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    Why the Little Frenchman Wears His Hand in a Sling

    by Edgar Allan Poe
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    IT'S on my visiting cards sure enough (and it's them that's all o' pink
    satin paper) that inny gintleman that plases may behould the intheristhin
    words, "Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt, 39 Southampton Row, Russell
    Square, Parrish o' Bloomsbury." And shud ye be wantin' to diskiver who is
    the pink of purliteness quite, and the laider of the hot tun in the houl
    city o' Lonon -- why it's jist mesilf. And fait that same is no wonder at
    all at all (so be plased to stop curlin your nose), for every inch o' the
    six wakes that I've been a gintleman, and left aff wid the bogthrothing to
    take up wid the Barronissy, it's Pathrick that's been living like a houly
    imperor, and gitting the iddication and the graces. Och! and wouldn't it
    be a blessed thing for your spirrits if ye cud lay your two peepers jist,
    upon Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt, when he is all riddy drissed for
    the hopperer, or stipping into the Brisky for the drive into the Hyde
    Park. But it's the illigant big figgur that I ave, for the rason o' which
    all the ladies fall in love wid me. Isn't it my own swate silf now that'll
    missure the six fut, and the three inches more nor that, in me stockins,
    and that am excadingly will proportioned all over to match? And it is
    ralelly more than three fut and a bit that there is, inny how, of the
    little ould furrener Frinchman that lives jist over the way, and that's a
    oggling and a goggling the houl day, (and bad luck to him,) at the purty
    widdy Misthress Tracle that's my own nixt-door neighbor, (God bliss her!)
    and a most particuller frind and acquaintance? You percave the little
    spalpeen is summat down in the mouth, and wears his lift hand in a sling,
    and it's for that same thing, by yur lave, that I'm going to give you the
    good rason.

    The truth of the houl matter is jist simple enough; for the very first day
    that I com'd from Connaught, and showd my swate little silf in the strait
    to the widdy, who was looking through the windy, it was a gone case
    althegither with the heart o' the purty Misthress Tracle. I percaved it,
    ye see, all at once, and no mistake, and that's God's truth. First of all
    it was up wid the windy in a jiffy, and thin she threw open her two
    peepers to the itmost, and thin it was a little gould spy-glass that she
    clapped tight to one o' them and divil may burn me if it didn't spake to
    me as plain as a peeper cud spake, and says it, through the spy-glass:
    "Och! the tip o' the mornin' to ye, Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt,
    mavourneen; and it's a nate gintleman that ye are, sure enough, and it's
    mesilf and me forten jist that'll be at yur sarvice, dear, inny time o'
    day at all at all for the asking." And it's not mesilf ye wud have to be
    bate in the purliteness; so I made her a bow that wud ha' broken yur heart
    altegither to behould, and thin I pulled aff me hat with a flourish, and
    thin I winked at her hard wid both eyes, as much as to say, "True for you,
    yer a swate little crature, Mrs. Tracle, me darlint, and I wish I may be
    drownthed dead in a bog, if it's not mesilf, Sir Pathrick O'Grandison,
    Barronitt, that'll make a houl bushel o' love to yur leddyship, in the
    twinkling o' the eye of a Londonderry purraty."

    And it was the nixt mornin', sure, jist as I was making up me mind whither
    it wouldn't be the purlite thing to sind a bit o' writin' to the widdy by
    way of a love-litter, when up com'd the delivery servant wid an illigant
    card, and he tould me that the name on it (for I niver could rade the
    copperplate printin on account of being lift handed) was all about
    Mounseer, the Count, A Goose, Look -- aisy, Maiter-di-dauns, and that the
    houl of the divilish lingo was the spalpeeny long name of the little ould
    furrener Frinchman as lived over the way.

    And jist wid that in cum'd the little willian himself, and then he made me
    a broth of a bow, and thin he said he had ounly taken the liberty of doing
    me the honor of the giving me a call, and thin he went on to palaver at a
    great rate, and divil the bit did I comprehind what he wud be afther the
    tilling me at all at all, excipting and saving that he said "pully wou,
    woolly wou," and tould me, among a bushel o' lies, bad luck to him, that
    he was mad for the love o' my widdy Misthress Tracle, and that my widdy
    Mrs. Tracle had a puncheon for him.

    At the hearin' of this, ye may swear, though, I was as mad as a
    grasshopper, but I remimbered that I was Sir Pathrick O'Grandison,
    Barronitt, and that it wasn't althegither gentaal to lit the anger git the
    upper hand o' the purliteness, so I made light o' the matter and kipt
    dark, and got quite sociable wid the little chap, and afther a while what
    did he do but ask me to go wid him to the widdy's, saying he wud give me
    the feshionable inthroduction to her leddyship.

    "Is it there ye are?" said I thin to mesilf, "and it's thrue for you,
    Pathrick, that ye're the fortunittest mortal in life. We'll soon see now
    whither it's your swate silf, or whither it's little Mounseer
    Maiter-di-dauns, that Misthress Tracle is head and ears in the love wid."

    Wid that we wint aff to the widdy's, next door, and ye may well say it was
    an illigant place; so it was. There was a carpet all over the floor, and
    in one corner there was a forty-pinny and a Jew's harp and the divil knows
    what ilse, and in another corner was a sofy, the beautifullest thing in
    all natur, and sitting on the sofy, sure enough, there was the swate
    little angel, Misthress Tracle.

    "The tip o' the mornin' to ye," says I, "Mrs. Tracle," and thin I made
    sich an illigant obaysance that it wud ha quite althegither bewildered the
    brain o' ye.

    "Wully woo, pully woo, plump in the mud," says the little furrenner
    Frinchman, "and sure Mrs. Tracle," says he, that he did, "isn't this
    gintleman here jist his reverence Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt, and
    isn't he althegither and entirely the most particular frind and
    acquaintance that I have in the houl world?"

    And wid that the widdy, she gits up from the sofy, and makes the swatest
    curthchy nor iver was seen; and thin down she sits like an angel; and
    thin, by the powers, it was that little spalpeen Mounseer Maiter-di-dauns
    that plumped his silf right down by the right side of her. Och hon! I
    ixpicted the two eyes o' me wud ha cum'd out of my head on the spot, I was
    so dispirate mad! Howiver, "Bait who!" says I, after awhile. "Is it there
    ye are, Mounseer Maiter-di-dauns?" and so down I plumped on the lift side
    of her leddyship, to be aven with the willain. Botheration! it wud ha done
    your heart good to percave the illigant double wink that I gived her jist
    thin right in the face with both eyes.

    But the little ould Frinchman he niver beginned to suspict me at all at
    all, and disperate hard it was he made the love to her leddyship. "Woully
    wou," says he, Pully wou," says he, "Plump in the mud," says he.

    "That's all to no use, Mounseer Frog, mavourneen," thinks I; and I talked
    as hard and as fast as I could all the while, and throth it was mesilf
    jist that divarted her leddyship complately and intirely, by rason of the
    illigant conversation that I kipt up wid her all about the dear bogs of
    Connaught. And by and by she gived me such a swate smile, from one ind of
    her mouth to the ither, that it made me as bould as a pig, and I jist took
    hould of the ind of her little finger in the most dillikitest manner in
    natur, looking at her all the while out o' the whites of my eyes.

    And then ounly percave the cuteness of the swate angel, for no sooner did
    she obsarve that I was afther the squazing of her flipper, than she up wid
    it in a jiffy, and put it away behind her back, jist as much as to say,
    "Now thin, Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, there's a bitther chance for ye,
    mavourneen, for it's not altogether the gentaal thing to be afther the
    squazing of my flipper right full in the sight of that little furrenner
    Frinchman, Mounseer Maiter-di-dauns."

    Wid that I giv'd her a big wink jist to say, "lit Sir Pathrick alone for
    the likes o' them thricks," and thin I wint aisy to work, and you'd have
    died wid the divarsion to behould how cliverly I slipped my right arm
    betwane the back o' the sofy, and the back of her leddyship, and there,
    sure enough, I found a swate little flipper all a waiting to say, "the tip
    o' the mornin' to ye, Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt." And wasn't it
    mesilf, sure, that jist giv'd it the laste little bit of a squaze in the
    world, all in the way of a commincement, and not to be too rough wid her
    leddyship? and och, botheration, wasn't it the gentaalest and dilikittest
    of all the little squazes that I got in return? "Blood and thunder, Sir
    Pathrick, mavourneen," thinks I to mesilf, "fait it's jist the mother's
    son of you, and nobody else at all at all, that's the handsomest and the
    fortunittest young bog-throtter that ever cum'd out of Connaught!" And
    with that I givd the flipper a big squaze, and a big squaze it was, by the
    powers, that her leddyship giv'd to me back. But it would ha split the
    seven sides of you wid the laffin' to behould, jist then all at once, the
    consated behavior of Mounseer Maiter-di-dauns. The likes o' sich a
    jabbering, and a smirking, and a parley-wouing as he begin'd wid her
    leddyship, niver was known before upon arth; and divil may burn me if it
    wasn't me own very two peepers that cotch'd him tipping her the wink out
    of one eye. Och, hon! if it wasn't mesilf thin that was mad as a Kilkenny
    cat I shud like to be tould who it was!

    "Let me infarm you, Mounseer Maiter-di-dauns," said I, as purlite as iver
    ye seed, "that it's not the gintaal thing at all at all, and not for the
    likes o' you inny how, to be afther the oggling and a goggling at her
    leddyship in that fashion," and jist wid that such another squaze as it
    was I giv'd her flipper, all as much as to say, "isn't it Sir Pathrick
    now, my jewel, that'll be able to the proticting o' you, my darlint?" and
    then there cum'd another squaze back, all by way of the answer. "Thrue for
    you, Sir Pathrick," it said as plain as iver a squaze said in the world,
    "Thrue for you, Sir Pathrick, mavourneen, and it's a proper nate gintleman
    ye are -- that's God's truth," and with that she opened her two beautiful
    peepers till I belaved they wud ha' cum'd out of her hid althegither and
    intirely, and she looked first as mad as a cat at Mounseer Frog, and thin
    as smiling as all out o' doors at mesilf.

    "Thin," says he, the willian, "Och hon! and a wolly-wou, pully-wou," and
    then wid that he shoved up his two shoulders till the divil the bit of his
    hid was to be diskivered, and then he let down the two corners of his
    purraty-trap, and thin not a haporth more of the satisfaction could I git
    out o' the spalpeen.

    Belave me, my jewel, it was Sir Pathrick that was unreasonable mad thin,
    and the more by token that the Frinchman kipt an wid his winking at the
    widdy; and the widdy she kept an wid the squazing of my flipper, as much
    as to say, "At him again, Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, mavourneen:" so I just
    ripped out wid a big oath, and says I;

    "Ye little spalpeeny frog of a bog-throtting son of a bloody noun!" -- and
    jist thin what d'ye think it was that her leddyship did? Troth she jumped
    up from the sofy as if she was bit, and made off through the door, while I
    turned my head round afther her, in a complate bewilderment and
    botheration, and followed her wid me two peepers. You percave I had a
    reason of my own for knowing that she couldn't git down the stares
    althegither and intirely; for I knew very well that I had hould of her
    hand, for the divil the bit had I iver lit it go. And says I; "Isn't it
    the laste little bit of a mistake in the world that ye've been afther the
    making, yer leddyship? Come back now, that's a darlint, and I'll give ye
    yur flipper." But aff she wint down the stairs like a shot, and thin I
    turned round to the little Frinch furrenner. Och hon! if it wasn't his
    spalpeeny little paw that I had hould of in my own -- why thin -- thin it
    wasn't -- that's all.

    And maybe it wasn't mesilf that jist died then outright wid the laffin',
    to behold the little chap when he found out that it wasn't the widdy at
    all at all that he had had hould of all the time, but only Sir Pathrick
    O'Grandison. The ould divil himself niver behild sich a long face as he
    pet an! As for Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt, it wasn't for the
    likes of his riverence to be afther the minding of a thrifle of a mistake.
    Ye may jist say, though (for it's God's thruth), that afore I left hould
    of the flipper of the spalpeen (which was not till afther her leddyship's
    futman had kicked us both down the stairs, I giv'd it such a nate little
    broth of a squaze as made it all up into raspberry jam.

    "Woully wou," says he, "pully wou," says he -- "Cot tam!"

    And that's jist the thruth of the rason why he wears his lift hand in a
    sling.
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