"The purple light of love," which had changed Peter's red head into
a rich auburn, and his swivel eye into a knowing wink, exceedingly
irresistible in his bachelorship, as he made her believe, to the country
girls, had passed away, taking the aforesaid auburn along with it and
leaving nothing but the genuine carrot behind. Peter, too, on opening
his eyes one morning about the beginning of the third month, perceived
that his wife was, after all, nothing more than a thumping red-cheeked
wench, with good eyes, a mouth rather large, and a nose very much
resembling, in its curve, the seat of a saddle, allowing the top to
correspond with the pummel.
"Pether," said she, "it's like a dhrame to me that you're neglectin'
your business, alanna."
"Is it you, beauty? but, maybe, you'd first point out to me what
business, barrin' buttherin' up yourself, I have to mind, you phanix
bright?"
"Quit yourself, Pether! it's time for you to give up your ould ways; you
caught one bird wid them, an' that's enough. What do you intind to do!
It's full time for you to be lookin' about you."
"Lookin' about me! What do you mane Ellish?"
"The dickens a bit o' me thought of it," replied the wife, laughing
at the unintentional allusion to the circumspect character of Peter's
eyes,--"upon my faix, I didn't--ha, ha, ha!"
"Why, thin, but you're full o'your fun, sure enough, if that's what
you're at.
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