"There was Peg Barney sittin' on the groun' in his shirt - wan
shoe off an' wan shoe on - whackin' a tent-peg over the head wid
his boot, an' singin' fit to wake the dead. 'Twas no clane song
that he sung, though. 'Twas the Divil's Mass."
"What's that?" I asked.
"Whin a bad egg is shut av the Army, he sings the Divil's Mass for
a good riddance; an' that manes swearin' at ivrything from the
Commandher-in-Chief down to the Room-Corp'ril, such as you niver
in your days heard. Some men can swear so as to make green turf
crack! Have you iver heard the Curse in an Orange Lodge? The
Divil's Mass is ten times worse, an' Peg Barney was singin' ut,
whackin' the tent-peg on the head wid his boot for each man that
he cursed. A powerful big voice had Peg Barney, an' a hard swearer
he was whin sober. I stood forninst him, an' 'twas not me oi alone
that cud tell Peg was dhrunk as a coot.
354
"Good mornin', Peg,' I sez, whin he dhrew breath afther dursin'
the Adj'tint-Gen'ral; 'I've put on my best coat to see you, Peg
Barney,' sez I.
"Thin take Ut off again,' sez Peg Barney, latherin' away wid the
boot; 'take ut off an' dance, ye lousy civilian!'
"Wid that he begins cursin' ould Dhrumshticks, being so full he
dane disrernimbers the Brigade-Major an' the Judge-Advokit-
Gen'ral.
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