It's a pity the likes of him should ever die, but there's no help for
death; and sure if he wasn't so good entirely he'd have been left, and
not be taken away as he was; for 'tis them that are most wanting the
first to go. The news of his death flew about like lightning; and there
was nothing but _ullagoning_ through all the country, and they had no
less than right, for they lost a good friend the day he died. However,
from _ullagoning_, they soon came to fighting about where he was to be
buried. His own parish wouldn't part with him if they got half Ireland,
and sure they had the best right to him; but the next parish wanted to
get him by the _lauve laider_ (strong hand,) for they thought it would
bring a blessing on them to have his bones among them; so his own
parishioners at last took and buried him by night, without the others
knowing any thing about it. When the others heard it they were tearing
mad, and raised a large faction, thinking to take him up and carry him
away in spite of his parishioners; so they had a great battle upon it;
but those who had the best right to him were beat out and out, and the
others were just going to take him up, when there came all at once such
rain as was never seen before or since; it was so heavy that they were
obliged to run away half _drownded_, and give it up as a bad job. They
thought, however, that it wouldn't last long, and that they could come
again; but they were out in that, for it never stopped raining in that
manner for forty days, so they were obliged to give it up entirely; and
ever since that time there's always more or less rain on Saint Swithin's
day, and for forty days after.'

"Just as Tom Doody had finished his story there came a tremendous
shower. 'There now, why,' said Tom, with a look of triumph, as we ran
for shelter, 'there now, why, isn't it a true bill? well, I knew Saint
Swithin wouldn't fail us.' And I, as the very elements seemed to be in
his favour, was obliged to leave him the victory."