— You are most |2gloriously2| kind as ever, dear relative, Shaun said. But |2'tis time to be up and going. |aThis place is not big enough for us now.a|2| |2come Come2| — |2my our2| good feet|2, corns and all2|. |2Was not our mother a Runningwater?2| Farewell awhile till we meet to part no more. So here goes. |2|aI bless you all to the west as Whatshisname said to the Kerryboys.a| Won. Toe. |aDry. A dry.a|2| You watch |2my our2| smoke.
|2|aAfter poor |bShaun the Post's Jaun the Boast'sb|
last words ending in smokea| Twentyeight & one |aof the paddling partya|
came to his assistance but2| Repulsing all attempts at first aid I perceived |2greatly misunderstood2| Shaun to give himself some sort of a kick or
prod |2up to sit up & take notice2| |2which
acted like magic2| while all the daughters of February Filldyke voiced their approval in the customary manner by dropping to their knees & clapping together the flats of their hands |2as
they viewed him away2|. |2Going
Easygoing2| Shaun then I saw to take from the gentlest weeper amongst all the wailers |2who were already in half mourning for the
passing of the post2| the familiar yellow label into which he let fall a tear, smothered a sigh, choked a cough, checked a sob, spat a spit & blew his own trumpet. Next he licked its stickyback side and stamped the
badge of belief to his brow, |2and then having turned the feminine world upside down with a half a glance |afrom under his shaggy eyebrowsa|,
he2| waved a hand across the sea as notice to quit, |2|xFain too they have followed him dancing most modestly
|aall the waya|, praying of him to give them his blessing.x|2| but
in selfrighting himself |2to exchange embraces with her2| he toppled |2to the left slightly to the off2| and, making a brandnew start, |2|ahe blessed by |bblessing making a sign of a cross onb|a| himself |ain a hurry hurriedlya| &2| |2his hat blew off and he bucketed after &2| |2couriered kingscouriered2| off |2on Shanks's mare (the bouchal, you would say 'twas |aona| that moment they gave him the legs)2| adown his |2way highroad2| |2apast blank Bridge (which, by the way, he narrowly missed fouling)2| following which he quickly was lost to sight though still, of course, |2all the more on that account2| to memory dear.
|2Wethen,2| May the good people speed you, rural Shaun, |2export2| stout fellow that you are, ay, and heart & soul of Shamrogueshire!
May your bawny hair grow fairer & rarer, our own only whiteheaded boy! Just by nature & natural by design had you but been spared to us|2, Jauny lad,2| you will be long looked after from last to first
as the beam of light we follow receding on your pilgrimage to the antipodes of the past, you, who so often consigned your tidings of great joy into our never toº late to love |2box
letterbox2|, |2dear dearest2| Shaun of all,
|2you of the boots2| our true pennyatimer! |2Thy now paling lamp we may perchanmce ne'er see again. Ah, if it could
|aonlya| speak how it |acould woulda| splutter! out praises be to thee.
For you had — may I say it? — a glow of zeal of service such as |aI have rarely seen rarely, if ever, have I seena| in any 1 man's
bosom.2| There are men still unclaimed by the death angel who will |2pray fervently fervently pray to the Spirit
above2| that they may never depart this earth of ours till |2you come Johnny |athe
Quickesta| comes2| marching home. Life, it is true, will
be a dream without you, a slip of the time between a date and a date from tonight to yesterday morning. But you did your strong 9 furlong mile in slick & slapstick style — a |2good2| deed |2man docile, high bouncing serviceman, & one2| that will be talked of for centuries — And already the sombrer portion of the gloom is gone. Brave footsore Shaun! Hold to! Win out, sir! The silent cock shall crow at last. The west will shake the east awake. Walk while you have the night for the noon cometh wherein every post shall sleep.