The Mother of Emeralds (Classic Reprint)

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Excerpt from The Mother of Emeralds 'It's just throwin' away your dividends, that's what it is, Molly, bringin' me here for the cure, as these medical liars call it. Cure indeed! Is it bein' pickled like a side of bacon that's goin' to cure me, I should like to know? - it's liars they are, me dear, iviry one of them." "Still the pains have left yon, uncle, and your right hand is better, " observed the girl on whose arm he leaned. "And small thanks that is to thim, me nerves are strained and pinched like harp-strings, no less, and the divil's own fingers it is that have been playin' upon thim. He's twiddling' at my heart-strings this very moment, bad luck to him!" "Hush, Uncle Tom, you shouldn't speak like that. Remember you are a priest." "I am not. 'Tis your mother's own rheumatic brother I am, livin' on your charity. A priest ! - it's a saint, me dear, I should be called for not swearin' hourly, God forgive me! Ah well, I'm not dead yet, Molly, though it's in Purgatory I am for me sins." "Let us walk down the street, uncle." "Street indeed! - say a ram's horn rather, by the twist of it. If the inhabitants' conduct is no straighter than their houses, it's mighty hard work the good saints must have to keep the fire of Heaven from scorchin' the whole place. Well, well, maybe it's out of good taste for the crooked creatures who come here for the picklin', that they warp their cabins so, "from which it will be seen that Father O'Dwyer, like the majority of his race, could be whimsical when he chose. His niece suppressed a smile and proceeded to assist him over the uneven pavement. Never was there so deformed a town. Its name need not be set down here, no one who has been there will fail to identify it. Father O'Dwyer called it "Tumbledown Towers", than which it would be difficult to provide a better name. Far and wide the piace is renowned for its brine baths, and to the copious excavations of salt made in connection therewith is due its present distorted appearance. The main street, and indeed most of the other streets, seem fixed as by enchantment in a series of undulations. Houses perch on hillock, or sink in hollow, now leaning cheek by jowl, now shunning one another. Obtusely they withdraw from the pavement, or acutely overhang it, avoiding with astounding unanimity all approach to the vertical. Scarce a window or a door will close as it was originally designed, and the roofs point skywards at every conceivable angle. Even the tower of the parish church lurches forward in drunken fashion, incongruous, bordering well-nigh on the disreputable. The whole place has the appearance of having suffered from a seismic seizure of undoubted severity. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully, any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.