the
spoonful of boilin' wather riz him entirely,
'I'd take yourself,' says he, 'an' I'd stuff
you into the pot an the fire, an' boil you.'
says he, 'into castor oil,' says he.

'That's purty behavour,' says she; 'it's
fine usage you're givin' me, isn't it?' says
she, gettin' wickeder every minute; 'but
before I'm boiled,' says she, 'thry how you
like THAT,' says she; an', sure enough, before
he had time to put up his guard, she hot
him a rale terrible clink iv the iron spoon
acrass the jaw.

'Hould me, some iv ye, or I'll murdher
her,' says he.

'Will you?' says she, an' with that she
hot him another tin times as good as the
first.

'By jabers,' says he, slappin' himself
behind, 'that's the last salute you'll ever
give me,' says he; 'so take my last blessin','
says he, 'you ungovernable baste!' says
he--an' with that he pulled an his hat an'
walked out iv the door.

Well, she never minded a word he said,
for he used to say the same thing all as one
every time she dhrew blood; an' she
had no expectation at all but he'd come
back by the time supper id be ready; but
faix the story didn't go quite so simple this
time, for while he was walkin', lonesome
enough, down the borheen, with his heart
almost broke with the pain, for his shins
an' his jaw was mighty troublesome, av
course, with the thratement he got, who
did he see but Mick Hanlon, his uncle's
sarvint by, ridin' down, quite an asy, an the
ould black horse, with a halter as long as
himself.

'Is that Mr. Soolivan?' says the by.
says he, as soon as he saw him a good
bit aff.

'To be sure it is, ye spalpeen, you,' says
Jim, roarin' out; 'what do you want wid
me this time a-day?' says he.

'Don't you know me?' says the gossoon,
'it's Mick Hanlon that's in it,' says
he.

'Oh, blur an agers, thin, it's welcome
you are, Micky asthore,' says Jim; 'how
is all wid the man an' the woman beyant?'
says he.

'Oh!' says Micky, 'bad enough,' says
he; 'the ould man's jist aff, an' if you don't
hurry like shot,' says he, 'he'll be in glory
before you get there,' says he.

'It's jokin' ye are,' says Jim, sorrowful
enough, for he was mighty partial to his
uncle intirely.

'Oh, not in the smallest taste,' says