THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.
| Number 47. | SATURDAY, MAY 22, 1841. | Volume I. |
JIMMY DELANY, OR THE ASCENDANT IDEA.
“A merry morning to Father Connellan! Well, I darenorth, south, east, and west, of our sweet county of Wexford,to produce such another comfortable domicile as this ofyour reverence; and the proof that it is so in every respect,is, that master, man, dog, cat, cow, and horse, have the samesleek sides and sleek looks. I wish I could say as much forsome of the poor parsons.” “Alack! alack!” sighed FatherConnellan in a lachrymose tone, “you speak of what we wererather than what we are. Poor things! neither biped norquadruped here carries the same port as formerly. Now, howcan you speak of sleek sides and sleek cheeks to me?—to me?Take another glance at me: fancy me with a pink jacket andblack cap, and am I not just the cut, weight, and girth for ajockey? ‘Ah! what a falling off is here,’” pointing to apaunch that he asserted, with serio-comic phiz, was lamentablydiminished.
“Oh, most lamentably!” cried I, entering into his humour.“Bless me! what is the matter? Oh, thou poor, poor discipleof holy mother church! black was the fast indeed thathath reduced thee to this pickle!”
“Black it has been more than once, sure enough,” returnedthe priest, laughing; “and as I am a christianable man, thisstrict Lent has been for the sins and follies of others, and notfor my own. But you shall know all.” Then raising hisvoice, he called, “Jimmy! Jimmy Delany!”
Thrice he shouted, and was still unanswered. “Ay,” continuedhis reverence, shaking his head and turning up hiseyes, “this is the cut! Job’s boils and blisters were nothingto this! I may call and call, and have nothing but the echoof my own voice for my pains. Once more I’ll try, and if hedoesn’t come then”—— and, placing his mouth close to thewall, he sang out, “Jimmy Delany!” so tremendously loud,that the delinquent must have heard it at half a mile’s distance.At this fourth summons, shuffling, lagging stepsfaltered up the hall, the parlour door opened, and the anatomyof a man presented itself—
While gazing on him, I thought that if such a man were to“draw my curtains in the dead of night,” he need not cryout “fire!” to appal me.
“Well, Misther Delany,” began Father Connellan, “sinceyou have condescended to appear—(why don’t you makeyour obeisance, sirrah?—draw back your shovel foot, bob[Pg 370]forward your great mop-head, and bow to the lady—soh, thatwill do)—be plaised to explain how and why I, your spiritualpastor and lawful master, am reduced to half my natural dimensions,‘clipt of my fair proportions.’ As some onesays”——
But ere the priest could proceed with his quotation, I brokein with an exclamation of amazement.
“That spectre—plump, grinning, mutton-headed JimmyDelany! who used to wish for a gold chain but long enoughto encircle the disc of his face twice, and it would be as longas the chain of my lord mayor of Dublin? Impossible! No,no! Reverend father, you may make me believe much; youare a man of mystery and mirth, pot