The Bunsby Papers (second series): Irish Echoes. John Brougham

      So, putting on a careless swagger, and forcing a tone of joyousness into his voice:

      "Hallo, cobbler," he cried, "there you are, bellusin' away like a bagpiper. What an iligant thing it is to see such poor wretches whistlin' themselves into an imitation of comfort."

      "How do you know but I'm crammed full of real comfort, bad luck to yer mockin' tongue?" said Bulworthy, disgusted at the other's satisfied demeanor.

      "It's pleased I am to see your foggy moon of a face, anyway," he went on. "Where's me shillin'?"

      "Why, you poor, miserable attenuation of humanity, how dare you address yourself to me in that orthodox manner?" observed Dan, with an ambitious attempt at Bulworthy's magniloquence.

      "Miserable, eh?" replied the other, with a chirp. "Is it me miserable, wid such a home as this?"

      "It's all over," thought Dan, "the ould brute's as happy as a bird. Bad luck to the minute that my own pelt made a cage for him."