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Every • Irishman's • Library
General Editors: Ar,FRED PERCEVAI. GRAVES, M.A.
WlLWAM MaGENNIvS, M.A. DOUGI.AS HYDE, IX-D.
HUMOURS
OF IRISH LIFE
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WITH AN INTRODUCTION
BY CHARLES L. GRAVES, M.A
T. FISHER UNWIN
LONDON: ADELPHI TERRACE
LEIPSIC: INSELSTRASSE 20
Printed by The
Educational Company
OF Irf.i.and Limited
AT The Talbot Press
Dublin
^fi(p \ 7 i' IL -/
'^
Introduction.
The first of the notable humorists of Irish life was
William Maginn, one of the most versatile, as well as
brilliant of Irish men of letters.
He was born in Cork in 1793, and was a classical
schoolmaster there in early manhood, having secured
the degree of LL.D. at Trinity College, Dublin, when
only 23 years of age. The success in " Blackwood's
Magazine " of some of his translations of English verse
into the Classics induced him, however, to give up
teaching and to seek his fortunes as a magazine writer
and journalist in London, at a time when Lamb,
De Quincey, Lockhart and Wilson gave most of their
writings to magazines.
Possessed of remarkable sparkle and finish as a writer,
considering with what little effort and with what
rapidity he poured out his political satires in prose and
verse, and his rollicking magazine sketches, it was no
wonder that he leaped into popularity at a bound. He
was the original of the Captain Shandon of Pendennis
and though Thackeray undoubtedly attributed to him
a political venality of which he was never guilty, whilst
describing him during what was undoubtedly the latter
and least reputable period in his career, it is evident that
he considered Maginn to be, as he undoubtedly was,
a literary figure of conspicuous accomplishment and
mark in the contemporary world of letters.
Amongst his satiric writings, his panegyric of Colonel
Pride may stand comparison even with Swift's most
38839(5
11 INTRODUCTION.
notable philippics ; whilst his Sir Morgan O'Doherty
was the undoubted ancestor of Maxwell's and Lever's
hard drinking, practical joking Irish military heroes,
and frequently appears as one of the speakers in Professor
Wilson's " Noctes Ambrosianae," of which the doctor
was one of the mainstays.
Besides his convivial song of *' St. Patrick," his
** Gathering of the Mahonys," and his " Cork is an
Eden for you, Love, and me," written by him as genuine
" Irish Melodies," to serve as an antidote to what he
called the finicking Bacchanalianism of Moore, he
contributed, as Mr. D. J. O'Donoghue conclusively
proves, several stories, including " Daniel O'Rourke,"
printed in this volume, to Crofton Croker's " Fairy
Legends and Traditions of Ireland," first published
anonymously in 1825 — a set of Folk Tales full of a
literary charm which still makes them delightful reading.
For just as Moore took Irish airs, touched them up
and partnered them with lyrics to suit upper class
British and Irish taste, so Croker gathered his Folk
Tales from the Munster peasantry with whom he was
familiar and, assisted by Maginn and others, gave them
exactly that form and finish needful to provide the
reading public of his day with an inviting volume of
fairy lore.
Carleton and the brothers John and Michael Banim,
besides Samuel Lover, whose gifts are treated of else-
where in this introduction, followed with what Dr.
Douglas Hyde rightly describes as Folk Lore of "an
incidental and highly manipulated type."
A more genuine Irish storyteller was Patrick Kennedy,
twice represented in this volume, whose " Legendary
Fictions of the Irish Celt " and " Fireside Stories of
INTRODUCTION. iii
Ireland " were put down by him much as he heard them
as a boy in his native county of Wexford, where they had
aheady passed with Httle change in the teUing from
the GaeHc into the pecuUar Anglo- Irish local dialect
which is markedly West Saxon in its character.
His lineal successor as a Wexford Folklorist is Mr.
P. J. McCall, one of whose stories, ' Fionn MacCumhail
and the Princess " we reproduce, and a woman Folk
tale teller, Miss B. Hunt, adds to our indebtedness
to such writers by her recently published and delightful
Folk Tales of Breffny from which " McCarthy of
Connacht " has been taken for these pages.
We have also the advantage of using Dr. Hyde's
" The Piper and the Puca," a foretaste, we believe, of the
pleasure in store for our readers in the volume of Folk
Tales he is contributing to " Every Irishman's Library "
under the engaging title of " Irish Saints and Sinners."
In a survey of the Anglo-Irish humorous novel of
recent times, the works of Charles Lever form a
convenient point of departure, for with all his limita-
tions he was the first to write about Irish life in such a
way as to appeal widely and effectively to an English
audience. We have no intention of dwelling upon him
at any length — he belongs to an earlier generation —
but between him and his successors there are points both
of resemblance and of dissimilarity sufficient to make
an interesting comparison The politics and social
conditions of Lever's time are not those of the present,
but the spirit of Lever's Irishman, though with modifi-
cations, is still alive to-day.
Lever had not the intensity of Carleton, or the fine
humanity of Kickham, but he was less uncompromising
in his use of local colour, and he was, as a rule, far more
W INTRODUCTION.
cheerful. He had not the tender grace or simplicity
of Gerald Griffin, and never wrote anything so moving
or beautiful as " The Collegians," which will form a
special volume of this Library, but he surpassed him in
vitality, gusto, exuberance and knowledge of the world.
Overrated in the early stages of his career, Lever paid
the penalty of his too facile triumphs in his lifetime,
and his undoubted talents have latterly been depre-
ciated on political as well as artistic grounds. His
heroes were drawn, with few exceptions, from the
landlord class or their faithful retainers. The gallant
Irish officers, whose Homeric exploits he loved to
celebrate, held commissions in the British army. Lever
has never been popular with Nationalist politicians,
though, as a matter of fact no one ever exhibited the
extravagance and recklessness of the landed gentry in
more glaring colours. And he is anathema to the
hierophants of the Neo-Celtic Renascence on account
of his jocularity. There is nothing crepuscular about
Lever ; you might as well expect to find a fairy in a
railway station.
Again, Lever never was and never could be the novelist
of literary men. He was neither a scholar nor an artist ;
he wrote largely in instalments ; and in his earlier
novels was wont to end a chapter in a manner that
rendered something like a miracle necessary to
continue the existence of the hero : " He fell lifeless
to the ground, the same instant I was felled to the earth
by a blow from behind, and saw no more." In
technique and characterisation his later novels show a
great advance, but if he lives, it will be by the spirited
loosely-knit romances of love and war composed in the
first ten years of his literary career. His heroes had no
INTRODUCTION. V
scruples in proclaiming their physical advantages and
- athletic prowess ; Charles O'Malley, that typical Galway
miles gloriosus, introduces himself with ingenuous egotism
in the following passage :
" I rode boldly with fox-hounds ; I was about the best shot
within twenty miles of us ; I could swim the Shannon at Holy
Island ; I drove four-in-hand better than the coachman himself ;
and from finding a hare to cooking a salmon, my equal could not
be found from Killaloe to Banagher."
The life led by the Playboys of the West (old style)
as depicted in Lever's pages was one incessant round
of reckless hospitality, tempered by duels and practical
joking, but it had its justification in the family annals
of the fire-eating Blakes and Bodkins and the records
of the Connaught Circuit. The intrepidity of Lever's
heroes was only equalled by their indiscretion, their
good luck in escaping from the consequences of their
folly, and their susceptibility. His womenfolk may be
roughly divided into three classes ; sentimental heroines,
who sighed, and blushed and fainted on the slightest
provocation ; buxom Amazons, hke Baby Blake ; and
campaigners or adventuresses. But the gentle, senti-
mental, angelic type predominates, and finds a perfect
representative in Lucy Dashwood.
When Charles O'Malley was recovering from an
accident in the hunting field, he fell asleep in an easy-
chair in the drawing-room and was awakened by the
" thrilling chords of a harp " :
" I turned gently round in my chair and beheld Miss Dashwood.
She was seated in a recess of an old-fashioned window ; the pale
yellow glow of a wintry sun at evening fell upon her beautiful hair,
and tinged it with such a light as I have often since then seen in
Rembrandt's pictures ; her head leaned upon the harp, and, as
she struck its chords at random, I saw that her mind was' far
away from all around her. As I looked, she suddenly started from
her leaning attitude, and, parting back her curls from her brow,
VI INTRODUCTION.
she preluded a few chords, and then sighed forth, rath«r than
sang, that most beautiful of Moore's melodies —
She is far from th« land where her young her* slaepa.'
Never before had such pathoi, such deep utterance of feeling,
met my astonished sense ; I hstened breathlessly as the tears fell
one by one down my cheek ; my bosom heaved and fell ; and
when she ceased, I hid my head between my hands and sobbed
aloud."
Lever's serious heroines, apart from the fact that they
could ride, did not differ in essentials from those of
Dickens, and a sense of humour was no part of their
mental equipment. The hated rival, the dark-browed
Captain Hammersly, was distinguished by his ** cold
air and repelling hauteur,'' and is a familiar figure in
mid-Victorian romance. Lever's sentiment, in short,
is old-fashioned, and cannot be expected to appeal
to a Feminist age which has given us the public school
girl and the suffragist. There is no psychological
interest in the relations of his heroes and heroines ;
Charles's farewell to Lucy is on a par with the love
speeches in *' The Lyons Mail." There is seldom any
doubt as to the ultimate reunion of his lovers ; we are
only concerned with the ingenuity of the author in
surmounting the obstacles of his own invention. He was
fertile in the devising of exciting incident ; he was always
able to eke out the narrative with a good story or song —
as a writer of convivial, thrasonic or mock-sentimental
verse he was quite in the first class — and in his earlier
novels his high spirits and sense of fun never failed.
In his easy-going methods he may have been influenced
by the example of Dickens — the Dickens of the ** Pickwick
Papers " — but there is no ground for any charge of
conscious imitation, and where he challenged direct
comparison — in the character of Mickey Free — he
succeeded in drawing an Irish Sam Weller who falls
INTRODUCTION. Vll
little short of his more famous Cockney counterpart.
For Lever was a genuine humorist, or perhaps we
should say a genuine comedian, since the element
of theatricality was seldom absent. The choicest
exploits of that grotesque Admirable Crichton, Frank
Webber, were carried out by hoaxing, disguise, or
trickery of some sort. But the scene in which Frank
wins his wager by impersonating Miss Judy Macan
and sings *' The Widow Malone " is an admirable
piece of sustained fooling : admirable, too, in its way is
the rescue of the imaginary captive in the Dublin drain.
As a delineator of the humours of University life, Lever
combined the atmosphere of " Verdant Green " with
the sumptuous upholstery of Ouida. Here, again,
in his portraits of dons and undergraduates Lever
undoubtedly drew in part from life, but fell into his
characteristic vice of exaggeration in his embroidery.
Frank Webber's antics are amusing, but it is hard to
swallow his amazing literary gifts or the contrast between
his effeminate appearance and his dare-devil energy.
While " Lord Kilgobbin " — which ran as a serial in
the '' Cornhill Magazine " from October, 1870, to March,
1872 — was not wholly free from Lever's besetting sin,
it is interesting not only as the most thoughtful and care-
fully written of his novels, but on account of its political
attitude. Here Lever proved himself no champion
a outrance of the landlords, but was ready to admit that
their joyous conviviality was too often attended by gross
mismanagement of their estates. The methods of Peter
Gill, the land steward, are shown to be all centred in
craft and subtlety — " outwitting this man, forestalling
that, doing everything by halves, so that no boon came
unassociated with some contingency or other by which
Vlll INTRODUCTION.
he secured to himself unlimited power and uncontrolled
tyranny." The sympathy extended to the rebels of
'98 is remarkable and finds expression in the spirited
lines : —
" Is there anything more we can fight or can hate for ?
The ' drop ' and the famine have made our ranks thin.
In the name of endurance, then, what do we wait for ?
Will nobody give us the word to begin ? "
These must have been almost the last lines Lever ever
wrote, unless we accept the bitter epitaph on himself :
" For sixty odd years he hved in the thick of it,
And now he is gone, not so much verj- sick of it,
As because he believed he heard somebody say,
' Harry Lorrequer's hearse is stopping the way.' "
The bitterness of the epitaph lies in the fact that it was
largely true ; he had exhausted the vein of rollicking
romance on which his fame and popularity rested.
For the rest the charge of misrepresenting Irish life is
met by so judicious a critic as the late Dr. Garnett with
a direct negative : —
" He has not actually misrepresented anything, and cannot be
censured for confining himself to the society which he knew ; nor
was his talent adapted for the treatment of such life in its melancholy
and poetic aspects, even if these had been more familiar to him."
Of the humorous Irish novelists who entered into
competition with Lever for the favour of the English-
speaking public in his lifetime, two claim special notice —
Samuel Lover and Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu. Lover
has always been bracketed with Lever, whom he
resembled in many ways, but he was overshadowed
by his more brilliant and versatile contemporary. Yet
within his limited sphere he was a true humorist, and
the careless, whimsical, illogical aspects of Irisli diameter
have sddom been more effectively illustrated than by
the author of * Ihmdy Andy,' and ' The Gridiron. '
Paddy, as drawn by Lover, succeeds in spite of his
w^sra
INTRODUCTION. IX
drawbacks, much as Brer Rabbit does in the tales of
Uncle Remus. His mental processes remind one of
the story of the Hungarian baron who, on paying a
visit to a friend after a railway journey, complained of
a bad headache, the result of sitting with his back to
the engine. When his friend asked, " Why did not
you change places with your vis-d-vis } " the baron
replied, " How could I ? I had no vis-d-vis.'' Lover's
heroes *' liked action, but they hated work " : the
philosophy of thriftlessness is summed up to perfection
in '' Paddy's Pastoral " :—
" Here's a health to you, my darHn',
Though I'm not worth a farthin' ;
For when I'm drunk I think I'm rich,
I've a featherbed in every ditch ! "
For all his kindliness Lover laid too much stress on
this happy-go-lucky fecklessness to minister to Irish self-
respect. His pictures of Irish life were based on limited
experience ; in so far as they are true, they recall and
emphasise traits which many patriotic Irishmen wish
to forget or eliminate. An age which has witnessed
the growth of Irish Agricultural Co-operation is intolerant
of a novelist who for the most part represents his country-
men as diverting idiots, and therefore we prefer to
represent him in this volume by " The Little Weaver,"
one of those mock heroic tales in which Irishmen have
excelled from his day to that of Edmund Downey. No
better example could be given of his easy flow of humour
in genuine Hiberno-English or of his shrewd portraiture
of such simple types of Irish peasant character.
The case of Le Fanu is peculiar. His best-known
novels had no specially characteristic Irish flavour.
But his sombre talent was lit by intermittent flashes of
the wildest hilarity, and it was in this mood that the
Xll INTRODUCTION.
for several days the bruises which I received during my waltz with
Enghsh Tommy. It consisted chiefly of a series of short rushes,
of so shattering a character that I at last ventured to suggest a
less aggressive mode of progression. ' Well,' said English Tommy
confidentially, ' ye see, I'm trying to bump Katie,' pointing to a
fat girl m blue. ' She's my cousin, and we're for ever fighting.' "
As a set-off to this picture of the hilarious informality
of high life in Cork twenty-five years ago, there is a
wonderful study of a cottage interior, occupied by a
very old man, his daughter-in-law, three children, two
terriers, a cat, and a half-plucked goose. The conver-
sation between Willy Sarsfield — who foreshadows Flurry
Knox in '' Some Experiences of an Irish R.M." by his
mingled shrewdness and naivete— and Mrs. Sweeny
is a perfect piece of realism.
" Mrs. Sweeny was sitting on a kind of rough settle, between the
other window and the door of an inner room. She was a stout,
comfortable woman of about forty, with red hair and quick blue
eyes, that roved round the cabin, and silenced with a glance the
occasional whisperings that rose from the children. ' And how's
the one that had the bad cough ? ' asked Willy, pursuing his
conversation with her with his invariable ease and dexterity.
' Honor her name is, isn't it ? ' — ' See, now, how well he remembers ! '
replied Mrs. Sweeny. ' Indeed, she's there back in the room, Ivin'
these three days. Faith, I think 'tis like the decline she have,
Masther Willy.' — ' Did you get the Doctor to her ? ' said Willy.
' I'll give you a ticket, if you haven't one.' — ' Oh, indeed, Docthor
Kelly's afther givin' her a bottle, but shure I wouldn't let her put it
into her mouth at all. God-knows what'd be in it. Wasn't I afther
throwin' a taste of it on the fire to thry what'd it do, and Phitz !
say, it, and up with it up the chimbley ! Faith, I'd be in dread
to give it to the child. Shure, if it done that in the fire, what'd
it do in her inside ? — ' Well, you're a greater fool than I thought you
were,' said Willy, politely. — ' Maybe I am, faith,' rephed Mrs.
Sweeny, with a loud laugh of enjoyment. ' But, if she's for dyin',
the crayture, she'll die aisier without thim thrash of medicines ;
and if she's for hvin', 'tisn't thrusting to them she'll be. Shure,
God is good, God is good ' — ' Divil a betther ! ' interjected
old Sweeny, unexpectedly. It war the first time he had spoken,
and having dehvered himself of this trenchant observation, he
relapsed into silence and the smackings at his pipe."
But the tragic note is sounded in the close of " An
Irish Cousin " — Miss Martin and Miss Somerville have
INTRODUCTION. xiii
never lost sight of the abiding dualism enshrined in
Moore's verse " Erin, the tear and the smile in thine eyes "
— and it dominates their next novel, " Naboth's Vine-
yard," pubHshed in 1891, a sombre romance of the Land
League days. Three years later they reached the summit
of their achievement in " The Real Charlotte," which
still remains their masterpiece, though easily eclipsed
in popularity by the irresistible drollery of " Some
Experiences of an Irish R.M." To begin with, it does
not rely on the appeal to hunting people which in their
later work won the heart of the English sportsman.
It is a ruthlessly candid study of Irish provincial and
suburban life ; of the squalors of middle-class house-
holds ; of garrison hacks and " underbred, finespoken,"
florid squireens. But secondly and chiefly it repels
the larger half of the novel-reading public by the fact
. that two women have here dissected the heart of one
of their sex in a mood of unrelenting realism. While
pointing out the pathos and humiHation of the thought
, that a soul can be stunted by the trivialities of personal
appearance, they own to having set down Charlotte
Mullen's many evil qualities " without pity." They
approach their task in the spirit of Balzac. The book,
as we shall see, is extraordinarily rich in both wit and
humour, but Charlotte, who cannot control her ruling
passion of avarice even in a death chamber, might have
come straight out of the pages of the Coniedie Humaine.
Masking her greed, her jealousy and her cruelty under
a cloak of loud afl'ability and ponderous persiflage, she
was a perfect specimen of the fausse bonne jemme. Only
her cats could divine the strange workings of her mind ;
" The movements of Charlotte's character, for it cannot be said to
possess the power of development, were akin to those of some amphi-
bious thing whose strong darting course under the water is only
XIV INTRODUCTION.
marked by a bubble or two. and it required almost an animal instinct
to note them. Every bubble betrayed the creature below, as well as
the limitations of its power of hiding itself, but people never thought
of looldng out for these indications in Charlotte, or even suspected
that she had anything to conceal. There was an almost blatant
simplicity about her, a humorous rough -and -readiness which,
joined to her literary culture, proved business capacity, and her
dreaded temper, seemed to leave no room for any further aspect,
least of all of a romantic kind."
Yet romance of a sort was at the root of Charlotte's
character. She had been in love with Roddy Lambert,
a showy, handsome, selfish squireen, before he married
for money. She had disguised her tenderness under
a bluff camaraderie during his first wife's lifetime, and
hastened Mrs. Lambert's death by inflaming her
suspicions of Roddy's fideUty. It was only when
Charlotte was again foiled by Lambert's second marriage
to her own niece that her love was turned to gall, and she
plotted to compass his ruin.
The authors deal faithfully with Francie FitzPatrick,
Charlotte's niece, but an element of compassion mingles
with their portraiture. Charlotte had robbed Francie
of a legacy, and compounded with her conscience by
inviting the girl to stay with her at Lismoyle. Any
change was a god -send to poor Francie, who, being an
orphan, lived in Dublin with another aunt, a kindly but
feckless creature whose eyes were not formed to perceive
dirt nor her nose to apprehend smells, and whose ideas
of economy was " to indulge in no extras of soap or
scrubbing brushes, and to feed her family on strong tea
and indifferent bread and butter, in order that Ida's and
Mabel's hats might be no whit less ornate than those
of their neighbours." In this dingy household Francie
had grown up, lovely as a Dryad, brilliantly indifferent
to the serious things of life, with a deplorable Dublin
INTRODUCTION. XV
accent, Ingenuous, unaffected and inexpressibly vulgar.
She captivates men of all sorts : Roddy Lambert, who
lunched on hot beefsteak pie and sherry ; Mr. Hawkins,
an amorous young soldier, who treated her with a
bullying tenderness and jilted her for an English heiress ;
and Christopher Dysart, a scholar, a gentleman, and the
heir to a baronetcy, who was ruined by self-criticism
and diffidence. Francie respected Christopher and
rejected him ; was thrown over by Hawkins, whom
she loved ; and married Roddy Lambert, her motives
being *' poverty, aimlessness, bitterness of soul and
instinctive leniency towards any man who liked her."
Francie had already exasperated Charlotte by refusing
Christopher Dysart : by marrying Lambert she dealt
a death-blow to her hopes and drove her into the path
of vengeance.
But the story is not only engrossing as a study of
vulgarity that is touched with pathos, of the vindictive
jealousy of unsunned natures, of the cowardice of the
selfish and the futility of the intellectually effete. It
is a treasure-house of good sayings, happy comments,
ludicrous incidents. When Francie returned to Dublin
we read how one of her cousins, " Dottie, unfailing
purveyor of diseases to the family, had imported
German measles from her school." When Charlotte,
nursing her wrath, went to inform the servant at Lambert's
house of the return of her master with his new wife, the
servant inquired " with cold resignation " whether it
was the day after to-morrow : —
" ' It is, me poor woman, it is,' replied Charlotte, in the tone of
facetious intimacy that she reserved for other people's servants.
' You'll have to stir your stumps to get the house ready for them.'
— ' The house is cleaned down and ready for them as soon as they
like to walk into it,' replied EHza Hackett, with dignity, ' and if
XVI INTRODUCTION.
the new lady faults the drawing-room chimbley for not being swep,
the master will know it's not me that's to blame for it, but the sweep
that's gone dhrilling with the Mileetia.' "
Each of the members of the Dysart family is hit off
in some memorable phrase ; Sir Benjamin, the old
and irascible paralytic, " who had been struck down on
his son's coming of age by a paroxysm of apoplectic
jealousy " ; the admirable and unselfish Pamela with her
" pleasant anxious voice " ; Christopher, who believed
that if only he could " read the ' Field,' and had a more
spontaneous habit of cursing," he would be an ideal
country gentleman ; and Lady Dysart, who was " a
clever woman, a renowned solver of acrostics in her society
paper, and a holder of strong opinions as to the prophetic
meaning of the Pyramids." With her " a large yet
refined bonhomie " took the place of tact, but being an
Englishwoman she was '' constitutionally unable to
discern perfectly the subtle grades of Irish vulgarity."
Sometimes the authors throw away the scenario for a
whole novel in a single paragraph, as in this compressed
summary of the antecedents of Captain Cursiter :
" Captain Cursiter was ' getting on ' as captains go, and he was
the less disposed to regard liis junior s love affairs with an indulgent
eye, in that he had liimself served a long and difficult apprenticeship
in such matters, and did not feel that he had profited much by his
experiences. It had happened to him at an early age to enter
ecstatically into the house of bondage, and in it he had remained ^^'ith
eyes gradually opening to its drawbacks until, a few years before,
the death of the only apparent obstacle to his happiness had brought
him face to face with its realisation. Strange to say, when this
supreme moment arrived, Captain Cursiter was disposed for further
delay ; but it shows the contrariety of human nature, that when he
found himself superseded by his own subaltern, an habitually
inebriated viscount, he committed the imbecility of horsewhipping
him ; and finding it subsequently advisable to leave his regiment,
he exchanged into the infantry with the settled conviction that
all women were liars."
Nouns and verbs are the bones and sinews of style ;
it is in the use of epithets and adjectives that the artist is
^^l^rT^TS^K^
INTRODUCTION. XVll
shown ; and Miss Martin and Miss Somerville never
make a mistake. An episode in the Ufe of one of
Charlotte's pets — a cockatoo — is described as occurring
when the bird was " a sprightly creature of some twenty
shrieking summers." We read of cats who stared
''with the expressionless but wholly alert scrutiny of
their race " ; of the " difficult revelry " of Lady Dysart's
garden party when the men were in a hopeless minority
and the more honourable women sat on a long bench in
" midge-bitten dulness." Such epithets are not
decorative, they heighten the effect of the picture.
Where adjectives are not really needed, Miss Martin
and Miss Somerville can dispense with them altogether
and yet attain a deadly precision, as when they describe
an Irish beggar as " a bundle of rags with a cough in it,"
or note a characteristic trait of Roddy Lambert by
observing that " he was a man in whom jealousy took the
form of reviling the object of his affections, if by so doing
he could detach his rivals " — a modern instance of
" displiceas aliis, sic ego tutus ero." When Roddy
Lambert went away after his first wife's funeral we learn
that he ** honeymooned with his grief in the approved
fashion." These felicities abound on every page ;
while the turn of phrase of the peasant speech is caught
with a fidelity which no other Irish writer has ever
surpassed. When Judy Lee, a poor old woman who had
taken an unconscionable time in dying was called by
one of the gossips who had attended her wake " as nice
a woman as ever threw a tub of clothes on the hills,"
and complimented for having '* battled it out well,"
Norry the Boat replied sardonically : —
" Faith, thin, an' if she did die itself she was in the want of it ;
sure, there isn't a winther since her daughther wint to America
XVlll INTRODUCTION.
that she wasn't anointed a couple of times. I'm thinking the people
th' other side o' death will be throuncin' her for keepin' them
waitin' on her this way."
^ Humour is never more effective than when it emerges
from a serious situation. Tragedy jostles comedy in
^ life, and the greatest dramatists and romancers have
made wonderful use of this abrupt alternation. There
are many painful and diverting scenes in " The Real
Charlotte," but none in which both elements are blended
so effectively as the story of Julia Duffy's last pilgrimage.
Threatened with eviction from her farm by the covetous
intrigues of Charlotte, she leaves her sick bed to appeal
to her landlord, and when half dead with fatigue falls
in with the insane Sir Benjamin, to be driven away with
grotesque insults. On her way home she calls in at
Charlotte's house, only to find Christopher Dysart
reading Rossetti's poems to Francie FitzPatrick, who
has just timidly observed, in reply to her instructor's
remark that the hero is a pilgrim, " I know a lovely song
called ' The Pilgrim of Love ' ; of course, it wasn't the
same thing as what you were reading, but it was awfully
nice, too." This interlude is intensely ludicrous, but
its cruel incongruity only heightens the misery of what
has gone before and what follows.
" The Silver Fox," which appeared in 1897, need not
detain us long, though it is a little masterpiece in its
way, vividly contrasting the limitations of the sport-
loving temperament with the ineradicable superstitions
of the Irish peasantry. Impartial as ever, the authors
have here achieved a felicity of phrase to which no other
writers of hunting novels have ever approached.
Imagination's widest stretch cannot picture Surtees
or Mr. Nat Gould describing an answer being given
" with that level politeness of voice which is the distilled
INTRODUCTION XIX
essence of a perfected anger," or comparing a fashionable
Amazon with the landscape in such words as these : —
" Behind her the empty window framed a gaunt momitain peak,
a lake that frittered a myriad of sparkles from its wealth of restless
silver, and the gray and faint purple of the naked wood beyond
it. It seemed too great a background for her powdered cheek and
her upward glances at her host."
But the atmosphere of " The Silver Fox " is sombre,
and a sporting novel which is at once serious and of a
fine literary quality must necessarily appeal to a limited
audience. The problem is solved to perfection in
*' Some Experiences of an Irish R.M.," a series of
loosely-knit episodes which, after running a serial
course in the " Badminton Magazine," were republished
in book form towards the close of 1899. There is only
one chapter to cloud the otherwise unintermittent
hilarity of the whole recital. The authors have dispensed
with comment, and rely chiefly on dialogue, incident, and
their intimate and precise knowledge of horses, and horse-
copers of both sexes. An interested devotion to the
noble animal is here shown to be the last infirmity of
noble minds, for old Mrs. Knox, with the culture of a
grande dame and the appearance of a refined scarecrow,
went cub-hunting in a bath chair. In such a company
a young sailor whose enthusiasm for the chase had been
nourished by the hirelings of Malta, and his eye for points
probably formed on circus posters, had little chance of
making a good bargain at Drumcurran horse fair : —
" ' The fellow's asking forty-five pounds for her,' said Bernard
Shute to Miss Sally ; ' she's a nailer to gallop. I don't think it's too
much.' — ' Her grandsire was the Mountain Hare,' said the owner
of the mare, hurrying up to continue her family history, ' and he
was the grandest horse in the four baronies. He was forty-two years
of age when he died, and they waked him the same as ye'd wake a
Christian. They had whisky and porther — and bread — and a piper
XX INTRODUCTION.
in it.' — ' Thim Mountain Hare colts is no great things,' interrupted
Mr. Shute's groom, contemptuously. ' I seen a colt once that was
one of his stock, and if there was forty men and their wives, and they
after him with sticks, he wouldn't lep a sod of turf.' — ' Lep, is it ! '
ejaculated the owner in a voice shrill with outrage. ' You may lead
that mare out through the counthry, and there isn't a fence in it
that she wouldn't go up to it as indepindent as if she was going to
her bed, and your honour's ladyship knows that dam well, Miss
Knox.' — ' You want too much money for her, McCarthy,' returned
Miss Sally, with her air of preternatural wisdom. ' God pardon
you. Miss Knox ! Sure a lady like you know^s well that forty-five
pounds is no money for that mare. Forty-five pounds ! ' He
laughed. ' It'd be as good for me to make her a present to the gentle-
man all out as take three farthings less for her ! She's too grand
entirely for a poor farmer like me, and if it wasn't for the long,
w^eak family I have, I wouldn't part with her under twice the
money.' — ' Three fine lumps of daughters in America paying his
rent for him,' commented Flurry in the background. ' That's
the long, weak family.' "
The turn of phrase in Irish conversation has never
been reproduced in print with greater fidehty, and there
is hardly a page in the book without some characteristic
Hibernianism such as '' Whisky as pHable as new milk, "
or the description of a horse who was a *' nice, flippant
jumper," or a bandmaster who was " a thrifle fulsome
after his luncheon," or a sweep who *' raised tally wack
and tandem all night round the house to get at the
chimbleys." The narrative reaches its climax in the
chapter which relates the exciting incidents of Lisheen
races at second-hand. Major Yeates and his egregious
English visitor Mr. Leigh Kelway, an earnest Radical
publicist, having failed to reach the scene, are sheltering
from the rain in a wayside public-house where they are
regaled with an account of the races by Slipper, the
dissipated but engaging huntsman of the local pack of
hoimds. The close of the meeting was a steeplechase
in wliich " Bocock's owld mare," ridden by one Driscoll,
was matched against a horse ridden by another local
sportsnuui named Clancy, and Slipper, who favoured
INTRODUCTION. XXI
DriscoU, and had taken up his position at a convenient
spot on the course, thus describes his mode of en-
couraging the mare :
" ' Skelp her, ye big brute ! ' says I. ' What good's in ye that
ye aren't able to skelp her ? ' , . . Well, Mr. Flurry, and gintlemen.
... I declare to ye when owld Bocock's mare heard thim roars
she stretched out her neck Hke a gandher, and when she passed
me out she give a couple of grunts and looked at me as ugly as a
Christian. ' Hah ! ' says I, givin' her a couple o' dhraws o' th'
ash plant across the butt o' the tail, the way I wouldn't blind her,
' I'll make ye grunt ! ' says I, ' I'll nourish ye ! ' I knew well she
was very frightful of th' ash plant since the winter Tommeen
Sulhvan had her under a sidecar. But now, in place of havin' any
obligations to me, ye'd be surprised if ye heard the blaspheemious
expressions of that young boy that was riding her ; and whether it
was over -anxious he was, turning around the way I'd hear him
cursin', or whether it was some slither or slide came to owld
Bocock's mare, I dunno, but she was bet up against the last
obstackle but two, and before you could say ' Shnipes,' she was
standin' on her two ears beyant in th' other field I declare to
ye, on the vartue of me oath, she stood that way till she recon-
noithered what side Driscoll would fall, an' she turned about then
and rolled on him as cosy as if he was meadow grass ! ' Slipper
stopped short ; the people in the doorway groaned appreciatively ;
Mary Kate murmured ' The I^ord save us ' — ' The blood was druv
out through his nose and ears,' continued SHpper, with a voice
that indicated the cream of the narration, ' and you'd hear his
bones crackin' on the ground ! You'd have pitied the poor boy.' —
' Good heavens ! ' said Leigh Kelway, sitting up very straight in
his chair. ' Was he hurt. Slipper ? ' asked Flurry, casually. ' Hurt
is it ? ' echoed Shpper, in high scorn, killed on the spot ! ' He
paused to relish the effect of the denouement on I^eigh Kelway.
' Oh, di\'il so pleasant an afthernoon ever you seen ; and, indeed,
Mr. Flurry, it's what we were all sayin', it was a great pity your
honour was not there for the hkin' you had for Driscoll,' "
Leigh Kelway, it may be noted, is the lineal descendant
of the pragmatic English under-secretary in *' Charles
O'Malley," who, having observed that he had never
seen an Irish wake, was horrified by the prompt offer
of his Galway host, a notorious practical joker, to
provide a corpse on the spot. But this is only one
of the instances of parallelism in which the later writers
XXU INTRODUCTION.
though showing far greater restraint and fideUty to
type, have illustrated the continuance of temperamental
qualities which Lever and his forerunner Maxwell — the
author of " Wild Sports of the West " — portrayed in
a more extravagant form. On the other hand it would
be impossible to imagine a greater contrast than that
between Lever's thrasonical narrator heroes and Major
Yeates, R.M., whose fondness for sport is allied to a
thorough consciousness of his own infirmities as a
sportsman. There is no heroic figure in *' Some
Experiences of an Irish R.M.," but the characters are
all lifelike, and at least half-a-dozen — *' Flurry " Knox
his cousin Sally, and his old grandmother, Mrs. Knox,
of Aussolas, Slipper, Mrs. Cadogan, and the incomparable
Maria — form as integral a part of our circle of acquaintance
as if we had known them in real life. " The Real
Charlotte " is a greater achievement, but the R.M. is
a surer passport to immortality.
The further instalment of '* Experiences," published
a few years later did not escape the common lot of
sequels. They were brilliandy written, but one was
more conscious of the excellence of the manner than in
any of their other works The two volumes of short
stories and sketches published in 1903 and 1906 under
the titles of " All on the Irish Shore" and some '* Irish
Yesterdays " respectively show some new and engaging
aspects of the genius of the collaborators. There is
a chapter called *' Children of the Captivity," in which
the would-be English humorist's conception of Irish
humour is dealt with faithfully — as it deserves to be.
The essay is also remarkable for the passage in which
they set down once and for all the true canons for the
treatment of dialect. Pronunciation and spelling, as
Kii.mm •
INTRODUCTION. XXlll
they point out, are, after all, of small account in its
presentment : —
" The vitalising power is in the rhythm of the sentence, the turn
of phrase, the knowledge of idiom, and of, beyond all, the attitude
of mind. . . . The shortcoming is, of course, trivial to those
who do not suffer because of it, but want of perception of word
and phrase and turn of thought means more than mere artistic
failure, it means want of knowledge of the wayward and shrewd
and sensitive minds that are at the back of the dialect. The very
wind that blows softly over brown acres of bog carries perfumes
and sounds that England does not know ; the women digging the
potato -land are talking of things that England does not imderstand.
The question that remains is whether England will ever under-
stand."
The hunting sketches in these volumes include the
wonderful '' Patrick Day's Hunt," which is a master-
piece in the high bravura of the brogue. Another is
noticeable for a passage on the affection inspired by
horses. When Johnny Connolly heard that his mistress
was driven to sell the filly he had trained and nursed so
carefully, he did not disguise his disappointment :
" ' Well, indeed, that's too bad, miss,' said Johnny compre-
hendingly. ' There was a mare I had one time, and I sold her
before I went to America. God knows, afther she went from me,
whenever I'd look at her winkers hanging on the wall I'd have to cry.
I never seen a sight of her till three years afther that, afther I
coming home. I was coming out o' the fair at Enniscar, an' I was
talking to a man an' we coming down Dangan Hill, and what was
in it but herself coming up in a cart ! An' I didn't look at her, good
nor bad, nor know her, but sorra bit but she knew me talking, an'
she turned into me with the cart. ' Ho, ho, ho ! ' says she, and she
stuck her nose into me like she'd be kissing me. Be dam, but I had
to cry. An' the world wouldn't stir her out o' that till I'd lead her
on meself. As for cow nor dog nor any other thing, there's nothing
would rise your heart like a horse ' ' "
And if horses are irresistible, so are Centaurs. That is
the moral to be drawn from " Dan Russel the Fox,"
the latest work from the pen of Miss Somerville and Miss
Martin, in which the rival claims of culture and fox-
hunting are subjected to a masterly analysis.
XXIV INTRODUCTION.
The joint authors of the ** R.M." have paid forfeit
for achieving popularity by being expected to repeat
their first resounding success. Happily the pressure
of popular demand has not impaired the artistic excellence
of their work, though we cannot help thinking that if
they had been left to themselves they might have given
us at least one other novel on the lines of " The Real
Charlotte." Their later work, again, has been subjected
to the ordeal, we do not say of conscious imitation, but
of comparison with books which would probably have
never been written or would have been written
on another plan, but for the success of the '* R.M."
To regard this rivalry as serious would be, in
the opinion of the present writer, an abnegation
of the critical faculty. But we have not yet done with
Irish women humorists. Miss Eleanor Alexander, the
daughter of the Poet Archbishop of Armagh and his
poet wife has given us in her " Lady Anne's Walk," a
volume of a genre as hard to define as it has been easy to
welcome, at times delicately allusive, now daringly funny
— an interblending of tender reminiscences and lively
fancy, reminding us perhaps most of old Irish music
itself with its sweet, strange and sudden changes of
mood. Humorous contrasts of the kind will be found
in the chapter entitled " Old Tummus and the Battle
of Scarva," printed in these pages.
Another woman contestant for humorous literary
honours was the late Miss Charlotte O'Conor Eccles,
represented in this volume by the moving story of
" King William." Her " Rejuvenation of Miss
Semaphore " and "A Matrimonial Lottery " achieved
popularity by their droll situations and exuberant fun,
but her " Aliens of the West " contained work of much
INTRODUCTION. XXV
finer quality. She lets us behind the shutters of Irish
country shop life in a most convincing manner, and the
characters drawn from her Toomevara are as true to
type as those of Miss Barlow. The disillusionment
of Molly Devine " The Voteen," with her commonplace,
not to say vulgar surroundings, on her return from the
convent school with its superior refinements, her refusal
to marry so-called eligible, but to her, repulsive suitors,
encouraged by her mother and stepfather and her final
resolve to become a nun in order to escape further
persecution of the kind, is told with convincing poignancy.
A variant of this theme is treated with even more power
and pathos in " Tom Connolly's Daughter," a story
which we should like to see reprinted in separate form as
it sets one thinking furiously, and its general circulation
might do much to correct the love and marriage relations
between young people in provincial Ireland.
And yet a final name has to be added to the long roll
of Irishwomen who have won distinction as writers of
fiction, beginning with Miss Edgeworth whose Irish
writings will receive separate treatment in a volume in
" Every Irishman's Library" at the hands of Mr. Malcolm
Cotter Seton. Championed by Canon Hannay himself
who furnishes a genial, whimsical, provocative intro-
duction to her '' The Folk of Furry Farm," Miss Purdon
there describes what, from the point of view of romance
is a new part of Ireland, for West Leinster is a land
more familiar to fox-hunters than to poets. Miss
Purdon has plenty of independence, but it is not the
frigid impartiality of the student who contemplates
the vagaries and sufferings of human nature like a
connoisseur or collector. She shows her detachment
by giving us a faithful picture of Irish peasant society
XXVI INTRODUCTION.
without ever once breathing a syllable of politics, or
remotely alluding to the equipment and machinery of
modern life. The dramatis personce are all simple folk,
most of them poor ; the entire action passes within a
radius of a few miles from a country village ; and only
on one occasion, and at second hand do we catch so much
as a glimpse of " the quality." Throughout, Miss
Purdon relies on the turn of the phrase to give the spirit
of the dialect, and uses only a minimum of phonetic
spelling.
That is the true and artistic method. But Miss Purdon
is much more than a collector or coiner of picturesque
and humorous phrases She has a keen eye for character,
a genuine gift of description and a vein of pure and
unaffected sentiment ; indeed, her whole volume is
strangely compounded of mirth and melancholy,
though the dominant impression left by its perusal
is one of confidence in the essential kindliness of Irish
nature, and the goodness and gentleness of Irish women.
But so far, the only formidable competitor Miss Martin
and Miss Somerville have encountered is the genial
writer who chooses to veil his identity under the
freakish pseudonym of " George A. Birmingham."
Canon Hannay — for there can be no longer any breach
of literary etiquette in alluding to him by his real name —
had already made his mark as a serious or semi-serious
observer of the conflicting tendencies, social and
political, of the Ireland of to-day before he diverged
into the paths of fantastic and frivolous comedy. " The
Seething Pot," '' Hyacinth," and " Benedict Kavanagh "
are extremely suggestive and dispassionate studies of
various aspects of the Irish temperament, but it is enough
for our present purpose to note the consequences of a
INTRODUCTION. XXvii
request addressed to Canon Hannay by two young ladies
somewhere about the year 1907 that he would '' write a
story about treasure buried on an island." The fact is
recorded in the dedication of '' Spanish Gold," his
response to the appeal, and the first of that series of
jocund extravaganzas which have earned for him the
gratitude of all who regard amusement as the prime
object of fiction.
The contrast between his methods and those of the
joint authors discussed above is apparent at every turn.
He maintains the impartiality which marked his serious
novels in his treatment of all classes of the community,
but it is the impartiality not of a detached and self-
effacing observer, but of a genial satirist. His knowledge
of the Ireland that he knows is intimate and precise, and
is shown by a multiplicity of illuminating details and an
effective use of local colour. But the co-operation of non-
Irish characters is far more essential to the development
of his plots than in the case of the novels of Miss
Somerville and Miss Martin. The mainspring of their
stories is Irish right through. Canon Hannay depends on
a situation which might have occurred just as well in
England or America, while employing the conditions
of Irish life to give it a characteristic twist or series of
twists. Even his most notable creation, the Reverend
Joseph John Meldon, is too restlessly energetic to be
an altogether typical Irishman, to say nothing of his
unusual attitude in politics : " Nothing on earth would
induce me to mix myself up with any party." An
Irishman of immense mental activity, living in Ireland,
and yet wholly unpolitical is something of a freak.
Again, while the tone of his books is admirably clean and
wholesome, and while his frankly avowed distaste for
XXVllI INTRODUCTION.
the squalors of the problem novel will meet with general
sympathy, there is no denying that his treatment of the
" love interest " is for the most part perfunctory or even
farcical. Again, in regard to style, he differs widely
from the authors of the *' R.M." Their note is a vivid
conciseness ; his the easy charm of a flowing pen, always
unaffected, often picturesque and even eloquent, never
offending, but seldom practising the art of omission.
But it is ungrateful to subject to necessarily damaging
comparisons an author to whom we owe the swift passage
of so many pleasant hours. It might be hard to find
the exact counterpart of " J. J." in the flesh, but he is
none the less an unforgettable person, this athletic,
exuberant, unkempt curate, unscrupulous but not
unprincipled, who lied fluently, not for any mean
purpose, but for the joy of mystification, or in order to
carry out his plans, or justify his arguments. His strange
friendship with Major Kent, a retired English ofiicer,
a natty n^?.rtinet, presents no difficulties on the principle
of extremes meeting, and thus from the start we are
presented with the spectacle of the reluctant but helpless
Major, hypnotised by the persuasive tongue of the
curate, and dragged at his heels into all sorts of grotesque
and humiliating adventures, and all for the sake of a
quiet Hfe. For ** J.J.'s " methods, based, according
to his own account, on careful observation and a proper
use of the scientific imagination, involve the assumption
by his reluctant confederate of a succession of entirely
imaginary roles.
But if " J. J." was a trying ally, he was a still more
perplexing antagonist, one of his favourite methods of
*' scoring off " an opponent being to represent him to be
something other than he really was to third persons.
INTRODUCTION. XXIX
When the process brings the curate and the Major
into abrupt conflict with two disreputable adventurers,
he defends resort to extreme methods on grounds of
high morality. Burglary, theft and abduction become
the simple duty of every well-disposed person when
viewed as a necessary means of preventing selfish,
depraved and fundamentally immoral people from
acquiring wealth which the well-disposed might other-
wise secure.
" JJ-'s " crowning achievement is his conquest of
Mr. Willoughby, the Chief Secretary, by a masterly
vindication of his conduct on the lines of Pragmatism :
** a statement isn't a lie if it proves itself in actual practice
to be useful — it's true." " J. J," only once meets his
match — in Father Mulcrone, the parish priest of Inish-
more, who sums up the philosophy of government in his
criticism of Mr. Willoughby's successor : " A fellow that
starts off by thinking himself clever enough to know what's
true and what isn't will do no good for Ireland. A
simple-hearted innocent kind of man has a better chance."
Needless to say, the rival treasure-hunters, both of
them rogues, are bested, at all points by the two padres,
while poetic justice is satisfied by the fact that the treasure
falls into the adhesive hands of the poor islanders, and
** J.J.'s " general integrity is fully re-established in the
epilogue, where, transplanted to an English colliery
village, he devotes his energies to the conversion of
agnostics, blasphemers and wife-beaters.
The extravagance of the plot is redeemed by the
realism of the details ; by acute sidelights on the tortuous
workings of the native mind, with its strange blending
of shrewdness and innocence ; by faithful reproductions
of the talk of those " qui amant omnia dubitantius loqui "
XXX INTRODUCTION.
and habitually say *' it might " instead of " yes." And
there are delightful digressions on the subject of relief
works, hits at the Irish-speaking movement, pungent
classifications of the visitors to the wild West of Ireland,
and now, and again, in the rare moments when the
author chooses to be serious, passages marked by fine
insight and sympathy. Such is the picture of Thomas
O'Flaherty Pat, the patriarch of the treasure island :
" An elderly man and five out of the nine children resident on the
island stood on the end of the pier when Meldon and the Major
landed. The man was clad in a very dirty white flannel jacket and
a pair of yellowish flannel trousers, which hung in a tattered fringe
round his naked feet and ankles He had a long white beard and
grey hair, long as a woman's, drawn straight back from his forehead
The hair and beard were both unkempt and matted. But the man
held himself erect and looked straight at the strangers through great
d ark eyes. His hands, though battered and scarred with toil v/ere
long and shapely. His face had a look of dignity, of a certain calm
and satisfied superiority. Men of this kind are to be uiet with here
and there among the Connacht peasantry. They are in reality
children of a vanishing race, of a lost civilisation, a bygone culture.
They watch the encroachments of another race and new ideas with
a sort of sorro^vful contempt. It is as if understanding and despising
what they see around them, they do not consider it worth while to
try to explain themselves ; as if, possessing a wisdom of their own,
an a'sthetic joy of which the modern world knows nothing, they are
content to let both die with them rather than attempt to teach them
to men of a wholly difl^erent outlook upon life."
The element of extravaganza is more strongly marked
in the plot of " The Search Party," which deals with the
kidnapping of a number of innocent people by an anti-
militant anarchist who has set up a factory of explosives
in the neighbourhood of Ballymoy. '' J. J." does not
appear in propria persona, but most of his traits are to
be found in Dr. O'Grady, an inteUigent but happy-go-
lucky young doctor. The most attractive person in
the story, however, is Lord Manton, a genially cynical
peer with highly original views on local government and
the advantages of unpopularity. Thus, when he did
INTRODUCTION. XXXl
not want Patsy Devlin, the drunken smith, to be elected
inspector of sheep-dipping, he strongly supported his
candidature for the following reasons : —
' There's a lot of stupid talk nowadays abou'! the landlords
having lost all their power in the country. It's not a bit true. They
have plenty of power, more than they ever had, if they only knew
how to use it. All I have to do if I want a particular man not to be
appointed to anything is to write a strong letter in his favour to the
Board of Guardians or the County Council, or whatever body is doing
the particular job that happens to be on hand at the time. The
I^eague comes down on my man at once, and he hasn't the ghost of
a chance."
Excellent, too, is the digression on the comparative
commonness of earls in Ireland, where untitled people
tend to disappear while earls survive, though they are
regarded much as ordinary people. Canon Hannay
makes great play as usual with the humours of Irish
officialdom, and his ohiter dicta on the mental outlook of
police officers are shrewd as well as entertaining.
District- Inspector Goddard had undoubted social gifts,
but he was an inefficient officer, being handicapped by
indolence and a great sense of humour. There is some-
thing attractive, again, about Miss Blow, the handsome,
resolute, prosaic young Englishwoman whose heroic
efforts to trace her vanished lover are baffied at every
turn. Everybody in Ballymoy told her lies, with the
result that they seemed to her heartless and cruel when
in reality they wished to spare her feelings. Others of
the dramatis personce verge on caricature, but the story
has many exhilarating moments.
Exhilarating, too, is " The Major's Niece," which is
founded on an extremely improbable imbroglio. So
precise and business-like a man as Major Kent was not
likely to make a mistake of seven or eight years in the
age of a visitor especially when the visitor happened to
XXXll INTRODUCTION.
be his own sister's child. However, the initial improba-
bility may be readily condoned in view of the enter-
taining sequel. " J. J." reappears in his best form,
Marjorie is a most engaging tomboy, and the fun never
flags for an instant. But much as we love ''J. J.,
we reluctantly recognise in " The Simpkins Plot
that you can have too much of a good thing, and
that a man who would be a nuisance as a neighbour
in real life is in danger of becoming a bore in a novel.
At the same time the digressions and irrelevancies are
as good as ever. It is pleasant to be reminded of such
facts as that wedding cake is invariably eaten by the
Irish post office officials, or to listen to Doctor
O'Donoghue on the nutrition of infants :
" You can rear a child, whether it has the whooping cough
or not, on pretty near anything, so long as you give it enough of
whatever it is you do give it."
Canon Hannay excels in the conduct of an absurd
or paradoxical proposition, but he needs a w^ord of
friendly caution against undue reliance on the mechanism
of the practical joke. Perhaps his English cure has
demoralised " J. J.," but we certainly prefer him as he
was in Inishgowlan, convinced by practical experience
that he would rather do any mortal thing than try to
mind a baby and make butter at the same time.
Of Canon Hannay's later novels two demand special
attention and for widely different reasons. In " The
Red Hand of Ulster," reverting to politics— politics,
moreover, of the most explosive kind — he achieved the
well-nigh impossible in at once doing full justice to the
dour sincerity of the Orange North, and yet conciHating
Nationalist susceptibilities. In *' The Inviolable
Sanctuary," he has shown that a first-rate public-school
INTRODUCTION. XXxiii
athlete, whose skill in pastime is confined to ball games
cuts a sorry figure alongside of a chit of a girl who can
handle a boat. This salutary if humiliating truth is en-
forced not from any desire to further Feminist principles
■ — Canon Hannay's attitude towards women betrays no
behef in the equality of the sexes — but because he cannot
be bothered with the sentimentality of conventional
love-making. It may be on this account that he more
than once assigns a leading role to an ingenuous young
Amazon into whose ken the planet of love will not swim
for another four or five years.
During the last thirty years the alleged decadence of
Irish humour has been a frequent theme of pessimistic
critics. Various causes have been invoked to account
for the phenomenon, which, when dispassionately
considered, amounted to this, that the rollicking novel
of incident and adventure had died with Lever. So, for
the matter of that, had novels of the ** Frank Fairleigh "
type, with their authors. The ascendancy of Parnell and
the regime of the Land League did not make for gaiety,
yet even these influences were powerless to eradicate
the inherent absurdities of Irish life, and the authors of
the *' R.M." entered on a career which has been a
triumphal disproval of this allegation as far back as 1889.
At their best they have interpreted normal Irishmen
and Irishwomen, gentle and simple, with unsurpassed
fidelity and sympathy. But to award them the supremacy
in this genre both as realists and as writers does not
detract from the success won in a different sphere by
Canon Hannay. His goal is less ambitious and aim is
less unfaltering, but as an improvisor of whimsical
situations and an ironic commentator on the actualities
of Irish life he has invented a new form of literary
XXXIV INTRODUCTION.
entertainment which has the double merit of being at
once diverting and instructive.
But as we beHeve this volume will sufficiently show,
though these three novelists have so far transcended
the achievements of contemporary writers on Irish life,
they are being followed at no long distance by younger
writers, for whom they have helped to find a public
and in whose more mature achievements they may have
to acknowledge a serious literary rivalry. We have
dealt with the women writers to be found in this new
group. It remains for us to criticise the work of the men
who belong to it.
Mr. John Stevenson, otherwise Pat Carty, whose
Rhymes have been so charmingly set to music by Sir
Charles Stanford, and so delightfully sung by Mr.
Plunket-Greene, possesses a whimsical gift, both in prose
and verse, which gives fresh evidence of the awakening
of an Ulster school of humorists. His " Boy in the
Country " is descriptive of a child's companionship
in the country with farmers and their wives and servants,
his falling under the spell of a beautiful lady whose
romance he assists like a true young cavalier, and his
association with that formidable open-air imp, Jim,
a little dare-devil poacher and hard swearer, who sailed
his boats with strips cut from his shirt tails and could
give a canting minister as good as he got, instead of
cowering under his preachment. The manners and
customs of the farming class in the *' Nine Glens of
Antrim " could not be more simply and humorously
told, and when the author divagates into such sketches
as *' The Wise Woman and the Wise Man," and breaks
into occasional verse faithfully descriptive of his natural
surroundings, he is equally delightful.
INTRODUCTION. XXXV
Of course, he is not as old a craftsman as Mr. Shan
Bullock, whose dry drollery has given the readers of
his novels and stories so much pleasure, and whose serious
purpose and close observation of Northern Irish character
are so well recognised by all serious students of Irish
life. He is represented in the volume by " The Wee
Tea-Table," a life-like sketch taken from his *' Irish
Pastorals."
Mr. Frank Mathew, whose first literary work
was his biography of his illustrious grand -uncle Father
Mathew, has also written some admirable stories of Irish
life, which appeared in " The Idler," and have been
collected in a volume called '' At the Rising of the Moon."
*' The Last Race," by which he is represented in this
volume, will give our readers a good taste of his graphic
quality.
Mr. Padric Colum will speak for himself on Irish
fiction in his introduction to an edition of Gerald Griffin's
" Collegians," which is to form part of this series of
Irish volumes. His finely distinctive literary style
and intimate knowledge of Irish peasant life so clearly
exhibited in his poems, plays and stories, is shown in these
pages by that remarkable sketch of " Maclshaughlinn
at the Fair," written with the elemental abandon of
Synge himself.
Finallv, in absolute contrast with Mr. Colum's idealistic
work, comes the humorous realism of Lynn Doyle's
pictures of the Ulster Peasantry. But their efforts to
over-reach one another, their love of poaching, and
their marriage operations, afford the author of " Bally-
gullion " a congenial field for the display of his obser-
vation, his high spirits, and his genuine sense of the
ridiculous. His comedy of '* The BallyguUion Creamery
XXXVl INTRODUCTION.
Society " which fitly concludes this volume, is good,
hearty, wholesome fun, and wc only trust, in Ireland's
best interests, that its official stamp, a wreath of shamrocks
and orange lilies — is not merely an unlikely if amiable
suggestion, but is yet to have its counterpart in reality.
Preface .
The fiction of which this volume consists is in part
fabulous in character, in part descriptive of actual
Irish life upon its lighter side.
The Heroic stories and Folk-tales are, on chronological
grounds, printed early in the book and are then followed
by extracts from the writings of the Irish novelists
of the first half and third quarter of the 19th Century
Maginn, Lever, Lover, and LeFanu
Then come the writers who have made their mark in
recent times, such as Miss Jane Barlow, the authors
of " Some Experiences of an Irish R.M.," and Canon
Hannay, and lastly those of a new school amongst whom
may be named Mr. Padraic Colum, *' Lynn Doyle,"
and Miss K Purdon.
This may be said to be the general order of the
contents of " Humours of Irish Life." But where
artistic propriety, suggesting contrasts of local colour
and changes of subject, has called for it, a strict chrono-
logical sequence has been departed from ; yet enough
ot it remains to enable the critic to observe what we
believe to be a change for the better, both in the taste
and technique of these Irish storicii and sketches, as time
has gone by.
11 PREFACE.
It remains for us to express our cordial obligations
to the following authors and publishers for the use of
copyright material. To Messrs. Macmillan and Miss
B. Hunt for the story of " McCarthy of Connacht,"
from *' Folk Tales of Breffny " ; to Canon Hannay
and Messrs. Methuen for chapters from " Spanish
Gold " and " The Adventures of Dr. Whitty," entitled
" J. J Meldon and the Chief Secretary," and " The
Interpreters " ; to Mr. H. de Vere Stacpoole and
Mr. Fisher Unwin for '' The Meet of the Beagles,"
from the novel of '' Patsy " ; to Miss O' Conor Eccles
and Messrs. Cassell for " King William," a story in
the late Miss Charlotte O' Conor Eccles 's " Aliens
of the West " ; to Miss Eleanor Alexander and Mr.
Edward Arnold for " Old Tummus and the Battle
of Scarva," from " Lady Anne's Walk," and to the
same publisher and to Mr. John Stevenson for a
chapter entitled " The Wise Woman " from *' A Boy in
the Country " ; to Messrs. James Duffy and Sons
for Kickham's Story of '' The Thrush and the
Blackbird " ; to Mr. William Percy French for *' The
First Lord Liftenant " ; to Mr. Frank Mathew for
" Their Last Race," from his volume " At the rising of
the Moon " ; to Miss K. Purdon for a chapter entitled
*' The Game L^eg," from her novel *' The Folk of Furry
Farm," and to its publishers, Messrs. James Nisbet and
Co. Ltd. ; to Dr. Douglas Hyde for his Folk-tale of
*' The Piper and the Puca " ; to Martin Ross and Miss
PREFACE. Ill
E. CE. Somerville and Messrs. Longmans, Green & Co.,
for the use of two chapters — *' Trinket's Colt " and " The
Boat's Share " — from " Some Experiences of an Irish
R.M." and " Further Experiences of an Irish R.M."
respectively ; to Mr. Shan Bullock for " The Wee Tea
Table," from his '* Irish Pastorals " ; to Miss Jane
Barlow and Messrs. Hutchinson for " Quin's Rick,"
from '' Doings and DeaHngs," and for "A Test of
Truth," from '' Irish Neighbours " ; to Mr. Padraic
Colum for his sketch *' Maelshaughlinn at the Fair,"
from his " A Year of Irish Life," and to the publishers
of the book, Messrs. Mills and Boon, Ltd. ; to its author,
" Lynn Doyle," and its publishers, Maunsel & Co., for
" The BallygulHon Creamery," from " Ballygullion " ;
and to Mr. P. J. McCall and the proprietors of '' The
Shamrock " for the story " Fionn MacCumhail and the
Princess."
Finally, acknowledgment is due to the courtesy of the
Proprietors and Editor of *' The Quarterly Review "
for leave to incorporate in the Introduction an article
which appeared in the issue of that periodical for June,
1913-
VI
CONTENTS
PAGE
QuiN's Rick ... ... ... .•• J^^e Barlow 200
Maelshaughlinn at the Fair ... Padraic Colum 213
The Rev. J. J. Mei^don and the Chief vSecretary
George A. Birmingham 220
OI.D TUMMUS and the BaTTI.E OF SCARVA
Eleanor Alexander 235
The Game Leg
Trinket's Coi.t ...
The Wee Tea Tabi.e
The Interpreters ...
A TEST OF Truth ...
The Wise Woman
The Meet of the Beagi.es
... K. F. Purdon 244
E. CE. Somerville and Martin Ross 258
... Shan Bullock 276
George A. Birmingham 290
... Jane Barlow 307
John Stevenson 314
... H. de Vere Stacpoole 324
The BAI.I.YGUI.I.ION Creamery Society, Limited
Lynn Doyle 336
AUTHORS REPRESENTED
Ai.e:xandkr, Eleanor
Barlow, Jane ...
Birmingham^ George A.
Bullock, Shan ...
Carleton, William
COLUM, Padraic
Doyle, Lynn
EccLES, Charlotte O'Conor
Ettingsall, Thomas
Ferguson, Sir Samuel ...
French, William Percy
Hunt, B.
Hyde, Douglas...
Kennedy, Patrick
KicKHAM, Charles Joseph
Le Fanu, Joseph Sheridan
Lever, Charles
Lover, Samuel ...
Maginn, Dr.
Mathew, Frank
McCall, Patrick J.
Purdon, K. F. ...
Somerville, E. CE. and Ross, Martin
Stacpoole, H. de Vere
Stevenson, John
P.\GE
235
200, 307
220, 290
276
58, 131
213
336
179
84
82
159
46
42
9, 38
148
105, 139
72, 123
18
1, 92
154
30
244
167, 258
324
314
vai.
HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE
Daniel O'Rourke.
From Crojton Croker's " Fairy Legends and Traditions of
the South of Ireland,''
By Dr. Maginn (1793 -1842).
People may have heard of the renowned adventures
of Daniel O'Rourke, but how few are there who know
that the cause of all his perils, above and below, was
neither more nor less than his having slept under the
walls of the Phooka's tower. I knew the man well :
he lived at the bottom of Hungry Hill. He told me his
story thus : —
" I am often axed to tell it, sir, so that this is not the
first time. The master's son, you see, had come from
beyond foreign parts ; and sure enough there was a
dinner given to all the people on the ground, gentle
and simple, high and low, rich and poor. Well, we
had everything of the best, and plenty of it ; and we
ate, and we drunk, and we danced. To make a long
story short, I got, as a body m^ay say, the same thing
as tipsy almost. And so, as I was crossing the stepping-
stones of the ford of Ballyasheenogh, I missed my foot,
and souse I fell into the water. * Death alive ! ' thought
I, 'I'll be drowned now ! ' However, I began
swimming, swimming, swimming away for dear life,
till at last I got ashore, somehow or other, but never
the one of me can tell how, upon a dissolute island.
B
4 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
I ? did not I beg, and pray, and beseech you to stop
half-an-hour ago ? ' ' There's no use talking, Dan,'
says he ; 'I'm tired bad enough, so you must get off,
and sit down on the moon until I rest myself.' ' Is
it sit down on the moon ? ' said I ; * is it upon that
little round thing, then ? why, sure, I'd fall off in a
minute, and be kilt and split, and smashed all to bits ;
you are a vile deceiver, so you are.' * Not at all, Dan/
said he ; * you can catch fast hold of the reaping hook
that's sticking out of the side of the moon, and 'twill
keep you up.' ' I won't, then,' said I. ' May be not,'
said he, quite quiet. ' But if you don't, my man, I shall
just give you a shake, and one slap of my wing, and send
you down to the ground, where every bone in your
body will be smashed as small as a drop of dew on a
cabbage-leaf in the morning.' ' Why, then, I'm in a
fine way,' said I to myself, ' ever to have come along
with the likes of you ' ; and so, giving him a hearty
curse in Irish, for fear he'd know what I said, I got off
his back, with a heavy heart, took hold of the reaping-
hook, and sat down upon the moon, and a mighty cold
seat it was, I can tell you that.
'* When he had me fairly landed, he turned about on
me, and said, ' Good morning to you, Daniel O'Rourke,*
said he ; 'I think I've nicked you fairly now. You
robbed me nest last year ' ('twas true enough for him,
but how he found it out is hard to say), ' and in return
you are freely welcome to cool your heels dangling upon
the moon like a cockthrow.'
" ' Is that all, and is this the way you leave me, you
brute, you ? ' says I. * You ugly, unnatural baste, and
is this the way you serve me at last ? ' 'Twas all to no
manner of use ; he spread out his great, big wings,
DANIEL o'ROURKE.
burst out laughing, and flew away like lightning. I
bawled after him to stop ; but I might have called and
bawled for ever, without his minding me. Away he
went, and I never saw him from that day to this —
sorrow fly away with him ! You may be sure I was in
a disconsolate condition, and kept roaring out for the
bare grief, when all at once a door opened right in the
middle of the moon, creaking on its hinges as if it had
not been opened for a month before — I suppose they
never thought of greasing 'em, and out there walks — ■
who do you think, but the man in the moon hmself ?
I knew him by his bush.
'' ' Good morrow to you, Daniel O'Rourke,' says he ;
' how do you do ? ' ' Very well, thank your honour,'
said I. ' I hope your honour's well.' * What brought
you here, Dan ? ' said he. So I told him how it was.
" ' Dan,' said the man in the moon, taking a pinch
of snuff, when I was done, ' you must not stay here.'
* Indeed, sir,' says I, ' 'tis much against my will I'm
here at all ; but how am I to go back ? ' ' That's your
business,' said he ; ' Dan, mine is to tell you that you
must not stay, so be off in less than no time.' * I'm
doing no harm,' says I, ' only holding on hard by the
reaping-hook, lest I fall off.' ' That's what you must
not do, Dan,' says he. ' Pray, sir,' says I, ' may I ask
how many you are in family, that you would not give
a poor traveller lodging ; I'm sure 'tis not so often you're
troubled with strangers coming to see you. for 'tis a
long way.' ' I'm by myself, Dan,' says he ; ' but
you'd better let go the reaping hook.' ' And with your
leave,' says I, * I'll not let go the grip, and the more
you bids me, the more I won't let go ; — so I will.'
* You had better, Dan,' says he again. ' Why, then, my
6 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
little fellow,' says I, taking the whob weight of him
with my eye from head to foot, * there are two words
to that bargain ; and I'll not budge, but you may if
you like.' 'We'll see how that is to be,' says he;
and back he went, giving the door such a great bang
after him 'for it was plain he was huffed) that I thought
the moon and all would fall down with it.
*' Well, I was preparing myself to try strength with
him, when back again he comes, with the kitchen cleaver
in his hand, and without saying a word he gives two bangs
to the handle of the reaping hook that was keeping me
up, and whap ! it came in two. ' Good morning to
you, Dan ' says the spiteful little old blackguard, when
he saw me cleanly falling down with a bit of the handle
in my hand ; ' I thank you for your visit, and fair
weather after you, Daniel.' I had not time to make
any answer to him, for I was tumbling over and over,
and rolling, and rolling, at the rate of a fox-hunt. ' This
is a pretty pickle,' says I, ' for a decent man to be seen
at this time of night : I am now sold fairly.' The word
was not out of my mouth when, whizz ! what should
fly by close to my ear but a flock of wild geese ; all the
way from my own bog of Ballyasheenogh, or else, how
should they know me ? The ould gander, who was
their general, turning about his head, cried out to me,
* Is that you, Dan ? ' ' The same,' said I, not a bit
daunted now at what he said, for I was by this time
used to all kinds of bedevilment, and, besides, I knew him
of ould. ' Good morrow to you,* says he, * Daniel
O'Rourke ; how are you in health this morning ? '
* Very well, sir,' says I, ' 1 thank you kindly,' drawing my
breath, for I was mighty in want of some ' I hope
your honour's the same.' * I think 'tis falling you are,
DANIEL o'ROURKE. 7
Daniel,' says he. ' You may say that, sir,' says I.
* And where are you going all the way so fast ? ' said
the gander. So I told him how I had taken the drop,
and how I came on the island, and how I lost my way
ill the bog, and how the thief of an eagle flew me up
to the moon, and how the man in the moon turned me
out. * Dan,' said he, ' I'll save you : put out your
hand and catch me by the leg, and I'll fly you home/
' Sweet is your hand in a pitcher of honey, my jewel,'
says I, though all the time I thought within myself that
I don't much trust you ; but there was no help, so I
caught the gander by the leg, and away I and the other
geese flew after him as fast as hops.
" We flew, and we flew, and we flew, until we came
right over the wide ocean. I knew it well, for I saw Cape
Clear to my right hand, sticking up out of the water.
* Ah ! my lord,' said I to the goose, for I thought it best
to keep a civil tongue in my head, any way, ' fly to land
if you please.' ' It is impossible, you see, Dan,' said
he, 'for a while, because, you see, we are going to Arabia.'
' To Arabia ! ' said I ; ' that's surely some place in
foreign parts, far away. Oh ! Mr. Goose : why, then,,
to be sure, I'm a man to be pitied among you.' * Whist,
whist, you fool,' said he, ' hold your tongue ; I tell yon
Arabia is a very decent sort of place, as Hke West Carber)'
as one egg is Hke another, only there is a little more sand
there.'
" Just as we were talking, a ship hove in sight, scud-
ding so beautiful before the wind ; * Ah ! then, sir,'
said I, *' will you drop me on the ship if you please ? '
* We are not fair over her,' said he. ' We are,' said I.
* We are not,' said he ; ' If I dropped you now you
would go splash into the sea.' * I would not,' says I ;
8 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
' I know better than that, for it is just clean under us, so
let me drop now, at once.' * If you must, you must,'
said he ; ' there, take your own way,' and he opened
his claw, and, 'deed, he was right — sure enough, I came
down plump into the very bottom of the salt sea ! Down
to the very bottom I went, and I gave myself up then for
ever, when a whale walked up to me, scratching himself
after his night's sleep, and looked me full in the face,
and never the word did he say, but, lifting up his tail,
he splashed me all over again with the cold, salt water
till there wasn't a dry stitch on my whole carcase ; and
I heard somebody saying — 'twas a voice I knew, too —
* Get up, you drunken brute, off o' that ' ; and with that
I woke up, and there was Judy with a tub full of water
which she was splashing all over me — for, rest her
soul ! though she was a good wife, she never could bear
to see me in drink, and had a bitter hand of her own.
* Get up,' said she again : ' and of all places in the parish
would no place sarve your turn to he down upon but
under the ould walls of Carrigaphooka } an uneasy
resting I am sure you had ot it.' And sure enough I
had : for I was fairly bothered out of my senses with
eagles, and men of the moons, and flying ganders,
and whales driving me through bogs, and up to the
moon, and down to the bottom of the green ocean.
If I was in drink ten times over, long would it be before
I'd lie down in the same spot again, I know that."
ADVENTURES OF GILLA NA CHRECK AN GOUR. C)
Adventures of Gilla na Chreck
an Gour.
(THE FELLOW IN THE GOAT SKIN).
From " Legendary Fictions of the Irish Celts.''
By Patrick Kennedy (1801-1873).
(Told in the Wexford Peasant Dialect.)
Long ago a poor widow woman lived down by the
iron forge near Enniscorthy, and she was so poor, she
had no clothes to put on her son ; so she used to fix
him in the ash-hole, near the fire, and pile the warm
ashes about him ; and, accordingly, as he grew up,
she sunk the pit deeper. At last, by hook or by crook,
she got a goat-skin and fastened it round his waist,
and he felt quite grand, and took a walk down the
street. So, says she to him next morning, " Tom, you
thief, you never done any good yet, and you six-foot
high, and past nineteen ; take that rope and bring me a
bresna from the wood." " Never say't twice, mother,"
says Tom ; '' here goes."
When he had it gathered and tied, what should come
up but a big joiant, nine-foot high, and made a lick of
a club at him. Well become Tom, he jumped a-one
side and picked up a ram-pike ; and the first crack he
gave the big fellow he made him kiss the clod. " If
you have e'er a prayer," says Tom, " now's the time to
say it, before I make brishe of you." " I have no
prayers," says the giant, " but if you spare my life I'll
give you that club ; and as long as you keep from sin
you'll win every battle you ever fight with it."
10 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
Tom made no bones about letting him off ; and as
soon as he got the club in his hands he sat down on the
bresna and gave it a tap with the kippeen, and says,
" Bresna, I had a great trouble gathering you, and run
the risk of my life for you ; the least you can do is to
carry me home." And, sure enough, the wind of the
word was all it wanted. It went' off through the wood,
groaning and cracking till it came to the widow's door.
Well, when the sticks were all burned Tom was sent
off again to pick more ; and this time he had to fight
with a giant with two heads on him. Tom had a little
more trouble with him — that's all ; and the prayers he
said was to give Tom a fife that nobody could help
dancing to when he was playing it. BegoJiies, he made
the big faggot dance home, with himself sitting on it.
Well, if you were to count all the steps from this to
Dublin, dickens a bit you'd ever arrive there. The next
giant was a beautiful boy with three heads on him.
He had neither prayers nor catechism no more nor
the others ; and so he gave Tom a bottle of green oint-
ment that wouldn't let you be burned, nor scalded,
nor wounded. " And now," says he, " there's no more
of us. You may come and gather sticks here till little
Lunacy Day in harvest without giant or fairy man to
disturb you."
Well, now, Tom was prouder nor ten paycocks, and
used to take a walk down the street in the heel of the
evening ; but some of the little boys had no more manners
nor if they were Dublin jackeens, and put out their
tongues at Tom's club and Tom's goat-skin. He
didn't like that at all, and it would be mean to give one
of them a clout. At last, what should come through
the town but a kind of bellman, only it's a big bugle
ADVENTURES OF GILLA NA CHRECK AN GOUR. II
he had, and a huntsman's cap on his head, and a kind
of painted shirt. So this — he wasn't a bellman, and I
don't know what to call him — bugleman, maybe —
proclaimed that the King of Dublin's daughter was so
melancholy that she didn't give a laugh for seven years,
and that her father would grant her in marriage to
whoever would make her laugh three times. '* That's
the very thing for me to try," says Tom ; and so,
without burning any more daylight, he kissed his
mother, curled his club at the little boys, and set off
along the yalla highroad to the town of Dublin.
At last Tom came to one of the City gates and the
guards laughed and cursed at him instead of letting him
through. Tom stood it all for a little time, but at last
one of them — out of fun, as he said — drove his hagnet
half an inch or so into his side. Tom did nothing
but take the fellow by the scruff of his neck and the
waistband of his corduroys and fling him into the canal.
Some ran to pull the fellow out, and others to let manners
into the vulgarian with their swords and daggers ;
but a tap from his club sent them headlong into the
moat or down on the stones, and they were soon begging
him to stay his hands.
So at last one of them was glad enough to show
Tom the way to the Palace yard ; and there was the
King and the Queen, and the princess in a gallery,
looking at all sorts of wrestling and sword-playing,
and rinka-fadhas (long dances) and mumming, all
to please the princess ; but not a smile came over her
handsome face.
Well, they all stopped when they seen the young
giant, with his boy's face and long, black hair, and his
short, curly beard — for his poor mother couldn't afford
12 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
to buy razhurs — and his great, strong arms and bare
legs, and no covering but the goat-skin that reached from
his waist to his knees. But an envious, wizened hasthard
of a fellow, with a red head, that wished to be married
to the princess, and didn't like how she opened her eyes
at Tom, came forward, and asked his business very
snappishly. ** My business," says Tom, says he,
'* is to make the beautiful princess, God bless her,
laugh three times." '* Do you see all them merry
fellows and skilful sw^ordsmen," says the other, " that
could eat you up without a grain of salt, and not a mother's
soul of 'em ever got a laugh from her these seven years ? "
So the fellows gathered round Tom, and the bad man
aggravated him till he told them he didn't care a pinch
of snuff for the whole bilin' of 'em ; let 'em come on,
six at a time, and try what they could do. The Kmg,
that was too far off to hear what they were saying, asked
what did the stranger want. " He wants," says the
red-headed fellow, " to make hares of your best men."
" Oh ! " says the King, '* if that's the way, let one of
'em turn out and try his mettle." So one stood forward,
with soord and pot-lid, and made a cut at Tom. He
struck the fellow's elbow with the club, and up over their
heads flew the sword, and down went the owner of it on
the gravel from a thump he got on the helmet. Another
took his place, and another and another, and then half-a-
dozen at once, and Tom sent swords, helmets, shields, and
bodies rolling over and over, and themselves bawling
out that they were kilt, and disabled, and damaged,
and rubbing their poor elbows and hips, nnd limping
away. Tom contrived not to kill anyone ; and the
princess was so amused that she let a great, sweet laugh
out of her that was heard all over the yard. *' King of
ADVENTURES OF GILLA NA CIIRECK AN GOUR. 1 3
Dublin," says Tom, *' I've the quarter of your
daughter." And the King didn't know whether he was
glad or sorry, and all the blood in the princess's heart
run into her cheeks.
So there was no more fighting that day, and Tom was
invited to dine with the royal family. Next day Redhead
told Tom of a wolf, the size of a yearling heifer, that used
to be serenading (sauntering) about the walls, and eating
people and cattle ; and said what a pleasure it would
give the King to have it killed. '' With all my
heart," says Tom. " Send a jackeen to show me
where he lives, and we'll see how he behaves to a
stranger."
The princess was not well pleased, for Tom looked
a different person with fine clothes and a nice
green hirredh over his long, curly hair ; and besides,
he'd got one laugh out of her. However, the King gave
his consent, and in an hour and a half the horrible wolf
was walking in the palace yard, and Tom a step or two
behind, with his club on his shoulder, just as a shepherd
would be walking after a pet lamb. The King and
Queen and princess were safe up in their gallery, but the
officers and people of the court that were padrowling
about the great bawn, when they saw the big baste
coming in gave themselves up, and began to make
for doors and gates ; and the wolf licked his chops,
as if he was saying, " Wouldn't I enjoy a breakfast
off a couple of yez 1 " The King shouted oi t, " O
Gilla na Chreck an Gour, take away that terrib e wolf
and you must have all my daughter." But Tom didn't
mind him a bit. He pulled out his flute and began
to play like vengeance ; and dickens a man or boy in
the yard but began shovelling away heel and toe, and the
14 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
wolf himself was obliged to get on his hind legs and
dance Tatther Jack Walsh along with the rest. A good
deal of the people got inside and shut the doors, the way
the hairy fellow wouldn't pin them ; but Tom kept
playing, and the outsiders kept shouting and dancing,
and the wolf kept dancing and roaring with the pain
his legs w^ere giving him ; and all the time he had his
eyes on Redhead, who was shut out along with the rest.
Wherever Redhead went the wolf followed, and kept
one eye on him and the other on Tom, to see if he would
give him leave to eat him. But Tom shook his head,
and never stopped the tune, and Redhead never stopped
dancing and bawling and the wolf dancing and roaring,
one leg up and the other down, and he ready to drop
out of his standing from fair tiresomeness.
When the princess seen that there was no fear of any-
one being kilt, she was so divarted by the stew that
Redhead was in that she gave another great laugh ;
and well become Tom, out he cried, " King of Dublin,
I have two quarters of your daughter." " Oh, quarters
or alls," says the King, '* put away that divel of a wolf
and we'll see about it." So Gilla put his flute in his
pocket, and, says he, to the baste that was sittin' on his
currabingo ready to faint, '* Walk off to your mountains,
my fine fellow, and live like a respectable baste ; and if
ever I find you come within seven miles of any town — ."
He said no more, but spit in his fist, and gave a flourish
of his club. It was all the poor divel wanted : he put
his tail between his legs and took to his pumps without
looking at man or mortial, and neither sun, moon, nor
stars ever saw him in sight of Dublin again.
At dinner everyone laughed except the foxy fellow ;
and, sure enough, he was laying out how he'd settle
ADVENTURES OF GILLA NA CHRECK AN GOUR. 1 5
poor Tom next day. " Well, to be sure ! " says he,
*' King of Dublin, you are in luck. There's the Danes
moidhering us to no end. D run to Lusk wid 'em
and if anyone can save us from 'em it is this gentleman
with the goat-skin. There is a flail hangin' on the
collar-beam in Hell, and neither Dane nor Devil can stand
before it." '' So," says Tom to the King, " will you
let me have the other half of the princess if I bring you
the flail ? " " No, no," says the princess, ''I'd rather
never be your wife than see you in that danger."
But Redhead whispered and nudged Tom about
how shabby it would look to reneague the adventure.
So he asked him which way he was to go, and Redhead
directed him through a street where a great many bad
women lived, and a great many shibbeen houses were
open, and away he set.
Well, he travelled and travelled till he came in sight
of the walls of Hell ; and, bedad, before he knocked
at the gates, he rubbed himself over with the greenish
ointment. When he knocked, a hundred little imps
popped their heads out through the bars, and axed him
what he wanted. " I want to speak to the big divel
of all," says Tom ; " open the gate."
It wasn't long till the gate was ihrune open, and the
Ould Boy received Tom with bows and scrapes, and
axed his business. " My business isn't much," says
Tom. " I only came for the loan of that flail that I
see hanging on the collar-beam for the King of DubHn
to give a thrashing to the Danes." " Well," says the
other, ** the Danes is much better customers to me ;
but, since you walked so far, I won't refuse. Hand
that flail," says he to a young imp ; and he winked the
far-off eye at the same time. So, while some were
1 6 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
barring the gates, the young devil cUmbed up and took
down the iron flail that had the handstaff and booltheen
both made out of red-hot iron. The little vagabond
was grinning to think how it would burn the hands off
of Tom, but the dickens a burn it made on him, no more
nor if it was a good oak sapling. " Thankee," says
Tom ; " now, would you open the gate for a body and
I'll give you no more trouble." "Oh, tramp ! " says
Ould Nick, " is that the way ? It is easier getting inside
them gates than getting out again. Take that tool from
him, and give him a dose of the oil of stirrup." So
one fellow put out his claws to seize on the flail, but
Tom gave him such a welt of it on the side of his head
that he broke off one of his horns, and made him roar
like a divil as he was. Well, they rushed at Tom, but
he gave them, little and big, such a thrashing as they
didn't forget for a while. At last says the ould thief of
all, rubbing his elbows, " Let the fool out ; and woe
to whoever lets him in again, great or small."
So out marched Tom and away with him without
minding the shouting and cursing they kept up at him
from the tops of the walls. And when he got home to the
big bawn of the palace, there never was such running and
racing as to see himself and the flail. When he had his
story told, he laid down the flail on the stone steps, and
bid no one for their lives to touch it. If the King
and Queen and princess mude much of him before they
made ten times as much of him now ; but Redhead,
the mean scruif-hound, stole over, and thought to
catch hold of the flail to make an end of him. His
fingers hardly touched it, when he let a roar out of him
as if heaven and earth were coming together, and kept
flinging his arms about and dancing that it was pitiful
ADVENTURES OF GILL A NA CHRECK AN GOUR. 1 7
to look at him. Tom run at him as soon as he could
rise, caught his hands in his own two, and rubbed them
this way and that, and the burning pain left them before
you could reckon one. Well, the poor fellow, between
the pain that was only just gone, nd the comfort he was
in, had the comicalest face that ever you see ; it was
such a mixerumgatherum of laughing and crying.
Everyone burst out a-laughing — the princess could not
stop no more than the rest — and then says Gilla, or
Tom, " Now, ma'am, if there were fifty halves of you
I hope you will give me them all." Well, the princess
had no mock modes y about her. She looked at her
father, and, by my word, she came over to Gilla, and put
her two delicate hands into his two rough ones, and I
wish it was myself was in his shoes that day !
Tom would not bring the flail into the palace. You
may be sure no other body went near it ; and when the
early risers were passing next morning they found two
long clefts in the stone where it was, after burning itself
an opening downwards, nobody could teU how far.
But a messenger came in at noon and said that the
Danes were so frightened when they heard of the flail
coming into Dublin that they got into their ships and
sailed away.
Well, I suppose before they were married Gilla got
some man like Pat Mara of Tomenine to larn him the
** principles of politeness," fluxions, gunnery, and forti-
fications, decimal fractions, practice, and the rule-of- three
direct, the way he'd be able to keep up a conversation
with the royal family. Whether he ever lost his time
larning them sciences, I'm not sure, but it's as sure as
fate that his mother never more saw any want till the end
of her days.
HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
The Little Weaver of Duleek
Gate.
Frcm " Legends and Stories oj Ireland.''
By Samuel Lover (i 791 -1868.)
There was a waiver lived, wanst upon a time, in
Duleek here, hard by the gate, and a very honest, indus-
therous man he was. He had a wife, an' av coorse,
they had childre, and small blame to them, so that the
poor little waiver was obleeged to work his fingers to
the bone a'most to get them the bit and the sup, and
the loom never standin' still.
Well, it was one mornin' that his wife called to him,
" Come here," says she," jewel, and ate your brekquest,
now that it's ready." But he never minded her, but wint
an workin'. '' Arrah, lave off slavin' yourself, my
darlin', and ate your bit o' brekquest while it is hot."
" Lave me alone," says he, *' I'm busy with a pattern
here that is brakin' my heart," says the waiver ; " and
antil I complate it and masther it intirely I won't quit."
'' You're as cross as two sticks this blessed morning,
Thady," says the poor wife ; '' and it's a heavy handful
I have of you when you are cruked in your temper ;
but, stay there if you like, and let your stirabout grow
cowld, and not a one o' me 'ill ax you agin ; " and with
that off she wint, and the waiver, sure enough, was
mighty crabbed and the more the wife spoke to him the
worse he got, which, you know, is only nath'ral. Well,
he left the loom at last, and wint over to the stirabout
and what would you think, but wliin he looked at it,
THE LITTLE WEAVER OF DULEEK GATE. 1 9
it was as black as a crow — for, you see, it was in the
heighth o' summer, and the flies lit upon it to that degree
that the stirabout was fairly covered with them.
" Why, thin," says the waiver, '' would no place
sarve you but that ? and is it spyling my brekquest yiz
are, you dirty bastes ? " And with that, he lifted
his hand, and he made one great slam at the dish o'
stirabout, and killed no less than three score and tin
flies at the one blow, for he counted the carcases one by
one, and laid them out an a clane plate for to view them.
Well, he felt a powerful sperit risin' in him, when he
seen the slaughter he done, at one blow ; and not a
sthroke more work he'd do that day, but out he wint
and was fractious and impident to every one he met,
and was squarin' up into their faces and sayin', *' Look
at that fist ! that's the fist that killed three score and tin
at one blow — Whoo ! "
With that all the neighbours thought he was crack'd,
and the poor wife herself thought the same when he
kem home in the evenin', afther spendin' every rap he
had in dhrink, and swaggerin' about the place, and
lookin' at his hand every minit.
*' Indeed, an' your hand is very dirty, sure enough,
Thady, jewel," says the poor wife. ** You had betther
wash it, darHn'."
*' How dar' you say dirty to the greatest hand in
Ireland ? " says he, going to bate her.
Well, it's nat dirty," says she.
It is thro win away my time I have been all my life,"
says he, " livin' with you at all, and stuck at a loom,
nothin' but a poor waiver, when it is Saint George or the
Dhraggin I ought to be, which is two of the siven
champions of Christendom."
20 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
*' Well, suppose they christened him twice as much,"
says the wife, " sure, what's that to uz ? "
'' Don't put in your prate," says he, " you ignorant
sthrap," says he. *' You're vulgar, woman — you're
vulgar — mighty vulgar ; but I'll have nothin' more to
say to any dirty, snakin' thrade again — sorra more
waivin' I'll do."
'' Oh, Thady, dear, and what'll the children do then ? "
" Let them go play marvels," says he.
" That would be but poor feedin' for them, Thady."
" They shan't want feedin' ? " says he, " for it's a
rich man I'll be soon, and a great man, too."
" Usha, but I'm glad to hear it, darlin' — though I
dunno how it's to be, but I think you had betther go
to bed, Thady."
" Don't talk to me of any bed, but the bed o' glory,
woman," says he, lookin' mortial grand. '' I'll sleep
with the brave yit," says he.
*' Indeed, an' a brave sleep will do you a power o'
good, my darlin," says she.
*' And it's I that will be a knight ! " says he.
" All night, if you plaze, Thady," says she.
'* None o' your coaxin'," says he. *' I'm detarmined
on it, and I'll set off immediately, and be a knight arriant."
" A what ? " says she.
" A knight arriant, woman."
'' What's that ? " says she."
'* A knight arriant is a rale gintleman," says he ;
" goii^g round the world for sport, with a soord by his
side, takin' whatever he plazes for himself ; and that's
a knight arriant," says he.
Well, sure enough he wint about among his neighbours
the next day, and he got an owld kittle from one, and a
THE LITTLE WEAVER OF DULEEK GATE. 21
saucepan from another, and he took them to the tailor,
and he sewed him up a shuit o' tin clothes like any
knight arriant, and he borrowed a pot lid, and that he was
very particular about, bekase it was his shield, and he
went to a friend o' his, a painter and glazier, and made
him paint an his shield in big letthers : —
*' i'm the man of all min,
THAT KILL'd three SCORE AND TIN
AT A BLOW."
** When the people sees that," says the waiver to
himself, " the sorra one will dar for to come near me."
And with that he towld the wife to scour out the small
iron pot for him, " for," says he, "it will make an
illegent helmet ; " and when it was done, he put it an
his head, and his wife said, " Oh, murther, Thady,
jewel ; is it puttin' a great, heavy, iron pot an your
head you are, by way iv a hat ? "
" Sartinly," says he, " for a knight arriant should
always have a weight on his brain."
" But, Thady, dear," says the wife, " there's a hole
in it, and it can't keep out the weather."
" It will be the cooler," says he, puttin' it an him ;
" besides, if I don't like it, it is aisy to stop it with a
wisp o' sthraw, or the like o' that."
" The three legs of it look mighty quare, stickin'
up," says she.
*' Every helmet has a spike stickin' out o' the top of
it," says the waiver, " and if mine has three, it's only
the grandher it is."
" Well," says the wife, getting bitter at last, '' all I
can say is, it isn't the first sheep's head was dhrcss'd
in it."
22 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
** Your sarvint, ma'am," says he ; and off he set.
Well, he was in want of a horse, and so he wint to a
field hard by, where the miller's horse was grazin', that
used to carry the ground corn round the counthry.
'' This is the identical horse for me," says the waiver ;
*' he's used to carryin' flour and male, and what am I
but the flower o' shovelry in a coat o' mail ; so that the
horse won't be put out iv his way in the laste."
So away galloped the waiver, and took the road to
Dublin, for he thought the best thing he could do was
to go to the King o' Dublin (for DubUn was a great place
thin, and had a King iv its own). When he got
to the palace courtyard he let his horse graze about the
place, for the grass was growin' out betune the
stones ; everything was flourishin' thin in Dublin,
you see. Well, the King was lookin' out of his dhrawin'-
room windy, for divarshin, whin the waiver kem in ;
but the waiver pretended not to see him, and he wint
over to the stone sate, undher the windy — for, you see,
there was stone sates all round about the place, for the
accommodation o' the people — for the King was a dacent
obleeging man ; well, as I said, the waiver wint over
and lay down an one o' the seats, just undher the King's
windy, and purtended to go asleep ; but he took care
to turn out the front of his shield that had the letthers an
it. Well, my dear, with that the King calls out to one
of the lords of his coort that was standin' behind him,
howldin' up the skirt of his coat, accordin' to rayson,
and, says he : " Look here," says he, " what do you
think of a vagabone like that, comin' undher my very
nose to sleep ? It is thrue I'm a good king," says he,
" and I 'commodate the people by havin' sates for them
to sit down and enjoy the raycreation and contimplation
THE LITTLE WEAVER OF DULEEK GATE. 23
of seein' me here, lookin' out a' my dhrawin'-room
windy, for divarsion ; but that is no rayson they are to
make a hotel o' the place, and come and sleep here.
Who is it, at all ? " says the King.
" Not a one o' me knows, plaze your majesty,"
** I think he must be a furriner," says the King,
*' because his dhress is outlandish."
" And doesn't know manners, more betoken," says
the lord.
** I'll go down and circumspect him myself," says
the King ; *' folly me," says he to the lord, wavin'
his hand at the same time in the most dignacious manner.
Down he wint accordingly, followed by the lord ;
and when he wint over to where the waiver was lying,
sure the first thing he seen was his shield with the big
letthers an it, and with that, says he to the lord, " This
is the very man I want."
*' For what, plaze your majesty ? " says the lord.
" To kill the vagabone dhraggin', to be sure," says
the King.
" Sure, do you think he could kill him," says the
lord, " when all the stoutest knights in the land wasn't
aiquil to it, but never kem back, and was ate up alive
by the cruel desaiver } "
" Sure, don't you see there," says the king, pointin'
at the shield, " that he killed three score and tin at one
blow ; and the man that done that, I think, is a match
for anything,"
So, with that, he wint over to the waiver and shuck
him by the shouldher for to wake him, and the waiver
rubbed his eyes as if just wakened, and the King says
to him, " God save you," said he.
24 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
" God save you kindly," says the waiver, purtendin'
he was quite unknownst who he was spakin' to.
" Do you know who I am," says the king, " that you
make so free, good man ? "
" No, indeed," says the waiver, " you have the
advantage o' me."
*' To be sure, I have," says the king, moighty high ;
*' sure, ain't I the King o' DubUn ? " says he.
The waiver dhropped down on his two knees forninst
the King, and, says he, " I beg your pardon for the
Hberty I tuk ; plaze your hoUness, I hope you'll excuse
it."
" No offince," says the King ; " get up, good man.
And what brings you here ? " says he.
*' I'm in want of work, plaze your riverence," says
the waiver.
" Well, suppose I give you work ? " says the king.
" I'll be proud to sarve you, my lord," says the
waiver.
" Very well," says the King. *' You killed three
score and tin at one blow, I understan'," says the King
" Yis," says the waiver ; " that was the last thrifle
o' work I done, and I'm afraid my hand 'ill go out o'
practice if I don't get some job to do at wanst."
" You shall have a job immediately," says the King.
" It is not three score and tin or any fine thing like that ;
it is only a blaguard dhraggin that is disturbin' the
counthry and ruinatin' my tinanthry wid aitin' their
powlthry, and I'm lost for want of eggs," said the King.
" Och, thin, plaze your worship," says the waiver,
" you look as yellow as if you swallowed twelve yolks
this minit."
" Well, I want this dhraggin to be killed," says the
THE LITTLE WEAVER OF DULEEK GATE. 25
King. " It will be no trouble in life to you ; and I
am sorry that it isn't betther worth your while, for he
isn't worth fearin' at all ; only I must tell you that he
lives in the County Galway, in the middle of a bog,
and he has an advantage in that."
" Oh, I don't value it in the laste," says the waiver,
" for the last three score and tin I killed was in a soft
place.'*
" When will you undhertake the job, thin ? " says
the King.
" Let me at him at wanst," says the waiver.
** That's what I like," says the King, '* you're the very
man for my money," says he.
" Talkin' of money," says the waiver, " by the same
token, I'll want a thrifle o' change from you for my
thravellin' charges."
" As much as you plaze," says the King ; and with the
word he brought him into his closet, where there was an
owld stockin' in an oak chest, bursting wid goolden
guineas.
" Take as many as you plaze," says the King ; and
sure enough, my dear, the little waiver stuffed his tin
clothes as full as they could howld with them.
" Now I'm ready for the road," says the waiver.
*' Very well," says the King ; '* but you must have a
fresh horse," says he.
** With all my heart," says the waiver, who thought
he might as well exchange the miller's owld garron for
a betther.
And maybe it's wondherin' you are that the waiver
would think of goin' to fight the dhraggin afther what he
heerd about him, when he was purtendin' to be asleep,
but he had no sich notion, all he intended was — ^to fob
26 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
the goold, and ride back again to Duleek with his gains
and a good horse. But, you see, cute as the waiver was,
the King was cuter still, for these high quality, you see,
is great desaivers ; and so the horse the waiver was an
was learned on purpose ; and sure, the minit he was
mounted, away powdhered the horse, and the sorra toe
he'd go but right down to Galway. Well, for four days
he was goin' evermore, until at last the waiver seen a
crowd o' people runnin' as if owld Nick was at their
heels, and they shoutin' a thousand murdhers, and
cryin' — " The dhraggin, the dhraggin ! " and he couldn't
stop the horse nor make him turn back, but away he
pelted right forninst the terrible baste that was comin' up
to him ; and there was the most nefaarious smell o'
sulphur, savin' your presence, enough to knock you
down ; and, faith, the waiver seen he had no time to
lose ; and so threwn himself off the horse and made to
a three that w^as growin' nigh-hand, and away he
clambered up into it as nimble as a cat ; and not a minit
had he to spare, for the dhraggin kem up in a powerful
rage, and he devoured the horse body and bones, in
less than no time ; and then began to sniffle and scent
about for the waiver, and at last he clapt his eye on him,
where he was, up in the three, and, says he, " You
might as well come down out o' that," says he, '' for I'll
have you as sure as eggs is mate."
*' Sorra fut I'll go down," says the waiver.
" Sorra care I care," says the dhraggin ; " for you're
as good as ready money in my pocket this minit, for
I'll lie undher this three," says he, " and sooner or later
you must fall to my share ; " and sure enough he sot
down, and began to pick his teeth with his tail afther
a heavy brekquest he made that mornin* (for he ate
THE LITTLE WEAVER OF DULEEK GATE. Z"]
a whole village, let alone the horse), and he got dhrowsy
at last, and fell asleep ; but before he wint to sleep
he wound himself all round about the three, all as one
as a lady windin' ribbon round her finger, so that the
waiver could not escape.
Well, as soon as the waiver knew he was dead asleep,
by the snorin' of him — and every snore he let out of
him was like a clap o' thunder — that minit the waiver
began to creep down the three, as cautious as a fox ;
and he was very nigh hand the bottom when a thievin'
branch he was dipindin' an bruck, and down he fell
right a top o' the dhraggin ; but, if he did, good luck
was an his side, for where should he fall but with his
two legs right acrass the dhraggin's neck, and my jew'l,
he laid howlt o' the haste's ears, and there he kept his
grip, for the dhraggin wakened and endayvoured for to
bite him, but, you see, by rayson the waiver was behind
his ears he could not come at him, and, with that, he
endayvoured for to shake him off ; but not a stir could
he stir the waiver ; and though he shuk all the scales
an his body, he could not turn the scale agin the waiver.
" Och, this is too bad, intirely," says the dhraggin ;
" but if you won't let go," says he, ** by the powers o'
wildfire, I'll give you a ride that'll astonish your siven
small senses, my boy " ; and, with that, away he flew
like mad ; and where do you think he did fly ? — he flew
sthraight for Dublin. But the waiver, bein' an his
neck, was a great disthress to him, and he would rather
have had him an inside passenger ; but, anyway, he
flew till he kem slap up agin the palace o' the king ;
for, bein' blind with the rage, he never seen it, and he
knocked his brains out — that is, the small trifle he had,
and down he fell spacheless. An' you see, good luck
28 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
would have it, that the King o' DubHn was looking
out iv his dhrawin'-room windy, for divarshin, that day
also, and whin he seen the waiver ridin' an the fiery
dhraggin (for he was blazin' like a tar barrel) he called
out to his coortyers to come and see the show.
** Here comes the knight arriant," says the King,
" ridin' the dhmggin that's all a-fire, and if he gets into
the palace, yiz must be ready wid the fire ingines,"
says he, " for to put him out."
But when they seen the dhraggin fall outside, they
all run downstairs and scampered into the palace yard
for to circumspect the curiosity ; and by the time they
got down, the waiver had got off o' the dhraggin *s
neck ; and runnin' up to the King, says he —
*' Plaze, your holiness, I did not think myself worthy
of kiUin' this facetious baste, so I brought him to yourself
for to do him the honour of decripitation by your own
royal five fingers. But I tamed him first, before I
allowed him the lil erty for to dar' to appear in your
royal prisince, and you'll oblige me if you'll just make
your mark with your own hand upon the onruly haste's
neck." And with that, the King, sure enough, dhrew
out his swoord and took the head aft' the dirty brute,
as clane as a new pin.
Well, there was great rejoicin' in the coort that the
dhraggin was killed ; and says the King to the little
waiver, says he —
" You are a knight arriant as it is, and so it would
be no use for to knight you over agin ; but I will make
you a lord," says he *' and as you are the first man I
ever heer'd tell of that rode a dhraggin, you shall be
called Lord Mount Dhraggin'," says he.
" And where 's my estates, plaze your holiness ? "
THE LITTLE WEAVER OF DULEEK GATE. 29
says the waiver, who always had a sharp look-out afther
the main chance.
" Oh, I didn't forget that," says the King. " It is
my royal pleasure to provide well for you, and for that
rayson I make you a present of all the dhraggins in the
world, and give you power over them from this out,"
says he.
" Is that all ? " says the waiver.
" All ! " says the king. " Why, you ongrateful
little vagabone, was the like ever given to any man
before ? "
" I beHeve not, indeed," says the waiver ; " many
thanks to your majesty."
But that is not all I'll do for you," says the king,
I'll give you my daughter, too, in marriage," says
he.
Now, you see, that was nothin' more than what was
promised the waiver in his first promise ; for, by all
accounts, the King's daughter was the greatest dhraggin
ever was seen.
30 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
Fionn MacCumhail and the
Princess.
From *' The Shamrock''
By Patrick J. McCall (i86i— ).
(In Wexford Folk Speech.)
Wance upon a time, when things was a great'le betther
in Ireland than they are at present, when a rale king
ruled over the counthry wid four others undher him
to look afther the craps an' other indhustries, there lived
a young chief called Fan MaCool.
Now, this was long afore we gev up bowin' and scrapin'
to the sun an' moon an' sich like raumash (nonsense) ;
an' signs an it, there was a powerful lot ov witches an*
Druids, an' enchanted min an' wimen goin' about, that
med things quare enough betimes for iverywan.
Well, Fan, as I sed afore, was 9 young man when he
kem to the command, an' a purty likely lookin' boy,
too — there was nothin' too hot or too heavy for him ;
an' so ye needn't be a bit surprised if I tell ye he was the
mischief entirely wid the colleens. Nothin' delighted
him more than to disguise himself wid an ould coata-
more (overcoat) thrown over his showlder, a lump ov
a kippeen (stick) in his fist and he mayanderin' about
unknownst, rings around the counthry, lookin' for fun
an' foosther (diversion) ov all kinds.
Well, one fine mornin', whin he was on the shaughraun,
he was waumasin' (strolling) about through Leinster,
an' near the royal palace ov Glendalough he seen a
mighty throng ov grand lords and ladies, an', my dear,
they all dressed up to the nines, wid their jewels shinin'
FIONN MACCUMHAIL AND THE PRINCESS. 3 1
like dewdrops ov a May mornin', and laughin' like the
tinkle ov a deeshy (small) mountain strame over the
white rocks. So he cocked his beaver, an' stole over
to see what was the matther.
Lo an' behould ye, what were they at but houldin'
a race-meetin' or faysh (festival) — somethin' like what
the quality calls ataleticks now ! There they were,
jumpin', and runnin', and coorsin', an' all soorts ov
fun, enough to make the trouts — an' they're mighty
fine leppers enough — die wid envy in the river benaith
them.
The fun wint on fast an' furious, an' Fan, consaled
betune the trumauns an' brushna (elder bushes and
furze) could hardly keep himself quiet, seein' the thricks
they wor at. Peepin' out, he seen, jist forninst him
on the other bank, the prencess herself, betune the
high-up ladies ov the coort. She was a tine, bouncin'
geersha (girl) with gold hair like the furze an' cheeks
like an apple blossom, an' she brakin' her heart laughin'
an' clappin' her hands an' turnin her head this a-way
an' that a-way, jokin' wid this wan an' that wan, an'
commiseratin', moryah ! (forsooth) the poor gossoons that
failed in their leps. Fan Hked the looks ov her well, an*
whin the boys had run in undher a bame up to their
knees an' jumped up over another wan as high as their
chins, the great trial ov all kern on. Maybe you'd
guess w^hat that was ? But I'm afeerd you won't
if I gev you a hundhred guesses 1 It was to lep the
strame, forty foot wide !
List'nin' to them whisperin' to wan another, Fan
heerd them tellin' that whichever ov them could manage
it wud be med a great man intirely ov ; he wud get the
Prencess Maynish in marriage, an' ov coorse, would
32 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
be med king ov Leinster when the ould king, Garry,
her father, cocked his toes an' looked up through the
butts ov the daisies at the shky. Well, whin Fan h'ard
this, he was put to a nonplush to know what to do !
With his ould duds on him, he was ashamed ov his
life to go out into the open, to have the eyes ov the whole
wurruld on him, an' his heart wint down to his big toe
as he watched the boys makin' their offers at the lep.
But no one of them was soople enough for the job, an'
they kep on tumbUn', w^an afther the other, into the
strame ; so that the poor prencess began to look sorryful
whin her favourite, a big hayro wid a colyeen (curls)
a yard long — an' more betoken he was a boy o' the Byrnes
from Imayle — jist tipped the bank forninst her wid
his right fut, an' then twistin', like a crow in the air
scratchin' her head with her claw, he spraddled wide
open in the wather, and splashed about like a hake in
a mudbank ! Well, me dear. Fan forgot himself, an'
gev a screech like an aigle ; an' wid that, the ould king
started, the ladies all screamed, an' Fan was surrounded.
In less than a minnit an' a half they dragged me bould
Fan be the collar ov his coat right straight around to
the king himself.
'* What ould geochagh (beggar) have we now ? " sez
the king, lookin' very hard at Fan.
** Fm Fan MaCool ! " sez the thief ov the woirruld,
as cool as a frog.
" Well, Fan MaCool or not," sez the king, mockin'
him, " ye'll have to jump the sthrame yander for
freckenin' the lives clane out ov me ladies," sez ho,
** an' for disturbin' our spoort ginerally," sez he.
** An' what'll 1 get for that same ? " sez Fan, Icttiu'
on (pretending) he was afeered.
FIONN MACCUMHATL AND THE PRINCESS. 33
" Me daughter, Maynish," sez the king, wid a laugh ;
for he thought, ye see, Fan would be drowned.
" Me hand on the bargain," sez Fan ; but the owld
chap gev him a rap on the knuckles wid his specktre
(sceptre) an' to wid him to hurry up, or he'd get the
ollaves (judges) to put him in the Black Dog pres'n or
the Marshals — I forgets which — it's so long gone by !
Well, Fan peeled off his coatamore, an' threw away his
bottheen ov a stick, an' the prencess seein' his big
body an' his long arums an' legs like an oak tree, couldn't
help remarkin' to her comrade, the craythur —
'' Bedad, Cauth (Kate)," sez she, " but this beggarman
is a fine bit of a bouchal (boy)," sez she ; " it's in the
arumy (army) he ought to be," sez she, lookin' at him
agen, an' admirin' him, like.
" So, Fan, purtendin' to be fixin' his shoes be the bank,
jist pulled two lusmores (fox-gloves) an' put them
anunder his heels ; for thim wor the fairies' own
flowers that works all soort ov inchantment, an' he, ov
coorse, knew all about it ; for he got the wrinkle from an
Quid lenaun (fairy guardian) named Cleena, that nursed
him when he was a little stand-a-loney.
Well, me dear, ye'd think it was on'y over a little
creepie (three-legged) stool he was leppin' whin he
landed like a thrish jist at the fut ov the prencess ; an'
his father's son he was, that put his two arums around
her, an' gev her a kiss — haith, ye'd hear the smack
ov it at the Castle o' DubHn. The ould king groaned
like a corncrake, an' pulled out his hair in hatfuls, an'
at last he ordhered the bowld beggarman off to be
kilt ; but, begorrah, when they tuck off weskit an'
seen the collar ov goold around Fan's neck the ould
D
34 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
chap became delighted, for he knew thin he had the
commandher ov Airyun (Erin) for a son-in-law.
" Hello ! " sez the king, '' who have we now ? " scz
he, seein' the collar. '' Begonny's," sez he, '* you're
no boccagh (beggar) anyways ! "
" I'm Fan MaCool," sez the other, as impident as
a cocksparra' ; " have you anything to say agen me ? "
for his name wasn't up, at that time, like afther.
*' Ay lots to say agen you. How dar' you be comin
round this a- way, dressed like a playacthor, taldn
us in ? " sez the king, lettin' on to be vexed ; *' an
now," sez he, *' to annoy you, you'll have to go an
jump back agen afore you gets me daughter for puttin
on (deceiving) us in such a manner."
" Your will is my pleasure," sez Fan ; " but I must
have a word or two with the girl first," sez he, an' up
he goes an' commences talkin' soft to her, an' the king
got as mad as a hatther at the way the two were croo-
sheenin' an' colloguin' (whispering and talking), an'
not mindin' him no more than if he was the man in the
moon, when who comes up but the Prence of Imayle,
afther dryin' himself, to put his pike in the hay too.
** Well, avochal (my boy)," sez Fan, " are you dry
yet ? " an' the Prencess laughed like a bell round a
cat's neck.
" You think yourself a smart lad, I suppose," sez
the other ; " but there's one thing you can't do wid
all your prate I "
" What's that ? " sez Fan. " Maybe not " sez he.
" You couldn't whistle and chaw oatenmalc," sez
the Prence ov Omayle, in a pucker. '* Are you any
good at tlirowin' a stone ? " sez he, then.
FIONN MACCUMHAIL AND THE PRINCESS. 35
" The best ! " sez Fan, an' all the coort gother round
like to a cock-fight. '* Where '11 we throw to ? " sez he.
" In to'ards Dublin," sez the Prence ov Imayle ;
an' be all accounts he was a great hand at cruistin
(throwing).
'* Here goes pink," sez he, an' he ups with a stone,
as big as a castle, an' sends it flyin' in the air like a cannon
ball, and it never stopped till it landed on top ov the Three
Rock Mountain.
** I'm your masther ! " sez Fan, pickin' up another
clochaun (stone) an' sendin' it a few perch beyant the
first.
" That you're not," sez the Prence ov Imayle, an'
he done his best, an' managed to send another finger
stone beyant Fan's throw ; an' sure, the three stones
are to be seen, be all the world, to this very day.
" Well, me lad," says Fan, stoopin' for another as
big as a hill, "I'm sorry I have to bate you ; but I can't
help it," sez he, lookin' over at the Prencess Maynish,
an' she as m.ute as a mouse watchin' the two big men,
an' the ould king showin' fair play, as delighted as a
child, " Watch this," sez he, whirHn' his arm like
a windmill, " and now put on your spectacles,"
sez he ; and away he sends the stone, buzzin' through
the air like a peggin'-top, over the other three clochauns,
and then across Dublin Bay, an' scrapin' the nose off
ov Howth, it landed with a swish in the say beyant it.
That's the rock they calls Ireland's Eye now !
" Be the so an' so ! " sez the king, " I don't know
where that went to, at all, at all ! what direct did you
send it ? ' sez he to Fan. " I had it in view, till it
went over the say," sez he.
" Fm bet 1 " sez the Prence ov Imayle. " I couldn't
36 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
pass that, for I can't see where you put it, even — good-
bye to yous," sez he, turnin' on his heel an' makin'
off ; '' an' may yous two be as happy as I can wish you ! "
An' back he went to the butt ov Lugnaquilla, an' took to
fret, an I understand shortly afther he died ov a broken
heart ; an' they put a turtle-dove on his tombstone to
signify that he died for love ; but I think he overstrained
himself, throwin', though that's nayther here nor there
with me story !
'' Are you goin' to lep back agen ? " sez ould King
Garry, wantin' to see more sport ; for he tuk as much
delight in seein' the like as if he was a lad ov twenty.
** To be shure I will ! " sez Fan, ready enough,
" but I'll have to take the girl over with me this time ! "
sez he.
''Oh, no. Fan ! " sez Maynish, afeered ov her life
he might stumble an' that he'd fall in with her ; an' then
she'd have to fall out with him — " take me father with
you," sez she ; an' egonnys, the ould king thought
more about himself than any ov them, an' sed he'd take
the will for the deed, like the lawyers. So the weddin'
went on ; an' maybe that wasn't the grand blow-out.
But I can't stay to tell yous all the fun they had for a
fortnit ; on'y, me dear, they all went into kinks ov
laughin', when the ould king, who tuk more than was
good for him, stood up to drink Fan's health, an' forgot
himself.
" Here's to'ards your good health. Fan MaCool ! "
sez he, as grand as you like — '* an' a long life to you, an'
a happy wife to you — an' a great many ov them ! " sez
he, like he'd forgot somethin'.
Well, me dear, every one was splittin' their sides
like the p'yates, unless the prencess, an' she got as red
FIONN MACCUMHAIL AND THE PRINCESS. 37
in the face as if she was churnin' in the winther an' the
frost keepin' the crame from crackin' ; but she got
over it Uke the maisles.
But I suppose you can guess the remainder, an' as
the evenin's gettin' forrard I'll stop ; so put down the
kittle an' make tay, an' if Fan and the Prencess Maynish
didn't live happy together — that we may !
38 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
The Kildare Pooka.
From " Legendary Fictioiis of the Irish Celts.'*
By Patrick Kennedy.
Mr. H H , when he was aUve, used to live
a good deal in Dublin, and he was once a great while
out of the country on account of the '' ninety-eight "
business. But the servants kept on in the big house
at Rath — all the same as if the family was at home.
Well, they used to be frightened out of their lives, after
going to their beds, with the banging of the kitchen
door and the clattering of fire-irons and the pots and
plates and dishes. One evening they sat up ever so
long keeping one another in heart with stories about
ghosts and that, when — what would have it ? — the little
scullery boy that used to be sleeping over the horses,
and could not get room at the fire, crept into the hot
hearth, and when he got tired listening to the stories,
sorra fear him, but he fell dead asleep.
Well and good. After they were all gone, and the
kitchen raked up, he was woke with the noise of the
kitchen door opening, and the tramping of an ass in the
kitchen floor. He peeped out, and what should he see
but a big ass, sure enough, sitting on his curabingo
and yawning before the fire. After a little he looked
about him, and began scratching his ears as if he was
quite tired, an, says he, " I may as well begin first as last.'*
The poor boy's teeth began to chatter in his head, for,
says he, " Now he's going to ate me " ; but the fellow
with the long ears and tail on him had something else
to do. He stirred the fire, and then brought in a pail
THE KILDARE POOKA. 39
of water from the pump, and filled a big pot that he put
on the fire before he went out. He then put in his
hand — foot, I mean — into the hot hearth, and pulled out
the little boy. He let a roar out of him with fright. But
the pooka only looked at him, and thrust out his lower
lip to show how little he valued him, and then he pitched
him into his pew again.
Well, he then lay down before the fire till he heard
the boil coming on the water, and maybe there wasn't
a plate, or a dish, or a spoon on the dresser, that he
didn't fetch and put into the pot, and wash and dry
the whole bilin' of 'em as well as e'er a kitchen maid
from that to Dublin town. He then put all of them up
on their places on the shelves ; and if he didn't give
a good sweepin' to the kitchen, leave it till again. Then
he comes and sits foment the boy, let down one of
his ears, and cocked up the other, and gave a grin. The
poor fellow strove to roar out, but not a dheeg (sound) ud
come out of his throat. The last thing the pooka done
was to rake up the fire and walk out, giving such a slap
o' the door, that the boy thought the house couldn't
help tumbling down.
Well, to be sure, if there wasn't a hullabuloo next
morning when the poor fellow told his story ! They
could talk of nothing else the whole day. One said
one thing, another said another, but a fat, lazy scullery
girl said the wittiest thing of all. '' Musha," says she,
" if the pooka does be cleaning up everything that way
when we are asleep, what should we be slaving ourselves
for doing his work ? " " Sha gu dheine'' (yes, indeed),
says another, " them's the wisest words you ever said,
Kauth ; it's meeself won't contradict you."
So said, so done, not a bit of a plate or dish saw a drop
40 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
of water that evening, and not a besom was laid on the
floor, and everyone went to bed after sundown. Next
morning everything was as fine as fine in the kitchen,
and the Lord Mayor might eat his dinner off the flags.
It was great ease to the lazy servants, you may depend,
and everythmg went on well till a foolhardy gag of a
boy said he would stay up one night and have a chat with
the pooka. He was a little daunted when the door was
thrown open and the ass marched up to the fire.
" And then, sir," says he, at last, picking up courage,
"if it isn't taking a liberty, might I ax you who you
are, and why you are so kind as to do a half a day's work
for the girls every night ? " " No liberty at all," says
the pooka, says he : "I'll tell you and welcome. I
was a servant in the time of Squire H 's father, and
was the laziest rogue that was ever clothed and fed,
and done nothing for it. When my time came for the
other world, this is the punishment was laid on me to
come here and do all this labour every night, and then
go out in the cold. It isn't so bad in the fine weather ;
but if you only knew what it was to stand with your
head between your legs, facing the storm from midnight
to sunrise on a bleak winter night." " And could we do
anything for your comfort, my poor fellow } " says
the boy. " Musha, I don't know," says the pooka :
" but I think a good quilted frieze coat would help me
to keep the life in me them long nights." " Why, then,
in truth, we'd be the ungratcfuUest of people if we didn't
feel for you."
To make a long story short, the next night the boy
was there again ; and if he didn't delight the poor pooka,
holding a fine, warm coat before him, it's no matther I
Betune the pooka and the man, his legs was got into the
THE KILDARE POOKA. 4 1
four arms of it, and it was buttoned down the breast and
belly, and he was so pleased he walked up to the glass
to see how he looked. " Well" says he, " it's a long
lane that has no turning. I am much obliged to you
and your fellow servants. You have mr.de me happy
at last. Good night to you."
So he was walking out, but the other cried, " Och !
sure you're going too soon What about the washing
and sweeping ? " '' Ah, you may tell the girls that they
must now get their turn. My punishment was to last
till I was thought worthy of a reward for the way I
done my duty You'll see me no more." And no
more they did, and right sorry they v/ere for having been
in such a hurry to reward the ungrateful pooka.
42 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
The Piper and the Puca.
From " An Sgeuluidhe Gaodhalach.''
By Douglas Hyde (i860 — ).
In the old times there was a half-fool living in Dunmore,
in the County Galway, and though he was excessively
fond of music, he was unable to learn more than one
tune, and that was the " Black Rogue." He used to
get a deal of money from the gentlemen, for they used
to get sport out of him. One night the Piper w^as
coming home from a house where there had been a
dance, and he half-drunk. When he came up to a little
bridge that was by his mother's house, he squeezed
the pipes on, and began playing the " Black Rogue."
The Puca came behind him, and flung him on his (.wn
back There were long horns on the Puca, and the
Piper got a good grip of them, and then he said ; —
" Destruction on you, you nasty beast ; let me home
I have a tenpenny piece in my pocket for my mother,
and she wants snuff."
" Never mind your mother," said the puca, " but
keep your hold. If you fall you will break your neck
and your pipes." Then the Puca said to him, " Play
up for me the ' Shan Van Vocht." '
I don't know it," said the Piper.
Never mind whether you do or you don't," said the
Puca. ** Play up, and I'll make you know."
The Piper put wind in his bag, and he played such
music as made himself wonder.
" Upon my word, you're a fine music-master," says
the Piper, then ; " but tell me where you're bringing me."
THE PIPER AND THE PUCA. 43
" There's a great feast in the house of the Banshee,
on the top of Croagh Patric to-night," says the Puca,
" and I'm for bringing you there to play music, and,
take my word, you'll get the price of your trouble."
" By my word, you*ll save me a journey, then," says
the Piper, " for Father William put a journey to Croagh
Patric on me because I stole the white gander from
him last Martinmas."
The Puca rushed him across hills and bog and rough
places, till he brought him to the top of Croagh Patric
Then the Puca struck three blows with his foot,
and a great door opened, and they passed in together
into a fine room.
The Piper saw a golden table in the middle of the room,
and hundreds of old wom n sitting round about it.
The old woman rose up and said, '' A hundred thou-
sand welcomes to you, you Puca of November. Who
is this you have with you ? "
*' The best Piper in Irel nd," says the Puca.
One of the old women struck a blow on the ground,
and a door opened in the side of the wall, and what
should the Piper see coming out but the white gander
which he had stolen from Father William.
*' By my conscience, then," says the Piper, '* myself
nd my mother ate every taste of that gander, only one
wing, and I gave that to Red Mary, and it's she told the
priest I stole his gander."
The gander cleaned the table, and carried it away,
and the Puca said, '' Play up music for these ladies,"
The Piper played up, and the old women began
dancing, and they danced till they tired. Then the
Puca said to pay the Piper, and every old woman drew
out a gold piece and gave it to him.
44 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
'' By the tooth of Patric," says he, " I'm as rich as
the son of a lord."
" Come with me," says the Puca, " and I'll bring you
home."
They went out then, and just as he was going to ride
on the Puca, the gander came up to him and gave him
a new set of pipes.
The Puca was not long until he brought him to
Dunmore, and he threw the Piper off at the little bridge,
and then he told him to go home, and says to him, '* You
have two things now that you never had before — you
have sense and music." The Piper went home, and he
knocked at his mother's door, saying, " Let me in, I'm
as rich as a lord, and I'm the best Piper in Ireland."
*' You're drunk," says the mother.
*' No, indeed," says the Piper, " I haven't drunk a
drop."
The mother let him in, and he gave her the gold
pieces, and, " Wait, now," says he, " till you hear the
music I play."
He buckled on the pipes, but instead of music there
came a sound as if all the geese and ganders in Ireland
were screeching together. He wakened all the neigh-
bours, and they were all mocking him, until he put on
the old pipes, and then he played melodious music for
them ; and after that he told them all he had gone
through that night.
The next morning, when his mother went to look at
the gold pieces, there was nothing there but the leaves
of a plant.
The Piper went to the priest and told him his story,
but the priest would not believe a word from him, until
THE PIPER AND THE PUCA 45
he put the pipes on him, and then the screeching of the
ganders and the geese began.
" Leave my sight, you thief," says the priest.
But nothing would do the Piper till he put the old
pipes on him to show the priest that his story was true.
He buckled on his old pipes, and played melodious
music, and from that day till the day of his death there
was never a Piper in the County Galway was as good
as he was.
46 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
McCarthy of Connacht.
From ** Folk Tales oj Breffny.'"
By B. Hunt.
There was a fine young gentleman the name of
McCarthy. He had a most beautiful countenance, and for
strength and prowess there was none to equal him in the
baronies of Connacht. But he began to dwine away,
and no person knew what ailed him. He used no food
at all and he became greatly reduced, the way he was
not able to rise from his bed and he letting horrid groans
and lamentations out of him. His father sent for three
skilled doctors to come and find out what sort of disease
it might be, and a big reward was promised for the cure.
Three noted doctors came on the one day and they
searched every vein in young McCarthy's body, but
they could put no name on the sickness nor think of a
remedy to relieve it. They came down from the room
and reported that the disease had them baffled entirely.
*' Am I to be at the loss of a son who is the finest boy
in all Ireland ? '* says the father.
Now one of the doctors had a man with him who
was a very soft-spoken person, and he up and says :
" Maybe your honours would be giving me permission
to visit the young gentleman. I have a tongue on me
is that sweet I do be drawing the secrets of the world
out of men and women and little children."
Well, they brought him up to the room and they left
him alone with M'Carthy. He sat down beside the bed
and began for to flatter him. The like of such conversation
was never heard before.
MCCARTHY OF CONNACHT. 47
At long last he says, *' Let your Lordship's honour
be telling — What is it ails you at all ? "
" You will never let on to a living soul ? " asks
McCarthy.
" Is it that I'd be lodging an information against a
noble person like yourself ? " says the man.
With that, the young gentleman began telling the
secrets of his heart.
*' It is no disease is on me," says he, '' but a terrible
misfortune."
" Tis heart scalded I am that you have either a sorrow
or a sickness, and you grand to look on and better to
listen to," says the other.
'' It is in love I am," says M'Carthy.
" And how would that be a misfortune to a fine lad
like yourself ? " asks the man.
" Let you never let on ! " says M'Carthy. " The way
of it is this : I am lamenting for no lady who is walking
the world, nor for one who is dead that I could * be
following to the grave. I have a little statue which has
the most beautiful countenance on it that was ever
seen, and it is destroyed with grief I am that it will never
be speaking to me at all."
With that he brought the image out from under his
pillow, and the loveliness of it made the man lep off
the chair.
" Fd be stealing the wee statue from your honour
if I stopped in this place," says he. '' But let you take
valour into your heart, for that is the likeness of a lady
who is living in the world, and you will be finding her
surely."
With that he went down to the three doctors and the
old man who were waiting below. For all his promises
48 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
to young McCarthy, he told the lot of them all he was
after hearing. The doctors allowed that if the
gentleman's life was to be saved he must be got out of
his bed and sent away on his travels.
" For a time he will be hopeful of finding her,"
says the oldest doctor. *' Then the whole notion
will pass off him, and he seeing strange lands and great
wonders to divert him."
The father was that anxious for the son's recovery
that he agreed to sell the place and give him a big handful
of money for the journey.
*' It is little I'll be needing for myself from this out,
and I an old man near ripe for the grave," says he.
So they all went up to the room and told young
McCarthy to rise irom his bed and eat a good dinner,
for the grandest arrangements out were made for his
future and he'd surely meet the lady. When he seen that
no person was mocking him he got into the best of
humour, and he came down and feasted with them.
Not a long time afterwards he took the big handful
of money and set out on his travels, bringing the statue
with him. He went over the provinces of Ireland,
then he took sea to England, and wandered it entirely,
away to France with him next, and from that to every
art and part of the world. He had the strangest
adventures, and he seen more wonders than could ever
be told or remembered. At the Litter end h • came
back to the old country again, with no more nor a coin
or two left of thewhol. great fortun of money. The
whole time he never seen a lady who was the least like
the wee statue ; and the words of the old doctor were
only a deceit for he didn't quit thinking of her at all.
M'Carthy was a handsome young gentleman, and if
MCCARTHY OF CONNACHT. 49
it was small heed he had for any person he met it was
great notice was taken of him. Sure it was a queen,
no less, and five or six princesses were thinking long
thoughts on himself.
The hope was near dead in his heart, and the sickness
of grief was on him again when he came home to Ireland.
Soon after he landed from the ship he chanced to come
on a gentleman's place, and it a fine, big house he never
had seen before. He went up and inquired of the
servants if he would get leave to rest there. He was given
a most honourable reception, and the master of the house
wai well pleased to be entertaining such an agreeable
guest. Now himself happened to be a Jew, and that is
the why he did not ask McCarthy to eat at his table,
but had his dinner set out for him in a eparate room.
The servants remarked on the small share of food he
was using, it was scarcely what would keep the life in
a young chi d ; but he asked them not to make any
observation of the sort. At first they obeyed him, yet
when he used no meat at all on the third day, didn't
they speak with their master.
" What is the cause of it at all ? " he says to McCarthy.
*' Is the food in this place not to your liking ? Let
you name any dish you have a craving for, and the cook
will prepare it." -._^
'' There was never better refreshment set before an
emperor," says M'Carthy.
"It is civility makes you that flattering," answers
the Jew. " How would you be satisfied with the meat
which is set before you when you are not able to use any
portion of it at all ? "
" I doubt I have a sickness on me will be the means
of my death," says M'Carthy. " I had best be moving
?
50
HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
on from this place, the way I'll not be rewarding your
kindness with the botheration of a corpse."
With that the master of the house began for to speak
in praise of a doctor who was in those parts.
" I see I must be telling you what is in it," says
M'-Carthy. " Doctors have no relief for the sort of
tribulation is destroying me."
He brought out the statue, and he went over the whole
story from start to finish. How he set off on his travels
and was hopeful for a while ; and how despair got hold of
him again.
*' Let you be rejoicing now," says the Jew, " for it
is near that lady you are this day. She comes down to
a stream which is convenient to this place, and six
waiting maids along with her, bringing a rod and line for
to fish. And it is always at the one hour she is in it."
Well, McCarthy was lepping wild with delight to
hear tell of he lady.
" Let you do all I'm saying," the Jew advises him.
*' I'll provide you with the best of fishing tackle, and do
you go down to the stream for to fish in it, too. Whatever
comes to your line let you give to the lady. But say
nothing which might scare her at all, and don't follow
after her if she turns to go home."
The next day M'Carthy went out for to fish ; not a
long time was he at the stream before the lady came
down and the six waiting maids along with her. Sure
enough she was the picture of the statue, and she had the
loveliest golden hair ever seen.
M'Carthy had the luck to catch a noble trout, and he
took it off the hook, rolled it in leaves, and brought it
to the lady, according to the advice of the Jew. She was
pleased to accept the gift of it, but didn't she turn home
MCCARTHY OF CONNACHT. 5 1
at once and the six waiting maids along with her. When
she went into her own house she took the fish to her
father.
" There was a noble person at the stream this day,"
she says, '' and he made me a present of the trout."
Next morning McCarthy went to fish again, and he
seen the lady coming and her six waiting maids walking
behind her. He caught a splendid fine trout and brought
it over to her ; with that she turned home at once.
" Father," says she, when she went in, '' the gentleman
is after giving me a fish which is bigger and better nor
the one I brought back yesterday. If the like happens
at the next time I go to the stream I will be inviting the
noble person to partake of refreshment in this place."
" Let you do as best pleases yourself," says her father.
Well, sure enough, M'Carthy got the biggest trout
of all the third time. The lady was in the height of
humour, and she asked would he go up to the house
with her that day. She walked with M'Carthy beside
her, and the six waiting maids behind them. They
conversed very pleasantly together, and at last he found
courage for to tell her of how he travelled the world
to seek no person less than herself.
"I'm fearing you'll need to set out on a second journey,
the way you will be coming in with some other one,"
says she. '' I have an old father who is after refusing
two score of suitors who were asking me off him. I
do be thinking I'll not be joining the world at all, unless
a king would be persuading himself of the advancement
there is in having a son-in-law wearing a golden crown
upon his head. The whole time it is great freedom I
have, and I walking where it pleases me with six waiting
maids along with me. The old man has a notion they'd
52 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
inform him if I was up to any diversion, but that is not
the way of it at all."
" It is funning you are, surely," says McCarthy.
*• If himself is that uneasy about you how would it be
possible you'd bring me to the house to be speaking
with him ? "
" He is a kindly man and reasonable," says she,
" and it is a good reception you'll be getting. Only
let you not be speaking of marriage with me, for he
cannot endure to hear tell of the like."
Well, the old man made McCarthy welcome, and he
had no suspicion the two were in notion of each other.
But didn't they arrange all unbeknownt to him, and plan
out an elopement.
McCarthy went back to the Jew, and he told him all.
" But," says he, " I am after spending my whole great
fortune of money travelling the territory of the world.
I must be finding a good situation the way I'll make
suitable provision for herself."
'* Don't be in the least distress," says the Jew. " I
did not befriend you this far to be leaving you in a bad
case at the latter end. I'll oblige you with the loan of
what money will start you in a fine place. You will
be making repayment at the end of three years when
you have made your profit on the business."
The young gentleman accepted the offer, and he fair
wild with delight. Moreover, the Jew gave himself
and the lady grand assistance at the elopement, the way
they got safe out of it and escaped from her father,
who was raging in pursuit,
McCarthy was rejoicing surely, and he married to a
wife who was the picture of the statue. Herself was in
the best of humour, too, for it was small delight she
MCCARTHY OF CONNACHT. 53
had in her own place, roaming the fields or stopping
within and six waiting maids along with her. A fine,
handsome husband was the right company for her Uke.
They bought a lovely house and farm of land with the
money which was lent by the Jew ; and they fixed all
the grandest ever was seen. After a while McCarthy
got a good commission to be an officer, the way nothing
more in the world was needful to their happiness.
McCarthy and his lady had a fine life of it, they lacking
for no comfort or splendour at all. The officer's
commission he had brought himself over to England
from time to time, and the lady M'Carthy would mind
all until he was home. He saved up what money was
superfluous, and all was gathered to repay the loan
to the Jew only for a few pounds.
Well, it happened that M'Carthy went to England,
and there he fell in with a droll sort of a man, who was
the best company. They played cards together and they
drank a great power of wine. In the latter end a dispute
came about between them, for they both claimed to have
the best woman.
" I have a lady beyond in Ireland," says M'Carthy,
" and she is an ornament to the roads when she is passing
alone. But no person gets seeing her these times, and
that is a big misfortune to the world."
" What's the cause ? " asks the Englishman.
"I'd have a grief on me to think another man might
be looking on her and I not standing by," says M'Carthy.
" So she gives me that satisfaction on her promised word :
all the time I do be away she never quits the house,
and no man body is allowed within."
The Englishman let a great laugh out of him at the
words.
54
HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
" You are simple enough ! " says he. " Don't
you know rightly when you are not in it, herself will be
feasting and entertaining and going on with every
diversion ? "
McCarthy was raging at the impertinence of him,
and he offered for to fight.
" What would that be proving ? '' says the Englishman.
" Let you make a powerful big bet with myself that I
will not be able for to bring you a token from your
lady and a full description of her appearance."
" ril be winning the money off you, surely ! " says
McCarthy.
'' Not at all," says the Englishman. *' I'm not in
the least uneasy about it, for I'm full sure it's the truth
I'm after speaking of how she does be playing herself
in your absence."
" You'll find me in this place and you coming back,"
says McCarthy. *' Let you be prepared with the money
to have along with you."
The Englishman took ship to Ireland, and he came
to the house of the lady McCarthy. Herself was in the
kitchen making a cake, and she seen the man walking
up to the door. Away she run to the parlour, and in
the hurry she forgot the lovely pearl ring she took oft'
her finger when she began at the cooking. Well, he
found the door standing open, and he seen the ring
on the kitchen table. It was easy knowing it was no
common article would be in the possession of any one
but the mistress of the house. What did the lad do,
only slip in and put it in his pocket. With that the
waiting maid came and asked his business, the lady
McCarthy was after sending her down.
MCCARTHY OF CONNACHT. 55
" Oh, no business at ail," says he. " But I am weary
travelling and I thought I might rest at this place."
He began for to flatter the girl and to offer her bribes,
and in the latter end he got her to speak. She told him
all what the mistress of the house was like ; how she
had a mole under her right arm, and one on her left
knee. Moreover she gave him a few long golden hairs
she got out of the lady's comb.
The Englishman went back to McCarthy, brought
him the tokens, and demanded the payment of the bet.
And that is the way the poor gentleman spent the money
he had saved up for the Jew.
M'Carthy sent word to his wife that he was coming
home, and for her to meet him on the ship. She put
her grandest raiment upon her and started away at once.
She went out to the ship and got up on the deck where
she seen her husband standing. When she went over
to him he never said a word at all, but he swept her aside
with his arm the way she fell into the water. Then he
went on shore full sure he had her drowned.
But there was another ship coming in, and a miller
that was on her seen the lady struggling in the sea. He
was an aged man, yet he ventured in after her and he
saved the poor creature's life.
Well, the miller was a good sort of a man and he had
great compassion for herself when she told him her
story. She had no knowledge of the cause of her
husband being vexed with her, and she thought it hard
to believe the evidence of her senses that he was after
striving to make away with her. The miller advised
the lady M'Carthy to go on with the ship, which was
sailing to another port, for maybe if she went home
after the man he would be destroying her.
^6 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
When the ship came into the harbour the news was
going of a great lawsuit.
The miller heard all, and he brought word to the lady
that M'Carthy was in danger of death.
" There are three charges against him," says the
miller. " Your father has him impeached for stealing
you away, and you not wishful to be with him : that is
the first crime."
'' That is a false charge," ays she, " for I helped for
to plan the whole elopement. My father is surely
saying all in good faith, but it is a he the whole time."
" A Jew has him accused for a sum of money he
borrowed, and it was due for repayment : that is the
second crime," says he miller.
" The money was all gathered up for to pay the debt,"
says the lady. " Where can it be if M'Carthy will not
p oduce it ?
'* The law has him committed for the murder of
yourself : and that is the third crime," says the miller.
*' And a false charge, too, seeing you saved me in that
ill hour. I am thinking I'd do well to be giving evidence
in a court of law, for it's maybe an inglorious death
they'll be giving him," says she.
" Isn't that what he laid out for yourself ? " asks the
miller.
" It is surely, whatever madness came on him. But
I have a good wish for him the whole time."
" If that is the way of it we had best be setting out,"
says he.
The lady and the miller travelled overland, it being
a shorter journey nor the one they were after coming
by sea. When they got to the court of law wasn't the
judge after condemning IM'Carthy ; and it was little
MCCARTHY OF CONNACHT. 57
the poor gentleman cared for the sentence of death was
passed on him.
" My life is bitter and poisoned on me," says he ;
" maybe the grave is the best place."
With that the lady McCarthy stood up in the court
and gave out that she had not been destroyed at all,
for the miller saved her from the sea.
They began the whole trial over again, and herself
told how she planned the elopement, and her father
had no case at all. She could not tell why M' Car thy
was wishful to destroy her, and he had kept all to himself
at the first trial. But by degrees all was brought to
light : the villainy of the Englishman and the deceit
was practised on them by him and the servant girl.
L was decreed that the money was to be restored
by that villain, and the Jew was to get his payment out
of it.
The lady McCarthy's father was in such rejoicement
to see his daughter, and she alive, that he forgave herself
and the husband for the elopement. Didn't the three
of them go away home together and they the happiest
people who were ever heard tell of in the world.
38 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
The Mad Pudding of Bally-
boulteen.
By William Carleton (1794-1869).
"Moll Roe RAFFERTY,the daughter of ould JackRafferty,
was a fine, young bouncin' girl, large an' lavish, wid a
purty head of hair on her — scarlet — that bein' one of
the raisons why she was called Roe, or red ; her arms
and cheeks were much the colour of her hair, an' her
saddle nose was the puniest thing of its kind that ever
was on a face.
" Well, anyhow, it was Moll Rafferty that was the
dilsy. It happened that there was a nate vagabone in
the neighbourhood, just as much overburdened wid
beauty as herself, and he was named Gusty Gillespie.
Gusty was what they call a black-mouth Prosbytarian,
and wouldn't keep Christmas Day, except what they
call 'ould style.' Gusty was rather good-lookin',
when seen in the dark, as well as Moll herself ; anyhow,
they got attached to each other, and in the end every-
thing was arranged for their marriage
" Now this was the first marriage that had happened
for a long time in the neighbourhood between a
Prodestant and a Catholic, and faix, there was of the
bride's uncles, ould Harry Connolly, a fairyman, who
could cure all complaints wid a secret he had, and as
he didn't wish to see his niece married to sich a fellow,
he fought bitterly against the match. All Moll's
friends, however, stood up for the marriage, barrin'
him, and, of coorse, the Sunday was appointed, as I
said, that they were to be dove-tailed together.
THE MAD PUDDING OF BALLYBOULTEEN. 59
" Well, the day arrived, and Moll, as became her,
went to Mass, and Gusty to meeting, afther which they
were to join one another in Jack Rafferty's, where the
pries , Father McSorley wa to s''p up afther Mass
to take his dinner wid them, and to keep Mister
McShuttle, who was to marry them, company.
Nobody remained at home but ould Jack Rafferty an*
his wife, who stopped to dress for dinner, for, to tell
the truth, it was to be a great let-out entirely. Maybe
if all was known, too. Father McSorley was to give them
a cast of his office over and above the ministher, in
regard that Moll's friends were not altogether satisfied
at the kind of marriage which McShuttle could give them.
The sorrow may care about that — sphce here, splice
there — all I can say is that when Mrs. Rafferty was goin'
to tie up a big bag pudden, in walks Harry Connolly,
the fairyman, in a rage, and shouts, * Blood and blunder-
bushes, what are yez here for ? '
" ' Arrah, why, Harry ? Why, avick ? "
" * Why, the sun's in the suds, and the moon in the
high Horricks ; there's a clip-stick comin' on, and there
you're both as unconsarned as if it was about to rain
mether. Go out rn' cross yourselves three times in
the name o' the four Mandromarvins, for, as the prophecy
says : — * Fill the pot, Eddy, supernaculum — a blazin'
star's a rare spectaculum.' Go out, both of you, an'
look at the sun, I say, an' ye'U see the condition he's in
—off!'
" Begad, sure enough, Jack gave a bounce to the door,
and his wife leaped like a two-year-ould, till they were
both got on a stile beside the house to see what was
wrong in the sky.
" * Arrah, what is it, Jack ? ' says she, * can you see
anything ? *
6o HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
" ' No,' says he, ' sorra the full of my eye of anything
I can spy, barrin' the sun himself, that's not visible,
in regard of the clouds. God guard us ! I doubt
there's something to happen.'
" ' If there wasn't. Jack, what'd put Harry, that knows
so much, in that state he's in ? '
" * I doubt it's this marriage,' says Jack. ' Betune
ourselves, it's not over an' above religious of Moll to
marry a black-mouth, an' only for — ; but, it can't
be helped now, though you see it's not a taste o' the
sun is willing to show his face upon it.'
" ' As to that,' says his wife, winkin' with both eyes,
* if Gusty's satisfied with Moll, it's enough. I know
who'll carry the whip hand, anyhow ; but in the manetime
let us ax Harry within what ails the sun ? '
*' Well, they accordingly went in, and put this question
to him, ' Harry, what's wrong, ahagur } What is it
now, for if anybody alive knows 'tis yourself ? '
" ' Ah,' said Harry, screwin' his mouth wid a kind
of a dry smile, * The sun has a hard twist o' the coUc ;
but never mind that, I tell you, you'll have a merrier
weddin' than you think, that's all ' ; and havin' said
this, he put on his hat and left the house.
Now, Harry's answer relieved them very much,
and so, afther caUin' to him to be back for dinner. Jack
sat down to take a shough o' the pipe, and the wife
lost no time in tying up the pudden, and puttin' it in
the pot to be boiled.
'* In this way things went on well enough for a while,
Jack smokin' away an' the wife cookin' an' dressin'
at the rate of a hunt. At last. Jack, while sittin', I said,
contently at the fire, thought he could persave an odd
dancin' kind of motion in the pot that puzzled him a
good deal.
THE MAD PUDDING OF BALLYBOULTEEN. 6 1
(( (
Katty,' says he, ' what in the dickens is in this
pot on the fire? '
" ' Nerra a thing but the big pudden. Why do you
ax ? ' says she.
" ' Why,' says he, * if ever a pot tuk it into its head
to dance a jig, this did. Thunder and sparbles, look
at it ! '
" Begad, and it was thrue enough ; there was the pot
bobbin' up an' down, and from side to side, jiggin' it
away as merry as a grig ; an' it was quite aisy to see that
it wasn't the pot itself, but what was inside it, that
brought about the hornpipe.
" ' Be the hole o' my coat,' shouted Jack, ' there's
somethin' aUve in it, or it would niver cut sich capers ! '
*' ' Begorra, there is. Jack ; something sthrange
entirely has got into it. Wirra, man alive, what's to
be done ? '
" Jist as she spoke the pot seemed to cut the buckle in
prime style, and afther a spring that'd shame a dancin'
masther, off flew the lid, and out bounced the pudden
itself, hoppin' as nimble as a pea on a drum-head about
the floor. Jack blessed himself, and Katty crossed
herself. Jack shouted and Katty screamed. * In the
name of goodness, keep your distance ; no one here
injured you ! ' "^.^
" The pudden, however, made a set at him, and Jack
lepped first on a chair, and then on the kitchen table,
to avoid it. It then danced towards Katty, who was
repatin' her prayers at the top of her voice, while the
cunnin' thief of a pudden was hoppin' an' jiggin' it
around her as if it was amused at her distress.
" ' If I could get a pitchfork,' says Jack, ' I'd dale
wid it — by goxty, I'd thry its mettle,'
,62 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
*' ' No, no/ shouted Katty, thinkin' there was a
fairy in it ; * let us spake it fair. Who knows what
harm it might do ? Aisy, now,' says she to the pudden ;
* aisy, dear ; don't harm honest people that never meant
to offend you, It wasn't us — no, in troth, it was ould
Harry Connolly that bewitched you ; pursue him,
if you wish, but spare a woman like me ! '
" The pudden, bedad, seemed to take her at her word,
and danced away from her towards Jack, who, like the
wife, believin' there was a fairy in it, an' that spakin'
it fair was the best plan, thought he would give it a soft
word as well as her.
'' * Plase your honour,' said Jack, * she only spakes
the truth, an' upon my voracity, we both feels much
obliged to you for your quietness. Faith, it's quite
clear that if you weren't a gentleman pudden, all out,
you'd act otherwise. Ould Harry, the rogue, is your
mark ; he's jist down the road there, and if you go fast
you'll overtake him. Be my song, your dancin'-masther
did his duty, anyway. Thank your honour ! God
speed you, and may you niver meet wid a parson or
alderman in your thravels.'
Jist as Jack spoke, the pudden appeared to take the
hint, for it quietly hopped out, and as the house was
directly on the roadside, turned down towards the
bridge, the very way that ould H rry went. It was
very natural, of coorse, that Jack and Katty should go
and see how it intended to thravel, and as the day was
Sunday, it was but natural too, that a greater number of
people than usual were passin' the road. This v.lis a
fact ; and when Jack and his wife were seen folio win'
the pudden, the whole neighbourhood was soon up
and after it.
THE MAD PUDDING OF BALLYBOULTEEN. 63
" ' Jack Rafferty, what is it ? Katty, ahagur, will
you tell us what it manes ? '
" * Why,' replied Katty, ' it's my big pudden that's
bewitched, an' it's out hot pursuin' — here she stopped,
not wishin' to mention her brother's name — * someone
or other that surely put pishrogues (a fairy spell) an it.'
" This was enough ; Jack, now seein' he had assistance,
found his courage comin' back to him ; so says he to
Katty, ' Go home,' says he, * an' lose no time in makin'
another pudden as good, an' here's Paddy Scanlan's
wife Bridget says she'll let you boil it on her fire, as
you'll want our own to dress for dinner ; and Paddy
himself will lend me a pitchfork, for pursuin' to the morsel
of that same pudden will escape, till I let the wind out
of it, now that I've the neighbours to back an' support
me,' says Jack.
'' This was agreed to, an' Katty went back to prepare
a fresh pudden, while Jack an' half the townland pursued
the other wid spades, graips, pitchforks, scythes, flails,
and all possible description of instruments. On the
pudden went, however, at the rate of about six Irish
miles an hour, an' sich a chase was never seen. Catholics,
Prodestants, and Prosbytarians were all afther it, armed,
as I said, an' bad end to the thing but its own activity
could save it. Here it made a hop, there a prod was
made at it, but off it went, and someone, as eager to get
a slice at it on the other side, got the prod instead of
the pudden. Big Frank Farrell, the miller, of Bally-
boulteen, got a prod backwards that brought a hullabulloo
out of him that you might hear at the other end of the
parish. One got a slice of the scythe, another a whack
of a flail, a third a rap of the spade, that made him
look nine ways at w^anst.
64 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
<( <
^^^lere is it goin' ? asked one. * My life for you,
it's on its way to meeting. Three cheers for it, if it
turns to Carntaul ! ' ' Prod the sowl out of it if it's
a Prodestan,' shouted the others ; ' if it turns to the left,
shoe it into pancakes. We'll have no Prodestan'
puddens here.'
" Begad, by this time the people were on the point
of begginnin' to have a regular fight about it, when,
very fortunately, it took a short turn down a little
by-lane that led towards the Methodist praychin'-
house, an' in an instant all parties were in an uproar
against it as a Methodist pudden. ' It's a Wesleyan,'
shouted several voices ; ' an' by this an' by that, into
a Methodist chapel it won't put a foot to-day, or we'll
lose a fall. Let the wind out of it. Come, boys, where 's
your pitchforks ? '
" The divil pursuin' to the one of them, however,
ever could touch the pudden, and jist when they
thought they had it up against the gravel of the Methodist
chapel, begad, it gave them the slip, and hops over to
the left, clane into the river, and sails away before their
eyes as light as an egg-shell.
" Now, it so happened that a little below this place
the demesne wall of Colonel Bragshaw was built up
to the very edge of the river on each side of its banks ;
and so, findin' there was a stop put to their pursuit
of it, they went home again, every man, woman, and
child of them, puzzled to think what the pudden was at
all, what it meant, or where it was goin'. Had Jack
RafTerty an' his wife been willin' to let out the opinion
they held about Henry Connolly bewitchin' it, there is
no doubt of it but poor Harry might be badly trated
by the crowd, when their blood was up. They had
THE MAD PUDDING OF BALLYBOULTEEN. 65
sense enough, howaniver, to keep that to themselves,
for Harry, bein' an ould bachelor, was a kind friend to
the Raffertys. So, of coorse, there was all kinds of
talk about it — some guessin' this, an' some guessin' that —
one party sayin' the pudden was of their side, and
another denyin' it, an' insisting it belonged to them,
an' so on.
" In the meantime, Katty Rafferty for 'fraid the dinner
might come short, went home and made another pudden
much about the same size as the one that had escaped,
an' bringing it over to their next neighbour, Paddy
Scanlan's, it was put into a pot, and placed on the fire
to boil, hopin' that it might be done in time, espishilly
as they were to have the ministher, who loved a warm
shce of a good pudden as well as e'er a gentleman in
Europe.
" Anyhow, the day passed ; Moll and Gusty were
made man an' wife, an' no two could be more lovin'.
Their friends that had been asked to the weddin' were
saunterin' about in the pleasant little groups till dinner-
time, chattin' an' laughin' ; but, above all things,
sthrivin' to account for the figaries of the pudden ; for,
to tell the truth, its adventures had now gone through
the whole parish.
'' Well, at any rate, dinner-time was drawin' near,
and Paddy Scanlan was sittin' comfortably wid his
wife at the fire, the pudden boilin' before their eyes
when in walks Harry Connolly in a flutter, shoutin'
' Blood and blunder-bushes, what are yez here for ? '
" ' Arrah, why, Harry — why, avick ? ' said Mrs.
Scanlan.
" ' Why,' said Harry, * the sun's in the suds, an' the
moon in the high Horricks 1 Here's a dipstick comin'
F
66 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
on, an' there you sit as unconsarned as if it was about
to rain mether 1 Go out, both of you, an' look at the
sun, I say, an' ye'll see the condition he's in — off ! '
*' ' Ay, but, Harry, what's that rowled up in the tail
of your cothamore (big coat) ? '
" * Out wid yez,' says Harry, ' an' pray against the
dipstick— the sky's fallin' 1 '
" Begad, it was hard to say whether Paddy or the wife
got out first, they were so much alarmed by Harry's
wild, thin face and piercin' eyes ; so out they went to
see what was wonderful in the sky, an' kep lookin' in
every direction, but not a thing was to be seen, barrin'
the sun shinin' down wid great good-humour, an' not
a single cloud in the sky.
'' Paddy an' the wife now came in laughin' to scould
Harry, who, no doubt, was a great wag in his way when
he wished. ' Musha, bad scran to you, Harry—'
and they had time to say no more, howandiver, for,
as they were goin' into the door, they met him comin'
out of it, wid a reek of smoke out of his tail like a lime-
kiln.
'' ' Harry,' shouted Bridget, ' my sowl to glory, but
the tail of your cothamore's afire — you'll be burned.
Don't you see the smoke that's out of it ? '
*' ' Cross yourselves three times,' said Harry, without
stoppin' or even lookin' behind him, * for as the prophecy
says. Fill the pot, Eddy—' They could hear no more,
for Harry appeared to feel like a man that carried some-
thing a great deal hotter than he wished, as anyone
might sec by the liveliness of his motions, and the quiirc
faces he was forced to make as he went along.
•* * What the dickens is he carryin' in the skirts of
his big coat ? ' asked Paddy.
THE MAD PUDDING OF BALLYBOULTEEN. 67
(( (
My sowl to happiness, but maybe he has stolen
the pudden,' said Bridget, ' for it's known that many
a sthrange thing he does.
" They immediately examined the pot, but found that
the pudden was there, as safe as tuppence, an' this
puzzled them the more to think what it was he could be
carryin' about with him in the manner he did. But
little they knew what he had done while they were sky-
gazin' !
" Well, anyhow, the day passed, and the dinner was
ready an' no doubt but a fine gatherin' there was to
partak,e of it. The Prosbytarian ministher met the
Methodist praycher — a divilish stretcher of an appetite
he had, in throth — on his way to Jack Rafferty's,
an' as he knew he could take the liberty, why, he insisted
on his dining wid him ; for, afther all, in thim days
the clergy of all descriptions lived upon the best footin'
among one another not all at one as now — but no matther.
Well, they had nearly finished their dinner, when Jack
Rafferty himself axed Katty for the pudden ; but jist
as he spoke, in it came, as big as a mess-pot.
*' * Gentlemen,' said he, ' I hope none of you will
refuse tastin' a bit of Katty 's pudden ; I don't mane the
dancin' one that took to its thravels to-day, but a good,
solid fellow that she med since.'
*' ' To be sure we won't,' replied the priest. * So,
Jack, put a thrifle on them three plates at your right
hand, and send them over here to the clargy, an' maybe,'
he said, laughin' — for he was a droll, good-humoured
man — ' maybe, Jack, we won't set you a proper example.'
*' ' Wid a heart an' a half, your riverence an' gintlemen ;
in throth, it's not a bad example ever any of you set us
at the likes, or ever will set us, I'll go bail. An* sure,
68 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
I only wish it was betther fare I had for you ; but we're
humble people, gintlemen, an' so you can't expect to
meet here what you would in higher places.'
" ' Betther a male of herbs,' said the Methodist
praycher, ' where pace is — ' He had time to go no
further, however ; for, much to his amazement, the
priest an' the ministher started up from the table, jist
as he was going to swallow the first mouthful of the
pudden, and, before you could say Jack Robinson,
started away at a lively jig down the floor.
" At this moment a neighbour's son came runnin'
in, and tould them that the parson was comin' to see
the new-married couple, an' wish them all happiness ;
an' the words were scarcely out of his mouth when he
made his appearance. What to think he knew not,
when he saw the ministher footin' it away at the rate of
a weddin'. He had very little time, however, to think ;
for, before he could sit down, up starts the Methodist
praycher, an', clappin' his fists ^in his sides, chimes
in in great style along wid him.
" * Jack Rafferty,' says he, and, by the way, Jack
was his tenant, ' what the dickens does all this mane ? *
says he ; 'I'm amazed ! *
*' ' Then not a particle o' me can tell you,' says Jack ;
* but will your reverence jist taste a morsel o' pudden,
merely that the young couple may boast that you ait
at their weddin' ; ' for sure, if you wouldn't, who
would ? *
** ' Well,' says he, to gratify them, I will ; so, just
a morsel. But, Jack, this bates Banagher,' says he
again, puttin' the spoonful of pudden into his mouth ;
* has there been drink here ? '
Oh, the divil a spudh,' says Jack, ' for although
t( t
THE MAD PUDDING OF BALLYBOULTEEN. 69
there's plenty in the house, faith, it appears the gentlemen
wouldn't wait for it. Unless they tuck it elsewhere, I
can make nothin' o' this.'
'' He had scarcely spoken when the parson, who was
an active man, cut a caper a yard high, an' before you
could bless yourself, the three clargy were hard at work
dancin', as if for a wager. Begad, it would be unpossible
for me to tell you the state the whole meetin' was in
when they see this. Some were hoarse wid laughin' ;
some turned up their eyes wid wondher ; many thought
them mad ; and others thought they had turned up
their little fingers a thrifle too often.
" ' Be Goxty, it's a burnin' shame,' said one, ' to see
three black-mouth clargy in sich a state at this early
hour ! " ' Thunder an' ounze, what's over them all ? '
says others ; ' why, one would think they were bewitched.
Holy Moses, look at the caper the Methodist cuts !
An' as for the Recthor, who would think he could handle
his feet at sich a rate ! Be this, an' be that, he cuts the
buckle, an' does the threblin' step aiquil to Paddy
Horaghan, the dancin'-masther himself ! An' see !
Bad cess to the morsel of the parson that's not too hard
at " Pease upon a Trancher," and it upon a Sunday,
too ! Whirroo, gintlemen, the fun's in yez, afther all —
whish ! more power to yez ! '
" The sorra's own fun they had, an' no wondher ;
but judge of what they felt when all at once they saw ould
Jack Rafferty himself bouncin' in among them, an'
footin' it away like the best of them. Bedad, no play
could come up to it, an' nothin' could be heard but
laughin', shouts of encouragement, an' clappin' of hands
like mad. Now, the minute Jack Rafferty left the chair,
where he had been carvin' the pudden, ould Harry
70 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
Connolly come over and claps himself down in his place,
in ordher to send it round, of coorse ; an' he was scarcely
sated when who should make his appearance but Barney
Hartigan, the piper. Barney, by the way, had been sent
for early in the day, but, bein' from home when the
message for him came, he couldn't come any sooner.
" ' Begorra ' says Barney, * you're airly at the work,
gintlemen ! But what does this mane ? But divel
may care, yez shan't want the music, while there's a
blast in the pipes, anyhow 1 ' So sayin' he gave them
'* Jig Polthogue," and afther that, '' Kiss my Lady " in his
best style.
In the manetime the fun went on thick and threefold,
for it must be remembered that Harry, the ould knave,
was at the pudden ; an' maybe, he didn't sarve it about
in double-quick time, too ! The first he helped was
the bride, and before you could say chopstick she was
at it hard and fast, before the Methodist praycher, who
gave a jolly spring before her that threw them all into
convulsions. Harry liked this, and made up his mind
soon to find partners for the rest ; an', to make a long
story short, barrin' the piper an' himself, there wasn't
a pair of heels in the house but was busy at the dancin'
as if their lives depended on it,
** ' Barney,' says Hi?rry, ' jist taste a morsel o' this
pudden ; divil the sich a bully of a pudden ever you ett.
Here, your sowl ! thry a snig of it — it's beautiful ! '
** ' To be sure I will,' says Barney. * I'm not the boy
to refuse a good thing. But, Harry, be quick, for you
know my hands is engaged, an* it would be a thousand
pities not to keep them in music, an' they so well inclined.
Thank you, Harry. Begad, that is J fine pudden.
But, blood an' turnips ! what's this for ? '
THE MAD PUDDING OF BALLYBOULTEEN. ?!
" The words was scarcely out of his mouth when he
bounced up, pipes an' all, and dashed into the middle of
the party. * Hurroo ! your sowls, let us make a night
of it ! The Ballyboulteen boys for ever ! Go it, your
reverence ! — turn your partner — heel and toe, ministher.
Good ! Well done, again 1 Whish ! Hurroo ! Here's
for Ballyboulteen, an' the sky over it 1 '
" Bad luck to sich a set ever was seen together in this
world, or will again, I suppose. The worst, however,
wasn't come yet, for jist as they were in the very heat'
an' fury of the dance, what do you think comes hopping
in among them but another pudden, as nimble an'
merry as the first ! That was enough ; they had all
heard of it — the ministhers among the rest — an' most
of them had seen the other pudden, an' knew that there
must be a fairy in it, sure enough. Well, as I said,
in it comes, to the thick o' them ; but the very appearance
of it was enough. Off the three clergymen danced, and
off the whole weddiners danced, afther them, everyone
makin' the best of their way home, but not a sowl of
them able to break out of the step, if they were to be
hanged for it. Troth, it wouldn't lave a laff in you to
see the parson dancin' down the road on his way home,
and the ministher and Methodist praycher cuttin' the
buckle as they went along in the opposite direction.
To make short work of it, they all danced home at last
wid scarce a puff of wind in them ; and the bride an'
bridegroom danced away to bed."
72 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
Frank Webber's Wager.
From " Charles O'Malleyr
By Charles Lever (1806- 1872).
I WAS sitting at breakfast with Webber, when Power
came in hastily.
*' Ha, the very man ! " said he. " I say, O'Malley,
here's an invitation for you from Sir George to dine
on Friday. He desired me to say a thousand civil things
about his not having made you out, regrets that he was
not at home when you called yesterday, and all that."
" By the way," said Webber, " wasn't Sir George
Dashwood down in the West lately ? Do you know
what took him there ? "
"Oh," said Power, " I can enlighten you. He got
his wife west of the Shannon — a vulgar woman. She
is now dead, and the only vestige of his unfortunate
matrimonial connexion is a correspondence kept up
with him by a maiden sister of his late wife's. She
insists upon claiming the ties of kindred upon about
twenty family eras during the year, when she regularly
writes a most loving and ill-spelled epistle, containing
the latest information from Mayo, with all particulars
of the Macan family, of which she is a worthy member.
To her constant hints of the acceptable nature of certain
small remittances the poor General is never inattentive ;
but to the pleasing prospects of a visit in the flesh from
Miss Judy Macan, the good man is dead."
" Then, he has never yet seen her ? '
*' Never, and he hopes to leave Ireland without that
blessing } "
FRANK Webber's wager. 73
" I say, Power, and has your worthy General sent me
a card for his ball ? "
" Not through me, Master Frank. Sir George must
really be excused in this matter. He has a most attrac-
tive, lovely daughter, just at that budding, unsuspecting
age when the heart is most susceptible of impressions ;
and where, let me ask, could she run such a risk as in the
chance of a casual meeting with the redoubted lady-
killer. Master Frank Webber ? "
" A very strong case, certainly," said Frank ; " but
still, had he confided his critical position to my honour
and secrecy, he might have depended on me ; now,
having taken the other line, he must abide the conse-
quences. I'll make fierce love to Lucy."
" But how, may I ask, and when ? "
I'll begin at the ball, man."
Why, I thought you said you were not going ? "
There you mistake seriously. I merely said that I
had not been invited."
" Then, of course,'* said I, " Webber, you can't
think of going, in any case, on my account."
" My very dear friend, I go entirely upon my own.
I not only shall go, but I intend to have most particular
notice and attention paid me. I shall be prime favourite
with Sir George — kiss Lucy — "
" Come, come ! this is too strong."
" What do you bet I don't ? There, now, I'll give
you a pony a-piece, I do. Do you say done ? "
" That you kiss Miss Dashwood, and are not kicked
downstairs for your pains ; are those the terms of your
wager ? " inquired Power.
" With all my heart. That I kiss Miss Dashwood,
and am not kicked downstairs for my pains."
74 FRANK WEBBER S WAGER.
" Then I say, done ! "
" And with you, too, O'Malley ? "
*' 1 thank you," said I, coldly ; *' I'm not disposed
to make such a return for Sir George Dashwood's
hospitality as to make an insult to his family the subject
of a bet "
'* Why, man, what are you dreaming of ? Miss
Dashwood will not refuse my chaste salute. Come,
Power, I will give you the other pony."
" Agreed," said he. " At the same time, understand
me distinctly — that I hold myself perfectly eligible
to winning the wager by my own interference ; for, if
you do kiss her, I'll perform the remainder of the
compact."
" So I understand the agreement," said Webber, and
off he went.
I have often dressed for a storming party with less
of trepidation than I felt on the evening of Sir George
Dashwood's ball. It was long since I had seen Miss
Dashwood ; therefore, as to what precise position I
might occupy in her favour was a matter of great doubt in
my mind, and great import to my happiness.
Our quadrille over, I was about to conduct her to a
seat, when Sir George came hurriedly up, his face
greatly flushed, and betraying every semblance of
high excitement.
" Read this," said he, presenting a very dirty-looking
note.
Miss Dashwood unfolded the billet, and after a
moment's silence, burst out a-laughing, while she said,
'* Why, really, papa, I do not sec why this should pat
you out much, after all. Aunt may be somewhat of a
character, as her note evinces ; but after a few days ',
FRANK Webber's wager. 75
" Nonsense, child ; there's nothing in this world I
have such a dread of as this — and to come at such a time !
O'Malley, my boy, read this note, and you will not feel
surprised if I appear in the humour you see me."
1 read as follows : —
" Dear brother,— When this reaches your hand I'll
not be far off. I'm on my way up to town, to be under
Dr. Dease for the ould complaint. Expect me to tea ;
and, with love to Lucy, believe me, yours in haste,
" Judith Macan.
" Let the sheets be well aired in my room ; and if
you have a spare bed, perhaps you could prevail upon
Father Magrath to stop, too."
I scarcely could contain my laughter till I got to the
end of this very free-and-easy epistle, when at last I
burst forth in a hearty fit, in which I was joined by Miss
Dashwood.
*' I say, Lucy,'^ said Sir George, '' there's only one
thing to be done. If this horrid woman does arrive,
let her be shown to her room, and for the few days of
her stay in town, we'll neither see nor be seen by any-
one."
Without waiting for a reply he was turning away,
when the servant announced, in his loudest voice,
•* Miss Macan."
No sooner had the servant pronounced the magical
name than all the company present seemed to stand
still. About two steps in advance of the servant was
a tall, elderly lady, dressed in an antique brocade silk,
with enormous flowers gaudily embroidered upon it.
Her hair was powdered and turned back, in the fashion
of fifty years before. Her short, skinny arms were bare,
76 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
while on her hands she wore black silk mittens ; a pair
of green spectacles scarcely dimmed the lustre of a most
piercing pair of eyes, to whose effect a very palpable
touch of rouge on the cheeks certainly added brilliancy.
There she stood, holding before her a fan about the size
of a modern tea-tray, while at each repetition of her name
by the serv^ant she curtseyed deeply.
Sir George, armed wdth the courage of despair, forced
his way through the crowd, and taking her har^d affec-
tionately, bid her welcome to DubHn. The fi^ir Judy,
at this, threw her arms about his neck, and sahited him
with a hearty smack, that was heard all over the
room.
" Where's Lucy, brother ? Let me see my little
darling," said the lady, in a decided accent. '' There
she is, I'm sure ; kiss me, my honey."
This office Miss Dashwood performed with an effort
at courtesy really admirable ; while, taking her aunt's
arm, she led her to a sofa.
Power made his w^ay towards Miss Dashwood, and
succeeded in obtaining a formal introduction to Miss
Macan.
'* I hope you will do me the favour to dance next set
with me. Miss Macan ? "
" Really, Captain, it's very polite of you, but you
must excuse me. I was never anything great in quad-
rilles : but if a reel or a jig "
*' Oh, dear aunt, don't think of it, I beg of you ! "
** Or even Sir Roger de Coverley," resumed Miss
Macan.
" 1 assure you, quite equally impossible."
" Then I'm certain you waltz," said Power.
FRANK Webber's wager. 77
" What do you take me for, young man ? I hope
I know better. I wish Father Magrath heard you ask
me that question ; and for all your laced jacket "
*' Dearest aunt, Captain Power didn't mean to offend
you ; I'm certain he "
*' Well, why did he dare to— (sob, sob)— did he
see anything light about me, that he — (sob, sob,
sob)— oh, dear ! oh, dear ! is it for this I came up from
my Httle peaceful place in the West ? — (sob, sob, sob)
— General, George, dear ; Lucy, my love, I'm taken
bad. Oh, dear! oh, dear! is there any whiskey
negus ? "
After a time she was comforted.
At supper later on in the evening, I was deep in
thought when a dialogue quite near me aroused me
from my reverie.
" Don't, now ! don't, I tell ye ; it's little ye know
Galway, or ye wouldn't think to make up to me,
squeezing my foot."
''You're an angel, a regular angel. I never saw a
woman suit my fancy before."
" Oh, behave now. Father Magrath says "
" Who's he ? "
" The priest ; no less."
" Oh ! bother him."--
" Bother Father Magrath, young man ? "
" Well, then, Judy, don't be angry ; I only means
that a dragoon knows rather more of these matters than
a priest."
" Well, then, I'm not so sure of that. But, anyhow,
I'd have you to remember it ain't a Widow Malone
you have beside you."
78 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
Never heard of the lady," said Power.
Sure, it's a song — poor creature — it's a song they
made about her in the North Cork when they were
quartered down in our county."
I wish you'd sing it."
What w411 you give me, then, if I do ? "
" Anything — everything — my heart — my Hfe."
" I wouldn't give a trauneen for all of them . Give
me that old green ring on your finger, then."
*' It's yours," said Power, placing it gracefully upon
Miss Macau's finger ; " and now for your promise."
*' Well, mind you get up a good chorus, for the song
has one, and here it is."
" Miss Macan's song ! " said Power, tapping the table
with his knife.
*' Miss Macan's song ! " was re-echoed on all sides ;
and before the luckless General could interfere, she
had begun : —
" Did ye hear of the Widow Malone,
Ohone !
Who lived in the town of Athlone,
Alone }
Oh ! she melted the hearts
Of the swains in them parts,
So lovely the widow Malone, ^
Ohone !
So lovely the Widow Malone.
" Of lovers she had a full score.
Or more ;
And fortunes they all had galore,
In store ;
FRANK Webber's wager. 79
From the Minister down
To the Clerk of the Crown,
All were courting the Widow Malone,
Ohone !
All were courting the Widow Malone.
" But so modest was Mrs. Malone,
'Twas known
No one ever could see her alone,
Ohone !
Let them ogle and sigh,
They could ne'er catch her eye,
So bashful the Widow Malone,
Ohone !
So bashful the Widow Malone.
'' Till one Mr. O'Brien from Clare-
How quare,
It's little for blushing they care,
Down there,
Put his arm round her waist.
Gave ten kisses, at laste, —
' Oh,' says he, * you're my Molly Malone,'
My own ;
* Oh,' says he, ' you're my Molly Malone.'
*' And the widow they all thought so shy,
My eye !
Ne'er thought of a simper or sigh ;
For why ?
But * Lucius,' says she,
* Since you've now made so free,
You may marry your Mary Malone,
Ohone !
You may marry your Mary Malone.'
8o HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
*' There's a moral contained in my song,
Not wrong ;
And, one comfort, it's not very long,
But strong ;
If for widows you die,
Larn to kiss, not to sigh.
For they're all like sweet Mistress Malone,
Ohone !
Oh ! they're very like Mistress Malone."
Never did song create such a sensation as Miss Macan's.
" I insist upon a copy of ' The Widow,' Miss Macan,"
said Power.
" To be sure ; give me a call to-morrow — let me see —
about two. Father Magrath won't be at home," said
she, with a coquettish look.
" Where pray, may I pay my respects ? "
Power produced a card and pencil, while Miss Macan
wrote a few lines, saying, as she handed it —
" There, now, don't read it here before all the people ;
they'll think it mighty indelicate in me to make an
appointment."
Power pocketed the card, and the next minute Miss
Macan's carriage was announced.
When she had taken her departure, " Doubt it who
will," said Power, " she has invited me to call on her
to-morrow — written her address on my card — told me
the hour she is certain of being alone. See here ! "
At these words he pulled forth the card, and handed it
to a friend.
Scarcely were the eyes of the latter thrown upon the
writing, when he said, " So, this isn't it, Power ! "
" To be sure it is, man. Read it out. Proclaim
aloud my victory."
FRANK Webber's wager. 8i
Thus urged, his friend read : —
" Dear P.,— Please pay to my credit— and soon,
mark ye — the two ponies lost this evening. I have done
myself the pleasure of enjoying your ball, kissed the lady,
quizzed the papa and walked into the cunning Fred
Power. — Yours,
*' Frank Webber.
" ' The Widow Malone, Ohone ! ' is at your service."
82 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
Sam Wham and the Sawmont.
By Sir Samuel Ferguson (1810-1886).
" Knieving trouts " (they call it tickling in England)
is good sport. You go to a stony shallow at night,
a companion bearing a torch ; then, stripping to the
thighs and shoulders, wade in, grope with your hands
under the stones, sods, and other harbourage, till you
find your game, then grip him in your ** knieve " and
toss him ashore.
I remember, when a boy, carr3dng the splits for a
servant of the family, called Sam Wham. Now, Sam
was an able young fellow, well-boned and willing, a
hard headed cudgel player, and a marvellous tough
wrestler, for he had a backbone like a sea serpent — this
gained him the name of the Twister and Twiner. He
had got into the river, and with his back to me was
stooping over a broad stone, when something bolted
from under the bank on which I stood, right through
his legs. Sam fell with a great splash on his face, but
in falling jammed whatever it was against the stone.
" Let go. Twister ! " shouted I ; " Tis an otter, he will
nip a finger off you." ** Whist ! " sputtered he, as he
slid his hand under the water " May I never read
a text again if he isna a sawmont wi' a shoulthcr like
a hog ! " *' Grip him by the gills, Twister," cried I.
** Saul will I ! " cried the Twiner ; but just then there
was a heave, a roll, a splash, a slap like a pistol-shot :
down went Sam, and up went the sahnon, spun like
a shilling at a pitch-and-toss, six feet into the air I
SAM WHAM AND THE SAWMONT. 83
leaped in just as he came to the water, but my foot
caught between two stones, and the more I pulled
the firmer it stuck. The fish fell into the spot shallower
than that from which he had leaped. Sam saw the
chance, and tackled to again ; while I, sitting down in
the stream as best I might, held up my torch, and cried,
'* Fair play ! " as, shoulder to shoulder, through, out,
and about, up and down, roll and tumble, to it they went,
Sam and the salmon. The Twister was never so twined
before Yet, through cross-buttocks and capsizes in-
numerable, he still held on ; now haled through a pool ;
now haling up a bank ; now heels over head ; now
head over heels ; now, head over heels together, doubled
up in a corner ; but at last stretched fairly on his back,
and foaming for rage and disappointment ; while the
victorious salmon, slapping the stones with its tail,
and whirling the spray, from its shoulders at every roll,
came boring and snoring up the 'ord I tugged and
strained to no purpose ; he flashed by me with a snort,
and slid into deep water. Sam now staggered forward
with battered bones and pilled elbows, blowing like
a 'grampus, and cursing like nothing but himself. He
extricated me, and we limped home. Neither rose for
a week ; for I had a dislocated ankle, and the Twister
was troubled with a broken rib. Poor Sam ! He had
his brains discovered at last by a poker in a row, and
was worm's meat within three months ; yet, ere he died,
he had the satisfaction of feasting on his old antagonist,
who was man's meat next morning. They caught him
in a net. Sam knew him by the twist in his tail.
84 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
Darby Doyle's Voyage to
Quebec.
From " The Dublin Penny Journal,'' 1832.
By Thomas Ettingsall (17 — 1850).
I tuck the road one fine morning in May, from
Inchegelagh, an' got up to the Cove safe an' sound.
There I saw many ships with big broad boords fastened
to ropes, every one ov them saying " The first vessel
for Quebec." Siz I to myself, those are about to run
for a wager ; this one siz she'll be first, and that one
siz she'll be first. I pitched on one that was finely
painted. When I wint on boord to ax the fare, who
shou'd come up out ov a hole but Ned Flinn, an ould
townsman ov my own.
** Och, is it yoorself that's there, Ned } " siz I ; " are
ye goin' to Amerrykey ? "
" Why, an' to be shure," sez he ; ** I'm mate ov
the ship."
** Meat ! that's yer sort, Ned," siz I ; " then we'll
only want bread. Hadn't 1 betther go and pay my
way ? "
" You're time enough," siz Ned ; " I'll tell you
when we're ready for sea — leave the rest to me, Darby."
** Och, tip us your fist," siz I ; *' you were always
the broath of a boy ; for the sake ov ould times, Ned,
we must have a dhrop ov drink, and a bite to ate."
Many's the squeeze Ned gave my fist, tclHng me to
leave it all to him, and how comfortable he'd make
me on the voyage. Day afther day we spint together,
waitin' for the wind, till I found my pockets begin to
DARBY DOYLE'S VOYAGE TO QUEBEC. ^S
grow very light. At last, siz he to me, one day afther
dinner : —
" Darby, the ship will be ready for sea on the morrow
— you'd betther go on boord an' pay your way."
" Is it jokin' you are, Ned } " siz I ; " shure you tould
me to leave it all to you."
*' Ah ! Darby," siz he, " you're for takin' a rise out
o' me. But I'll stick to my promise ; only. Darby,
you must pay your way."
'' O, Ned," says I, " is this the way you're goin' to
threat me after all ? I'm a rooin'd man ; all I cou'd
scrape together I spint on you. If you don't do some-
thing for me, I'm lost. Is there no place where you
cou'd hide me from the captin ? "
" Not a place," siz Ned.
" An' where, Ned, is the place I saw you comin'
up out ov ? "
" O, Darby, that was the hould where the cargo's
stow'd."
*' An' is there no other place ? " siz I.
" Oh, yes," siz he, '' where we keep the wather casks."
"An' Ned," siz I, " does anyone live down there ? "
'* Not a mother's soul," siz he.
" An' Ned," siz I, " can't you cram me down there,
and give me a lock ov straw an' a bit ? "
" Why, Darby," siz he (an' he look'd mighty pittyfull),
" I must thry. But mind, Darby, you'll have to hide
all day in an empty barrel, and when it comes to my
watch, I'll bring you down some prog ; but if you're
diskiver'd, it's all over with me, an' you'll be put on a
dissilute island to starve."
" O Ned," siz I, " leave it all to me."
86 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
When night cum on 1 got down into the dark cellar,
among the barrels ; and poor Ned every night brought
me down hard black cakes an' salt meat. There I lay
snug for a whole month. At last, one night, siz he to
me : —
" Now, Darby, what's to be done ? we're within
three days' sail ov Quebec ; the ship will be overhauled,
and all the passengers' names call'd over."
" An' is that all that frets you, my jewel," siz I ;
*' just get me an empty meal-bag, a bottle, an' a bare
ham bone, and that's all I'll ax."
So Ned got them for me, anyhow.
" Well, Ned," siz I, *' you know I'm a great
shwimmer ; your watch will be early in the morning ;
I'll just sUp down into the sea ; do you cry out ' There's
a man in the wather,' as loud as you can, and leave all
the rest to me."
Well, to be sure, down into the sea I dropt without
as much as a splash. Ned roared out with the hoarse-
ness of a brayin' ass —
'* A man in the sea, a man in the sea ! "
Every man, woman, and child came running up out
of the holes, and the captain among the rest, who put
a long red barrel, like a gun, to his eye— I thought he
was for shootm' me ! Down I dived. When I got my
head over the wather agen, what shou'd I see but a
boat rowin' to me. When it came up close, I roared
out —
*' Did ye hear me at last ? "
The boat now run 'pon the top ov me ; I was gript
by the scruff ov the neck, and dragg'd into it.
" What hard look I had to follow yces, at all at all—
which ov ye is the masther .? " says I.
DARBY DOYLE'S VOYAGE TO QUEBEC. 87
" There he is," siz they, pointin' to a little yellow man
in a corner of the boat.
*' You yallow-lookin' monkey, but it's a'most time for
you to think ov lettin' me into your ship — I'm here
plowin' and plungin' this month afther you ; shure
I didn't care a thrawneen was it not that you have my
best Sunday clothes in your ship, and my name in your
books."
" An' pray, what is your name, my lad ? " siz the
captain.
*' What's my name ! What i'd you give to know ? "
siz I, " ye unmannerly spalpeen, it might be what's
your name. Darby Doyle, out ov your mouth — ay,
Darby Doyle, that was never afraid or ashamed to own
it at home or abroad ! "
" An', Mr. Darby Doyle," siz he, '* do you mean to
persuade us that vou swam from Cork to this afther
us ? " '
*' This is more ov your ignorance," siz I — " ay, an'
if you sted three days longer and not take me up, I'd
be in Quebec before ye, only my purvisions were out,
and the few rags of bank notes I had all melted into
paste in my pocket, for I hadn't time to get them changed
But stay, wait till I get my foot on shore ; there's ne'er
a cottoner in Cork iv you don't pay for leavin' me to the
marcy ov the waves."
At last we came close to the ship. Everyone on board
saw me at Cove but didn't see me on the voyage ; to be
sure, everyone's mouth was wide open, crying out,
" Darby Doyle ! "
*' It's now you call me loud enough," siz I, " ye
wouldn't shout that way when ye saw me rowHn' like
a tub in a mill-race the other day fornenst your faces."
88 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
When they heard me say that, some of them grew
pale as a sheet. Nothin' was tawked ov for the other
three days but Darby Doyle's great shwim from Cove
to Quebec.
At last we got to Ammerykey. I was now in a quare
way ; the captain wouldn't let me go till a friend of his
would see me. By this time, my jewel, not only his
friends came, but swarms upon swarms, starin' at poor
Darby. At last I called Ned.
" Ned, avic," siz I, " what's the meanin' ov the boords
acrass the stick the people walk on, and the big white
boord up there ? "
" Why, come over and read," siz Ned. I saw in great
big black letters : —
THE GREATEST WONDHER IN THE WORLD ! ! 1
TO BE SEEN HERE,
A Man that beats out Nicholas the Diver !
He has swum from Cork to Amerrykey ! !
Proved on oath by ten of the crew and twenty passengers.
Admittance Half a Dollar.
" Ned," siz I, " does this mean your humble sarvint ? "
** Not another," siz he.
So I makes no more ado, than with a hop, skip, and
jump, gets over to the captain, who was now talkin' to
a y allow fellow that was afther starin' me out ov
countenance.
*' Ye are doin' it well," said I. " How much money
have ye gother for my shwimmin' ? "
** Be quiet. Darby," siz the captain, and he looked
very much frickened. " I have plenty, an' I'll have
more for ye iv ye do what I want ye to do."
"An' what is it, avic ? " siz I.
DARBY DOYLE's VOYAGE TO QUEBEC, 89
" Why, Darby," siz he, " I'm afther houldin a wager
last night with this gintleman for all the worth ov my
ship, that you'll shwim against any shwimmer in the
world ; an'. Darby, if ye don't do that, I'm a gone
man."
" Augh, give us your fist," siz I ; " did ye ever hear
ov Paddies dishaving any man in the European world
yet — barrin' themselves ? "
'' Well, Darby," siz he, '' I'll give you a hundred
dollars ; but. Darby, you must be to your word, and
you shall have another hundred."
So sayin', he brought me down to the cellar.
'' Now, Darby," siz he, " here's the dollars for
ye."
But it was only a bit of paper he was handin' me.
" Arrah, none ov yer tricks upon thravellers," siz I ;
" I had betther nor that, and many more ov them,
melted in the sea ; give me wha won't wash out of my
pocket."
" Well, D by," siz he, " you must have the real
ihing."
So he reckoned me out a hundred dollars in goold.
I never saw the like since the stockin' fell out ov the
chimly on my aunt and cut her forred.
" Now, Darby," siz he, " ye are a rich man, and ye
are worthy of it all."
At last the day came that I was to stand the tug.
I saw the captain lookin' very often at me. At last —
" Darby," siz he, " are you any way cow'd ? The
fellow you have to shwim agenst can shwim down
watherfalls an' catharacts."
" Can he, avic ? " siz I ; " but can he shwim up
agenst them ? "
90
HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
An' who shou'd come up while I was tawkin* to the
captain but the chap I was to shwim with, and heard all
1 sed. He was so tall that he could eat bread an' butther
over my head — with a face as yallow as a kite's foot.
" Tip us the mitten," siz I, " mabouchal," siz I ;
" Where are we going to shwim to ? What id ye think if
we swum to Keep Cleer or the Keep ov Good Hope ? ' '
" I reckon neither," siz he.
Off we set through the crowds ov ladies an' gintlemen
to the shwimmin' place. And as I was goin' I was
thript up by a big loomp ov iron struck fast in the ground
with a big ring to it.
" What d'ye call that } " siz I to the captain, who
was at my elbow.
'' Why, Darby," siz he, " that's half an anchor."
" Have ye any use for it ?" siz I.
" Not in the least," siz he ; '' it's only to fasten
boats to."
" Maybee you'd give it to a body," siz I.
" An' welkim, Darby," siz he ; " it's yours."
" God bless your honour, sir," siz I, *' it's my poor
father that will pray for you. When I left home the
creather hadn't as much as an anvil but what was sthreeled
away by the agint — bad end to them. This will be
jist the thing that'll match him ; he can tie the horse
to the ring while he forges on the other part. Now,
will ye obleege me by gettin' a couple ov chaps to lay
it on my shoulder when I get into the wather, and I
won't have to be comin' back for it afther I shake hands
with this fellow."
Oh, the chap turned from yallow to white when he
heard me say this. An' siz he to the gintleman that
was walkin' by his side —
DARBY DOYLE'S VOYAGE TO QUEBEC. 9 1
" I reckon I'm not fit for the shwimmin' to-day —
I don't feel myself.''
"An', murdher an' Irish, if you're yer brother,
can't you send him for yerself, an' I'll wait here till
he comes. An' when will ye be able for the shwim,
avic ? " siz I, mighty complisant.
" I reckon in another week," siz he.
So we shook hands and parted. The poor fellow
went home, took the fever, then began to rave. ' Shwim
up catharacts ! — shwim- to the Keep ov Good Hope ! —
shwim to St. Helena 1 — shwim to Keep Clear ! — shwim
with an anchor on his back 1 — oh ! oh ! oh ! "
I now thought it best to be on the move ; so I gother
up my winners ; and here I sit undher my own hickory
threes, as independent as anny Yankee.
92 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
Bob Burke's Duel.
From " Tales from Blackzvood.''
By Dr. Maginn.
How Bob Burke, after Consultation with Wooden-
Leg Waddy, Fought the Duel with Ensign Brady
FOR the sake of Miss Theodosia MacNamara,
Supposed Heiress to her Old Bachelor Uncle,
Mick MacNamara of Kawleash.
" At night I had fallen asleep fierce in the determina-
tion of exterminating Brady ; but with the morrow,
cool reflection came— made probably cooler by the
aspersion I had suffered. How could I fight him, when
he had never given me the slightest affront ? To be
sure, picking a quarrel is not hard, thank God, in any
part of Ireland ; but unless I was quick about it, he
might get so deep into the good graces of Dosy, who
was as flammable as tinder, that even my shooting him
might not be of any practical advantage to myself.
Then, besides, he might shoot me ; and, in fact, I was
not by any means so determined in the affair at seven
o'clock in the morning as I was at twelve o'clock at
night. I got home, however, dressed, shaved, etc.,
and turned out. ' I think,' said I to myself, * the best
thing I can do, is to go and consult Wooden-Leg Waddy ;
and, as he is an early man, I shall catch him now.' The
thought was no sooner formed than executed ; and in
less than five minutes I was walking with Wooden-Leg
Waddy in his garden, at the back of his house, by the
banks of the Blackwater.
BOB burke's duel. 93
" Waddy had been in the Hundred-and-First, and had
seen much service in that distinguished corps."
" Waddy had served a good deal, and lost his leg
somehow, for which he bad a pension besides his half-
pay, and he lived in ease and affluence among the Bucks
of Mallow. He was a great hand at settling and arranging
duels, being what we generally call in Ireland a judg-
matical sort of man — a word which, I think, might be
introduced with advantage into the English vocabulary.
When I called on him, he was smoking his meerschaum,
as he walked up and down his garden in an old undressed
coat, and a fur cap on his head. I bade him good
morning ; to which salutation he answered by a nod,
and a more prolonged whiff.
" * I want to speak to you, Wooden-Leg,' said I, ' on
a matter which nearly concerns me,' to which I received
another nod, and another whiff in reply.
" ' The fact is,' said I, ' that there is an Ensign Brady
of the 48th Quartered here, with whom I have some
reason to be angry, and I am thinking of calling him
out. I have come to ask your advice whether I should
do so or not. He has deeply injured me, by interfering
between me and the girl of my affection. What ought
I to do in such a case ? '
" ' Fight him, by all means,' said Wooden -Leg Waddy.
*' * But the difficulty is this — he has offered me no
affront, direct or indirect — we have no quarrel what-
ever— and he has not paid any addresses to the lady.
He and I have scarcely been in contact at all. I do not
see how I can manage it immediately with any propriety.
What then can I do now ? '
" ' Do not fight him, by any means,' said Wooden-
Leg Waddy.
94 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
" Still, these are the facts of the case. He, whether
intentionally or not, is coming between me and my
mistress, which is doing me an injury perfectly equal
to the grossest insult. How should I act ^ '
" ' Fight him by all means,' said Wooden-Leg Waddy.
'* ' But then, I fear if I were to call him out on a
groundless quarrel, or one which would appear to be
such, that I should lose the good graces of the lady,
and be laughed at by my friends, or set down as a
dangerous and quarrelsome companion.
" ' Do not fight him, by any means,' said Wooden-
Leg Waddy.
** ' Yet, as he is a military man, he must know enough
of the etiquette of these affairs to feel perfectly confident
that he has affronted me ; and the opinion of the military
man, standing, as of course, he does, in the rank and
position of a gentleman, could not, I think, be over-
looked without disgrace.'
" ' Fight him, by all me^ns,' said Wooden-Leg Waddy.
" ' But then, talking of gentlemen, I own he is an
officer of the 48th, but his father is a fish-tackle seller
in John Street, Kilkenny, who keeps a three-halfpenny
shop, where you may buy everything from a cheese
to a cheese-toaster, from a felt hat to a pair of brogues,
from a pound of brown soap to a yard of huckaback
towels. He got his commission by his father's retiring
from the Ormonde Interest, and acting as whipper-in
to the sham freeholders from Castlccomcr ; and I am,
as you know, of the best blood of the Burkes — straight
from the De Burgos themselves — <ind when 1 think of
that I really do not like to meet this Mr. Brady.'
'• * Do not fight him, by all means,' said Wooden -Le2
Waddy.
BOB burke's duel. 95
<( (
Why,' said I, ' Wooden-Leg, my friend, this is
like playing battledore and shuttlecock ; what is knocked
forward with one hand is knocked back with the other.
Come, tell me what I ought to do.'
" * Well,' said Wooden-Leg, taking the meerschaum
out of his mouth, ' in dubiis auspice, etc. Let us decide
by tossing a halfpenny. If it comes down ' head,'
you fight — if ' harp ' you do not. Nothing can be
fairer.'
" I assented.
*' * Which,' said he, 'is it to be — two out of three, as
at Newmarket, or the first toss to decide ?
" ' Sudden death,' said I, ' and there will soon be an
end of it.'
** Up went the halfpenny, and we looked with anxious
eyes for its descent, when, unluckily, it stuck in a goose-
berry bush.
" ' I don't like that," said Wooden-Leg Waddy, ' for
it's a token of bad luck. But here goes again.
" ' Again the copper soared to the sky, and down it
came — Head.
" ' I wish you joy, my friend ' said Waddy ; you
are to fight. That was my opinion all along ; though
I did not like to commit myself. I can lend you a
pair of the most beautiful duelling-pistols ever put
into a man's hand — Wogden's, I swear. The last time
they were out, they shot Joe Brown, of Mount Badger,
as dead as Harry the Eight.'
*' * Will you be my second ? ' said L
" * Why, no," replied Wooden-leg, * I cannot ; for
I am bound over by a rascally magistrate to keep the
peace, because I nearly broke the head of a blackguard
bailiff, who came here to serve a writ on a friend of mine.
96 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
with one of my spare legs. But I can get you a second
at once. My nephew, Major Mug, has just come to me
on a few days' visit, and, as he is quite idle it will give
him some amusement to be your second. Look up at
his bedroom — you see he is shaving himself.'
" In a short time the Major made his appearance,
dressed with a most military accuracy of costume.
There was not a speck of dust on his well-brushed blue
surtout — not a vestige of hair, except the regulation
whiskers, on his closely-shaven countenance. His hat
was brushed to the most glossy perfection — his boots
shone in the jetty glow of Day and Martin. There was
scarcely an ounce of flesh on his hard and weather-
beaten face, and as he stood rigidly upright, you would
have sworn that every sinew and muscle of his body
was as stiff as whipcord. He saluted us in military
style, and was soon put in possession of the case.
Wooden-Leg Waddy insinuated that there were hardly,
as yet, grounds for a duel.
" * I differ,' said Major Mug, ' decidedly — the grounds
are ample. I never saw a clearer case in my life, and 1
have been principal or second in seven-and-twenty.
If I collect your story rightly, Mr. Burke, he gave you
an abrupt answer in the field, which was highly dero-
gatory to the lady in question, and impertinently rude
to yourself ?"
" * He certainly,' said I, * gave me what we call a
short answer ; but I did not notice it at the time, and he
has since made friends with the young lady.'
" * It matters nothing,' observed Major Mug, * what
you may think, or she may think The business is
now in my hands, and I must sec you through it The
first thing to be done is to write him a letter. Send out
BOB BURKE*S DUEL. 97
for paper — let it be gilt-edged, Waddy, — that we may
do the thing genteelly. I'll dictate, Mr. Burke, if you
please.'
" And so he did. As well as I can recollect, the note
was as follows : —
*' ' Spa-Walk, Mallow, June 3, i8—
" ' Eight o'clock in the morning.
" * Sir, — A desire for harmony and peace, which has
at all times actuated my conduct, prevented me, yesterday,
from asking you the meaning of the short and con-
temptuous message which you commissioned me to
deliver to a certain young lady of our acquaintance
whose name I do not choose to drag into a correspon-
dence. But, now that there is no danger of its dis-
turbing anyone, I must say that in your desiring me to
tell that young lady she might consider herself as d d,
when she asked you to tea after inadvertently riding over
you in the hunting field, you were guilty of conduct
highly unbecoming of an officer and a gentleman, and
subversive of the discipline of the hunt. I have the
honour to be, sir,
" ' Your most obedient humble servant,
" ' Robert Burke.
" * P.S. — This note will be deHvered to you by my
friend, Major Mug, of the 3rd West Indian ; and you
will, I trust, see the propriety of referring him to another
gentleman without further delay.'
" * That, I think, is neat,' said the Major. ' Now,
seal it with wax, Mr. Burke, with wax — and let the seal
be your arms. That's right. Now direct it.'
" ' Ensign Brady ? '
*' ' No —no— the right thing would be, * Mr. Brady,
H
98 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
Ensign, 48th Foot,' but custom allows ' Esquire,' that
will do. — ' Thady Brady, Esquire, Ensign, 48th Foot,
Barracks, Mallow.' He shall have it in less than a
quarter of an hour.'
" The Major was as good as his word, and in about
half-an-hour he brought back the result of his mission.
The Ensign, he told us, was extremely reluctant to
fight, and wanted to be off on the ground that he meant
no offence, did not even remember having used the
expression, and offered to ask the lady if she conceived
for a moment he had any idea of saying anything but
what was complimentary to her.
*' ' In fact,' said the Major, ' he at first plumply
refused to fight ; but I soon brought him to reason.
' Sir,' said I, ' you either consent to fight or refuse to
fight. In the first case, the thing is settled to hand,
and we are not called upon to inquire if there was an
affront or not — in the second case, your refusal to comply
with a gentleman's request is, of itself, an offence for
which he has a right to call you out. Put it, then, on
the grounds, you must fight him, it is perfectly indif-
ferent to me what the grounds may be ; and I have only
to request the name of your friend, as I too much respect
the coat you wear to think that there can be any other
alternative.' This brought the chap to his senses, and
he referred me to Captain Codd, of his own regiment,
at which I felt much pleased, because Codd is an intimate
friend of my own, he and I having fought a duel three
years ago in Falmouth, in which I lost the top of this
little finger, and he his left whisker. It was a near touch,
he is as honourable a man as ever paced a ground ; and
I am sure that he will no more let his man off the field
until business is done than I would myself.'
BOB BURKE 'S DUEL 99
" I own," continued Burke, " I did not half relish
this announcement of the firm purpose to our seconds ;
but I was in for it, and could not get back. I sometimes
thought Dosy a dear purchase at such an expense ; but
it was no use to grumble. Major Mug was sorry to say
that there was a review to take place immediately at which
the Ensign must attend, and it was impossible for him
to meet me until the evening ; ' but,' he added, ' at this
time of the year it can be of no great consequence.
There will be plenty of light till nine, but I have fixed
seven. In the meantime you may as v/ell divert your-
self with a little pistol practice, but do it on the sly, as,
if they were shabby enough to have a trial it would not
tell well before the jury.'
" Promising to take a quiet chop with me at five,
the Major retired, leaving me not quite contented with
the state of affairs. I sat down and wrote a letter to
my cousin, Phil Burdon, of Kanturk, telling him what
I was about and giving directions what was to be done
in the case of any fatal event. I communicated to him
the whole story — deplored my unhappy fate in being
thus cut oif in the flower of my youth — left him three
pairs of buckskin breeches — and repented my sins.
This letter I immediately packed off by a special
messenger, and then began a half-a-dozen others, of
various styles of tenderness and sentimentality, to be
delivered after my melancholy decease. The day
went off fast enough, I assure you ; and at five the Major,
and Wooden-Leg Waddy, arrived in high spirits.
*' * Here, my boy,' said Waddy, handing me the
pistols, * here are the flutes ; and pretty music, I can tell
you, they make.'
*' * As for dinner/ said Major Mug, * I do not much
100 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
care ; but, Mr. Burke, I hope it is ready, as I am rather
hungry. We must dine Hghtly, however, and drink
not much. If we come off with flying colours, we may
crack a bottle together by-and-by ; in case you shoot
Brady, I have everything arranged for our keeping out
of the way until the thing blows over— if he shoots you,
I'll see you buried. Of course, you would not recom-
mend anything so ungenteel as a prosecution ? No.
I'll take care it shall appear in the papers, and announced
that Robert Burke, Esq., met his death with becoming
fortitude, assuring the unhappy survivor that he heartily
forgave him, and wished him health and happiness.'
" ' I must tell you,' said Wooden-Leg Waddy, ' it's
all over Mallow and the whole town will be on the
ground to see it. Miss Dosy knows of it, and she is
quite delighted— she says she will certainly marry the
survivor. I spoke to the magistrate to keep out of the
way, and he promised that, though it deprived him of
a great pleasure he would go and dine five miles off—
and know nothing about it. But here comes dinner,
let us be jolly.'
" I cannot say that I played on that day as brilliant
a part with the knife and fork as I usually do, and did
not sympathise much in the speculations of my guests,
who pushed the bottle about with great energy, recom-
mending me, however, to refrain. At last the Major
looked at his watch, which he had kept lying on the table
before him from the beginning of dinner— started up —
clapped me on the shoulder, and declaring it only
wanted six minutes and thirty-five seconds of the time,
hurried me off to the scene of action — a field close
by the castle.
" There certainly was a miscellaneous assemblage
BOB BURKE S DUfeL.- It) I
of the inhabitants of Mallow, all anxious to see the duel.
They had pitted up like game-cocks, and bets were
freely taken as to the chances of our killing one another,
and the particular spots. One betted on my being hit
in the jaw, another was so kind as to lay the odds on my
knee. The tolerably general opinion appeared to
prevail that one or other of us was to be killed ; and
much good-humoured joking took place among them
while they were deciding which. As I was double
the thickness of my antagonist, I was clearly the favourite
for being shot, and I heard one fellow near me say,
' Three to two on Burke, that he's shot first— I bet in
tenpennies.'
" Brady and Codd soon appeared, and the preUmi-
naries were arranged with much punctilio between our
seconds, who mutually and loudly extolled each other's
gentleman-like mood of doing business. Brady could
scarcely stand with fright, and I confess that I did
not feel quite as Hector of Troy, or the Seven Champions
of Christendom are reported to have done on similar
occasions. At last the ground was measured — ^the
pistols handed to the principals — the handkerchief
dropped — whiz ! went the bullet within an inch of my
ear — and crack ! went mine exactly on Ensign Brady's
waistcoat pocket. By an unaccountable accident, there
was a five shilling piece in that very pocket, and the ball
glanced away, while Brady doubled himself down,
uttering a loud howl that might be heard half-a-mile
off. The crowd was so attentive as to give a huzza for
my success.
'' Codd ran up to his principal, who was writhing
as if he had ten thousand coHcs, and soon ascertained
that no harm was done.
102 HUMOUSS OF IRISH LIFE.
" * What do you propose,' said he to my second —
* What do you propose to do. Major ? '
'* ' As there is neither blood drawn nor bone broken,'
said the Major, ' I think that shot goes for nothing.'
" ' I agree with you,' said Captain Codd.
** ' If your party will apologise,' said Major Mug,
' I'll take my man off the ground.'
" * Certainly,' said Captain Codd, * you are quite
right. Major, in asking the apology, but you know that
it is my duty to refuse it.'
*' ' You are correct, Captain,' said the Major ; * I then
formally require that Ensign Brady apologise to Mr.
Burke.''
*' ' I, as formally, refuse it,' said Captain Codd.
" * We must have another shot then,' said the Major.
" ' Another shot, by all means,' said the Captain.
" ' Captain Codd,' said the Major, ' you have shown
yourself in this, as in every transaction of your life,
a perfect gentleman.'
'' ' He who would dare to say,' replied the Captain,
' that Major Mug is not among the most gentlemanlike
men in the service, would speak what is untrue.'
" Our seconds bowed, took a pinch of snuff together,
and proceeded to load the pistols. Neither Brady nor
I were particularly pleased at these complimentary
speeches of the gentlemen, and, I am sure, had we been
left to ourselves, would have declined the second shot.
As it was, it appeared inevituble.
** Just, however, as the process of loading was com-
pleting, there appeared on the ground my cousin Phil
Purdon, rattling in on his black mare as hard as lie
could lick —
*' * 1 want to speak to the plaintiff in this action — I
BOB BURKE^S DUEL. IO3
mean, to one of the parties in this duel. I want to speak
to you, Bob Burke.'
'' ' The thing is impossible, sir,' said Major Mug.
" ' Perfectly impossible, sir,' said Codd.
'' * Possible or impossible is nothing to the question,'
shouted Purdon ; ' Bob, I must speak to you.'
" ' It is contrary to all regulation,' said the Major.
'' ' Quite contrary,' said the Captain.
" Phil, however, persisted, and approached me :
' Are you fighting about Dosy Mac ? ' said he to me,
in a whisper.
" ' Yes,' I replied.
" ' And she is to marry the survivor, I understand ? '
" ' So I am told,' said I.
'' ' Back out. Bob, then ; back out, at the rate of a
hunt. Old Mick MacNamara is married.'
" * Married ! ' I exclaimed.
*' ' Poz,' said he. * I drew the articles myself. He
married his housemaid, a girl of eighteen ; and,' here
he whispered.
What,' I cried, * six months I '
Six months,' said he, ' an' no mistake.*
Ensign Brady,' said I, immediately coming for-
ward, ' there has been a strange misconception in this
business. I here declare, in presence of this honourable
company, that you have acted throughout like a man of
honour, and a gentleman ; and you leave the ground
without a stain on your character,'
" Brady hopped three feet off the ground with joy
at the unexpected deliverance. He forgot all etiquette,
and came forward to shake me by the hand.
** ' My dear Burke,' said he, ' it must have been a
mistake : let us swear eternal friendship.'
104 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
" ' For ever,' said I. ' I resign you Miss Theodosia.'
'* ' You are too generous,' he said, ' but I cannot
ybuse your generosity.'
" ' It is unprecedented conduct,' growled Major Mug.
' I'll never be second to a Pekin again.'
** ' My principal leaves the ground with honour,'
said Captain Codd, looking melancholy, nevertheless.
" ' Humph! ' grunted Wooden-Leg Waddy, lighting
his meerschaum.
** The crowd dispersed much displeased, and I fear
my reputation for valour did not rise among them.
I went off with Purdon to finish a jug at Carmichael's,
and Brady swaggered off to Miss Dosy's. His renown
for valour won her heart. It cannot be denied that I
sunk deeply in her opinion. On that very evening
Brady broke his love, and was accepted. Mrs. Mac.
opposed, but the red-coat prevailed.
'* ' He may rise to be a general,' said Dosy, * and be
a knight, and then I will be Lady Brady.'
*' ' Or, if my father should be made an earl, angelic
Theodosia, you would be Lady Thady Brady,' said the
Ensign.
'' * Beautiful prospect ! ' cried Dosy, * Lady Thady
Brady ! What a harmonious sound ! '
" But why dally over the detail of my unfortunate
loves ? Dosy and the Ensign were married before the
accident which had befallen her uncle was discovered ;
and if they were not happy, why, then, you and I may.
They have had eleven children, and, I understand, he
now keeps a comfortable eating-house close by Cumber-
land Basin, in Bristol. Such was my duel with Ensign
Brady of the 48th."
BILLY MALOWNEY's TASTE OF LOVE AND GLORY I05
Billy Malowney's Taste of
Love and Glory.
From " The Purcell Papers."
By Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu (i 814- 1873).
Let the reader fancy a soft summer evening, the
fresh dews falling on bush and flower. The sun has
just gone down, and the thrilling vespers of thrushes
and blackbirds ring with a wild joy through the saddened
air ; the west is piled with fantastic clouds, and clothed
in tints of crimson and amber, melting away into a wan
green, and so eastward into the deepest blue, through
which soon the stars will begin to peep.
Let him fancy himself seated upon the low mossy
wall of an ancient churchyard, where hundreds of grey
stones rise above the sward, under the fantastic branches
of two or three half- withered ash-trees, spreading their
arms in everlasting love and sorrow over the dead.
The narrow road upon which I and my companion
await the tax-cart that is to carry me and my basket,
with its rich fruitage of speckled trout, away, lies at his
feet, and far below spreads an undulating plain, rising
westward into soft hills, and traversed (every here and
there visibly) by a winding stream which, even through
the mists of evening, catches and returns the funeral
glories of the skies.
As the eye traces its wayward wanderings, it loses them
for a moment in the heaving verdure of white-thorns
and ash, from among which floats from some dozen rude
chimneys, mostly unseen, the transparent blue film of
I06 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
turf smoke There we know, although we cannot
see it, the steep old bridge of Carrickdrum spans the
river ; and stretching away far to the right the valley
of Lisnamoe ; its steeps and hollows, its straggling
hedges, its fair-green, its tall scattered trees, and old
grey tower, are disappearing fact among the discoloured
tints and blaze of evening.
Those landmarks, as we sit listlessly expecting the
arrival of our modest conveyance, suggest to our com-
panion— a bare-legged Celtic brother of the gentle craft,
somewhat at the wrong side of forty, with a turf-coloured
caubeen, patched frieze, a clear brown complexion, dark-
grey eyes and a right pleasant dash of roguery in his
features — the tale, which, if the reader pleases, he is
welcome to hear along with me just as it falls from the
lips of our humble comrade.
His words I can give, but your own fancy must supply
the advantages of an intelligent, expressive countenance,
and what is, perhaps, harder still, the harmony of his
gloriou bro ue, that, Hke the me odies o our own
dear countiy, will leave a burden of mirth or of sorrow
with nearly equal propriety, tickling the diaphragm
as easily as it plays with the heart-strings, and is in itself
a national music that, I trust, may never, never — scouted
and despised though it be — never cease, like the lost tones
of our harp, to be heard in the fields of my country,
in welcome or endearment, in fun or in sorrow, stirring
the hearts of Irishmen and Irish women.
My triend of tht? caubeen and naked shanks, then,
commenced, and jontinued his relation, as nearly
as possible, in the following words : —
Av coorse ye often heerd talk ot Billy Malowney,
that lived by the bridge of Carrickadrum. " Leuma-
BILLY MALOWNEY'S TASTF OF LOVE AND GLORY. I07
rinka " was the name they put on him, he was sich a
beautiful dancer. An' faix, it's he was the rale sportin'
boy, every way — kilHn' the hares, and gaffin' the
salmons, an' fightin' the men, an' funnin' the women,
and coortin' the girls ; an', be the same token, there
was not a colleen inside iv his jurisdiction but was
breakin' her heart wid the fair love iv him.
Well, this was all pleasand enough, to be sure, while
it lasted ; but inhuman beings is born to misfortune,
an' Bill's divarshin was not to last always. A young
boy can't be continually coortin' and kissin' the girls
(an' more's the pity) without exposin' himself to the
most eminent parril ; an' so signs an' what should
happen Billy Malowney himself, but to fall in love at
last wid little Molly Donovan, in Coolamoe.
I never could ondherstand why in the world it was
Bill fell in love wid her, above all the girls in the country.
She was not within four stone wsight iv being as fat
as Peg Brallaghan ; and as for redness in the face,
she could not hould a candle to Judy Flaherty. (Poor
Judy ! she was my sweetheart, the darlin', an' coorted
me constant, ever entil she married a boy of the Butlers ;
an' it's twenty years now since she was buried under
the ould white-thorn in Garbally. But that's no
matther ! ). ,.^
Well, at any rate, Molly Donovan tuck his fancy
an' that's everything 1 She had smooth brown hair —
as smooth as silk — an' a pair iv soft coaxin' eyes — an'
the whitest little teeth you ever seen ; an', bedad, she
was every taste as much in love wid himself as he was.
Well, now, he was raly stupid wid love : there was
not a bit of fun left in him He was good for nothin'
an airth bud sittin' under bushes, smokin' tobacky.
I08 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
and sighin' till you'd wonder how in the world he got
wind for it all.
An,' bedad, he was an illigant scholar, moreover
an', so signs by, it's many's the song he made about her ;
an' if you'd be walkin' in the evening, a mile away
from Carrickadrum, begorra you'd hear him singing
out like a bull, all across the country, in her praises.
Well, ye may be sure, ould Tim Donovan and the
wife was not a bit too well plased to see Bill Malowney
coortin' their daughter Molly ; for, do ye mind, she was
the only child they had, and her fortune was thirty-five
pounds, two cows, and five illigant pigs, three iron pots,
a skillet, an' a trifle iv poultry in hand ; and no one
knew how much besides, whenever the Lord id be plased
to call the ould people out of the way into glory !
So, it was not likely ould Tim Donovan id be fallin'
in love wid poor Bill Malowney as aisy as the girls did ;
for, barrin' his beauty, an' his gun, an' his dhudheen,
an' his janious, the divil a taste of property iv any sort
or description he had in the wide world !
Well, as bad as that was, Billy would not give in that
her father and mother had the smallest taste iv a right
to intherfare, good or bad.
" An' you're welcome to rafuse me," says he, *' whin'
1 ax your lave," says he ; " an' I'll ax your lave," says
he, " whenever I want to coort yourselves," says he ;
*' but it's your daughter I'm coortin' at th j present,"
says he, *' an' that's all I'll say," says he ; " for I'd a
soon take a doase of salts as be discoursin' ye," says
he.
So it was a rale blazin' battle betune himself and the
ould people ; an', begorra, there was no soart iv
blaguardin' that did not pass bctunc them ; an' they
BILLY MALOWNEY's T/VSTE OF LOVE AND GLORY. 109
put a solemn injection on Molly again seein' him or
meetin' him for the future.
But it was all iv no use. You might as well be pur-
suadin' the birds agin flying, or sthrivin' to coax the
stars out of the sky into your hat, as be talking common
sinse to them that's fairly bothered and burstin' wid
love. There's nothin' like it. The toothache and
colic together id compose you betther for an argyment
than itself. It leaves you fit for nothin' bud nansinse.
It's stronger than whisky, for one good drop iv it
will make you drunk for one year, and sick, begorra,
for a dozen.
It's stronger than the say, for it'll carry you round
the world an' never let you sink, in sunshine or storm ;
an,' begorra, it's stronger than Death himself, for it is
not afeard iv him, bedad, but dares him in every shape.
Bud lovers has quarrels sometimes, and, begorra,
when they do, you'd a 'most imagine they hated one
another like man and wife. An' so, signs an, Billy
Malowney and Molly Donovan fell out one evening
at ould Tom Dundon's wake ; an' whatever came betune
them, she made no more about it but just draws her
cloak round her, and away wid herself and the sarvant-
girl home again, as if there was not a corpse, or a fiddle,
or a taste of divarsion in it.
Well, Billy Malowney foUied her down the boreen,
to try could he deludher her back again ; but, if she
was bitther before, she gave it to him in airnest when
she got him alone to herself, and to that degree that he
wished her safe home, short and sulky enough, an'
walked back again, as mad as the devil himself, to the
wake, to pay respect to poor Tom Dundon.
Well, my dear, it was aisy seen there was something
no HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
wrong wid Billy Malowney, for he paid no attintion
for the rest of the evenng to any soart of divarsion but
the whisky alone ; an' every glass he'd drink it's what
he'd be wishing the divil had the woman, an' the worst
iv bad luck to all soarts iv courting, until, at last, wid
the goodness iv the sperits, an' the badness iv his lemper,
an' the constant flusthration iv cursin', he grew all as
one as you might say almost, saving your presince,
bastely drunk !
Well, who should he fall in wid, in that childish
condition, as he was deploying along the road almost
as straight as the letter S, an' cursin' the girls, an' roarin'
for more whisky, but the recruiting-sargent iv the
Welsh Confusileers.
5o, cute enough, the sargent begins to convarse
him, an' it was not long until he had him sitting in
Murphy's pubUc-house, wid an elegant dandy iv punch
before him, an' the king's money safe an' snug in the
lowest wrinkle of his breeches pocket.
So away wid him, and the dhrums and fifes playing,
an' a dozen more unforthunate bliggards just listed
along with him, an' he shakin' hands wid the sargent,
and swcarin' agin the women every minute, until, be
the time he kem to himself, begorra, he was a good ten
miles on the road to Dublin, an' Molly and all behind
him.
It id be no good tellin' you iv the letters he wrote
to her from the barracks there, nor how she was breaking
her heart to go and see him just wanst before he'd go ;
but the father and mother would not allow iv it be no
manes.
An' so in less time than you'd be thinkin' about it,
the colonel had him polished off into a rale elegant
BILLY MALOWNEY's TASTE OF LOVE AND GLORY. Ill
soger, wid his gun exercise, and his bagnet exercise,
and his small sword, and broad sword, and pistol and
dagger, an' all the rest, an' then away wid him on
board a man-a-war to furrin parts, to fight for King
George agin Bonypart, that was great in them times.
Well, it was very soon in everyone's mouth how
Billy Malowney was batin' all before him, astonishin'
the ginerals, and frightenin' the inimy to that degree,
there was not a Frinchman dare say parley voo outside
of the rounds iv his camp.
You may be sure Molly was proud iv that same, though
she never spoke a word about it ; until at last news kem
home that Billy Malowney was surrounded an'
murdered be the Frinch army, under Napoleon Bony-
part him_self. The news was brought by Jack Bryan
Dhas, the pedlar, that said he met the corporal iv the
regiment on the quay iv Limerick, an' how he brought
him into a public-house and thrated him to a naggin,
and got all the news about poor Billy Malowney out
iv him while they war dhrinkin' it ; an' a sorrowful
story it was
The way it happened, accordin' as the corporal tould
him, was jist how the Dook iv Wellington detarmined
to fight a rale tarin' battle wid the Frinch, and Bony-
part at the same time was aiqually detarmined to
fight the divil's own scrimmidge wid the British foorces.
Well, as soon as the business was pretty near ready
at both sides, Bonypart and the general next undher
himself gets up behind a bush, to look at their inimies
through spy-glasses, and thry would they know any iv
them at the distance.
" Bedad ! " says the gineral, afther a divil iv a long
spy, " I'd bet half a pint," says he, " that's Billy
Malowney himself," says he, " down there," says he.
112 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
** Och ! " says Bonypart, " do you tell me so ?"
says he — *' I'm fairly heart-scalded with that same
Billy Malowney," says he ; ** an' I think if 1 wanst
got shut iv him, I'd bate the rest of them aisy," says
he.
" I'm thinking so myself," says the general, says he ;
' but he's a tough bye," says he."
** Tough ! " says Bonypart, " he's the divil," says he.
'* Begorra, I'd be better plased," says the gineral,
says he, " to take himself than the Duke iv Willinton,"
says he, " an' Sir Edward Blakeney into the bargain,"
says he.
** The Duke of Wellinton and Gineral Blakeney,"
says Bonypart, '' is great for planning, no doubt,"
s^ys he ; " but Billy Malowney 's the boy for action,"
:*ays he — " an' action's everything, just now," says he.
So with that Bonypart pushes up his cocked hat,
and begins scratching his head, and thinking and con-
sidherin' for the bare life, and at last says he to the
gineral :
** Gineral Commandher iv all the Foorces," says he,
" I've hot it," says he : " ordher out the forlorn hope,"
says he, an' give them as much powdher, both glazed
and blasting," says he, " an' as much bullets, do ye
mind, an' swan-dhrops an' chainshot," says he, " an'
all soorts iv waipons an' combustables as they can
carry ; an' let them surround Bill Malowney," says he,
*' an' if they can get any soort iv an advantage," says
he, '* let them knock him to smithereens," says he,
** an' then take him presner," says he ; *' an' tell all the
bandmen iv the Frinch army," says he, '* to play up
' Garryowen,' to keep up their sperits," says he, " all
the time they're advancin'. And you may promise
BILLY MALOWNEY'S TASTE OF LOVE AND GLORY. II3
them anything you like in my name, says he ; '* for,
by my sowl, I don't think it's many iv them 'ill come
back to throuble us," says he, winkin' at him.
So away with the gineral, an' he ordhers out the
forlorn hope, an' tells the band to play, an' everything
else, just as Bonypart desired him. An' sure enough
whin Billy Malowney heerd the music where he was
standin' taking a blast of the dhudheen to compose
his mind for murdherin' the Frinchmen as usual, being
mighty partial to thac tune intirely, he cocks his ear
a one side, an' down he stoops to listen to the music ;
but, begorra, who should be in his rare all the time
but a Frinch grannideer behind a bush, and seeing
him stooped in a convenient forum, bedad he let flies
at him straight, and fired him right forward between
the legs an' the small iv the back, glory be to God !
with what they call (saving your presence) a bum-
shell.
Well, Bill Malowney let one roar out iv him, an'
away he rolled over the field iv battle like a slitther
(as Bonypart and the Duke iv Wellington, that was
watching the manoeuvres from a distance, both con-
sayved) into glory.
An' sure enough the Frinch was overjoyed beyant
all bounds, an' small blame to them — an' the Duke of
Wellington, I'm toult, was never all out the same man
sinst.
At any rate, the news kem home how Billy Malowney
was murdhered by the Frinch in furrin parts.
Well, all this time, you may be sure, there was no
want iv boys comin' to coort purty Molly Donovan ;
but one way ar another, she always kept puttin' them
off constant. An' though her father and mother was
I
1 14 HTTMOURS OF IRISH LIPE.
nathurally anxious to get rid of her r<;spickably, they
did not Hke to marry her off in spite iv her teeth.
An' this way, promising one while and puttin' it off
another, she conthrived to get on from one Shrove
to another, until near seven years was over and gone from
the time when Billy Malowney listed for furrin sarvice.
It was nigh hand a year from the time w^hin the news
iv Leum-a-rinka bein' killed by the Frinch came home,
an' in place iv forgettin' him, as the saisins wint over,
it's what Molly was growin' paler and more lonesome
every day, antil the neighbours thought she was fallin'
into a decline ; and this is the way it was with her whin
the fair of Lisnamoe kem round.
It was a beautiful evenin', just at the time iv the reap-
in' iv the oats, and the sun was shinin' through the red
clouds far away over the hills iv Cahirmore.
Her father an' mother, an' the biys an' girls, was all
away down in the fair, and Molly sittin' all alone on the
step of the stile, listenin' to the foolish little birds
whistlin' among the leaves — and the sound of the moun-
tain-river flowin' through the stones an' bushes — an'
the crows flyin' home high overhead to the woods iv
Glinvarlogh — an' down in the glen, far away, she could
see the fair-green iv Lisnamoe in the mi t, an' sun-
shine among the grey rocks and threes — an' the cows
an' horses, an' the blue frieze, an' the red cloaks, an
the tents, an' the smoke, an' the ould round tower —
all as soft an' as sorrowful as a dhrame iv ould times.
An' while she was looking this way, an' thinking iv
Lcum-a-rinka — poor Bill iv the dance, that was sleepin'
in his lonesome glory in the fields of Spain — she began
to sing the song he used to like so well in the ould times :
" Shule, shule, shulc a-roon ; "
BILLY MALOWNEY's TASTE OF LOVE AND GLORY. II5
an' when she ended the verse, what do you think but
she heard a manly voice just at the other side iv the
hedge, singing the last words over again !
Well she knew it ; her heart fluttered up like a little
bird that id be wounded, and then dhropped still in her
breast. It was himself. In a minute he was through
the hedge and standing before her.
" Leum ! " ays she.
'' Mavourneen cuishla machree ! " says he ; and
without another word they were locked in one
another's arms.
Well, it id only be nansinse for me thryin' to tell
ye all the foolish things they said, and how they looked
in one another's faces, an' laughed, an' cried, an'
laughed again ; and how, when they came to themselves'
and she was able at last to beUeve it was raly Billy himself
that was there, actially holdin' her hand, and lookin'
in her eyes the same way as ever, barrin' he was browner
and boulder, an' did not, maybe, look quite as merry
in himself as he used to do in former times — an'
fondher for all, an' more lovin' than ever — how he
tould her all about the wars wid the Frinchmen — an'
how he was wounded, and left for dead in the field of
battle, bein' shot through the breast, and how he was
discharged, an' got a pinsion iv a full shillin' a day^
and how he was come back to live the rest iv his days in
the sweet glen iv Lisnamoe, an' (if only she'd consint)
to marry herself in spite iv them all.
Well, ye may aisily think they had plinty to talk
about, afthcr seven years without seeing one another ;
and so signs on, the time flew by as swift an' as pleasant
as a bird on the wing, an' the sun wint down, an' the
moon shone sweet, yet they didn't mind a ha'port
Il6 HUMOURS OF IRTril LIFE.
about it, but kept talkin an' vvhisperin*, an' whisperin'
an' talkin' ; for it's wondherful how often a tinder-
hearted girl will bear to hear a purty boy tellin' her
the same story constant over an' over ; ontil at last,
sure enough, they heerd the ould man himself comin'
up the boreen, singin' the '' Colleen Rue " — a thing
he never done barrin' whin he had a dhrop in ; an'
the misthress walkin' in front iv him an' two illigant
Kerry cows he just bought in the fair, an' the sarvint
biys dhriving them behind.
" Oh, blessed hour ! " says Molly, '' here's my
father."
" I'll spake to him this minute," says Bill.
*' Oh, not for the world," says she ; '' he's singin*
the ' Colleen Rue,' " says she, ** and no one dar raison
with him," says she.
" An' where'll I go ? " says he, " for they're into
the haggard an top iv us," says he, *' an' they'll see
me iv I lep through the hedge," says he.
*' Thry the pig-sty," says she, '* mavourneen," says
she, ** in the name iv God," says she.
*' Well, darlint," says he, ** for your sake," says he,
** I'll condescend to them animals," says he.
An* wid that he makes a dart to get in ; bud, begorra,
it was too late — the pigs was all gone home, antl the
pig-sty was as full as the Birr coach wid six inside.
" Och ! blur-an'-agers," says he, *' there is not
room for a suckin'-pig," says he, *' let alone a Christian,"
says he.
" Well, run into the house, Billy," says she, *' this
minute," says she, " an' hide yourself antil they're
quiet," says she, ** an' thin you can steal out," says
she, " anknownst to them all," says she.
BILLY MALOWNEY'S TASTE OF LOVE AND GLORY. Hy
" I'll do your biddin'," says he, '' Molly asthore,"
says he.
*' Run in thin," says she, *' an' I'll go an' meet them,"
says she.
So wid that away wid her, and in wint Billy, an'
where did he hide himself bud in a little closet that
was off iv the room where the ould man and woman
slep'. So he closed the doore, and sot down in an ould
chair he found there convanient.
Well, he was not well in it when all the rest iv them
comes into the kitchen, an' ould Tim Donovan singin'
the " Colleen Rue " for the bare Hfe, an' the rest i'
them sthrivin' to humour him, an doin' exactly every-
thing he bid them, because they seen he was foolish
be the manes of the liquor.
Well, to be sure all this kep' them long enough, you
may be sure, from goin' to bed, so that Billy could get
no manner iv an advantage to get out iv the house, and
so he sted sittin' in the dark closet in state, cursin' the
*' Colleen Rue," and wondhering to the divil whin
they'd get the ould man into his bed. An', as if that was
not delay enough, who should come in to stop for the
night but Father O'Flaherty, of Cahirmore, that was
buyin' a horse at the fair ! An' av course, there was
a bed to be med down for his Raverance, an' some other
attintions ; an' a long discoorse himself an' ould Mrs.
Donovan had about the slaughter iv Billy Malowney,
an' how he w?s buried on the field of battle ; an' his
Raverance hoped he got a dacent funeral, an' all the other
convaniences iv religion. An' so you may suppose
it was pretty late in the night before all iv them got
to their beds.
Well, Tim Donovan could not settle to sleep at all
Il8 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
r
at all, an' he kep' discoorsin* the wife about the new
cows he bought, an' the strippers he sould, an' so on
for better than an hour, ontil from one thing to another
he kem to talk about the pigs, an' the poulthry, and
at last, having nothing betther to discoorse about, he
begun at his daughter Molly, an' all the heartscald
she was to him be raisin iv refusin' the men. An'
at last says he :
*' I onderstand," says he, " very well how it is,'
says he. " It's how she was in love," says he, *' wid
that bUggard, Billy Malowney," says he, '' bad luck
to him 1 " says he ; for by this time he was coming
to his raison.
" Ah 1 " says the wife, says she, " Tim darlint, don't
be cursin' them that's dead an' buried," says she.
" An' why would not I," says he, '* if they desarve
it ? " says he.
" Whisht," says she, " an' listen to that," says she.
" In the name of the Blessed Vargin," says she, " what
is it ? " says she.
An* sure enough what was it bud Bill Malowney
that was dhroppin' asleep in the closet, an' snorin' like
a church organ.
" Is it a pig," says he, ** or is it a Christian ? "
'* Arra ! listen to the tune iv it," says she ; " sure
a pig never done the like iv that," says she.
'' Whatever it is," says he, " it's in the room wid us,"
says he. " The Lord be marciful to us ! " says he.
** I tould you not to be cursin'," says she ; *' bad
luck to you," says she, " for an ommadhaun ! " for
she was a very religious woman in herself.
" Sure, he's buried in Spain," says he ; " an' it is
not for one little innocent expression," says he, " he'd
be cumin' all that way to annoy the house," says he.
BILLY MALOWNEY'S TASTE OF LOVE ANF GLO^v, ug
Well, while they war talkin,' Bill turns in the way
he was sleepin' into an aisier imposture ; and as soon
as he stopped snorin' ould Tim Donovan's courage riz
agin, and says he.
** I'll go to the kitchen," says he, " an' light a rish,"
says he.
An' with that away wid him, an' the wife kep' workin'
the beads all the time, an' before they kern back Bill
was snorin' as loud as ever.
" Oh ! bloody wars— I mane the blessed saints above
us !— that deadly sound," says he ; " it's going on as
lively as ever," says he.
*' I'm as wake as a rag," says his wife, says she, "wi
the fair anasiness," says she. '' It's out iv the Httle
closet it's comin'," says she.
" Say your prayers," says he, " an' hould your
tongue," says he, " while I discoorse it," says he.
" An' who are ye," says he, " in the name iv all the
holy saints ? " says he, givin' the door a dab iv a crus-
heen that wakened Bill inside.
" I ax," says he, '' who you are ? " says he.
Well, Bill did not rightly remember where in the
world he was, but he pushed open the door, an' says
he :
" Billy Malowney's my name," says he, " an' I'll
thank ye to tell me a betther," says he.
Well, whin Tim Donovan heard that, an' actially
seen that it was Bill himself that was in it, he had not
strength enough to let a bawl out iv him, but he dhropt
the candle out iv his hand, an' down wid himself on his
back in the dark.
Well, the wife let a screech you'd hear at the mill
iv Killraghlin, an' —
120 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
" Oh," says she, " the spirit has him, body an'
bones ! " says she. '' Oh, holy St. Bridget— oh
Mother iv Marcy — oh, Father O'Flaherty ! " says she,
screechin' murdher from out iv her bed.
Well, Bill Malowney was not a minute rememberin'
himself, an' so out wid him quite an' aisy, an' through
the kitchen ; bud in place iv the door iv the house,
it's what he kem to the door iv Father O'Flaherty's
little room, where he was jist wakenin' wid the noise
iv the screechin' an' battherin' ; an,' bedad, Bill makes
no more about it, but he jumps, wid one boult, clever
an' clane into his Raverance's bed.
" What do ye mane, you uncivilised bliggard ? "
says his Raverance. *' Is that a venerable way," says
he, " to approach your clargy ? " says he.
*' Hould your tongue," says Bill, " an' I'll do ye no
harum," says he.
" Who are you, ye schoundhrel iv the world ?' says
his Raverance.
' Whisht 1 " says he, " I'm Bill Malowney," says
he.
'' You lie ! " says his Raverance — for he was
frightened beyont all bearin' — an' he makes bud one
jump out iv the bed at the wrong side, where there
was only jist a little place in the wall for a press, an'
his Raverance could not as much as turn in it for the
wealth iv kingdoms. " You lie," says he ; '* but for
fear it's the thruth you're tellin'," says he, " here's
at ye in the name iv all the blessed saints together ! "
says he.
An' wid that, my dear, he blazes away at him wid
a Latin prayer iv the strongest description, an', as he
said to himself afterwards, that was iv a nature that
BILLY MALOWNEY'S TASTE OF LOVE AND GLORY. 121
id dhrive the divil himself up the chimley like a puff
iv tobacky smoke, wid his tail betune his legs.
" Arra, what are ye sthrivin' to say," says Bill, says
he ; " if ye don't hould your tongue," says he, " wid
your parly voo," says he, " it's what I'll put my thumb
on your windpipe," says he, " an' Billy Malowney
never wint back iv his word yet," says he.
*' Thunder-an-owns," says his Raverance, says he
— seein' the Latin took no infect on him, at all at all,
an' screechin' that you'd think he'd rise the thatch
up iv the house wid the fair fright — " an' thundher
and blazes, boys, will none of yes come here wid a
candle, but lave your clargy to be choked by a spirit
in the dark ?" says he.
Well, be this time the sarvint boys and the rest iv
them wor up an' half dressed, an' in they all run, one
on top iv another, wid pitchforks and spades, thinkin'
it was only what his Raverance slep' a dhrame iv the like,
by means of the punch he was afther takin' just before
he rowl'd himself into the bed. But, begorra, whin
they seen it was raly Billy Malowney himself that was
in it, it was only who'd be foremost out agin, tumblin'
backways, one over another, and his Raverance roarin'
an' cursin' them like mad for not waitin' for him.
Well, my dear, it was betther than half an hour before
Billy Malowney could explain to them all how it raly
was himself, for begorra they were all iv them per-
suadin' him that he was a spirit to that degree it's a
wondher he did not give in to it, if it was only to put
a stop to the argiment.
Well, his Raverance tould the ould people then
there was no use in sthrivin' agin the will iv Providence
an' the vagaries iv love united ; an' whin they kem to
la
122 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
undherstand to a sartinty how Billy had a shillin' a
day for the rest iv his days, begorra they took rather
a likin' to him, and considhered at wanst how he must
hav riz out of all his nansinse entirely, or His gracious
Majesty id never have condescinded to show him his
countenance every day of his life on a silver
shillin'.
An' so, begorra, they never stopt till it was all settled
— an' there was not sich a weddin' as that in the coun-
thry sinst. It's more than forty years ago, an' though
I was no more nor a gossoon meself, I remimber it Uke
yesterday. Molly never looked so purty before, an'
Billy Malowney was plisant beyont all hearin', to that
degree that half the girls in it was fairly tarin' mad —
only they would not let on — they had not him to them-
selves in place iv her. An' begorra, I'd be af eared
to tell ye, because you would not believe me, since
that blessid man Father Mathew put an ent to all soorts
of sociality, the Lord reward him, how many gallons
iv pottieen whisky was dhrank upon that most solemn
and tindher occaison.
Pat Hanlon, the piper, had a faver out iv it ; an'
Neddy Shawn Heigue, mountin' his horse the wrong
way, broke his collar-bone, by the manes iv fallin' over
his tail while he was feelin' for his head ; an' Payther
Brian, the horse-docther, I am tould, was never quite
right in the head ever afther ; an' ould Tim Donovan
was singin' the *' Colleen Rue " night and day for a
full week ; an, begorra the weddin' was only the foun-
dation iv fun, and the beginning iv divarsion, for there
was not a year for ten years afther, an' more, but
brought round a christenin' as regular as the sasins
revarted.
A PLEASANT JOURNEY. 123
A Pleasant Journey.
" From the Confessions oj Harry Lorrequer.
By Charles Lever.
I, Harry Lorrequer, was awaiting the mail coach
anxiously in the Inn at Naas, when at last there was
the sound of wheels, and the driver came into the
room, a spectacle of condensed moisture.
" Going on to-night, sir," said he, addressing me ;
" severe weather, and no chance of its clearing
— but, of course, you're inside."
'* Why, there is very little doubt of that," said L
" Are you nearly full inside ? "
'* Only one, sir ; but he seems a real queer chap ;
made fifty inquiries at the office if he could not have
the whole inside for himself, and when he heard that one
place had been taken — yours, I believe, sir,— he seemed
like a scalded bear."
" You don't know his name, then ? "
"No, sir, he never gave a name at the office, and
his only luggage is two brown paper parcels, without
any ticket, and he has them inside : indeed, he never
lets them from him, even for a second."
Here the guard's horn sounded.
As I passed from the inn-door to the coach, I con-
gratulated myself that I was about to be housed from
the terrific storm of wind and rain that raged without.
" Here's the step, sir," said the guard ; '' get in,
sir, two minutes late already."
" I beg your pardon, sir," said I, as I half fell over the
legs of my unseen companion. " May I request leave
124 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
to pass you ? " While he made way for me for this
purpose, I perceived that he stooped down and said
something to the guard, who, from his answer, had
evidently been questioned as to who I was.
'* And how did he get here if he took his place in
Dublin ? " asked the unknown.
" Came half an hour since, sir, in a chaise-and-four,"
said the guard, as he banged the door behind him, and
closed the interview.
" A severe night, sir," said I.
" Mighty severe," briefly and half-crustily replied
the unknown, in a strong Cork accent.
" And a bad road, too, sir," said I.
" That's the reason I always go armed," said the
unknown, clinking at the same moment something like
the barrel of a pistol.
Wondering somewhat at his readiness to mistake my
meaning, I felt disposed to drop any further effort to
draw him out, and was about to address myself to sleep
as comfortably as I could.
'* I'll just trouble ye to lean off that little parcel there,
sir," said he, as he displaced from its position beneath
my elbow one of the paper packages the guard had already
alluded to.
In complying with this rather gruff demand one of
my pocket pistols, which I carried in my breast-pocket,
fell out upon his knee, upon which he immediately
started, and asked, hurriedly : " And are you armed,
too ? "
*' Why yes," said I laughingly ; " men of my trade
seldom go without something of this kind."
" I was just thinking that same," said the traveller
with a half sigh to himself.
A PLEASANT JOURNEY. 1 25
I was just settling myself in my corner when I was
startled by a very melancholy groan.
" Are you ill, sir ? " said I, in a voice of some anxiety.
" You may say that," replied he, " if you knew who
you were talking to; although, maybe, you've heard
enough of me, though you never saw me till now."
'' Without having that pleasure even yet," said I, "it
would grieve me to think you should be ill in the coach."
'* Maybe it might. Did ye ever hear tell of Barney
Doyle ? " said he.
" Not to my recollection."
" Then I'm Barney," said he, ** that's in all the news-
papers in the metropolis. I'm seventeen weeks in
Jervis Street Hospital, and four in the Lunatic, and the
sorra bit better, after all. You must be a stranger,
I'm thinking, or you'd know me now."
" Why, I do confess I've only been a few hours in
Ireland for the last six months."
" Aye, that's the reason ; I knew you would not be
fond of traveUing with me if you knew who it was."
'' Why, really, I did not anticipate the pleasure of
meeting you."
" It's pleasure ye call it ; then there's no accountin'
for tastes, as Dr. CoUes said, when he saw me bite
Cusack Rooney's thumb off."
" Bite a man's thumb off ! "
" Aye," said he, with a kind of fiendish animation,
" in one chop, I wish you'd see how I scattered the
consultation ; — ^they didn't wait to ax for a fee."
" A very pleasant vicinity," thought I. " And may
I ask, sir," said I, in a very mild and soothing tone of
voice — " may I ask the reason for this singular pro-
pensity of yours ? "
126 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
*' There it is now, my dear," said he, laying his hand
upon my knee familiarly, '* that's just the very thing
they can't make out. CoUes says it's all the cerebellum,
ye see, that's inflamed and combusted, and some of the
others think it's the spine ; and more the muscles ;
but my real impression is, not a bit they know about
it at all."
" And have they no name for the malady ? " said I.
*' Oh, sure enough they have a name for it."
'' And may I ask "
*' Why, I think you'd better not, because, ye see,
maybe I might be troublesome to ye in the night,
though I'll not, if I can help it ; and it might be uncom-
fortable to you to be here if I was to get one of the
fits."
'* One of the fits ! Why, it's not possible, sir,"
said I, " you would travel in a public conveyance in
the state you mention ; your friends surely would not
permit it ? "
** Why, if they knew, perhaps," slily responded
the interesting invalid — " if they knew, they might not
exactly like it ; but ye see, I escaped only last night,
and there'll be a fine hubbub in the morning when they
find I'm off; though I'm thinking Rooney's barking
away by this time."
" Rooney barking ! — why, what does that mean ? "
" They always bark for a day or two after they're
bit, if the infection comes first from the dog."
" You are surely not speaking of hydropltobia ? "
said I, my hair actually bristling with horror and con-
sternation.
*' Ain't I ?" replied he ; " maybe you've guessed it,
though."
A PLEASANT JOURNEY. 127
" And you have the malady on you at present ? "
said I trembling for the answer.
** This is the ninth day since I took to biting," said
he, gravely.
** And with such a propensity, sir, do you think
yourself warranted in travelling in a public coach,
exposing others "
" You'd better not raise your voice that way. If
I'm roused it'll be worse for ye, that's all."
" Well, but, is it exactly prudent, in your present
delicate state, to undertake a journey ? "
*' Ah," said he, with a sigh, " I've been longing to
see the fox-hounds throw off near Kilkenny ; these three
weeks I've been thinking of nothing else ; but I'm not
sure how my nerves will stand the cry ; I might be
troublesome."
" Well," thought I, ** I shall not select that morning
for my debut in the field."
" I hope, sir, there's no river or watercourse in this
road ; anything else I can, I hope, control myself
against ; but water — running water particularly — makes
me troublesome."
Well knowing what he meant by the latter phrase,
I felt the cold perspiration settling on my forehead as
I remembered that we must be within about ten or
twelve miles of a bridge, where we should have to pass
a very wide river. I strictly concealed this fact from
him, however. He now sank into a kind of moody
silence, broken occasionally by a low, muttering noise,
as if speaking to himself.
How comfortable my present condition was I need
scarcely remark, sitting vis-a-vis to a lunatic, with a
pair of pistols in his possession, who had already avowed
128 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
his consciousness of his tendency to do mischief, and his
inabiUty to master it — all this in the dark, and in the
narrow limits of a mail-coach, where there was scarcely
room for defence, and no possibility of escape. If
I could only reach the outside of the coach I would be
happy. What were rain and storm, thunder and
lightning compared with the chance that awaited me
here ? — wet through I should inevitably be : but, then,
I had not yet contracted the horror of moisture my
friend opposite laboured under. Ha ! what is that ?
— is it possible he can be asleep ; — is it really a snore }
Ah, there it is again ; — he must be asleep, surely ; —
now, then, is my time, or never. I slowly let down the
window of the coach, and, stretching forth my hand,
turned the handle cautiously and slowly ; I next dis-
engaged my legs, and by a long, continuous effort of
creeping, I withdrew myself from the seat, reached the
step, when I muttered something very like thanksgiving
to Providence for my rescue. With little difficulty
I now climbed up beside the guard, whose astonishment
at my appearance was indeed considerable.
Well, on we rolled, and very soon, more dead than
alive, I sat a mass of wet clothes, like a morsel of black
and spongy wet cotton at the bottom of a schoolboy's
ink-bottle, saturated with rain and the black dye of my
coat. My hat, too, had contributed its share of colouring
matter, and several long, black streaks coursed down my
" wrinkled front," giving me very much the air of an
Indian warrior who had got the first priming of his
war paint. I certainly must have been a rueful object,
were I only to judge from the faces of the waiters as they
gazed on me when the coach drew up at Rice and
Walsh's Hotel.
A PLEASANT JOURNEY. 1 29
Cold, wet, and weary as I was, my curiosity to learn
more of my late agreeable companion was strong as ever
within me. I could catch a glimpse of his back, and
hurried after the great unknown into the coffee room.
By the time I entered, he was spreading himself com-
fortably, a V Anglais, before the fire, and displayed to
my wandering and stupefied gaze the pleasant features
of Dr. Finucane.
" Why, Doctor — Doctor Finucane," cried I, " is it
ossible ? Were you, then, really the inside in the
mail last night ? "
" Not a doubt of it, Mr. Lorrequer ; and may I make
bould to ask were you the outside ? "
" Then what, may I beg to know, did you mean by
your story about Barney Doyle, and the hydrophobia,
and Cusack Rooney's thumb — eh ? "
" Oh ! " said Finucane, " this will be the death of me.
And it was you that I drove outside in all the rain last
night ? Oh, it will kill Father Malachi outright with
laughing when I tell him." And he burst out into a
fit of merriment that nearly induced me to break his
head with a poker.
" Am I to understand, then, Mr. Finucane, that this
practical joke of yours was contrived for my benefit and
for the purpose of holding me up to the ridicule of your
acquaintances ? "
" Nothing of the kind," said Fin., drying his eyes,
and endeavouring to look sorry and sentimental. *' It
I had only the least suspicion in life that it was you, Fd
not have had the hydrophobia at all — and, to tell you
the truth, you were not the only one frightened — you
alarmed me, too."
" I alarmed you ! Why, how can that be ? "
K
130 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
" Why, the real affair is this : I was bringing these
two packages of notes down to my cousin Callaghan's
bank in Cork — fifteen thousand pounds, and when you
came into the coach at Naas, I thought it was all up
with me. The guard just whispered in my ear that he
saw you look at the priming of your pistols before
getting in. Well, when you got seated, the thought
came into my mind that maybe, highwayman as you
were, you would not like dying an unnatural death,
more particularly if you were an Irishman ; and so I
trumped up that long story about the hydrophobia,
and the gentleman's thumb, and dear knows what
besides ; and, while I was telling it, the cold perspira-
tion was running down my head and face, for every time
you stirred I said to myself— Now he'll do it. Tw^o or
three times, do you know, I was going to offer you ten
shillings in the pound, to spare my life ; and once,
God forgive me, I thought it would not be a bad plan
to shoot you by ' mistake,' do you perceive ? "
" Why, I'm very much obliged to you for your
excessively kind intentions ; but, really, I feel you have
done quite enough for me on the present occasion.
But, come now, doctor, I must get to bed, and, before
I go, promise me two things — to dine with us to-day at
the mess, and not to mention a syllable of what occurred
last night : it tells, believe me, very badly for both.
So keep the secret ; for if these fellows of ours ever
get hold of it I may sell out, and quit the army ;— I'll
never hear the end of it ! "
" Never fear, my boy ; trust me. I'll dine with you,
and you're as safe as a church mouse for anything I'll
tell them ; so now, you'd better change your clothes,
for I'm thinking it rained last night."
THE BATTLE OF AUGHRIM. I3I
The Battle of Aughrim.
From ^^Anna Cosgrave/' an unpiihlished Novel.
By William Carleton.
Many of our readers will be surprised at what we
are about to relate. Nay, what is more, we fear they will
not yield us credence, but impute it probably to our
own invention ; whereas we beg to assure them that it
is strictly and literally true. The period of the scene
we are about to describe may be placed in the year
1806. At the time neither party feehng nor religious
animosity had yet subsided after the ferment of the
'98 insurrection and the division between the Catholic
and Protestant population was very strong and bitter.
The rebeUion, which commenced in its first principles
among the northern Presbyterians and other Protestant
classes in a spirit of independence and a love of liberty,
soon, in consequence of the influence of some bigots,
assumed the character of a civil war between the two
religions, — the most internecine description of war that
ever devastated a country or drenched it in blood.
A usual amusement at the time was to reproduce the
*' Battle of Aughrim," in some spacious barn, with a
winnowing-cloth for the curtain. This play, bound
up with '' The Siege of Londonderry," was one of the
reading-books in the hedge schools of that day, and cir-
culated largely among the people of all religions : it had,
indeed, a most extraordinary influence among the lower
classes. *' The Battle of Aughrim," however, because
it was written in heroic verse, became so popular that
it was rehearsed at almost every Irish hearth, both
132 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
Catholic and Protestant, in the north. The spirit it
evoked was irresistible. The whole country became
dramatic. To repeat it at the fireside in winter nights
was nothing : the Orangemen should act it, and show
to the whole world how the field of Aughrim was so
gloriously won. The consequence was that frequent
rehearsals took place. The largest and most spacious
barns and kilns were fitted up, the night of representa-
tion was given out, and crowds, even to suffocation,
as they say, assembled to witness the celebrated " Battle
of Aughrim."
At first, it was true, the Orangemen had it all to them-
selves. This, however, could not last. The Catholics
felt that they were as capable of patronising the drama
as the victors of Aughrim. A strong historic spirit
awoke among them. They requested of the Orangemen
to be allowed the favour of representing the Catholic
warriors of the disastrous field, and, somewhat to their
surprise, the request was immediately granted. The
Orangemen felt that there was something awkward
and not unlike political apostasy in acting the part of
Catholics in the play, under any circumstances, no
matter how dramatic. It was consequently agreed
that the Orangemen should represent the officers of
the great man on whose name and title their system
had been founded, and the Catholics should represent
their own generals and officers under the name of St.
Ruth, Sarsfield, and Colonel O'Neill. The first repre-
sentation of this well-known play took place in the town
of Au . During the few weeks before the great night
nothing was heard but incessant repetitions and rehearsals
of the play.
The fact of this enactment of the play by individuals
THE BATTLE OF AUGHRIM. 133
SO Strongly opposed to each other both in religion and
poUtics excited not only an unusual degree of curiosity,
but some apprehension as to the result, especially when
such language as this was heard : —
" We licked them before," said the Orangemen, " an'
by japers, we'll lick them again. Jack Tait acts General
Jingle, an' he's the boy will show them what chance
a Papist has against a Prodestan ! "
*' Well, they bate us at Aughrim," said the Catholics,
" but with Tam Whiskey at our head, we'll turn the tebles
and lick them now."
Both parties on that night were armed with swords
for the battle scene, which represented the result of the
engagement. Unfortunately, when the scene came on.
instead of the bloodless fiction of the drama they began
to slash each other in reality, and had it not been for
the interference of the audience there is no doubt that
lives would have been lost. After this, swords were
interdicted and staves substituted. The consequence,
as might have been expected, was that heads were
broken on both sides, and a general fight between Pro-
testant and Catholic portions of the actors and the
audience ensued.
In the meanwhile the dramatic mania had become an
epidemic. Its fascination carried overt opposition
before it. A new system was adopted. The Orange
party was to be represented by staunch Catholics, all
probably Ribbonmen, and the Catholics by the rankest
and most violent Orangemen in the parish. This course
was resorted to in order to prevent the serious quarrels
with which the play generally closed. Such was the
state which the dramatic affairs of the parish had
reached when the occasion, a summer evening, arrived
134 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
that had been appointed by the herculean manager,
John Tait, for the exhibition of " The Battle of Aughrim,"
in a large and roomy barn of a wealthy farmer named
Jack Stuart, in the townland of Rark.
His house stood on a little swelling eminence beside
which an old road ran, and into which the little green
before the door sloped. The road, being somewhat
lower, passed close to his outhouses, which faced the
road, but in consequence of their positions a loft was
necessary to constitute the barn, so that it might be level
with the haggard on the elevation. The entrance to
the barn was by a door in one of the gables, whilst the
stable and cow-house, or byre as it was called, were
beneath the loft, and had their door open to the road.
This accurate description will be found necessary in
order to understand what followed.
In preparing the barn for the entertainment, the
principal embarrassment consisted in want of seats.
Necessity, however, is well-known to be the mother
of invention ; and in this case that fact was established
at the expense of honest Jack Stuart. Five or six sacks
of barley were stretched length-wise on that side of the
wall which faced the road. Now, barley, although
the juice of it makes many a head light, is admitted to
be the heaviest of all grain. On the opposite side,
next the haggard, the seats consisted of chairs and forms,
some of them borrowed from the neighbours. The
curtain (i.e., the winnowing-cloth) was hung up at the
south end, and everything, so far as preparation went,
was very well managed. Of course, it was unnecessary
to say that the entertainment was free to such as could
find room, for wliich there was many an angry struggle
We have said that from an apprehension that the
THE BATTLE OF AUGHRIM. 135
heroes on both sides might forget the fiction and resort
to reality by actual fighting, it had generally been arranged
that the Catholic party should be represented by the
Orangemen, and vice versa ; and so it was in this
instance. The caste of the piece was as follows : —
Baron de Ginckel (General of the English forces) . .
Tom Whiskey.
(A perfect devil at the cudgels when sober,
especially against an Orangeman.)
Marquis de Ruvigny Denis Shevlin
(Ditto with Tom Whiskey as to fighting.)
General Talmash Barney Broghan.
(A fighting Blacksmith.)
General Mackay Dandy Delaney.
(At present on his keeping — but place of birth
unknown.)
Colonels Herbert and Earles . . Tom M'Roarkin,
of Springstown, and
Paddy Rafferty, of
Dernascrobe.
(Both awfully belHcose, and never properly at peace
unless when in a fight.)
The cast of the Catholic leaders was this : —
Monsieur St. Ruth (General of the Irish Forces) . .
Jacky Vengeance.
(An Orangeman who had lost a brother at the battle
of Vinegar Hill, hence the nickname of Vengeance.)
Sarsfield Big Jack Tait.
(Master of an Orange Lodge.)
(We know not how far the belief in Sarsfield's immense
size is true to fact ; but be this as it may, we have
it from the tradition that he was a man of pro-
136 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
diglous Stature, and Jack was six feet four in height,
and strong in proportion.)
General Dorrington George Twin
(Of Mally harry, another man of prowess in party
fights, and an Orangeman.)
Colonel Talbot Lick-Papish Nelson
Colonel Gordon O'Neill Fighting Grimes.
Sir Charles Godfrey (a young English gentleman
of fortune, in love with Colonel Talbot's
Daughter, and volunteer in the Irish army)
Jemmy Lynch, the fighting tailor.
(He fought for his customers, whether Orange or
Green, according as they came in his way.)
Jemima (Colonel Talbot's daughter)
Grasey (Grace) Stuart.
(A bouncing virago, at least twelve stone weight.)
Lucinda (wife of Colonel Herbert) Dolly Stuart
(Her sister, much of the same proportions.)
Ghost Cooney MuUowney
(Of the Bohlies, a townland adjoining.)
On the chairs and forms, being the seats of honour,
were placed the Protestant portion of the audience,
because they were the most wealthy and consequently
the most respectable, at least in the eyes of the world
— by which we mean the parish. On the barley-sacks
were deposited the " Papishes," because they were
then the poor and the downtrodden people, so that they
and " the Prodestants " sat on opposite sides of the
barn. There were no political watch-words, no " three
cheers " for either this man or that, owing to the simple
reason that no individual present had ever seen a theatre
in his life. The only exception was that of an unfortu-
nate flunkey, who had seen a play in Dublin, and shouted
THE BATTLE OF AUGHRIM. 137
" up With the rag," for which, as it was supposed that he
meant to turn the whole thing into ridicule, he was
kicked out by the Ghost, who, by the way, was one of
the stoutest fellows among them, and would have been
allotted to a higher part were it not for the vileness of
his memory.
At length the play commenced, and went on with
remarkable success. The two batches of heroes were in
high feather— King William's party (to wit, Tom
Whiskey and his friends) standing accidentally on that
side of the barn which was occupied by the barley-
sacks and the Papishes, and the Catholic generals ranged
with the Orange audience on the opposite side It was
now the Ghost's cue to enter from behind the winnowing-
cloth, but before the apparition had time to appear, the
prompter's attention was struck by a sudden sinking
of the party on the sacks, which seemed rather unac-
countable. Yet, as it did not appear to have been felt
by the parties themselves, who were too much wrapped
up in the play, it excited neither notice nor alarm. At
length the Ghost came out, dressed in a white sheet
his face rendered quite spectral by flour. Sir Charles
Godfrey, alias Jemmy Lynch, the tailor, had just con-
cluded the following words, addressed to the Ghost
himself, who in life it appeared had been his father :—
'' Oh, I'll sacrifice
A thousand Romish sowls who, shocked with woe,
Shall, bound in shackles, fill the shades below."
Ghost. — " Be not so rash, wild youth "
He had scarcely uttered the words when a noise like
the " crack of doom " was heard : one-half of the barn-
floor had disappeared ! The Ghost made a step to
138 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
approach Sir Charles, his son, when the last object we
saw was his heels — his legs dressed in blue woollen
stockings and his sturdy hinder parts cased in strong
corduroys, in the act of disappearing in the abyss
beneath. Down he and the others went, and were
lodged in the cow-house below amid the warm manure.
The consternation, the alarm, the fright and terror
among the safe and Protestant side of the audience,
could not be described. But the disaster proved to be
one of the most harmless for its nature that ever occurred,
for it was only destructive to property. Not a single
injury was sustained with the exception of that which
befell the Ghost, who had his arm dislocated at the
elbow. The accident now resumed a religious hue.
The Catholics charged the others with the concoction
of a Protestant plot, by putting them together on what
they called the rotten side of the house. The wrangle
became high and abusive, and was fast hastening into
polemical theology, when the dramatis personce offered
to settle it in a peaceable way, by fighting out the battle
on the green. It was the scene of terrible and strong
confusion, so much so that all we can glean from our
recollection is the image of a desperate personal conflict
between the actors whose orange and green ribbons
were soon flung off as false emblems of the principles
which tlicy had adopted only for the sake of ending the
play in a peaceable manner.
THE QUARE GANDER. 139
The Quare Gander.
From " The Purcell Papers."
By Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu
Terence Mooney was an honest boy and well-to-do —
an' he rinted the biggest farm on this side iv the Galties,
an' bein' mighty cute an' a sevare worker, it was small
wonder he turned a good penny every harvest ; but,
unluckily, he was blessed with an ilegant large family
iv daughters, an' iv coorse his heart was allamost bruck,
strivin' to make up fortunes for the whole of them — ^an'
there wasn't a conthrivance iv any sort of description
for makin' money out iv the farm but he was up to.
Well, among the other ways he had iv gettin' up in the
world, he always kep' a power iv turkies, and all soarts
iv poultry ; an' he was out iv all raison partial to geese —
an' small blame to him for that same— for twiste a year
you can pluck them as bare as my hand — an' get a
fine price for the feathers, and plenty of rale sizeable
eggs — an' when they are too ould to lay any more, you
can kill them, an' sell them to the gintlemen for goslings,
d'ye see, — let alone that a goose is the most manly bird
that is out. Well, it happened in the coorse iv time,
that one ould gandher tuck a wondherful likin' to
Terence, an' sorra a place he could go serenadin' about
the farm, or lookin' afther the men, but the gandher id
be at his heels, an' rubbin' himself agin his legs, and
lookin' up in his face just like any other Christian id
do ; and the likes iv it was never seen, Terence Mooney
an' the gandher wor so great. An' at last the bird was
140 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
SO engagin' that Terence would not allow it to be
plucked any more ; an' kept it from that time out for
love an' affection ; just all as one like one iv his children.
But happiness in perfection never lasts long ; an' the
neighbours begin'd to suspect the nathur and intentions
iv the gandher ; an' some iv them said it was the divil,
and more iv them that it was a fairy. Well Terence could
not but hear something of what was sayin', and you may
be sure he was not altogether aisy in his mind about it,
an' from one day to another he was gettin' more
ancomfortable in himself, until he detarmined to sind for
Jer Garvan, the fairy docthor in Garryowen, an' it's he
was the ilegant hand at the business, and sorra a sperit
id say a crass word to him, no more nor a priest ; an'
moreover, he was very great wid ould Terence Mooney,
this man's father that was. So without more about
it, he was sent for ; an' sure enough, not long he was
about it, for he kem back that very evening along wid the
boy that was sint for him ; an' as soon as he was there,
an' tuk his supper, an' was done talkin' for a while,
he bigined, of coorse, to look into the gandher. Well,
he turned it this way an' that way, to the right and to
the left, an' straight- ways, an' upside down, an' when
he was tired handlin' it, says he to Terence Mooney :
*' Terence," says he, " you must remove the bird
into the next room," says he, *' an' put a petticoat,"
says he, *' or any other convaynience round his head,"
says he.
"An' why so .'' " says Terence.
*' Becase," says Jer, says he.
*' Becase what ? " says Terence.
" Becase," says Jer, " if it isn't done — you'll never
be aisy agin," says he, *' or pusilanimous in your mind,"
THE QUARE GANDER. 14I
> j>
says he ; " so ax no more questions, but do my biddin,
says he.
" Well," says Terence, " have your own way," says he.
An' wid that he tuk the ould gandher, and giv' it
to one iv the gossoons.
"An' take care," says he, ** don't smother the crathur,"
says he.
Well, as soon as the bird was gone, says Jer Garvan,
says he, " Do you know what that ould gandher is,
Terence Mooney ? "
Sorra a taste," says Terence.
Well, then," says Jer, " the gandher is your own
father," says he.
" It's jokin' you are," says Terence, turnin' mighty
pale ; " how can an ould gandher be my father ? "
says he.
** I'm not funnin' you at all," says Jer, " it's thrue
what I tell you — it's your father's wandherin' sowl,"
says he, " that's naturally tuk pissession iv the ould
gandher's body," says he ; *' I know him many ways,
and I wondher," says he, " you do not know the cock
iv his eye yourself," says he.
" Oh ! " says Terence, ** what will I ever do, at all, at
all," says he ; " it's all over wid me, for I plucked him
twelve times at the laste," says he.
'' That can't be helped now," says Jer, " it was a
sevare act, surely," says he, " but it's too late to lamint
for it now," says he ; " the only way to prevint what's
past," says he, " is to put a stop to it before it happens,"
says he.
" Thrue for you," says Terence, ** but how did you
come to the knowledge iv my father's sowl," says he,
" bein' in the ould gandher ? " says he.
142 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
" If I tould you," says Jer, ' you would not under-
stand me," says he, " without book-larnin' an' gasth-
ronomy," says he ; " so ax me no questions," says he,
*' an I'll tell you no lies ; but b'lieve me in this much,"
says he, " it's your father that's in it," says he, " an' if
I don't make him spake to-morrow mornin'," says he,
" I'll give you lave to call me a fool," says he.
*' Say no more," says Terence, " that settles the
business," says he ; '' an' oh ! is it not a quare thing,"
says he, *' for a dacent, respictable man," says he, "to
be walkin' about the counthry in the shape iv an ould
gandher," says he ; '' and, oh, murdher, murdher !
is it not often I plucked him," says he, '' an' tundher
and turf, might not I have ate him," says he ; and wid
that he fell into a could parspiration, savin' your prisince,
an' was on the pint iv faintin' wid the bare notions iv it.
Well, whin he was come to himself agin, says Jerry,
to him, quite an aisy— '' Terence," says he, " don't be
aggravatin' yourself," says he, " for I have a plan com-
posed that'll make him spake out," says he, *' an' tell
what it is in the world he's wantin'," says he ; " an'
mind an' don't be comin' in wid your gosther an' to say
agin anything I tell you," says he, " but jist purtind,
as soon as the bird is brought back," says he, " how
that we're goin' to sind him to-morrow mornin' to
market," says he ; " an' if he don't spake to-night,"
says he, " or gother himself out iv the place," says he,
** put him into the hamper airly, and sind him in the cart,"
says he, " straight to Tipperary, to be sould for aitin',"
says he, " along wid the two gossoons," says he ; " an'
my name isn't Jer Garvan," says he, " if he doesn't
spake out before he's half way," says he ; " an' mind,"
says he, " as soon as ever he says the first word," says he,
THE QUARE GANDER. 143
* that very minute bring him off to Father Crotty/
says he, " an' if his Raverance doesn't make him ratire,"
says he, " into the flames of Purgathory," says he,
" there's no vartue in my charms," says he.
Well, wid that the ould gandher was let into the room
agin, an' they all begined to talk iv sindin' him the nixt
mornin' to be sould for roastin' in Tipperary, jist as
if it was a thing andoubtingly settled ; but not a notice
the gandher tuk, no more nor if they wor spaking iv
the Lord Liftenant ; an' Terence desired the boy
to get ready the kish for the poulthry "an' to settle it
out wid hay soft and shnug," says he, " for it's the last
jauntin' the poor ould gandher 'ill get in this world,"
says he.
Well, as the night was getting late, Terence was
growin' mighty sorrowful an' down-hearted in himself
entirely wid the notions iv what was going to happen.
An' as soon as the wife an' the crathurs war fairly in
bed, he brought out some ilHgant potteen, an' himself
and Jer Garvan sot down to it, an' the more anasy
Terence got, the more he dhrank, and himself and Jer
Garvan finished a quart betune them : it wasn't an
imparial though, an' more's the pity, for them wasn't
anvinted antil short since ; but sorra a much matther
it signifies any longer if a pint could hould two quarts,
let alone what it does, sinst Father Mathew begin 'd
to give the pledge, an' wid the blessin' iv timperance
to deginerate Ireland. An' sure I have the medle
myself ; an' it's proud I am iv that same, for abstamious-
ness is a fine thing, although it's mighty dhry.
Well, whin Terence finished his pint, he thought he
might as well stop, " for enough is as good as a faste,"
says he, "an' I pity the vagabone," says he, " that is
144 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
not able to conthroul his liquor," says he, " an' to keep
constantly inside iv a pint measure," says he, an' wid
that he wished Jer Garvan a good night, an' walked out
iv the room. But he wint out the wrong door, being
a trifle hearty in himself, an' not rightly knowin' whether
he was standin' on his head or his heels, or both iv them
at the same time, an' in place iv gettin' into bed, where
did he thrun himself but into the poulthry hamper,
that the boys had settled out ready for the gandher
in the mornin' ; an', sure enough, he sunk down snug
an' complate through the hay to the bottom ; an' wid
the turnin' an' roulin' about in the night, not a bit iv
him but was covered up as snug as a lumper in a pittaty
furrow before mornin'.
So wid the first light, up gets the two boys that war
to take the sperit, as they consaved, to Tipperary ;
an' they cotched the ould gandher, an' put him in the
hamper and clapped a good whisp iv hay on the top
iv him, and tied it down sthrong wid a bit iv a coard,
an med the sign iv the crass over him, in dhread iv any
harum, an' put the hamper up on the car, wontherin'
all the while what in the world was makin' the ould
burd so surprisin' heavy.
Well, they wint along on the road towards Tipperary,
wishin' every minute that some iv the neighbours bound
the same way id happen to fall in with them, for they
didn't half like the notions iv havin' no company but the
bewitched gandher, an' small blame to them for that
same. But, although they wor shakin' in their skins in
dhread iv the ould bird bcginin' to convarse them every
minute, they did not let on to one another, bud kep*
singin' and whistlin', like mad to keep the dhread
out iv their hearts. Well, afther they wor on the road
(I
THE QUARE GANDER- 1 45
betther nor half an hour, they kem to the bad bit close
by Father Crotty's, an' there was one rut three feet
deep at the laste ; an' the car got sich a wondherful
chuck goin' through it, that wakened Terence within
the basket.
" Oh ! " says he, " my bones is bruck wid yer thricks,
what are ye doin' wid me ? "
" Did ye hear anything quare, Thady ? " says the
boy that was next to the car, turnin' as white as the
top iv a musharoon ; " did ye hear anything quare
soundin' out iv the hamper ? " says he.
No, nor you," says Thady, turnin' as pale as himself,
it's the ould gandher that's gruntin' wid the shakin'
he's gettin'," says he.
*' Where have ye put me into," says Terence, inside ;
** let me out," says he, '* or I'll be smothered this
minute," says he.
There's no use in purtending," says the boy ; " the
gandher 's spakin', glory be to God ! " says he.
Let me out, you murdherers," says Terence.
In the name iv all the holy saints," says Thady,
hould yer tongue, you unnatheral gandher," says he.
Who's that, that dar call me nicknames," says
Terence inside, roaring wid the fair passion ; ** let me
out, you blasphamious infiddles," says he, " or by this
crass, I'll stretch ye," says he.
*' Who are ye ? " says Thady.
" Who would I be but Terence Mooney," says he,
" It's myself that's in it, you unmerciful bliggards,"
says he ; " let me out, or I'll get out in spite iv yez,"
says he, " an' I'll wallop yez in arnest," says he.
" It's ould Terence, sure enough," says Thady ;
" isn't it cute the fairy docthor found him out," says he.
"I'm on the p'int iv suffication, " says Terence ;
m
it
((
a
146 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
'* let me out, I tell ye, an' wait till I get at ye," says he,
*' for sorra a bone in your body but I'll powdher," says
he ; an' wid that he bigined kickin' and flingin' in the
hamper, and drivin' his legs agin the sides iv it, that it
was a wondher he did not knock it to pieces. Well, as
the boys seen that, they skelped the ould horse into
a gallop as hard as he could peg towards the priest's
house, through the ruts, an' over the stones ; an' you'd
see the hamper fairly flyin' three feet in the air with the
joultin' ; so it was small wondher, by the time they got
to his Raverance's door, the breath was fairly knocked
out iv poor Terence ; so that he was lyin' speechless
in the bottom iv the hamper. Well, whin his Raverance
kem down, they up an' they tould him all that happened,
an' how they put the gandher into the hamper, an'
how he begined to spake, an' how he confissed that he
was ould Terence Mooney ; and they axed his honour
to advise them how to get rid iv the sperit for good an'
all. So says his Raverance, says he :
'* I'll take my booke," says he, " an' I'll read some rale
sthrong holy bits out iv it," says he, " an' do you get a
rope and put it round the hamper," says he, " an' let it
swing over the runnin' wather at the bridge," says he,
" an' it's no matther if I don't make the sperit come out
iv it," says he.
Well, wid that, the priest got his horse, an' tuk his
booke in undher his arum, an' the boys follied his
Raverance, ladiii' the horse, and Terence houldin' his
whisht, for he seen it was no use spakin', an' he was
afeard if he med any noise they might thrait him to
another gallop an' finish him intirely. Well, as soon
as they wur all come to the bridge the boys tuk the
rope they had with them, an' med it fast to the top iv
the hamper an' swung it fairly over the bridge ; lettin'
THE QUARE GANDER. 1 47
it hang in the air about twelve feet out iv the wather ;
and his Raverance rode down to the bank iv the river,
close by, an' begined to read mighty loud and bould
intirely.
An' when he was goin' on about five minutes, all at
onst the bottom iv the hamper kem out, an' down wint
Terence, falling splash dash into the wather, an' the ould
gandher a-top iv him ; down they both wint to the
bottom wid a souse you'd hear half-a-mile off; an'
before they had time to rise agin, his Raverance, wid a
fair astonishment, giv his horse one dig iv the spurs,
an' before he knew where he was, in he went, horse and
all, a-top iv them, an' down to the bottom. Up they all
kem agin together, gaspin' an puffin', an' off down
the current with them like shot, in undher the arch iv the
bridge, till they kem to the shallow wather. The ould
gandher was the first out, an' the priest and Terence
kem next, pantin' an' blowin' an' more than half
dhrounded : an' his Raverance was so freckened wid
the dhroundin' he got, and wid the sight iv the sperit,
as he consaved, that he wasn't the better iv it for a
month. An' as soon as Terence could spake, he said
he'd have the life iv the two gossoons ; but Father Crotty
would not give him his will ; an' as soon as he got
quieter they all endeavoured to explain it, but Terence
consayved he went raly to bed the night before, an' his
Raverance said it was a mysthery, an' swore if he cotched
anyone laughin' at the accident, he'd lay the horsewhip
across their shoulders ; an' Terence grew fonder an'
fonder iv the gandher every day, until at last he died
in a wondherful ould age, lavin' the gandher afther
him an' a large family iv childer ; an' to this day the farm
is rinted by one iv Terence Mooney's Uneal legitimate
postariors.
148 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
The Thrush and the Blackbird.
By Charles Joseph Kickham (1828- 1882).
A STRANGER meeting Sally Cavanagh, as she tripped
along the mountain road, would consider her a contented
and happy young matron, and might be inclined to set
her down as a proud one ; for Sally Cavanagh held her
head rather high, and occasionally elevated it still
higher with a toss which had something decidedly
haughty about it. She turned up a short boreen for
the purpose of calling upon the gruff blacksmith's
wife, who had been very useful to her for some time
before. The smith's habits were so irregular that his
wife was often obliged to visit the pawn office in the next
town, and poor Sally Cavanagh availed herself of Nancy
Ryan's experience in pledging almost everything pledge-
able she possessed. The new cloak, of which even a
rich farmer's wife might feel proud, was the last thing
left. It was a present from Connor, and was only worn
on rare occasions, and to part with it was a sore trial.
Loud screams and cries for help made Sally Cavanagh
start. She stopped for a moment, and then ran forward
and rushed breathless into the smith's house. The
first sight that met her eyes was our friend Shawn Gow
choking his wife. A heavy three-legged stool came
down with such force upon the part of Shawn Gow's
person which happened to be the most elevated as he
bent over the prostrate woman, that, uttering an excla-
mation between a grunt and a growl, he bounded into the
air, and, striking his shins against a chair, tumbled
THE THRUSH AND THE BLACKBIRD. 1 49
head over heels into the corner. When Shawn found
that he was more frightened than hurt, and saw Sally
with the three-legged stool in her hand, a sense of the
ludicrous overcame him, and, turning his face to the wall,
he relieved his feelings by giving way to a fit of laughter.
It was of the silent, inward sort, however, and neither
his wife nor Sally Cavanagh had any notion of the
pleasant mood he was in. The bright idea of pretending
to be *' kilt " occurred to the overthrown son of Vulcan,
and with a fearful groan he stretched out his huge limbs
and remained motionless on the broad of his back.
Sally's sympathy for the ill-used woman prevented
her from giving a thought to her husband. Great was
her astonishment then when Nancy flew at her like a
wild cat. '' You kilt my husband," she screamed.
Sally retreated backwards, defending herself as best
she could with the stool. " For God's sake, Nancy,
be quiet. Wouldn't he have destroyed you on'y for
me ? " But Nancy followed up the attack Uke a fury.
" There's nothing the matter with him," Sally cried
out, on finding herself literally driven to the wall.
'* What harm could a little touch of a stool on the back
do the big brute ? "
Nancy's feelings appeared to rush suddenly into
another channel, for she turned round quickly, and
kneeling down by her husband, lifted up his head.
" Och I Shawn, avourneen, machree,^' she exclaimed,
" won't you spake to me ? " Shawn condescended
to open his eyes. " Sally," she continued, "' he's
comin' to — glory be tc God ! Hurry over and hould
up his head while I'm runnin' for somethin' to rewive
him. Or stay, bring me the boulster."
The bolster was brought, and Nancy placed it under the
150 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
patient's head ; then, snatching her shawl from the
peg where it hung, she disappeared. She was back
again in five minutes, without the shawl, but with half-
a-pint of whiskey in a bottle.
*' Take a taste av this, Shawn, an' 'twill warm your
heart."
Shawn Gow sat up and took the bottle in his hand.
" Nancy," says he, " I believe, afther all, you're
fond o' me."
" Wisha, Shawn, achora, what else'd I be but fond
av you ? "
'* I thought, Nancy, you couldn't care for a divil that
thrated you so bad."
" Och, Shawn, Shawn, don't talk that way to me.
Sure, I thought my heart was broke when I see you
sthretched there 'idout a stir in you."
*' An' vou left your shawl in pledge again to get this
for me ? "
" To be sure I did ; an' a good right I had ; an' sorry
I'd be to see you in want of a dhrop of nourishment."
'* I was a baste, Nancy. But if I was, this is what
made a baste av me."
And Shawn Gow fixed his eyes upon the bottle with
a look in which hatred and fascination were strangely
blended. He turned quickly to his wife.
" Will you give in it was a blackbird ? " he said.
" A blackbird," she repeated, irresolutely.
" Yes, a blackbird. Will you give in it was a black-
bird } "
Shawn Gow was evidently relapsing into his savage
mood.
'* Well," said his wife, after some hesitation, " 'twas a
blackbird. Will that plase you ? "
THE THRUSH AND THE BLACKBIRD. 151
" An' you'll never say 'twas a thrish agin ? "
" Never. An' sure, on'y for the speckles on the
breast, I'd never say 'twas a thrish ; but sure, you ought
to know betther than me — an' — an' — 'twas a blackbird,"
she exclaimed, with a desperate effort.
Shawn Gow swung the bottle round his head and flung
it with all his strength against the hob. The whole
fireplace was for a moment one blaze of light.
" The Divil was in id," says the smith, smiling
grimly ; *' an' there he's off in a flash of fire. I'm done
wid him, any way."
*' Well, I wish you a happy Christmas, Nancy," said
Sally.
" I wish you the same, Sally, an' a great many av
'em. I suppose you're goin' to first Mass ? Shawn
and me '11 wait for second."
Sally took her leave of this remarkable couple, and
proceeded on her way to the village. She met
Tim Croak and his wife, Betty, who were also
going to Mass. After the usual interchange of greetings,
Betty surveyed Sally from head to foot with a look of
delighted wonder.
'* Look at her, Tim," she exclaimed, " an' isn't she
as young an' as hearty as ever ? Bad cess to me but
you're the same Sally that danced wid the master at my
weddin', next Thursday fortnight'll be eleven years."
" Begob, you're a great woman," says Tim.
Sally Cavanagh changed the subject by describing
the scene she had witnessed at the blacksmith's.
" But, Tim," said she, after finishing the story, " how
did the dispute about the blackbird come first ? I
heard something about it, but I forget it."
152 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
'* I'll tell you that, then," said Tim " Begob, ay,"
he exclaimed abruptly, after thinking for a moment ;
'' 'twas this day seven years, for all the world — the year o'
the hard frost. Shawn Gow set a crib in his haggard
the evenin' afore, and when he went out in the mornin'
he had a hen blackbird. He put the goulogue* on her
nick, and tuk her in his hand ; and wud' one smulluck
av his finger knocked the life out av her ; he walked
in an' threw the blackbird on the table.
'* ' Oh, Shawn,' siz Nancy, ' you're afther ketchin'
a fine thrish.' Nancy tuk the bird in her hand an'
began rubbin' the feathers on her breast. ' A fine
thrish,' siz Nancy,
" ' 'Tisn't a thrish, but a blackbird,' siz Shawn.
'' ' Wisha, in throth, Shawn,' siz Nancy, * 'tis a thrish ;
do you want to take the sight o' my eyes from me ? '
" ' I tell you 'tis a blackbird," siz he.
" * Indeed, then, it isn't, but a thrish,' siz she.
** Anyway, one word borrowed another, an' the end
av it was, Shawn flailed at her an' gev her the father
av a batin'.
*' The Christmas Day afther, Nancy opened the
door an' looked out.
" ' God be \\aid this day twelve months,' siz she, ' do
you remimber the fine thrish you caught in the crib ? '
'* * 'Twas a blackbird,' siz Shawn.
** ' Och,' siz Nancy, beginnin' to laugh, ' that was a
quare blackbird.'
" ' Whisht, now, Nancy, 'twas a blackbird,' siz Shawn.
" * Och,' siz Nancy, beginnin' to laugh, ' that was the
quare blackbird.'
♦ A forked stick
THE THRUSH AND THE BLACKBIRD. 1 53
" Wud that, one word borrowed another, an' Shawn
stood up an' gev her the father av a batin.'
** The third Christmas Day kern, an' they wor in the
best o' good humour afther the tay, an' Shawn, puttin'
on his ridin'-coat to go to Mass.
" ' Well, Shawn,' siz Nancy, I'm thinkin' av what an
unhappy Christmas mornin' we had this day twelve
months, all on account of the thrish you caught in the
crib, bad cess to her.'
" * 'Twas a blackbird,' siz Shawn.
** * Wisha, good luck to you, an' don't be talkin'
foolish,' siz Nancy ; ' an' you're betther not get into a
passion agin, on account av an auld thrish. My heavy
curse on the same thrish,' siz Nancy.
*' ' I tell you 'twas a blackbird, siz Shawn.
'' ' An' I tell you 'twas a thrish,' siz Nancy.
" ' Wud that, Shawn took a hunnaun he had saisonin*
in the chimley, and whaled at Nancy, an' gev her the
father av a batin'. An' every Christmas morning from
that day to this 'twas the same story, for as sure as the sun,
Nancy'd draw down the thrish. But do you tell me,
Sally, she's afther givin' in it was a blackbird ? "
" She is," replied Sally.
" Begob," said Tim Croak, after a minute's serious
reflection, " it ought to be put in the papers. I never
h'ard afore av a wrong notion bein' got out av a woman's
head. But Shawn Gow is no joke to dale wud, and it
took him seven years to do id."
154 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
Their Last Race.
From '' At the Rising of the Moon.'*
By Frank Mathew (1865 — ).
I. — The Faction Fight.
In the heart of the Connemara Highlands, Carrala
Valley hides in a triangle of mountains. Carrala Village
lies in the corner of it towards Loch Ina, and Aughavanna
in the corner nearest Kylemore. Aughavanna is a wreck
now : if you were to look for it you would see only a
cluster of walls grown over by ferns and nettles ; but
in those remote times, before the Great Famine, when no
English was spoken in the Valley, there was no place
more renowned for wild fun and fighting ; and when its
men were to be at a fair, every able-bodied man in the
countryside took his kippeen — his cudgel — from its
place in the chimney, and went out to do battle with
a good heart.
Long Mat Murnane was the king of Aughavanna.
There was no grander sight than Mat smashing his way
through a forest of kippeens, with his enemies staggering
back to the right and left of him ; there was no sweeter
sound than his voice, clear as a bell, full of triumph
and gladness, shouting, " Hurroo ! whoop ! Aughavanna
for ever ! '* Where his kippeen flickered in the air
his followers charged after, and the enemy rushed to meet
him, for it was an honour to take a broken head from him.
But Carrala Fair was the black day for him. That
day Carrala swarmed with men — fishers from the near
coast, dwellers in lonely huts by the black lakes, or
in tiny, ragged villages under the shadow of the
mountains, or in cabins on the hill-sides — every little
THEIR LAST RACE. 155
town for miles, by river or sea-shore or mountain built,
was emptied. The fame of the Aughavanna men was
their ruin, for they were known to light so well that every
one was dying to fight them. The Joyces sided against
them ; Black Michael Joyce had a farm in the third
corner of the valley, just where the road through the
bog from Aughavanna (the road with the cross by it)
meets the high-road to Leenane, so his kin mustered
in force. Now Black Michael, " Meehul Dhu," was long
Mat's rival ; though smaller, he was near as deadly
in fight, and in dancing no man could touch him, for
it was said he could jump a yard into the air and kick
himself behind with his heels in doing it.
The business of the Fair had been hurried so as to
leave the more time for pleasure, and by five of the
afternoon every man was mad for the battle. Why, you
could scarcely have moved in Callanan's Field out
beyond the churchyard at the end of the village, it was
so packed with men — more than five hundred were there,
and you could not have heard yourself speak, for they
were jumping and dancing, tossing their caubeens,
and shouting themselves hoarse and deaf — '' Hurroo
for Carrala ! " " Whoop for Aughavanna ! "
Around them a mob of women, old men and children,
looked on breathlessly. It was dull weather, and the
mists had crept half way down the dark mountain
walls, as if to have a nearer look at the fight.
As the chapel clock struck five. Long Mat Murnane
gave the signal. Down the village he came, rejoicing
in his strength, out between the two last houses, past the
churchyard and into Callanan's Field ; he looked every
inch a king ; his kippeen was ready, his frieze coat was
off, with his left hand he trailed it behind him holding
156 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
it by the sleeve, while with a great voice he shouted —
in Irish — *' Where's the Carrala man that dare touch
my coat ? Where's the cowardly scoundrel that dare
look crooked at it ? "
In a moment Black Michael Joyce was trailing his
own coat behind him, and rushed forward, with a mighty
cry '' Where's the face of a trembling Aughavanna
man ? " In a moment their kippeens clashed ; in
another, hundreds of kippeens crashed together, and the
grandest fight ever fought in Connemara raged over
Callanan's Field. After the first roar of defiance the
men had to keep their breath for the hitting, so the shout
of triumph and the groan as one fell were the only sounds
that broke the music of the kippeens clashing and
clicking on one another, or striking home with a thud.
Never was Long Mat nobler ; he rushed ravaging
through the enemy, shattering their ranks and their
heads ; no man could withstand him ; Red Callanan of
Carrala went down before him ; he knocked the five
senses out of Dan O'Shaughran, of Earrennamore,
that herded many pigs by the sedgy banks of the Owen
Erriff ; he hollowed the left eye out of Larry Mulcahy,
that lived on the Devil's Mother Mountain — never
again did Larry set the two eyes of him on his high
mountain-cradle ; he killed Black Michael Joyce by
a beautiful swooping blow on the side of the head —
who would have dreamt that Black Michael had so
thin a skull.
For near an hour Mat triumphed, then suddenly he
went down under foot. At first he was missed only
by those nearest him, and they took it for granted that
he was up again and fighting. But when the Aughavanna
men found themselves outnumbered and driven back
THEIR LAST RACE. 157
to the village, a great fear came on them, for they knew
that all Ireland could not outnumber them if Mat was
to the fore. Then disaster and rout took them, and they
were forced backwards up the street, struggUng
desperately, till hardly a man of them could stand.
And when the victors were shouting themselves
dumb, and drinking themselves blind, the beaten men
looked for their leader. Long Mat was prone, his fore-
head was smashed, his face had been trampled into the
mud— he had done with fighting. His death was
untimely, yet he fell as he would have chosen — in a
friendly battle. For when a man falls under the hand
of an enemy (as of any one who differs from him
in creed or politics) revenge and black blood live after
him ; but he who takes his death from the kindly hand
of a friend leaves behind him no ill-will, but only gentle
regret for the mishap.
II. Their Last Race.
When the dead had been duly waked for two days
and nights, the burying day came. All the morning
long Mat Murnane's coffin lay on four chairs by his
cabin, with a kneeUng ring of dishevelled women keening
round it. Every soul in Aughavanna and their kith
and kin had gathered to do him honour. And when
the Angelus bell rang across the valley from the chapel,
the mourners fell into ranks, the coffin was lifted on the
rough hearse, and the motley funeral — a Hne of carts
with a mob of peasants behind, a few riding, but most
of them on foot — ^moved slowly towards Carrala. The
women were crying bitterly, keening like an Atlantic
gale ; the men looked as sober as if they had never
heard of a wake, and spoke sadly of the dead man, and
of what a pity it was that he could not see his funeral.
158 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
The Joyces, too, had waited, as was the custom, for
the Angelus bell, and now Black Michael's funeral
was moving slowly towards Carrala along the other side
of the bog. Before long either party could hear the
keening of the other, for you know the roads grow
nearer as they converge on Carrala. Before long either
party began to fear that the other would be there first.
There is no knowing how it happened, but the funerals
began to go quicker, keeping abreast ; then still quicker,
till the women had to break into a trot to keep up ;
then still quicker, till the donkeys were galloping, and
till everyone raced at full speed, and the rival parties
broke into a wild shout of " Aughavanna abu ! " '' Meehul
Dhu for ever 1 "
For the dead men were racing — feel foremost —
to the grave ; they were rivals even in death. Never
did the world see such a race, nevei was there such
whooping and shouting. Where the roads met in
Callanan's Field the horses were abreast ; neck and neck
they dashed across the trampled fighting-place, while
the coffins jogged and jolted as if the two dead men were
struggling to get out and lead the rush ; neck to neck
they reached the churchyard, and the horses jammed
in the gate. Behind them the carts crashed into one
another, and the mourners shouted as if they were mad.
But the quick wit of the Aughavanna men triumphed,
for they seized their long coffin and dragged it in, and
Long Mat Murnane won his last race. The shout
they gave then deafened the echo up in the mountains,
so that it has never been the same since. The victors
wrung one another's hands ; they hugged one another.
•' Himself would be proud," they cried, " if he hadn't
been dead ! "
THE FIRST LORD LIFTINANT 159
The First Lord Liftinant.
By William Percy French (1854—-).
(As related by Andrew Geraghty, Philomath.)
" Essex," said Queen Elizabeth, as the two of them sat
at breakwhist in the back parlour of Buckingham
Palace, " Essex, me haro, I've got a job that I think would
suit you. Do you know where Ireland is ? "
"I'm no great fist at jografy," says his lordship,
" but I know the place you mane. Population, three
millions ; exports, emigrants."
** Well," says the Queen, '' I've been reading the
DubHn Evening Mail and the Telegraft for some time
back, and sorra one o' me can get at the trooth o' how
things is goin', for the leadin' articles is as conthradictory
as if they wor husband and wife."
*' That's the way wid papers all the world over,"
says Essex ; " Columbus told me it was the same in
Amerikay, when he was there, abusin' and conthra-
dictin' each other at every turn — it's the way they make
their livin', Thrubble you for an egg-spoon,"
" It's addled they have me betune them," says the
Queen. " Not a know I know what's goin' on. So
now, what I want you to do is to run over to Ireland,
like a good fella, and bring me word how matters stand."
Is it me ? " says Essex, leppin' up off his chair.
It's not in airnest ye are, ould lady. Sure it's the
hoight of the London saison. Every one's in town,
and Shake's new fairy piece, ' The Midsummer's Night
Mare,' billed for next week."
l6o HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
" You'll go when ye're tould," says the Queen, fixin'
him with her eye, " if you know which side yer bread's
buttered on. See here, now," says she, seein' him
chokin' wid vexation and a slice o' corned beef, '* you
ought to be as pleased as Punch about it, for you'll be
at the top o' the walk over there as vice-regent repre-
sentin' me."
*' I ought to have a title or two," says Essex, pluckin'
up a bit. '* His Gloriosity the Great Panjandhrum,
or the Hke o' that."
" How would His Excellency the Lord I^iftinant of
Ireland sthrike you ? " says Elizabeth.
" First class," cries Essex. " Couldn't be betther ;
it doesn't mean much, but it's alUtherative, and will
look well below the number on me hall door."
Well, boys, it didn't take him long to pack his clothes
and start away for the Island o' Saints. It took him a
good while to get there, though, through not knowin'
the road ; but by means of a pocket compass and a tip
to the steward, he was landed at last contagious to
Dalkey Island. Going up to an ould man who was
sittin' on a rock, he took off his hat, and, says he —
" That's great weather we're havin' ? "
" Good enough for the times that's in it," says the ould
man, cockin' one eye at him.
*' Any divarshun' goin on ? " says Essex.
*' You're a sthranger in these parts, I'm thinkin,"
says the ould man, " or you'd know this was a * band
night ' in Dalkey."
" I wasn't aware of it," says Essex ; *' the fact is,"
says he, " I only landed from England just this minute."
** Ay," says the ould man, bitterly, " it's little they
know about us over there. I'll hould you," says he,
THE FIRST LORD LIFTINANT. l6l
with a slight thrimble in his voice, " that the Queen
herself doesn't know there is to be fireworks in the
Sorrento Gardens this night." Well, when Essex heard
that, he disrembered entirely he was sent over to Ireland
to put down rows and ructions, and away wid him
to see the fun and flirt wid all the pretty girls he could
find. And he found plenty of them — thick as bees they
wor, and each one as beautiful as the day and the morra.
He wrote two letters home next day — one to Queen
Elizabeth and the other to Lord Mountaigle, a playboy
like himself. Fll read you the one to the Queen first : —
" Dame Sthreet, April i6th, 1599.
" Fair Enchantress, — I wish I was back in London,
baskin' in your sweet smiles and listenin' to your
melodious voice once more. I got the consignment
of men and the post-office order all right. I was out
all the mornin' lookin' for the inimy, but sorra a taste
of Hugh O'Neill or his men can I find. A policeman
at the corner o' Nassau Street told me they wor hidin'
in Wicklow. So I am makin' up a party to explore
the Dargle on Easter Monda'. The girls here are
as ugly as sin, and every minute o' the day I do be
wishin' it was your good-lookin' self I was gazin' at
instead o' these ignorant scarecrows.
" Hopin' soon to be back in ould England, I remain,
your lovin' subject.
Essex."
" P.S.— I hear Hugh O'Neill was seen on the top o' the
Donnybrook tram yesterday mornin'. If I have any
luck the head'U be off him before you get this.
E."
M
1 62 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
The other letter read this way ; —
'* Dear Monty — This is a great place, all out. Come
over here if you want fun. Divil such play-boys ever
I seen, and the girls — oh ! don't be talkin' — 'pon me
secret honour you'll see more loveliness at a tay and a
supper ball in Rathmines than there is in the whole
cf England. Tell Ned Spenser to send me a love-song
to sing to a young girl who seems to be taken wid my
appearance. Her name's Mary, and she lives in Dunlary,
so he oughtn't to find it hard. I hear Hugh O'Neill's a
terror, and hits a powerful welt, especially when you're
not lookin'. If he tries any of his games on wid me,
I'll give him in charge. No braw4in' for your's truly
Essex."
Well, me bould Essex stopped for odds of six months
in Dublin, purtendin' to be very busy subjugatin' the
country, but all the time only losin' his time and money
widout doin' a hand's turn, and doin' his best to avoid a
ruction with '* Fighting Hugh." If a messenger came
to tell him that O'Neill was camping out on the North
Bull, Essex would up stick and away for Sandycove,
where, after draggin' the forty-foot hole, he'd write off
to Elizabeth, saying that, ** owing to their suparior
knowledge of the country the dastard foe had once
more eluded him."
The Queen got mighty tired of these letters, especially
as they always ended with a request to send stamps by
return, and told Essex to finish up his business and not
be makin' a fool of himself.
** Oh, that's the talk, is it," says Essex ; ** very well,
me ould sauce-box " (that was the name he had for her
ever since she gev him the clip on the ear for turnin'
THE FIRST LORD LTFTINANT. 1 63
his back on her), " very well me ould sauce-box," says
he, " I'll write off to O'Neill this very minute, and tell
him to send in his lowest terms for peace at ruling prices."
Well, the threaty was a bit of a one-sided one — the
terms being —
1. Hugh O'Neill to be King of Great Britain.
2. Lord Essex to return to London and remain there
as Viceroy of England.
3. The O'Neill family to be supported by Government,
with free passes to all theatres and places of
entertainment.
4. The London Markets to buy only from Irish dealers.
5. All taxes to be sent in stamped envelopes, directed
to H. O'Neill, and marked " private." Cheques
crossed and made payable to H. O'Neill. Terms
cash.
Well, if Essex had had the sense to read through this
treaty he'd have seen it was of too graspin' a nature to
pass with any sort of a respectable sovereign, but he was
that mad he just stuck the document in the pocket of
his pot-metal overcoat, and away wid him hot foot for
England.
" Is the Queen widin ? " says he to the butler, when
he opened the door o' the palace. His clothes were
that dirty and disorthered wid travellin' all night, and
his boots that muddy, that the butler was not for littin'
him in at the first go off, so says he, very grand ; " Her
Majesty is above stairs and can't be seen till she's had her
breakwhist."
" Tell her the Lord Liftinant of Ireland desires an
interview," says Essex.
" Oh, beg pardon, me lord," says the butler, steppin*
164 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
to one side, *' I didn't know 'twas j^ourself was in It ;
come inside, sir ; the Queen's in the dhrawin'-room."
Well, Essex leps up the stairs and into the dhrawin'-
room wid him, muddy boots and all ; but not a sight
of Elizabeth was to be seen.
" Where's your misses ? " says he to one of the
maids-of-honour that was dustin' the chimbley-piece.
" She's not out of her bed yet," said the maid, with a
toss of her head ; " but if you write your message on
the slate beyant, I'll see " — but before she had finished,
Essex was up the second flight and knockin' at the
Queen's bedroom door.
'* Is that the hot wather ? " says the Queen.
*' No, it's me, — Essex. Can you see me ? "
" Faith, I can't," says the Queen. ** Hould on till
I draw the bed-curtains. Come in now," says she,
" and say your say, for I can't have you stoppin' long —
you young Lutharian."
" Bedad, yer Majesty," says Essex, droppin' on his
knees before her (the delutherer he was), " small blame
to me if I am a Lutharian, for you have a face on you
that would charm a bird oft' a bush."
** Hould your tongue, you young reprobate," says the
Queen, blushin' up to her curl-papers wid delight,
*' and tell me what improvements you med in Ireland."
'* Faith, I taught manners to O'Neill," cries Essex.
*' He had a bad masther then," says Elizabeth, lookin'
at his dirty boots ; " couldn't you wipe yer feet before
ye desthroyed me carpets, young man ? "
" Oh, now," says Essex, " is it wastin' me time shufFlin*
about on a mat you'd have me, when I might be gazin*
on the loveliest faymale the world ever saw."
** Well," says the Queen, " I'll forgive you this time,
THE FIRST LORD LIFTINANT. 1 65
as you've been so long away, but remimber in future
that Kidderminster ain't oilcloth. Tell me," says she,
" is Westland Row Station finished yet ? "
*' There's a side wall or two wanted yet, I believe,"
Sa3^s Essex.
" What about the Loop Line ? " says she.
" Oh, they're gettin' on with that," says he, ** only
some people think the girders a disfigurement to the city."
" Is there any talk about that esplanade from Sandy cove
to Dunlary ? "
" There's talk about it, but that's all," says Essex ;
" 'twould be an odious fine improvement to house
property, and I hope they'll see to it soon."
*' Sorra much you seem to have done, beyant spendin*
me men and me money. Let's have a look at that
treaty I see stickin' out o' your pocket."
Well, when the Queen read the terms of Hugh O'Neill
she just gev him one look, an' jumpin' from off the bed,
she put her head out of the window, and called out
to the policeman on duty —
'' Is the Head below ? "
'' I'll tell him you want him, ma'am," says the
policeman.
'' Do," says the Queen. " Hello," says she, as a
slip of paper dhropped out o' the dispatches. " What's
this ? * Lines to Mary.' Ho 1 ho 1 me gay fella,
that's what you've been up to, is it ? "
" Mrs. Brady
Is a widow lady,
And she has a charmin' daughter I adore ;
I went to court her
Across the water.
And her mother keeps a little candy-store.
ta
1 66 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
She's such a darlin',
She's Hke a starHn',
And m love with her I'm gettin' more and more,
Her name is Mary,
She's from Dunlary ;
And her mother keeps a little candy-store "
" That settles it," says the Queen. '' It's the gaoler
you'll serenade next."
When Essex heard that, he thrimbled so much that the
button of his cuirass shook off and rowled under the
dhressin '-table.
" Arrest that man," says the Queen, when the Head-
Constable came to the door ; " arrest that thrayter,"
says she, *' and never let me set eyes on him again."
And, indeed, she never did, and soon after that he met
with his death from the skelp of an axe he got when he
was standin' on Tower Hill
THE boat's share 1 67
The Boat's Share.
From '* Further Experiences of an Irish R.M''
By E. (E. Somerville and Martin Ross.
The affair on the strand at Hare Island ripened, with
complexity of summonses and cross-summonses, into
an imposing Petty Sessions case. Two separate depu-
tations presented themselves at Shreelane, equipped
with black eyes and other conventional injuries, one
of them armed with a creelful of live lobsters to underline
the argument. To decline the bribe was of no avail :
the deputation decanted them upon the floor of the hall
and retired, and the lobsters spread themselves at large
over the house, and to this hour remain the nightmare
of the nursery.
The next Petty Sessions day was wet ; the tall windows
of the Court House were grey and streaming, and the
reek of wet humanity ascended to the ceiling. As I took
my seat on the bench I perceived with an inward groan
that the services of the two most eloquent solicitors
in Skebawn had been engaged. This meant that
Justice would not have run its course till heaven knew
that dim hour of the afternoon, and that that course
would be devious and difficult.
All the pews and galleries (any Irish court-house might,
with the addition of a harmonium, pass presentably
as a dissenting chapel) were full, and a line of flat-capped
policemen stood like church-wardens near the door.
Under the galleries, behind what might have answered
to choir-stalls, the witnesses and their friends hid in
darkness, which could, however, but partially conceal
l68 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
two resplendent young ladies, barmaids, who were
to appear in a subsequent Sunday drinking case. I
was a little late, and when I arrived Flurry Knox,
supported by a couple of other magistrates, was in the
chair, imperturbable of countenance as was his wont,
his fair and delusive youthfulness of aspect unimpaired
by his varied experiences during the war, his roving,
subtle eye untamed by four years of matrimony.
A woman was being examined, a square and ugly
country-woman, with wispy fair hair, a slow, dignified
manner, and a slight and impressive stammer. I
recognised her as one of the bodyguard of the lobsters.
Mr. Mooney, soHcitor for the Brickleys, widely known,
and respected as " Roaring Jack," was m possession of
that much-enduring organ, the ear of the Court.
" Now, Kate Keohane ! " he thundered, '' tell me
what time it was when all this was going on ? "
" About duskish, sir. Con Brickley was slashing the
f-fish at me mother the same time. He never said
a word but to take the shtick and fire me dead with it
on the sthrand. He gave me plenty of blood to dhrink,
too," said the witness, with acid decorum. She paused
to permit this agreeable fact to sink in, and added, " his
wife wanted to f-fashten on me the same time, an' she
havin' the steer of the boat to sthrike me."
These were not precisely the facts that Mr. Murphy,
as solicitor for the defence, wished to elicit.
" Would you kindly explain what you mean by the
steer of the boat ? " he demanded, sparring for wind
in as intimidating a manner as possible. The witness
stared at him.
" Sure, 'tis the shtick, like, that they pulls here and
there to go in their choice place."
THE boat's share. 169
" We may presume that the lady is referring to the
tiller," said Mr. Mooney, with a facetious eye at the
Bench. *' Maybe now, ma'am, you can explain to us
what sort of a boat is she ? "
*' She's that owld that if it wasn't for the weeds that's
holding her together she'd bursht up in the deep."
" And who. owns this valuable property ? " pursued
Mr. Mooney.
" She's between Con Brickley and me brother, an the
saine* is between four, an' whatever crew does be in
it should get their share, and the boat has a man's share."
I made no attempt to comprehend this, relying with
well-founded confidence on Flurry Knox's grasp of
such enigmas.
" Was Con Brickley fishing the same day ? "
" He was not, sir. He was at Lisheen Fair ; for as
clever as he is, he couldn't kill two birds under one slat ! '
Kate Keohane's voice moved unhurried from sentence
to sentence, and her slow, pale eyes turned for an instant
to the lair of the witnesses under the gallery.
" And you're asking the Bench to believe that this
decent man left his business in Lisheen in order to
slash fish at your mother ? " said Mr. Mooney, trucu-
lently,
" B'lieve me, sorra much business he laves afther
him wherever he'll go ! " returned the witness. " Himself
and his wife had business enough on the sthrand when
the fish was dividing, and it is then themselves put
every name on me."
'' Ah, what harm are names ! " said Mr. Mooney,
dallying elegantly with a massive watch-chain.
'' Come, now, ma'am! will you. swear you got any
*A large net.
lyo HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
ill-usage from Con Brickley or his wife ? " He leaned
over the front of his pew, and waited for the answer
with his massive red head on one side.
" I was givin' blood like a c-cow that ye'd shtab
with a knife 1 " said Kate Keohane, with unshaken
dignity. " If it was yourself that was in it ye'd feel the
smart as well as me. My hand and word on it, ye would !
The marks is on me head still, like the prints of dog-
bites ! "
She lifted a lock of hair from her forehead, and exhibited
a sufficiently repellent injury. Flurry Knox leaned
forward.
*' Are you sure you haven't that since the time there
was that business between yourself and the post-
mistress at Munig ? I'm told you had the name of the
post-office on your forehead where she struck you with
the office stamp ! Try, now, sergeant, can you read
Munig on her forehead ? "
The Court, not excepting its line of church- wardens,
dissolved into laughter ; Kate Keohane preserved an
offended silence.
" I suppose you want us to beheve," resumed Mr.
Mooney, sarcastically, '' that a fine, hearty woman like
you wasn't defending yourself ! " Then, with a turkey-
cock burst of fury, ** On your oath, now ! What did
you strike Honora Brickley with ? Answer me that
now ! What had you in your hand ? "
" I had nothing only the little rod I had after the ass,"
answered Miss Keohane, with a child -Hke candour.
*' I done nothing to them ; but as for Con Brickley, he
put his back to the cliff and he took the fianncl wrap that
he had on him, and he threw it on the sthrand, and he
said he would have blood, murdher, or f-tish ! "
THE BOATS SHARE. H^
She folded her shawl across her breast, a picture of
virtue assailed, yet unassailed.
" You may go down now," said *' Roaring Jack,"
rather hastily, " I want to have a few words with your
brother."
Miss Keohane retired, without having moulted a
feather of her dignity, and her brother Jer came heavily
up the steps and on to the platform, his hot, wary, blue
eyes gathering in the Bench and the attorneys in one
bold, comprehensive glance. He was a tall, dark man
of about five and forty, clean-shaved, save for two
clerical inches of black whiskers, and in feature of the
type of a London clergyman who would probably
preach on Browning.
*' Well, sir ! " began Mr. Mooney, stimulatingly,
" and are you the biggest blackguard from here to
America ? "
'' I am not," said Jer Keohane, tranquilly.
" We had you here before us not so very long ago
about kicking a goat, wasn't it } You got a little touch
of a pound, I think ? "
This delicate allusion to a fine that the Bench had
thought fit to impose did not distress the witness.
" I did, sir."
" And how's our friend the goat ? " went on Mr.
Mooney, with the furious facetiousness reserved for
hustling tough witnesses.
" Well, I suppose she's something west of the Skelligs
by now," replied Jer Keohane with great composure.
An appreciative grin ran round the Court. The fact
that the goat had died of the kick and been " given the
cliff " being regarded as an excellent jest.
Mr. Mooney consulted his notes :
172 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
*' Well, now, about this fight," he said, pleasantly,
" did you see your sister catch Mrs. Brickley and pull
her hair down to the ground and drag her shawl off of
her ? "
*' Well," said the witness, airily, " they had a bit of a
scratch on account o' the fish. Con Brickley had the
shteer o' the boat in his hand, and says he, * is there
any man here that'll take the shteer from me ? ' The
man was dhrunk, of course," added Jer charitably.
" Did you have any talk with his wife about the
fish ? "
** I couldn't tell the words that she said to me ! "
replied the witness, with a reverential glance at the
Bench, " and she over-right three crowds o' men that
was on the sthrand."
Mr. Mooney put his hands in his pockets and surveyed
the witness.
" You're a very refined gentleman, upon my word 1
Were you ever in England ? "
" I was, part of three years."
** Oh, that accounts for it, I suppose ! " said Mr.
Mooney, accepting this lucid statement without a
stagger, and passing lightly on. " You're a widower,
I understand, with no objection to consoling yourself } "
No answer.
" Now, sir ! Can you deny that you made proposals
of marriage to Con Brickley's daughter last Shraft ?
The plot thickened. Con Brickley's daughter was my
kitchen maid.
Jer Keohane smiled tolerantly. ** Ah ! that was a
thing o' nothing."
" Nothing ! " said Mr. Mooney, with a roar of a
tornado. "Do you call an impudent proposal of marriage
THE boat's share. 1 73
to a respectable man's daughter nothing ! That's
English manners, I suppose ! "
" I was goin' home one Sunday," said Jer Keohane,
conversationally, to the Bench, " and I met the gerr'l
and her mother. I spoke to the gerr'l in a friendly
way, and asked her why wasn't she gettin' marrid, and
she commenced to peg stones at me and dhrew several
blows of an umbrella on me. I had only three bottles
of porther taken. There now was the whole of it."
Mrs. Brickley, from the gallery, groaned heavily and
ironically.
I found it difficult to connect these coquetries with my
impressions of my late kitchenmaid, a furtive and touzled
being, who, in conjunction with a pail and scrubbing
brush, had been wont to melt round corners and into
doorways at my approach.
" Are we trying a breach of promise ? " interpolated
Flurry ; '* if so, we ought to have the plaintiff in."
" My purpose, sir," said Mr. Mooney, in a manner
discouraging to levity, " is to show that my clients have
received annoyance and contempt from this man and his
sister such as no parents would submit to."
A hand came forth from under the gallery and plucked
at Mr. Mooney's coat. A red monkey face appeared
out of the darkness, and there was a hoarse whisper,
whose purport I could not gather. Con Brickley,
the defendant, was giving instructions to his lawyer.
It was perhaps as a result of these that Jer Keohane's
evidence closed here. There was a brief interval
enlivened by coughs, grinding of heavy boots on the
floor, and some mumbling and groaning under the
gallery.
" There's great duck-shooting out on a lake on this
174 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
island," commented Flurry to me, in a whisper. *' My
grand-uncle went there one time with an old duck-gun
he had, that he fired with a fuse. He was three hours
stalking the ducks before he got the gun laid. He lit
the fuse then, and it set to work spluttering and hissing
like a goods-engine till there wasn't a duck within ten
miles. The gun went off then."
This useful side-light on the matter in hand was inter-
rupted by the cumbrous ascent of the one-legged Con
Brickley to the witness-table. He sat down heavily,
with his slouch hat on his sound knee, and his wooden
stump stuck out before him. His large monkey face
was immovably serious ; his eye was small, light grey,
and very quick.
McCaffery, the opposition attorney, a thin, restless
youth, with ears like the handles of an urn, took him in
hand. To the pelting cross-examination that beset
him Con Brickley replied with sombre deliberation,
and with a manner of uninterested honesty, emphasising
what he said with slight, very effective gestures of his
big, supple hands. His voice was deep and pleasant ;
it betrayed no hint of so trivial a thing as satisfaction
when, in the teeth of Mr. McCaffery 's leading questions,
he established the fact that the " Uttle rod " with which
Miss Kate Keohane had beaten his wife was the handle
of a pitch -fork.
** I was counting the fish the same time," went on
Con Brickley, in his rolling basso profundissimo, " and
she said, ' Let the divil clear me out of the sthrand,
for there's no one else will put me out ! ' says she."
" It was then she got the blow, I suppose ! " said
McCaffery, venomously ; " you had a stick yourself,
I daresay ? "
THE boat's share. I75
" Yes. I had a stick. I must have a stick," (deep and
mellow pathos was hinted at in the voice), " I am sorry
to say. What could I do to her ? A man with a wooden
leg on a sthrand could do nothing ! "
Something like a laugh ran at the back of the court.
Mr. McCaffery's ears turned scarlet and became quite
decorative. On or off a strand Con Brickley was not
a person to be scored off easily.
His clumsy, yet impressive, descent from the witness
stand followed almost immediately, and was not the least
telling feature of his evidence. Mr. Mooney surveyed
his exit with the admiration of one artist for another,
and, rising, asked the Bench's permission to call Mrs.
Brickley.
Mrs. Brickley, as she mounted to the platform, in
the dark and nun-like severity of her long cloak, the
stately blue cloth cloak that is the privilege of the Munster
peasant woman, was an example of the rarely-blended
qualities of picturesqueness and respectability. As
she took her seat in the chair, she flung the deep hood
back on her shoulders, and met the gaze of the court
with her grey head erect ; she was a witness to be proud
of.
*' Now, Mrs. Brickley," said " Roaring Jack," urbanely,
** will you describe this interview between your daughter
and Keohane."
*' It was last Sunday in Shrove, your Worship, Mr
Flurry Knox, and gentlemen," began Mrs. Brickley
nimbly, '' meself and me little gerr'l was comin' from
mass, and Mr. Jer Keohane came up to us and got on
in a most unmannerable way. He asked me daughter
would she marry him. Me daughter told him she
would not, quite friendly like. I'll tell you no lie,
1-76 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
gentlemen, she was teasing him with the umbrella the
same time; an' he raised his shtick and dhrew a sthroke
on her in the back, an' the Httle gerr'l took up a small
pebble of a stone and fired it at him. She put the
umbrella up to his mouth, but she called him no names.
But as for him, the names he put on her was to call her ' a
nasty, long, slopeen of a proud thing, and a slopeen of
a proud tinker.' "
" Very lover-like expressions ! " commented Mr.
Mooney, doubtless stimulated by the lady-like titters
from the barmaids ; " and had this romantic gentleman
made any previous proposals for your daughter ? "
'' Himself had two friends over from across the water
one night to make the match, a Sathurday it was, and they
should land the lee side o' the island, for the wind was
a fright," replied Mrs. Brickley, launching her tale with
the power of easy narration that is bestowed with such
amazing liberality on her class. " The three o' them
had dhrink taken, an' I went to shlap out the door
agin them. Me husband said then we should let them
in, if it was a Turk itself, with the rain that was in it.
They were talking in it then till near the dawning, and
in the latther end all that was between them was the
boat's share."
" What do you mean by * the boat's share * ? " said I.
" * Tis the same as a man's share, me worshipful
gintleman," returned Mrs. Brickley, splendidly ; " it
goes with the boat always, afther the crew and the
saine has their share got."
I possibly looked as enlightened as I felt by this
exposition.
" You mean that Jer wouldn't have her unless he got
the boat's share with her .? " suggested FUirry.
THE boat's share. 177
" He said it over-right all that was in the house, and
he reddening his pipe at the fire," repUed Mrs. Brickley,
in full-sailed response to the helm. " ' D'ye think,'
says I to him, * that me daughter would leave a lovely
situation, with a kind and tendher masther, for a mean,
hungry blagyard Hke yerself,' says I, ' that's livin'
always in this backwards place ! ' says I."
This touching expression of preference for myself,
as opposed to Mr. Keohane, was received with expres-
sionless respect by the Court. Flurry, with an impassive
countenance, kicked me heavily under cover of the
desk. I said that we had better get on to the assault
on the strand. Nothing could have been more to
Mrs. Brickley's taste. We were minutely instructed
as to how Katie Keohane drew the shawleen forward
on Mrs. Brickley's head to stifle her ; and how Norrie
Keohane was fast in her hair. Of how Mrs. Brickley
had then given a stroke upwards between herself and
her face (whatever that might mean) and loosed Norrie
from her hair. Of how she then sat down and
commenced to cry from the use they had for her.
*' 'Twas all I done," she concluded, looking Hke a
sacred picture, " I gave her a stroke of a pollock on them."
" As for language," repUed Mrs. Brickley, with clear
eyes, a little uplifted in the direction of the ceiling,
" there was no name from heaven or hell but she had it
on me, and wishin' the divil might burn the two heels
off me, and the like of me wasn't in sivin parishes !
And that was the clane part of the discoorse, yer
Worships ! "
Mrs. Brickley here drew her cloak more closely about
her, as though to enshroud herself in her own refinement,
and presented to the Bench a silence as elaborate as a
1^
BBBE
lyS HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
drop scene. It implied, amongst other things, a generous
confidence in the imaginative powers of her audience.
Whether or no this was misplaced, Mrs. Brickley
was not invited further to enlighten the Court. After
her departure the case droned on in inexhaustible
rancour, and trackless complications as to the shares
of the fish. Its ethics and its arithmetic would have
defied the allied intellects of Solomon and Bishop
Colenso. It was somewhere in that dead afternoon,
when it was too late for lunch and too early for tea,
that the Bench, wan with hunger, wound up the affair,
by impartially binding both parties in sheaves " to the
Peace '
** KING WILLIAM." I79
"King William."
From " Aliens of the West."
By Charlotte O'Conor Eccles.
Mrs. Macfarlane was a tall, thin, and eminently
respectable woman of fifty, possessed of many rigid
virtues. She was a native of the north of Ireland, and
had come originally to Toomevara as maid to the
Dowager Lady Dunanway. On the death of her
mistress, whom she served faithfully for many years,
Lord Dunanway offered to set her up in business, and
at the time our story opens she had been for two years
proprietress of ihe buffet, and made a decent living by
it ; for as Toomevara is situated on the Great Southern
and Western Railway, a fair amount of traffic passes
through it.
The stationmaster, familiarly known as '' Jim
O'Brien, was Toomevara born, and had once been a
porter on that very line. He w^as an intelligent, easy-
going, yet quick-tempered man of pronounced Celtic
type, with a round, good-natured face, a humorous
mouth, shrewd, twinkling eyes, and immense volubility.
Between him and Mrs. Macfarlane the deadliest
warfare raged. She was cold and superior, and im-
placably in the right. She pointed out Jim's deficiencies
whenever she saw them, and she saw them very often.
All day long she sat in her refreshment room, spectacles
on nose, her Bible open before her, knitting, and rising
only at the entrance of a customer. Jim had an uneasy
consciousness that nothing escaped her eye, and her
critical remarks had more than once been reported to him.
)>
l8o HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE
*' The bitther ould pill ! " he said to his wife. *' Why,
tlie very look ov her 'ud sour a crock o' crame. She's
as cross as a bag ov weasels."
Jim was a Catholic and a Nationalist. He belonged
to the " Laygue," and spoke at public meetings as often
as his deities allowed. He objected to being referred to
by Mrs. Macfarlane as a " Papish " and a '* Rebel."
" Papish, indeed ! " said he. " Ribbil, indeed ! Tell
the woman to keep a civil tongue in her head, or 'twill
be worse for her."
*' How did the likes ov her iver get a husban' ? " he
would ask, distractedly, after a sparring match. " Troth,
an' 'tis no wondher the poor man died."
Mrs. Macfarlane was full of fight and courage. Her
proudest boast was of being the granddaughter, daughter,
sister, and widow of Orangemen.
She looked on herself in Toomevara as a child of
Israel among the Babylonians, and felt that it behoved
her to uphold the standard of her faith. To this end
she sang the praises of the Battle of the Boyne with a
triumph that aggravated O'Brien to madness.
*' God Almighty help the woman ! Is it Irish at
all she is — or what ? To see her makin' merry because
a parcel o' rascally Dutchmen ! Sure, doesn't
she know 'twas Irish blood they spilt at the Boyne }
An' to see her takin' pride in it turns me sick, so it does.
If she was English, now, I could stand it, but she caliin'
herself an Irishwoman — faith, she has the bad dhrop
in her, so she has, to be glad at her counthry's mis-
forchins."
Jim's rage was the greater because Mrs. Macfarlane,
whatever she said, said little or nothing to him. She
passed him by with lofty scorn and indifference affecting
" KING WILLIAM." l8l
not to see him ; and while she did many things that
O'Brien found supremely annoying, they were things
strictly within her rights.
Matters had not arrived at this pass all at once. The
feud dated from Mrs. Macfarlane's having adopted a
little black dog — a mongrel — on which she lavished a
wealth of affection, and which, as the most endearing
title she knew, she named *' King William." This,
of course, was nobody's concern save Mrs. Macfarlane's
own, and in a world of philosophers she would have
been allowed to amuse herself unheeded, but Jim O'Brien
was not a philosopher.
Unlike most Irishmen, he had a great love for flowers.
His garden was beautifully kept, and he was prouder
of his roses than of anything on earth save his eldest
daughter, Kitty, who was nearly sixteen. Picture,
then, his rage and dismay when he one day found his
beds scratched into holes and his roses uprooted by
" King William," who had developed a mania for hiding
away bones under Jim's flowers. O'Brien made loud
and angry complaints to the dog's owner, which she
received with unconcern and disbelief.
'' Please, Mr. O'Brien," she said, with dignity, " don't
try to put it on the puir wee dog. Even if yu du dislike
his name, that's no reason for saying he was in your
garden. He knows betther, so he does, than to go
where he's not wanted."
After this it was open war between the stationmaster
and the widow.
Under the windows of the refreshment room were
two narrow flower-beds. These Jim took care never
to touch, affecting to consider them the exclusive
property of Mrs. Macfarlane. They were long left
1 82 HUMOUPS OF IRISH LIFE.
uncultivated, an eyesore to the stationmaster ; but one
day Kelly, the porter, came to him with an air of mystery,
to say that " th ould wan " — for by this term was
Mrs Macfarlane generally indicated — " was settin'
somethin' in the beds beyant."
Jim came out of his office and walked up and down
the platform with an air of elaborate unconsciousness.
Sure enough, there was Mrs. Macfarlane gardening.
She had donned old gloves and a clean checked apron,
and, trowel in hand, was breaking up the caked earth,
preparatory, it would seem, to setting plants.
" What the dickens is she doin' } " asked Jim, when
he got back.
" Not a w^an ov me knows," said Kelly. " She's
been grubbin' there since nine o'clock.
From this time Mrs. Macfarlane was assiduous in
the care of her two flower-beds. Every day she might
be seen weeding or watering, and though Jim steadily
averted his gaze, he was devoured by curiosity as to
the probable results. What on earth did she want to
grow } The weeks passed. Tiny green seedlings at
last pushed their way through the soil, and in due course
the nature of the plants became evident. Jim was highly
excited, and rushed home to tell his wife.
** Be the hokey, Mary," he said, " 'tis lilies she has
there, an may I never sin, but it's my belief they're
orange lilies, an' if they are, I'll root ev'ry wan ov thim
out, if I die for it."
*' Be quiet, now," said Mury. '* How d'ye know
they're lilies at all ? For the love o' God keep her tongue
ofl' ov ye, an' don't be puttin' yersel' in her way."
" Whist, woman, d'ye think I'm a fool ? 'Tis lilies
th' are annyways, an' time'll tell if they're orange or not.
(<
KING WILLIAM." 183
but faith, if th'are, I won't shtand it/ I'll compli'in
to the Boord."
" Sure the Boord'll be on her side, man. Don't yeh
know the backin' she has ? They'll say ' Why shouldn't
she have orange lilies if she likes ? ' "
" Ah, Mary, 'tis too sinsible y'are inthirely. Have
ye no sperrit, woman alive, to let her ride rough-shod
over uz this way ? ' Make a mouse o' yerself an' the
cat'll ate ye,' 's a thrue saying. Sure, Saint Pether
himself cuddn't shtand it, an' be the piper that played
before Moses, I won't ! "
" Ye misfortunit man, don't be dhrawin' down ructions
on yer head. Haven't yeh childer to think about ?
An' don't be throublin' yerself over what she does.
'Tis plazin' her y'are whin she sees y're mad. Take
no notice, man, an' p'raps she'll shtop."
" The divil fly away wid her for a bitther ould sarpint.
The vinom's in her, sure enough. Why should I put
up wid her, I'd like to know ? "
''Ah, keep yer tongue between yer teeth, Jim. 'Tis
too onprudent y'are. Not a worrd ye dhrop but is
brought back to her be some wan. Have sinse, man.
You'll go sayin' that to Joe Kelly, an' he'll have it over
the town in no time, an' some wan'U carry it to her."
" An' do ye think I care a thrawneen* for the likes ov
her ? Faith, not a pin If you got yer way, Mary,
ye'd have me like the man that was hanged for sayin'
nothin' Sure, I never did a hand's turn agin her,
an' 'tis a low, mane thrick ov her to go settin'
orange lilies over foreninst me, an' she knowin' me
opinions "
* A blade of grass.
184 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
■' Faith, I'll not say it wasn't, Jim, if they are orange
lilies ; but sure, ye don't know rightly yet what th'are,
an' in God's name keep quite till you do."
The days went by. The lilies grew taller and taller.
They budded, they bloomed, and, sure enough, Jim
had been in the right — orange lilies they proved to be.
" They'll mek a fine show for the twelfth of July,
I'm thinkin'," said Mrs. Macfarlane, complacently, as
she walked by her beds, swinging a dripping watering-
pot.
At the time of the blossoming of the orange lilies,
James O'Brien was not at home, having had to go some
twenty miles down the line on official business. The
obnoxious flowers took advantage of his absence to make
a gay show. When he returned, as luck would have it
Mrs. Macfarlane was away, and had shut up the refresh-
ment room, but had not locked it. No one locks doors
in Toomevara unless their absence is to be lengthy.
She had left '' King William " behind, and told Joe
Kelly to take care of the dog, in case he should be lonely,
for she had been invited to the wedding of an old fellow
servant, the late butler at Lord Dunanway's, who was
to be married that day to the steward's daughter.
All this Joe Kelly told the stationmaster on his return,
but he did not say a word about the orange lilies, being
afraid of an explosion, and, as he said, " detarmined not
to meddle or make, but just to let him find it out him-
self."
For quite a time Jim was occupied over way-bills in
his litde office ; but at last his attention was distracted
by the long continued howling and yelping of a dog.
" Let the baste out, can't ye ? " he at length said to
Kelly. '' I can't stand listening to um anny longer."
C« ....,« „,,TTT«.. " 185
KING WILLIAM.
*' I was afeared 'twas run over he might be, agin*
she came back," said Kelly, " 'an so I shut um up."
" Sure, there's no danger. There won't be a thrain in
for the next two hours, an' if he was run over itself, God
knows he'd be no loss. 'Tisn't meself 'ud grieve for
um, th' ill-favoured cur."
" King William " was accordingly released.
When O'Brien had finished his task, he stood for a
time at the office "door, his hands crossed behind him,
supporting his coat tails, his eyes fixed abstractedly
on the sky. Presently he started for his usual walk up
and down the platform, when his eye was at once caught
by the flare of the stately rows of orange lilies.
" Be the Holy Poker ! " he exclaimed. '' But I was
right. 'Tis orange th' are, sure enough. What'll
Mary say now ? Faith, 'tis lies they do be teUin'
whin they say there's no riptiles in Ireland. That ould
woman bangs Banagher, an' Banagher bangs the divil."
He stopped in front of the obnoxious flowers.
*' Isn't it the murthering pity there's nothing I can
plant to spite her. She has the pull over me entirely.
Shamerogues makes no show at all — ye'd pass them
unbeknownst — ^while orange lilies yeh can see a mile off.
Now, who but herself 'ud be up to the likes o' this ? "
At the moment he became aware of an extraordinary
commotion among the lilies, and, looking closer, per-
ceived " King William " in their midst, scratching as
if for bare life, scattering mould, leaves, and bulbs to
the four winds, and with every stroke of his hind legs
dealing destruction to the carefully-tended flowers.
The sight filled Jim with sudden gladness.
** More power to the dog ! " he cried, with irrepressible
glee. " More power to um ! Sure, he has more sinse
1 86 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
than his missus. ' King William,' indeed, an' he rootin'
up orange lilies ! Ho, ho ! Tare an' ouns ! but 'tis
the biggest joke that iver I hard in me life. More power
to ye ! Good dog 1 "
Rubbing his hands in an ecstasy of delight, he watched
'' King William " at his work of devastation, and,
regretfully be it confessed, when the dog paused,
animated him to fresh efforts by thrilling cries of '* Rats ! "
*' King William " sprang wildly hither and thither,
running from end to end of the beds, snapping the
brittle lily stems, scattering the blossoms.
" Be gum, but it's great ! Look at um now. Cruel
wars to the Queen o' Spain if iver I seen such shport !
Go it, ' King William 1 ' Smash thim, me boy ! Good
dog 1 Out wid them 1 " roared Jim, tears of mirth
streaming down his cheeks. " Faith, 'tis mad she'll
be. I'd give sixpence to see her face. O Lord ! O
Lord 1 sure, it's the biggest joke that iver was."
At last '* King William " tired of the game, but only
when every lily lay low, and Mrs. Macfarlane's carefully
tended flower beds were a chaos of broken stalks and
trampled blossoms.
As O'Brien, in high good humour, having com-
municated the side-splitting joke to Mary and Finnerty,
was busy over his account books, Kelly came in.
" She's back," he whispered, " an she's neither to hold
nor to bind. I was watchin' out, an' sure, 'twas shtruck
all of a hape she was whin she seen thim lilies ; an' now
I'll take me oath she's goin' to come here, for, begob,
she looks as cross as nine highways."
"Letter come," chuckled O'Brien; "I'm ready
forrer."
At this moment the office door was burst open with
((
KING WILLIAM." 1 87
violence, and Mrs. Macfarlane, in her best Sunday
costume, bonnet, black gloves, and umbrella included,
her face very pale save the cheek bones, where two
bright pink spots burned, entered the room.
Misther O'Brien," she said in a high, stilted voice
that trembled with rage, '' will yu please to inform me
the meanin' o this dasthardly outrage ? "
*' Arrah, what outrage are ye talkin' ov ma'am ? "
asked O'Brien, innocently. " Sure, be the looks ov ye
I think somethin' has upset ye entirely. Faith, ye 're
lookin' as angry as if you were vexed, as the sayin' is."
''Oh, to be sure. A great wonder, indeed, that I
should be vexed. ' Crabbit was that cause had ! * "
interrupted Mrs Macfarlane with a sneer. '* You're
not decavin' me, sir. I'm not takin in by yur pretinces,
but if there's law in the land, or justice, I'll have it of
yu."
Would ye mind, ma'am," said O'Brien, imper-
turbably, for his superabounding dehght made him
feel quite calm and superior to the angry woman —
" would ye mind statin' in plain English what y're
talkin' about for not a wan ov me knows ? "
" Oh, yu son of Judas ! Oh, yu deceivin' wretch 1
As if it wasn't yu that is afther desthroyin' my flower-
beds 1 "
" Ah, thin, it is y'r ould flower-beds y're makin' all
this row about ? Y'r dirty orange lilies ' Sure, 'tis
clared out o' the place they ought tVe been long ago for
weeds. 'Tis mesel' that's glad they're gone, an' so I
tell ye plump an' plain ; bud as for me desthroyin'
them, sorra finger iver I laid on thim ; I wouldn't
demane mesel'."
"An' if yu please, Misther O'Brien," said Mrs.
1 88 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
Macfarlane with ferocious politeness, " will >ti kindly
mintion, if yu did not do the job, who did ? "
'* Faith, that's where the joke comes in," said O'Brien,
pleasantly. " 'Twas the very same baste that ruinated
me roses, bad cess to him, y'r precious pet, ' King
William ' ! "
*' Oh ! is it lavin' it on the dog y'are, yu traitorous
Jesuit ! The puir wee dog that never harmed yu ?
Sure, 'tis only a Papist would think of a mane thrick
Hke that to shift the blame."
The colour rose to O'Brien's face.
" Mrs. Macfarlane, ma'am," he said, with laboured
civility, " wid yer permission we'll lave me religion out
o' this. Maybe, if ye say much more, I might be losin*
me timper wid ye."
'' Much I mind what yu lose," cried Mrs. Macfarlane.
" It's thransported the likes o' yu should be for a set o'
robbin', murderin', desthroyin', thraytors."
" Have a care, ma'am, how yer spake to yer betthers.
Robbin', deceivin', murdherin', desthroyin', thraytors,
indeed ! I like that ! What brought over the lot ov
yez, Williamites an' Cromwaylians an' English an'
Scotch, but to rob, an' desave, an' desthroy, an' murdhcr
uz, an' stale our land, an' bid uz go to hell or to
Connaught, an' grow fat on what was ours before iver
yez came, an' thin jibe uz for bein' poor ? Thraytors !
Thraytor yerself, for that's what the lot ov yez is. Who
wants yez here at all ? "
Exasperated beyond endurance, Mrs. Macfarlane
struck at the stationmaster with her neat black umbrella,
and had given him a nasty cut across the brow, when
Kelly interfered, as well as Finnerty and Mrs. O'Brien,
who rushed in, attracted by the noise. Between them
it
KING WILLIAM." 1 89
O'Brien was held back under a shower of blows, and the
angry woman hustled outside, whence she retreated
to her own quarters, muttering threats all the way.
" Oh, Jim, avourneen ! 'tis bleedin' y'are," shrieked
poor anxious Mary, wildly. " Oh, wirra, why did ye
dhraw her on ye ? Sure, I tould ye how 'twould be.
As sure as God made little apples she'll process ye, an'
she has the quality on her side."
" Letter," said Jim ; '' much good she'll get by it.
Is it makin' a liar' ov me she'd be whin I tould her I
didn't touch her ould liUes ? Sure, I'll process her
back for assaultin' an' battherin me. Ye all saw her,
an' me not touchin' her, the calliagh ! "*
*' Begorra, 'tis thrue for him," said Kelly. '' She
flagellated him wid her umbrelly, an' sorra blow missed
bud the wan that didn't hit, and on'y I was here, an'
lit on her suddent, like a bee on a posy, she'd have had
his life, so she would."
Not for an instant did Mrs. Macfarlane forget her
cause of offence, or believe O'Brien's story that it was
the dog that had destroyed her orange UUes. After
some consideration she hit on an ingenious device
that satisfied her as being at once supremely annoying
to her enemy and well within the law. Her lilies,
emblems of the religious and political faith that were
in her, were gone ; but she still had means to testify
to her beliefs, and protest against O'Brien and all that
he represented to her mind.
Next day, when the midday train had just steamed into
the station, Jim was startled by hearing a wild cheer —
*' Hi, ' King William ' ! Hi, ' King William ' ! Come
back, ' King William ' ! ' King William,' my darlin',
* King William ' I "
♦Hag
IQO HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
The air rang with the shrill party cry, and when Jim
rushed out he found that Mrs. Macfarlane had allowed
her dog to run down the platform just as the passengers
were alighting, and was now following him, under the
pretence of calling him back. There was nothing to
be done. The dog's name certainly was " King
William," and Mrs. Macfarlane was at liberty to recall
him if he strayed.
Jim stood for a moment like one transfixed.
" Faith, I b'leeve 'tis the divil's grandmother she
is," he exclaimed.
Mrs. Macfarlane passed him with a deliberately
unseeing eye. Had he been the gate-post, she could not
have taken less notice of his presence, as, having made her
way to the extreme end of the platform, cheering her
" King William," she picked up her dog, and marched
back in triumph.
Speedily did it become evident that Mrs. Macfarlane
was pursuing a regular plan of campaign, for at the arrival
of every train that entered the station that day, she went
through the same performance of letting loose the dog
and then pursuing him down the platform, waving her
arms and yelling for " King William."
By the second challenge Jim had risen to the situation
and formed his counterplot. He saw and heard her in
stony silence, apparently as indifferent to her tactics
as she to his presence, but he was only biding his time.
No sooner did passengers alight and enter the refresh-
ment room, than, having just given them time to be
seated, he rushed up, threw open the door of his enemy's
headquarters, and, putting in his cried, cried : —
** Take yer places, gintlemin immaydiately. The
thrain's just off. Hurry up, will yez ? She's away 1 "
t( „,»,^ „„, T X .-»» »
KING WILLIAM. IQl
The hungry and discomfited passengers hurried out,
pell mell, and Mrs. Macfarlane was left speechless with
indignation.
*' I bet Fve got the whip hand ov her this time,"
chuckled Jim, as he gave the signal to start.
Mrs. Macfarlane's spirit, however, was not broken.
From morning until night, whether the day was wet or
fine, she greeted the arrival of each train with loud cries
for " King William," and on each occasion Jim retorted
by bundling out all her customers before they could
touch bite or sup.
The feud continued.
Each day Mrs. Macfarlane, gaunter, fiercer, paler,
and more resolute in ignoring the stationmaster's presence,
flaunted her principles up and down the platform. Each
day did Jim hurry the departure of the trains and sweep
off her customers. Never before had there been such
punctuality known at Toomevara, which is situated on
an easy-going line, where usually the guard, when
indignant tourists point out that the express is some
twenty minutes' late, is accustomed to reply,
'' Why, so she is. 'Tis thrue for ye."
One day, however, Mrs. Macfarlane did not appear.
She had come out for the first train, walking a trifle
feebly, and uttering her war cry in a somewhat quavering
voice. When the next came, no Mrs. Macfarlane
greeted it.
Jim himself was perplexed, and a little aggrieved.
He had grown used to the daily strife, and missed the
excitement of retorting on his foe.
' Maybe 'tis tired of it she is," he speculated. '* Time
forrer. She knows now she won't have things all her
own way. She's too domineerin' by hall."
'.mJM
192 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
" What's wrong with the ould wan, sir ? " asked
Joe Kelly, when he met O'Brien " She didn't shtir
out whin she hard the thrain."
" Faith, I dunno," said Jim. *' Hatchin' more dis-
turbance, I'll bet. Faith, she's like Conaty's goose,
nivir well but whin she's doin' mischief. Joe," he said,
" maybe y'ought to look in an' see if anythin' is wrong wid
th' ould wan."
A moment more, and Jim heard him shouting,
" Misther O'Brien, Misther O'Brien ! " He ran at
the sound. There, a tumbled heap, lay Mrs. Macfarlane,
no longer a defiant virago, but a weak, sickly, elderly
woman, partly supported on Joe Kelly's knee, her face
ghastly pale, her arms hanging Hmp.
" Be me sowd, but I think she's dyin'," cried Kelly.
" She just raised her head whin she saw me, an' wint
off in a faint."
" Lay her flat, Joe ; lay her flat."
" Lave her to me," he said, " an' do you run an'
tell the missus to come here at wanst. Maybe she'll
know what to do."
Mary came in to find her husband gazing in a be-
wildered fashion at his prostrate enemy, and took
command in a way that excited his admiration.
" Here," said she, *' give uz a hand to move her on
to the seat. Jim, run home an' get Biddy to fill two or
three jars wid boilin' wather, an' bring thim along wid
a blanket. She's as cowld as death. Joe, fly off wid yeh
for the docther."
" What docther will I go for, ma'am ? "
*' The first ye can git," said Mary, promptly beginning
to chafe the inanimate woman's hands and loosen her
clothes.
ti xrrn^T^ «ttt t T » TV /r "
KING WILLIAM. 193
When the doctor came he found Mrs. Macfarlane laid
on an impromptu couch composed of two of the
cushioned benches placed side by side. She was
wrapped in blankets, had hot bottles to her feet and
sides, nd a mus ard plaster over her heart.
" Bravo ! Mrs. O'Brien," he said, " I couldn't have
done better myself. I believe you have saved her life
by being so quick — at least, saved it fo* the moment,
for I think she is in for a severe illness. She will want
careful nursing to pul her through."
" She looks rale bad," assented Mary.
" What are we to do with her ? " said the doctor.
" Is there no place where they would take her in ? "
Mary glanced at Jim, but he did not speak.
" Sure, there's a room in our house," she ventured,
after an awkward pause.
" The very thing," said the doctor, '* if you don't
mind the trouble, and if Mr. O'Brien does not object."
Jim made no answer, but walked out.
" He doesn't, docther," cried Mary. *' Sure, he has
the rale good heart. I'll run off now, an' get the bed
ready."
As they passed Jim, who stood sulkily at the door, she
contrived to squeeze his hand. " God bless yeh, me
own Jim. You'll be none the worse forrit. 'Tis no time
for bearin' malice, an' our Blessed Lady'll pray for yeh
this day."
Jim was silent.
** 'Tis a cruel shame she should fall on uz," he said,
when his wife had disappeared ; but he offered no
further resistance.
Borne on an impromptu stretcher by Jim, Joe,
Finnerty, and doctor, Mrs. Macfarlane was carried to
o
194 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
the stationmaster's house, undressed by Mary, and
put to bed in the spotlessly clean, whitewashed upper
room.
The cold and shivering had now passed off, and she
was burning. Nervous fever, the doctor anticipated.
She raved about her dog, about Jim, about the passengers,
her rent, and fifty other things that made it evident her
circumstances had preyed upon her mind.
Poor Mary was afraid of her at times ; but there are
no trained nurses at Toomevara, and, guided by Doctor
Doherty's directions, she tried to do her best, and
managed wonderfully well.
There could be no doubt Jim did not like having the
invalid in the house. But this did not prevent him from
feeling very miserable. He became desperately anxious
that Mrs. Macfarlane should not die, and astonished
Mary by bringing home various jellies and meat extracts,
that he fancied might be good for the patient ; but he
did this with a shy and hang-dog air by no means
natural to him, and always made some ungracious speech
as to the trouble, to prevent Mary thinking he was sorry
for the part he had played. He replied with a down-
cast expression to all enquiries from outsiders as to
Mrs. Macfarlane 's health, but he brought her dog into
the house and fed it well.
** Not for her sake, God knows," he explained ; ** but
bekase the poor baste was frettin' an' I cudn't see him
there wid no wan to look to him."
He refused, however, to style the animal *' King
WiUiam," and called it " Billy " instead, a name which
it soon learned to answer.
One evening, when the whitewashed room was all
aglow with crinison light that flooded through the
ft r^-r-^-r^ ,,TTT T T * ^ /r "
KING WILLIAM/ 195
western window, Mrs. Macfarlane returned to conscious-
ness. Mary was sitting by the bedside, sewing, having
sent out the children in charge of Kitty to secure quiet
in the house. For a long time, unobserved by her
nurse, the sick woman lay feebly trying to understand.
Suddenly she spoke —
'* What is the matter ? "
Mary jumped.
" To be sure," she said, laying down her needlework,
** 'tis very bad you were intirely, ma'am ; but, thanks
be to God, you're betther now."
'' Where am I ? " asked Mrs. Macfarlane, after a
considerable pause.
" In the station house, ma'am. Sure, don't ye know
me ? I'm Mary O'Brien."
" Mary O'Brien— O'Brien ? "
" Yis, faith ! Jim O'Brien's wife.'
*' An' this is Jim O'Brien's house ? "
" Whose else id it be ? But there now, don't talk
anny more. Sure, we'll tell ye all about it whin y're
betther. The docthor sez y're to be kep' quiet."
" But who brought .me here ? "
" Troth, 'twas carried in ye were, an' you near dyin'.
Hush up now, will ye ? Take a dhrop o' this, an'
thry to go to shleep." ^^ ^
When Jim came into his supper his wife said to him,
" That craythure upstairs is mad to get away. She
thinks we begrudge her the bit she ates."
Jim was silent. Then he said, " Sure, annythin'
that's bad she'll b'leeve ov uz."
" But ye've nivir been up to see her. Shlip into the
room now, an' ax her how she's goin' on. Let bygones
be bygones, in the name of God."
196 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
" I won't," said Jim.
*' Oh, yes, ye will. Sure, afther all, though ye didn't
mane it, ye're the cause ov it. Go to her now."
*' I don't like."
" Ah, go. 'Tis yer place, an' you sinsibler than she
is. Go an' tell her to shtay till she's well. Faith, I
think that undher all that way of hers she's softher than
she looks. I tell ye, Jim, I seen her cryin' over the dog,
bekase she thought 'twas th' only thing that loved her."
Half pushed by Mary, Jim made his way up the
steep stair, and knocked at the door of Mrs. Macfarlane's
attic.
*' Come in," said a feeble voice, and he stumbled into
the room.
When Mrs. Macfarlane saw who it was, a flame lit in
her hollow eyes.
" I'm sorry," she said, with grim politeness, " that
yu find me here, Misther O'Brien ; but it isn't my
fault. I wanted tu go a while ago, an' your wife wouldn't
let me."
** An' very right she was ; you're not fit for it. Sure,
don't be talkin' ov goin' till ye're better, ma'am," said
Jim, awkwardly. " Y're heartily welcome for me.
I come up to say — to say, 1 hope y'U be in no hurry to
move."
" Yu're very good, but it's not to be expected I'd
find myself easy under this roof, where, I can assure yu,
I'd never have come of my own free will ; an' I apologise
to yu, Misther O'Brien, for givin' so much trouble —
not that I could help myself."
" Sure, 'tis I that should apologise," blurted out
Jim ; " an' rale sorry I am — though, maybe, ye won't
b'lieve me — that I ever dhruv the customers out."
" KING WILLIAM." 197
For a long time Mrs. Macfarlane did not speak.
** I could forgive that easier than your rootin' up my
lilies," she said, in a strained voice.
*' But that I never did. God knows an' sees me this
night, an' He knows that I never laid a finger on thim.
I kem out, an' foun' the dog there scrattin' at thim, an'
if this was me last dyin' worrd, 'tis thrue."
" An' 'twas really the wee dog ? "
*' It was, though I done wrong in laughin' at him,
an' cheerin' him on; but, sure, ye wouldn't mind me
whin I told ye he was at me roses, an' I thought it sarved
ye right, an' that ye called him ' King William ' to spite
me."
'* So I did," said Mrs. Macfarlane, and, she added,
more gently, " I'm sorry now."
*' Are ye so ? " said Jim, brightening. " Faith, I'm
glad to hear ye say it. We was both in the wrong, ye
see, an' if you bear no malice, I don't."
" Yu have been very good to me, seein' how I mis-
judged you," said Mrs. Macfarlane.
" Not a bit ov it ; an' 'twas the wife anyhow, for,
begorra, I was hardened against ye, so I was."
" An' yu've spent yer money on me, an' I "
" Sure, don't say a worrd about id. I owed it to you,
so I did, but, begorra, ye won't have to complain ov
wantin' custom wanst yer well."
Mrs. Macfarlane smiled wanly.
'' No chance o' that, I'm afraid. What with my
illness an' all that went before it, business is gone.
Look at the place shut up this three weeks an' more."
" Not it," said Jim '* Sure, sence y've been sick
I put our little Kitty, the shlip, in charge of the place,
an' she's made a power o' money for ye, an' she on'y
1 98 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
risin* sixteen, an' havin' to help her mother an* all.
She's a clever girl, so she is, though I eez it, an' she
ruz the prices all round. She couldn't manage with
the cakes, not knowin' how to bake thim like yerself ;
but sure I bought her plenty ov biscuits at Connolly's ;
and her mother cut her sandwidges, an' made tay, an*
the dhrinks was all there as you left them, an' Kitty
kep' count ov all she sould."
Mrs Macfarlane looked at him for a moment queerly
ihen she drew the sheet over her face, and began to
sob.
Jim, feeling wretchedly uncomfortable, crept down-
stairs.
" Go to the craythure, Mary," he said. " Sure, she's
cryin'. We've made it up — an' see here, let her want
for nothin'."
Mary ran upstairs, took grim Mrs Macfarlane in her
arms, and actually kissed her ; and Mrs. Macfarlane *s
grimness melted away, and the two women cried together
for sympathy.
•Jr tF "IF * 'ff tF
Now, as the trains come into Toomevara station, Jim
goes from carriage to carriage making himself a perfect
nuisance to passengers with well-filled luncheon baskets.
*' Won't ye have a cup o' tay, me lady ? There's plinty
ov time, an' sure, we've the finest tay here that you'll
get on the line. There's nothin' like it this side o'
Dublin ; A glass o' whiskey, sir ? 'Tis on'y the best
John Jameson that's kep*, or sherry wine ? Ye won't
be shtoppin agin annywheres that you'll like it as well.
Sure, if ye don't want to get out— though there's plinty
o' time — I'll give the ordher an' have it sent over to yez.
Cakes, ma'am, for the little ladies ? 'Tis a long journey,
" KING WILLIAM." 199
an' maybe they'll be hungry — an^ apples ? Apples is
mighty good for childher. She keeps fine apples if
ye like thim."
Mrs. Macfarlane has grown quite fat, is at peace with
all mankind, takes the deepest interest in the O'Brien
family, and calls her dog " Billy."
200 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
Quin's Rick.
From " Doings and Dealings,''
By Jane Barlow.
Clear skies and gentle breezes had so favoured Hugh
Lennon's harvesting that his threshing was all safely
done by the first week in October, and as the fine weather
still continued, he took his wife, according to promise,
for a ten days' stay at the seaside. Mrs. Hugh was
rather young and rather pretty, and much more than
rather short-tempered. The neighbours often remarked
that they would not be in Hugh Lennon's coat for a
great deal — at times specifying very considerable sums.
From her visit to Warrenpoint, however, she returned
home in high good humour, and ran gaily upstairs to
remove her flowery hat, announcing that she would do
some fried eggs, Hugh's favourite dish, for their tea.
Hence, he was all the more disconcerted when, as he
followed her along the little passage, she suddenly
wheeled round upon him, and confronted him with a
countenance full of wrath. She had merely been looking
for a moment out of the small end window, and why,
in the name of fortune, marvelled Hugh, should that
have put her in one of her tantrums ? But it evidently
had done so. " Saw you ever the like of that ? " she
demanded furiously, pointing through the window.
'' The like of what at all } " said Hugh.
" Look at it," said Mrs. Hugh, and drummed with the
point of her umbrella on a pane.
Hugh looked, and saw, conspicuous at a short
distance beyond their backyard, a portly rick of straw,
which their neighbour, Peter Quin, had nearly finished
QUIN S RICK. 201
building. A youth was tumbling himself about on
top of it with much agility, and shouting " Pull ! " at
each floundering fall. " Sure," said Hugh, '' it's
nothing, only young Jim Quin leppin' their rick."
" I wisht he'd break every bone in his ugly body,
then, while he's at it," declared Mrs. Hugh.
*' It's a quare wish to be wishin' agin the poor, decent
lad," said her husband, " and he lepping plenty of ricks
for ourselves before now."
'' And what call have they to be cocking up e'er a
one there," said Mrs. Hugh, " where there was never
such a thing seen till this day ? "
" Why wouldn't they ? " said Hugh. *' It's a handy
place enough for a one, I should say, there on the bit
of a headland."
" How handy it is ! " said his wife, " and it shutting
out the gap in the fence on me that was the only glimpse
I had into our lane."
" Well, supposing it does, where's the odds ? " said
Hugh. " There's ne'er a much in the lane for anybody
to be glimpsing at."
" The greatest convenience in the world it was,"
declared Mrs. Hugh, *' to be able to see you crossing
it of a morning, and you coming in from the lower
field, the way I could put the bit of bacon down ready
for the breakfast."
*' Musha, good gracious, woman aUve, if that's all's
ailing you, where's the need to be so exact ? " said
Hugh.
'' Exact, is it ? " said Mrs. Hugh. *' Maybe you'd
like to have the whole of it melted away into grease
with being set on the fire half an hour too soon. Or
else you to be standing about open-mouthed under me
202 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
feet, like a starving terrier, waiting till it's fit to eat.
That's how it'll be, anyway, Hke it or lump it. And
I used to be watching for old Matty Flanaghan going
by with the post-bag, and the Keoghs coming back
from early Mass — 'twas as good as an extra clock for
telling the time. But now, with that big lump of a
thing stuck there, I might as well be shut up inside of
any old prison. Them Quins done it a-purpose to annoy
me, so they did. Sorra another raison had they, for
what else 'ud make them take and build it behind our
backs ? But put up with it is what I won't do. Stepping
over to them I'll be this night, and letting them know how
little 1 think of themselves and their mean tricks. And
if I see old Peter, I'll tell him you'll have the law of
him unless he gets it cleared away out of that to-morrow.
Bedad will I ; and yourself 'ud say the same, if you had
as much spirit in you as a moulting chicken."
" Have sense, Julia," Hugh remonstrated, wedging
in a protest with difficulty. " Stop where you are,
now, quiet and peaceable. It's only making a show
of yourself you'd be, running out that way raging about
nothing What foolish talk have you about the man
moving his rick, that he's just after building ? You
might as well be bidding him move Knockrinkin over
yonder ; and he more betoken with his haggart bursting
full this minyit. What annoyance is there in the
matter, Julia woman ? Sure in any case it won't be
any great while standing there, you may depend, and
they bedding cattle with it, let alone very belike sending
in cartloads of it every week to the market. Just content
yourself and be aisy."
But, as he had more than half expected, Hugh spoke
to no purpose. His wife would not be said by him,
quin's rick. 203
and his expostulations, in fact, merely hastened her
impetuous departure on her visit to the Quins. She
returned even more exasperated than she had set out,
and from her report of the interview Hugh gathered
that she had stormed with much violence, giving every-
body " the height of abuse." He was fain to console
himself with the rather mortifying reflection that " the
Quins knew well enough she did be apt to take up with
quare nonsensical fantigues, that nobody minded."
A hope that the morrow might find her more reasonable
proved entirely vain, as many additional grievances,
resented with increasing bitterness, had been evolved
during the night. When Hugh went out to his work,
he left her asserting, and beHeving, that the noise of the
wind whistling round the rick hadn't let her get a wink
of sleep, and when he came in again he found her on
the point of setting off to the poHce barracks that she
might charge the Quins with having '' littered her yard
all over with wisps of straw blown off their hijjis old
rick, till the unfortunate hens couldn't see the ground
under their feet." This outrage, it appeared, had been
aggravated by Micky Quinn, who remarked tauntingly,
that *' she had a right to feel herself obligated to them
for doing her a fine piece of thatching " ; and an inter-
change of similar rejoinders had taken place. On the
present occasion Hugh was indeed able forcibly to stop
her wild expedition by locking both the house doors.
But as he knew that these strong measures could not be
more than a temporary expedient, and as arguments
were very bootless, he was at a loss to determine what
he should do next. She had begun to drop such
menacing hints about lighted matches and rags soaked
in paraffin, that he felt loth to leave her at large within
204 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
reach of those dangerous materials. Already it had come
to his knowledge that rumours were afloat in the village
about how Mrs. Lennon was threatening to burn down the
Quin's rick. The truth was that she had said as much
to several calling neighbours in the course of that day.
Hugh's perplexity was therefore not a little relieved
when, early on the following morning, his wife's eldest
married sister, Mrs. Mackay, from beyond Kilcraig,
looked in on her way to market. Mrs. Mackay, an
energetic person with a strong will regulated by abundant
common sense, was one among the few people of whom
her flighty sister Julia stood in awe. In this emergency
her own observations, together with her brother-in-law's
statements, soon showed her how matters stood, and she
promptly decided what steps to take. '* Our best plan,"
she said to Hugh apart, " is for Julia to come along
home with me. She'll be out of the way there of aught
to stir up her mind, and she can stop till she gets pacified
again. 'Twill be no great while before she's glad enough
to come back here, rick or no rick, you may depend ;
for we're all through-other up at our place the now,
with one of the childer sick, and ne'er a girl kept. I'll
give her plenty to do helping me, and it's much if she
won't be very soon wishing she was at home in her
own comfortable house. She doesn't know when she's
well ofl^, bcdad," Mrs. Mackay added, glancing half
enviously round the tidy little kitchen.
Hugh fell in with her views at once. The Mackays
lived a couple of miles at the other side of Kilcraig,
so that Julia would be safely out of harm's way, and he
could trust her sister to keep her from doing
anything disastrously foolish. So he cheerfully saw
his wife depart, and though her last words were a
quin's rick 205
vehement asseveration that she would *' never set foot
next or nigh the place again, as long as there did be
two straws slanting together in Quin's dirty old rick,"
he confidently expected to see her there once more
without much delay.
Up at the Mackay's struggling farmstead on the side
of Knockrinkin, Mrs. Hugh found things dull enough.
Internally the house was incommodious and crowded
to uncomfortable excess, and its surroundings externally
were desolate and lonesome. Mrs. Hugh remarked
discontentedly that if the inside and outside of it were
mixed together, they'd be better off, anyway, for room
to turn round in, and quiet to hear themselves speak ;
but the operation appeared impracticable. Nor were the
domestic tasks with which Mrs. Mackay provided her
by any means to her taste, and her discontent continued.
One evening, shortly after her arrival, she grew so
tired of hearing the children squabble and squawl, that
as soon as supper was over she slipped out at the back
door into the soft-aired twihght. She proposed to wile
away some time by searching the furzy, many-bouldered
field for mushrooms and blackberries, but neither could
she find, and in her quest she wandered a long way down
the swarded slope, until she came to a low boundary
wall. There she stopped, and stood looking across the
valley towards a wooden patch beyond the village,
which contained her own dwelHng, as well as that of the
hateful Quins. Her wrath against them burned more
fiercely than ever at the reflection that they were clearly
to blame for her present tedious exile. The thought
of going home, she said to herself, she couldn't abide,
by reason of their old rick.
Through the dusk, the darker mass of those trees
206 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
loomed indistinctly like a stain on the dimness, and
Mrs. Hugh fancied that she could make out just the
site of the Quin's rick — the best of bad luck to it. Why
didn't some decent tramp take and sling a spark of a
lighted match into it, and he passing by with his pipe ?
As she strained her eyes towards it, she suddenly saw
on the very spot the glimmer of a golden-red light,
glancing out among the shadowy trees. For a moment
she was startled and half scared, but then she remembered
that it would be nothing more than the harvest moon
rising up big through the mist. Hadn't she seen it
the night before looking the size of ten ? This explana-
tion, at least, half disappointed her, and she said to
herself with dissatisfaction, watching the gleam waver and
brighten, that it looked as red as fire, and she wished to
goodness it was the same as it looked. " There 'd be
nothing aisier than setting the whole concern in a blaze
standing so convanient to the road," she thought, while
she gazed and gazed with tantaUsed vindictiveness
over the low, tumble-down wall.
More than two hours later Mrs. Hugh Lennon came
hurrying in at the Mackay's back-door. By this time
it was dark night outside, and she found only Mrs.
Mackay in the kitchen, for himself and the children
had gone to bed.
" Where in the world have you been all the evenmg ? "
Mrs. Mackay inquired, with some indignation. " Leaving
me with nobody to give me a hand with the childer or
anything, and keeping me now waiting up till every hour
of the night."
" Quin's rick's burnt down," burst out Mrs. Hugh,
who evidentiv had not heard a word of her sister's
QUIN S RICK. 207
remonstrance. She looked excited and exultant ; her
hair was roughened by the wind, and her skirts were
bedraggled with a heavy dew brushed off tussocks and
furze bushes. Mrs. Mackay eyed her with a start of
vague suspicion -
" And who did you get that news from," she said,
** supposing it's true ? "
** Amn't I after seeing it with me own eyes } "
triumphed Mrs. Hugh. " Watching it blazing this
long while dov/n below there by Connolly's fence.
First of all I thought it was only the old moon rising,
that would do us no good ; but sure not at all, glory
be ! Burnt down to the ground it is, every grain of it ;
and serve them very right."
" What took you trapesing off down there, might I
ask ? " inquired Mrs. Mackay, her scrutiny of her sister
growing more mistrustful.
** Is it what took me ? " said Mrs. Hugh. ** I dunno
rightly. Och, let me see ; about getting some mush-
rooms I was, I believe, and blackberries."
" A likely time of night it was to be looking for such
things," said Mrs. Mackay," and a dale of them you got."
*' There isn't a one in it ; all of them's as red as coals
of fire yet, or else as green as grass — sure, what matter ? "
said Mrs. Hugh. '* Anyway, I was took up with
watching the baste of an old rick flaring itself into
flitters ; and a rale good job."
'* A job it is that you're very apt to have raison to
repent of," Mrs. Mackay said severely, " if so be you had
act or part in it."
" Is it me ? " Mrs. Hugh said, and laughed derisively.
" Raving you are, if that's your notion. A great chance
I'd have to be meddling or making with it, and I stuck
208 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
Up here out of reach of everything. I only wisht I'd
been at our own place to get a better sight."
'' How can I tell what chances you have or haven't,
and you after running wild through the country for
better than a couple of hours ? " Mrs. IVIackay said.
" Plenty of time had you for the matter, to be skyting
there and back twice over, if you was up to any sort of
mischief ; let alone going about talking and threatening,
and carrying on, till everybody in the parish is safe to
be of the opinion yourself was contriving it with whoever
done it, supposing you didn't do it all out. And it's
the quare trouble you might very aisy get yourself into
for that same, let me tell you. There was a man at
Joe's place that got three years for being concerned in
setting a light to a bit of an old shed, no size to speak of ;
so, if the next thing we see of you is walking off between
a pair of police constables, yourself you'll have to
thank for it. I only hope poor Hugh won't be blaming me
for letting you out of me sight this evening."
'' Och, good luck to yourself and your polis ! "
Mrs. Hugh said, defiantly. " It's little I care who lit the
old rick, and its little I care what any people's troubling
theirselves to think about it. I'd liefer be after doing
it than not — so there's for you. But what I won't do
is stop here listening to your fool's romancing. So
good-night to you kindly."
With that Mrs. Hugh flounced clattering up the
little steep stairs, and hurled herself like a compressed
earthquake-wave into her bedroom. Mrs. Mackay,
following her, stumped along more slowly. " Goodness
forgive me for saying so," she reflected, ** but Julia's
a terrific woman to have any doings or dealings with.
She's not to hold or bind when she takes the notion,
quin's rick. 309
and the dear knows what she's been up to now ; some-
thing outrageous most hkely. The Lord Chief Justice
himself couldn't control her. Beyond me she is
entirely."
Nevertheless, her warnings were not without effect,
and at their next interview, she found her sister in a
meeker mood.
It was when Mrs. Mackay was in the cowhouse
milking, before breakfast, that Julia appeared to her,
hurrying in with a demeanour full of dismay. " Och,
Bridgie, what will I do ? " she said.
" What's happint you now ? " Bridgie replied, with
a studied want of sympathy.
'* Vm just after looking out of me window," JuHa
said, " and there's two of the polls out of the barracks
below standing at the roadgate, having great discoursing
with Dan Molloy, and about coming into this place
they are. Ne'er a bit of me knows what's bringing
them so outlandish early ; but I'll take me oath, Bridgie
darlint, I'd nought to do, good or bad, with burning the
rick. It might ha' went on fire of itself. Hand nor
part I hadn't in it. So you might be telling them that
to your certain knowledge I was up here the whole time,
and sending them about their business — there's a good
woman."
On further reflection Mrs. Mackay had already
concluded that Julia probably was not guilty of
incendiarism ; still, she considered her sister's alarmed
state a favourable opportunity for a lesson on the
expediency of behaving herself. Therefore she was
careful to give no reassuring response.
*' 'Deed, now, I dunno what to say to it all," she
declared, '* and I couldn't take it on me conscience to
P
210 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
go swear in a court of justice that I knew where you
might be yesterday late. More betoken there was the
bad talk you had out of you about the Quins before you
come here, that they'll be bringing up agin you now,
you may depend. An ugly appearance it has, sure
enough, the two of them coming over at this hour.
As headstrong you are as a cross-tempered jennet ;
but if you'll take my advice you'll keep yourself out of
their sight the best way you can, till I see what they want
with you, and then if it's a warrant they've got, I might
try persuade them to go look for you somewheres else.
That's the best I can do, and, of course, 1 can't say
whether they will or no, but maybe — "
For a wonder Mrs. Hugh did take this advice, and most
promptly, rushing with a suppressed wail out of the
cowhouse and into a shed close by, where she crouched
behind a heap of hay, the first hiding-place that presented
itself to her in her panic. She had spent a great part
of the past night in meditation on her sister's alarming
statements ; and now the ominous arrival of the police
put a finishing touch to her fright. How was she to
escape from them, or to exculpate herself ? Bridgie
evidently either could or would do little or nothing.
At this dreadful crisis in her affairs her thoughts turned
longingly towards her own house down below, where
there was Hugh, poor man, who would certainly have,
somehow, prevented her from being dragged off to
Athmoran gaol, even if he did believe her to have
burnt the rick. Through the dusty shed window
she saw two dark, flat-capped, short-caped figures
sauntering up to the front door, whereupon with a sudden
desperate impulse, she stole out, and fled down the cart-
track along which they had just come. Getting a good
QUIN's rick. 211
Start of them, she said to herself, she might be at home
again with Hugh before they could overtake her — and
one of them, she added, as fat as a prize pig.
As Mrs. Hugh ran most of the road's two long miles,
she was considerably out of breath when she came
round a turn which brought into view an expected and
an unexpected object. The one was Hugh walking out
of his own gate, the other Quin's rick, still rearing its
gHstening yellow ridge into the sunshine.
'' Well, now, Julia woman, and is it yourself ? '*
Hugh said, as she darted across the road to him.
" What's took you to be tearing along at that rate, and
without so much as a shawl over your head ? "
" Thinking I was to meet you before this — kilt I am,
running all the way," she said, panting. " And I do
declare there's the big rick in it yet."
Hugh's face fell. *' Whethen now, if it's with the
same old blathers you're come back," he said, in a
disgusted tone, " there was no need for you to be in
any such great hurry."
*' Ne'er a word was I going to say agin it at all," said
his wife, '* and I making sure the constables would
be after me every minyit for burning it down."
" What the mischief put that notion in your head ? "
said Hugh.
" I seen the blaze of a great fire down here last night,"
she said, " and I thought it would be Quin's rick, and
they knowing I had some talk about it."
" Sure 'twas just the big heap of dead branches and
old trunks," said Hugh, " that's lying at the end of the
cow-lane ever since the big wind. It took and went on
fire yesterday evening ; raison good, there was a cartful
of Wexford tinkers went by in the afternoon, and stopped
212 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
to boil their kettle close under it. A fine flare-up it
made, and it as dry as tinder ; but I'd scarce ha' thought
you'd see it that far. Lucky it is the old sticks was fit
for nothing much, unless some poor bodies may be at
a loss for firewood this next winter. Come along in,
Julia, and wet yourself a cup of tay. You'd a right to
be tired trotting about that way. And as for the polis,
bedad, they'd have their own work cut out for them, if
they was to be taking up everybody they heard talking
foolish."
Not long after Mrs. Hugh had finished her cup,
Mrs. Mackay arrived, alighting Hurriedly from a
borrowed seat on a neighbour's car.
" So it's home you ran, Juha," she said, sternly.
** Well, now, I wonder you had that much sense itself.
Looking for you high and low we were, after the polis
had gone, that only come to get the number of our
chickens — counting the feathers on them next, I suppose
they'll be — and all romancing it was about anything
happening the rick. But frightened I was out of me
wits, till little Joey said he seen you quitting out at the
gate. So then I come along to see what foolish thing
you might be about doing next."
*' She's likely to be doing nothing foolisher than
giving you a cup of tay, Bridgie," Hugh interposed,
soothingly. " And mightn't you be frying us a few
eggs in the pan, Julia ? Old Nan Byrne's just after
bringing in two or three fresh ones she got back of the
Quins' rick, where our bins do be laying."
*' 'Twill be a handy place for finding them in,"
Mrs. Hugh said, blandly. And both her experienced
hearers accepted the remark as a sign that these hostilities
were over.
MAELSHAUGHLINN AT THE FAIR. 213
Maelshaughlinn at the Fair.
From " My Irish Year"
By Padraic Colum.
It was about horses, women, and music, and, in the
mouth of Maelshaughlinn, the narrative had the
exuberance of the fair and the colour of a unique exploit.
I found Maelshaughlinn alone in the house in the grey
dawn succeeding his adventure. " This morning,"
he said, "I'm the lonesome poor fellow without father
or mother, a girl's promise, nor my own little horse."
He closed the door against a reproachful sunrise, and,
sitting on a little three-legged stool, he told me the
story.
Penitentially he began it, but he expanded with the
swelling narrative. *' This time last week," said
Maelshaughlinn, '' I had no thought of parting with my
own little horse. The English wanted beasts for a war,
and the farmers about here were coining money out of
horseflesh. It seemed that the buyers were under a
pledge not to refuse anything in the shape of a horse,
and so the farmers made horses out of the sweepings of
the knackers' yards, and took horses out of ha'penny
lucky-bags and sold them to the English. Yesterday
morning I took out my own little beast and faced for
Arvach Fair. I met the dealer on the road. He was an
Englishman, and above all nations on the face of the
earth, the English are the easiest to deal with in regard
of horses. I tendered him the price — it was an honest
price, but none of our own people would have taken
the offer in any reasonable way. An Irishman would have
214 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
cursed into his hat, so that he might shake the curses
out over my head. The EngHshman took on to consider
it, and my heart went threshing my ribs. Then he gave
me my price, paid me in hard weighty, golden sovereigns
and went away, taking the Httle horse w^ith him.
" I sat down on the side of a ditch to take a breath.
Now you'll say that I ought to have gone back to the
work, and I'll say that I agree with you. But no man
can be wise at all times. Anyway, I was sitting on a
ditch, with a lark singing over every foot of ground,
and nothing before me but the glory of the day. A girl
came along the road, and, on my soul, I never saw a
girl walking so finely. * She'll be a head above every
girl in the fair,' said I, * and may God keep the brightness
on her head.' ' God save you, MaelshaughHnn,'
said the girl. ' God save you, my jewel,' said I. I
stood up to look after her, for a fine woman, walking
finely, is above all the sights that man ever saw. Then
a few lads passed, whistling and swinging their sticks.
* God give you a good day,' said the lads. ' God give
you luck boys,' said I. And there was I, swinging my
stick after the lads, and heading for the fair.
" * Never go into a fair where you've no business.'
That's an oul' saying and a wise saying, but never
forget that neither man nor immortal can be wise at
all times. Satan fell from heaven, Adam was cast out
of Paradise, and even your Uncle broke his pledge.
'* When I came into the fair there was a fiddler playing
behind a tinker's cart. I had a shilling to spend in
the town, and so I went into Flynn's and asked for a
cordial. A few most respectable men came in then,
and I asked them to take a treat from me. Well, one
drank, and another drank, and then Rose Ileflfernan
MAELSHAUGHLINN AT THE FAIR. 21 5
came into the shop with her brother. Young Heffernan
sent the glasses round, and then I asked Rose to take a
glass of wine, and I put down a sovereign on the counter.
The fiddler was coming down the street, and I sent a
young lad out to him with silver. I stood for a while
talking with Rose, and I heard the word go round the
shop concerning myself. It was soon settled that I had
got a legacy. The people there never heard of any
legacies except American legacies, and so they put my
fortune down to an uncle who had died, they thought,
in the States. Now, I didn't want Rose to think that
my money was a common legacy out of the States, so by
half-words I gave them to understand that I had got
my fortune out of Mexico. Mind you, I wasn't far out
when I spoke of Mexico, for I had a grand-uncle who
went out there, and his picture is in the house this
present minute.
" Well, after the talk of a Mexican legacy went round,
I couldn't take any treats from the people, and I asked
everyone to drink again. I think the crowds of the
world stood before Flynn's counter. A big Connachtman
held up a Mexican dollar, and I took it out of his hand
and gave it to Rose Heffernan. I paid him for it, too,
and it comes into my mind now, that I paid him for it
twice. ^
*' There's not, on the track of the sun, a place to
come near Arvach on the day of a fair. A man came
along leading a black horse, and the size of the horse
and the eyes of the horse would terrify you. There was
a drift of sheep going by, and the fleece of each was worth
gold. There were tinkers with their carts of shining tins,
as ugly and quarrelsome fellows as ever beat each other
to death in a ditch, and there were the powerful men,
2l6 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
with the tight mouths, and the eyes that could judge a
beast, and the dark, handsome women from the
mountains. To crown all, a piper came into the town
by the other end, and his music was enough to put the
blood like a mill-race through your heart. The music
of the piper, I think, would have made the beasts walk
out of the fair on their hind legs, if the music of the
fiddler didn't charm them to be still. Grace Kennedy
and Sheela Molloy were on the road, and Rose Heffernan
was talking to them. Grace Kennedy has the best
wit and the best discourse of any woman within the four
seas, and she said to the other girls as I came up, ' Faith,
girls, the good of the Mission will be gone from us since
Maelshaughlinn came into the fair, for the young
women must be talking about his coming home from
the sermon.' Sheela Molloy has the softest hair and
the softest eyes of anything you ever saw. She's a
growing girl, with the spice of the devil in her. ' It's
not the best manners,' said I, ' to treat girls to a glass
across the counter, but come into a shop,' said I, ' and
let me pay for your fancy.' Well, I persuaded them
to come into a shop, and I got the girls to make Sheela
ask for a net for her hair. They don't sell these
nets less than by the dozen, so I bought a
dozen rets for Sheela's hair. I bought ear-rings and
brooches, dream-books and fortune books, buckles,
and combs, and I thought I had spent no more money
than I'd thank you for picking up off the floor. A
tinker woman came in and offered to tell the girls their
fortunes, and I had to cross her hand with silver.
" I came out on the street after that, and took a few
turns through the fair. The noise and the crowd were
getting on my mind, and I couldn't think, with any
MAELSHAUGHLINN AT THE FAIR. 217
satisfaction, so I went into Mrs. Molloy's, and sat for
a while in the snug. I had peace and quiet there, and
I began to plan out what I would do with my money.
1 had a notion of going into Clooney on Tuesday, and
buying a few sheep to put on my little fields, and of
taking a good craftsman home from the fair, a man who
could put the fine thatch on my little house. I made
up my mind to have the doors and windows shining
with paint, to plant a few trees before the door, and to
have a growing calf going before the house. In a while,
I thought, I could have another little horse to be my
comfort and consolation. I wasn't drinking anything
heaver than ginger ale, so I thought the whole thing
out quietly. After a while I got up, bid good-bye to
Mrs. MoUoy, and stood at the door to watch the fair.
*' There was a man just before me with a pea and
thimble, and I never saw a trick-of-the-loop with less
sense of the game. He was winning money right and
left, but that was because the young fellows were before
him like motherless calves. Just to expose the man
I put down a few pence on the board. In a short
time I had fleeced my showman. He took up his board
and went away, leaving me shillings the winner.
** I stood on th edge of the pavement wondering
what I could do that would be the beating of the things
I had done already. By this time the fiddler and the
piper were drawing nigh to each other, and there was a
musician to the right of me and a musician to the left
of me. I sent silver to each, and told them to cease
playing as I had something to say. I got up on a cart
and shook my hat to get silence. I said, ' I'm going
to bid the musicians play in the market square, and the
man who gets the best v^^orth out of his instrument will get
2l8 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
a prize from me.' The words were no sooner out of
my mouth than men, women and children made for
the market square like two-year-olds let loose.
" You'd like the looks of the fiddler, but the piper
was a black-avis'd fellow that kept a troop of tinkers
about him. It was the piper who said, * Master, what's
the prize to be ? ' Before I had time to think, the
fiddler was up and talking. ' He's of the oul' ancient
race,' said the fiddler, * and he'll give the prizes that the
Irish nobility gave to the musicians — a calf, the finest
calf in the fair, a white calf, with skin as soft as the fine
mist on the ground, a calf that gentle that the smoothest
field under him would look as rough as a bog.' And
the fiddler was that lifted out of himself that he nearly
lept over a cart. Somebody pushed in a young calf,
and then I sat down on a stone, for there was no use in
saying anything or trying to hear anything after that.
The fiddler played first, and I was nearly taken out
of my trouble when I heard him, for he was a real man
of art, and he played as if he were playing before a king,
with the light of heaven on his face. The piper was
spending his silver on the tinkers, and they were all
deep in drink when he began to play. At the first sound
of the pipes an old tinker-woman fell into a trance.
It was powerful, but the men had to tie him up with a
straw rope, else the horses would have kicked the slates
off the market-house roof. Nobody was quiet after
that. There were a thousand men before me offering
to sell me ten thousand calves, each calf whiter than the
one before. There was one party round the fiddler
and another party round the piper. I think it was the
fiddler that won ; anyway, he had the strongest backing,
for they hoisted the calf on to a cart, and they put the
MAELSHAUGHLINN AT THE FAIR. 219
fiddler beside it, and tlie two - of them would have
got out of the crowd, only the tinkers cut the traces
of the yoke. I was saved by a few hardy men, who
carried me through the market-house and into Flynn's by
a back way, and there I paid for the calf.
" When I came out of Flynn's the people were going
home quiet enough. I got a Uft on Fardorrougha's
yoke, and everybody, I think, wanted me to come to
Clooney on Tuesday next. I think I'd have got out of
Arvach with safety, only a dead-drunk tinker wakened
up and knew me, and he gave a yell that brought the
piper hot-foot after me. First of all, the piper cursed me.
He had a bad tongue, and he put on me the blackest,
bitterest curses you ever heard in your life. Then
he Hfted up the pipes, and he gave a blast that went
through me like a spear of ice.
'* The man that sold me the calf gave me a luck-penny
back, and that's all the money I brought out of Arvach
fair.
*' Never go into the fair where you have no business."
220 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
The Rev. J. J. Meldon and
the Chief Secretary.
From *' Spanish Gold''
By George A. Birmingham (1865 — ).
The Chief Secretary lay back in Higginbotham's
hammock-chair. There was a frown on his face. His
sense of personal dignity was outraged by the story he
had just heard. He had not been very long Chief
Secretary of Ireland, and, though not without a sense
of humour, he took himself and his office very seriously.
He came to Ireland intending to do justice and show
mercy. He looked forward to a career of real useful-
ness. He was prepared to be opposed, maligned,
misunderstood, declared capable of every kind of iniquity.
He did not expect to be treated as a fool. He did not
expect that an official in the pay of one of the Government
Boards would assume as a matter of course that he was
a fool and believe any story about him, however intrin-
sically absurd. He failed to imagine any motive for
the telling of such a story. There must, he assumed,
have been a motive, but what it was he could not even
guess.
Meldon entered the hut without knocking at the
door.
*' Mr. Willoughby, I believe," he said, cheerily.
" You must allow me to introduce myself since Higgin-
botham isn't here to do it for me. My name is Meldon,
the Rev. J. J. Meldon, B.A., of T.C.D."
The Chief Secretary intended to rise with dignity
REV. J. J. MELDON AND THE CHIEF SECRETARY. 221
and walk out of the hut. He failed because no one
can rise otherwise than awkwardly out of the depths of
a hammock-chair.
" Don't stir," said Meldon, watching his struggles.
" Please don't stir. I shouldn't dream of taking your
chair. I'll sit on the corner of the table. I'll be quite
comfortable, I assure you. How do you like Inish-
gowlan, now you are here. It's a nice little island,
isn't it ? "
Mr. Willoughby succeeded in getting out of his chair.
He walked across the hut, turned his back on Meldon,
and stared out of the window.
" I came up here to have a chat with you," said
Meldon. '' Perhaps you wouldn't mind turning round ;
I always find it more convenient to talk to a man who
isn't looking the other way. I don't make a point of
it, of course. If you've got into the habit of keeping
your back turned to people, I don't want you to alter
it on my account."
Mr. Willoughby turned round. He seemed to be
on the point of making an angry remark. Meldon faced
him with a bland smile. The look of irritation faded
in Mr. Willoughby's face. He appeared puzzled.
" It's about Higginbotham's bed," said Meldon,
" that I want to speak. It's an excellent bed, I believe,
though I never slept in it myself. But, "
*' If there's anything the matter with the bed," said
Mr. Willoughby severely, '' Mr. Higginbotham should
himself represent the facts to the proper authorities."
" You quite misunderstand me. And, in any case,
Higginbotham can't move in the matter because he
doesn't, at present, know that there's anything wrong
about the bed. By the time he finds out, it will be too
222 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
late to do anything. I simply want to give you a word
of advice. Don't sleep in Higginbotham's bed to-night."
'* I haven't the slightest intention of sleeping in it."
** That's all right. I'm glad you haven't. The fact
is " — Meldon's voice sank almost to a whisper —
" there happens to be a quantity of broken glass in
that bed. I need scarcely tell a man with your experi-
ence of life that broken glass in a bed isn't a thing which
suits everybody. It's all right, of course, if you're used
to it, but I don't suppose you are."
Mr. Willoughby turned, this time towards the door.
There was something in the ingenuous friendliness
of Meldon's face which tempted him to smile. He
caught sight of Higginbotham standing white and
miserable on the threshold. He made a snatch at the
dignity which had nearly escaped him and frowned
severely.
*' I think, Mr. Higginbotham," he said, " that I should
like to take a stroll round the island."
'* Come along," said Meldon. ''I'll show the
sights. You don't mind climbing walls, I hope. You'll
find the place most interesting. Do you care about
babies ? There's a nice little beggar called Michael
Pat. Any one with a taste for babies would take to him
at once. And there's a little girl called Mary Kate,
a great friend of Higginbotham's. She's the grand-
daughter of old Thomas O 'Flaherty Pat. By the way,
how are you going to manage about Thomas O'Flaherty's
bit of land } There's been a lot of trouble over that ? "
Mr. Willoughby sat down again in the hammock-
chair and stared at Meldon.
Of course, it's your affair, not mine," said Meldon.
Still, if 1 can be of any help to you, you've only got
REV. J. J. MELDON AND THE CHIEF SECRETARY. 223
to say SO. I know old O 'Flaherty pretty well, and I
may say without boasting that I have as much influence
with him as any man on the island."
" If I want your assistance I shall ask for it," said
Mr. Willoughby, coldly.
" That's right," said Meldon. " I'll do anything I
can. The great difficulty, of course, is the language.
You don't talk Irish yourself, I suppose. Higgin-
botham tells me he's learning. It's a very difficult
language, highly inflected. I'm not very good at it
myself. I can't carry on a regular business conversa-
tion in it. By the way, what is your opinion of the
Gaelic League ? "
A silence followed. Mr. Willoughby gave no
opinion of the Gaelic League. Meldon sat down again
on the corner of the table and began to swing his legs.
Higginbotham still stood in the doorway. Mr. Wil-
loughby, with a bewildered look on his face, lay back
in the hammock-chair.
'* I see," said Meldon, " that you've sent your yacht
away. That was what made me think you were going
to sleep in Higginbotham's bed. I suppose she'll be
back before night."
" Really " began Mr. Willoughby.
Meldon replied at once to the tone in which the word
was spoken.
" I don't want to be asking questions. If there's
any secret about the matter you're quite right to keep
it to yourself. I quite understand that you Cabinet
Ministers can't always say out ever5rthing that's in your
mind. I only mentioned the steamer because the con-
versation seemed to be languishing. You wouldn't
talk about Thomas O'Flaherty Pat's field, and you
224 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
wouldn't talk about the Gaelic League, though I thought
that would be sure to interest you. Now you won't
talk about the steamer. However, it's quite easy to
get on some other subject. Do you think the weather
will hold up ? The glass has been dropping the last
two days."
Mr. Willoughby struggled out of the hammock-
chair again. He drew himself up to his full height
and squared his shoulders. His face assumed an
expression of rigid determination. He addressed
Higginbotham :
" Will you be so good as to go up to the old man you
spoke of "
'' Thomas O'Flaherty Pat," said Meldon. *' That's
the man he means, you know, Higginbotham."
" And tell him " went on Mr. Willoughby.
" If you're to tell him anything," said Meldon, " don't
forget to take someone with you who understands Irish."
" And tell him," repeated Mr. Willoughby, '' that I
shall expect him here in i-bout an hour to meet Father
Mulcrone."
*' I see," said Meldon. " So that's where the yacht's
gone. You've sent for the priest to talk sense to the
old boy. Well, I dare say you're right, though I think
we could have managed with the help of Mary Kate.
She knows both languages well, and she'd do anything
for me, though she is rather down on Higginbotham.
It's a pity you didn't consult me before sending the
steamer off all the way to Inishmore. However, it
can't be helped now."
Higginbotham departed on his errand and shut the
door of the hut after him. The Chief Secretary turned
to Meldon.
REV. J. J. MELDON AND THE CHIEF SECRETARY. 225
" You've chosen to force your company on me this
afternoon in a most unwarrantable manner."
" I'll go at once if you like," said Meldon. " I only
came up here for your own good, to warn you about the
state of Higginbotham's bed. You ought to be more
grateful to me than you are. It isn't every man who'd
have taken the trouble to come all this way to save a
total stranger from getting his legs cut with broken
glass. However, if you hunt me away, of course, I'll
go. Only, I think, you'll be sorry afterwards if I do.
I may say without vanity that I'm far and away the most
amusing person on this island at present."
" As you are here," said Mr. Willoughby, " I take
the opportunity of asking you what you mean by telling
that outrageous story to Mr. Higginbotham. I'm not
accustomed to having my name used in that way, and,
to speak plainly, I regard it as insolence."
'* You are probably referring to the geological survey
of this island."
" Yes. To your assertion that I employed a man
called Kent to survey this island. That is precisely
what I lefer to."
** Then you ought to have said so plainly at first,
and not have left me to guess at what you were talking
about. Many men couldn't have guessed, and then
we should have been rambling at cross purposes for the
next hour or so without getting any further. Always
try and say plainly what you mean, Mr. Willoughby.
I know it's difficuh, but I think you'll find it pays in the
end. Now that I know what's in your mind, I'll be
very glad to thrash it out with you. You know Higgin-
botham, of course ? "
" Yes."
Q
226 HUMOUW? OF IRISH LIFE.
" Intimately ? "
" I met him this afternoon for the first time."
" Then you can't be said really to know Higgin-
botham. That's a pity, because without a close and
intimate knowledge of Higginbotham, you're not in a
position to understand that geological survey story.
Take my advice and drop the whole subject until you
know Higginbotham better. After spending a few
days on the island in constant intercourse with Higgin-
botham you'll be able to understand the whole thing.
Then you'll appreciate it. In the meanwhile, I'm sure
you won't mind my adding, since we are on the subject,
— and it was you who introduced it — that you ought
not to go leaping to conclusions without a proper know-
ledge of the facts. I said the same thing this morning
to Major Kent, when he insisted that you had come
here to search for buried treasure."
Mr. Willoughby pulled himself together with an effort.
He felt a sense of bewilderment and hopeless con-
fusion. The sensation was familiar. He had
experienced it before in the House of Commons
when the Irish members of both parties asked
questions on the same subject. He knew that his
only chance was to ignore side-issues, however
fascinating, and get back at once to the original point.
" I'm willing," he said, " to listen to any explanation
you have to offer ; but I do not see how Mr. Higgin-
botham's character alters, or can alter, the fact that
you told him what I can only describe as an outrageous
lie."
** The worst thing about you Englishmen is that
you have such blunt minds. You don't appreciate
the lights and shades, the liner nuances, what I may
REV. J. J. MELDON AND THE CHIEF SECRETARY. 227
perhaps describe as the chiaroscuro of things. It's
just the same with my friend Major Kent. By the way,
I ought to apologise for him. He ought to have come
ashore and called upon you this afternoon. It isn't
a want of loyalty which prevented him. He's a strong
Unionist and on principle he respects His Majesty's
Ministers, whatever party they belong to. The fact
is, he was a bit nervous about this geological survey
business. He didn't know exactly how you'd take it.
I told him that you were a reasonable man, and that
you'd see the thing in a proper light, but he v/ouldn't
come."
" Will you kindly tell me what is the proper light in
which to view this extraordinary performance of yours ? "
" Certainly. It will be a little difficult, of course,
when you don't know Higginbotham, but I'll try."
*' Leave Mr. Higginbotham out," said the Chief
Secretary, irritably. " Tell me simply this : Were
you justified in making a statement which you knew
to be a baseless invention } How do you explain the
fact that you told a deliberate — that you didn't tell the
truth ? "
" I've always heard of you as an educated man. I
may assume that you know all about pragmatism."
" I don't."
*' Well, you ought to. It's a most interesting system
of philosophy quite worth your while to study. I'm
sure you'd like it if you understand it. In fact, I expect
you're a pragmatist already without knowing it. Most
of us practical men are."
"I'm waiting for an explanation of the story you
told Mr. Higginbotham."
Quite right. I'm coming to that in a minute.
((
228 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
Don't be impatient. If you'd been familiar with the
pragmatist philosophy it would have saved time. As
you're not — though as Chief Secretary for Ireland I
think you ought to be — I'll have to explain. Prag-
matism may be described as the secularising of the
Ritschlian system of theological thought. You under-
stand the Ritschlian theory of value judgments, of
course ? "
" No, I don't." Mr. Willoughby began to feel very
helpless. It seemed easier to let the tide of this strange
lecture sweep over him than to make any effort to assert
himself.
*' Do you mind if I smoke ? " he said. '' I think I
could listen to your explanation better if I smoked."
He took from his pocket a silver cigar-case.
'* Smoke away," said Meldon. " I don't mind in the
least. In fact, I'll take a cigar from you and smoke, too.
I can't afford cigars myself, but I enjoy them when
they're good. I suppose a Chief Secretary is pretty
well bound to keep decent cigars on account of his
position."
Mr. Willoughby handed over the case. Meldon
selected a cigar and lit it. Then he went on —
" The central position of the pragmatist philosophy
and the Ritschlian theology is that truth and usefulness
are identical."
" Eh ? "
" What that means is this. A thing is true if it turns
out in actual practice to be useful, and false if it turns
out in actual practice to be useless. I daresay that
sounds startling to you at first, but if you think it over
quietly for a while you'll get to see that th.ie's a good
deal in it."
REV. J. J. MELDON AND THE CHIEF SECRETARY. 229
Me' don puffed at his cigar without spe king. He
wished to give Mr. Willoughby an opportunity for
meditation Then he w^ent on —
" The usual illustration — the one you'll find in all the
text-books — is the old puzzle of the monkey on the tree.
A man sees a monkey clinging to the far side of a trunk
of a tree — I never could make out how he did see it,
but that doesn't matter for the purposes of the illustra-
tion. He (the man) determines to go round the tree and
get a better look at the monkey. But the monkey
creeps round the tree so as always to keep the trunk
between him and the man. The question is, whether,
when he has gone round the tree, the man has or has
not gone round the monkey. The older philosophers
simply gave that problem up. They couldn't solve it,
but the pragmatist — "
'' Either you or I," said Mr. Willoughby, feebly,
" must be going mad."
" Your cigar has gone out," said Meldon. " Don't
light it again. There's nothing tastes worse than a
relighted cigar. Take a fresh one. There are still
two in the case and I shall be able to manage along
with one more."
" Would you mind leaving out the monkey on the tree
and getting back to the geological survey story ? "
" Not a bit. If it bores you to hear an explanation
of the pragmatist theory of truth, I won't go on with it.
It was only for your sake I went into it. You can just
take it from me that the test of truth is usefulness.
That's the general theory. Now apply it to this parti-
cular case. The story I told Higginbotham turned out
to be extremely useful — quite as useful as I had any reason
to expect. In fact, I don't see that we could very well
230 HUMOlTRS OF IRISH LIFE.
have got on without it. I can't explain to you just
how it was useful. If I did, I should be giving away-
Major Kent, Sir Charles Buckley, Euseby Langton,
and perhaps old Thomas O 'Flaherty Pat ; but you may
take it that the utiliiy of the story has been demon-
strated."
Mr. Willoughby made an effort to rally. He reminded
himself that he was Cabinet Minister and a great man,
that he had withstood the fieriest eloquence of Members
for Munster constituencies, and survived the most
searching catechisms of the men from Antrim and Down.
He called to mind the fact that he had resolutely said
** No " to at least twenty-five per cent, of the people
w^ho came to him in Dublin Castle seeking to have
jobs perpetrated. He tried to realise the impossibility
of a mere country curate talking him dov/n. He
hardened his heart with the recollection that he was in
the right and the curate utterly in the wrong He sat up
as well as he could in the hammock-chair and said sternly —
" Am I to understand that you regard any Ue as
justifiable if it serves its purpose ? "
" Certainly not," said Meldon ; " you are missing
the whole point. I was afraid you would when you
prevented me from explaining the theory of truth to
you. I never justify lies under any circumstances
whatever. The thing I'm trying to help you grasp is
this : A statement isn't a lie if it proves itself in actual
practice to be useful — it's true. There, now, you've
let that second cigar go out. You'd better light that one
again. I hate to see a man wasting cigar after cigar,
especially when they're good ones."
Mr. Willoughby fumbled with the matches and made
more than one attempt to relight the cigar.
REV. J. J. MELDON AND THE CHIEF SECRETARY. 23 1
'• The reason," Meldon went on, " why I think you're
almost certain to be a pragrnatist is that you're a poH-
tician. You're constantly having to make speeches, of
course ; and in every speech you must, more or less,
say something about Ireland. When you are Chief
Secretary the other fellow, the man in opposition who
wants to be Chief Secretary but isn't, gets up and says
you are telHng a pack of lies. That's not the way he
expresses himself, but it's exactly what he means.
When his turn comes round to be Chief Secretary, and
you are in opposition, you very naturally say that he's
telling lies. Now, that's a very crude way of talking.
You are, both of you, as patriotic and loyal men, doing
your best to say what is really useful. If the things
you say turn out in the end to be useful, why, then, if
you happen to be a pragmatist, they aren't lies."
Mr. Willoughby stuck doggedly to his point. Just
so his countrymen, though beaten by all the rules of
war, have from time to time clung to positions which
they ought to have evacuated.
** A lie," he said, '' is a lie. I don't see that you've
made your case at all."
" I know I haven't, but that's because you insist on
stopping me. If you'll allow me to go back to the man
who went round the tree with the monkey on it "
" Don't do that, I can't bear it."
** Very well. I won't. I suppose we may consider
the matter closed now, and go on to talk of something
else."
'' No. It's not closed," said Mr. Willoughby, with
a fine show of spirited indignation. " I still want to know
why you told Mr. Higginbotham that I sent Major
Kent to m.ake a geological survey of this island. It's
232 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
all very well to talk as you've been doing, but a man
is bound to tell the truth and not to deceive innocent
people."
'' Look here, Mr. Willoughby," said Meldon, ** I've
sat and listened to you calling me a liar half-a-dozen
times, and I havn't turned a hair. I'm not a man
with remarkable self-control, and I appreciate your
point of view. You are irritated because you think
you are not being treated with proper respect. You
assert what you are pleased to call your dignity, by
trying to prove that I am a liar. I've stood it from you
so far, but I'm not bound to stand it any longer, and I
won't. It doesn't suit you one bit to take up that high
and mighty moral tone, and I may tell you it doesn't
impress me. I'm not the British Public, and that bluff
honesty pose isn't one I admire. All these platitudes about
lies being lies simply run off my skin. I know that your
own game of politics couldn't be played for a single
hour without what you choose to describe as deceiving
innocent people. Mind you, I'm not blaming you in
the least. I quite give in that you can't always be
blabbing out the exact literal truth about everything.
Things couldn't go on if you did. All I say is, that,
being in the line of life you are, you ought not to set
yourself up as a model of every kind of integrity and come
out here to an island, which, so far as I know, nobody ever
invited you to visit, and talk ideal morality to me in the
way you've been doing. Hullo ! here's Iligginbotham
back again. I wonder if he has brought Thomas
O'Flaherty Pat with him. You'll be interested in
seeing that old man, even if you can't speak to him."
Higginbotham started as he entered the hut. He did
not expect to find Meldon there. He was surprised
REV. J. J. MELDON AND THE CHIEF SECRETARY. 233
to see Mr. Willoughby crumpled up, crushed, cowed
in the depths of the hammock-chair, while Meldon,
cheerful and triumphant, sat on the edge of the table
swinging his legs and smoking a cigar.
" You'd better get that oil stove of yours lit, Higgin-
botham," said Meldon. " The Chief Secretary is
dying for a cup of tea. You'd like some tea, wouldn't
you, Mr Willoughby ? "
" I would. I feel as if I wanted some tea. You
won't say that I'm posing for the British Public if I
drink tea, will you ? "
. It was Meldon who lit the stove, and busied himself
with the cups and saucers. Higginbotham was too
much astonished to assist.
" There's no water in your kettle," said Meldon.
" I'd better run across to the well and get some. Or
I'll go to Michael Pat's mother and get some hot. That
will save time. When I'm there I'll collar a loaf of
soda-bread and some butter if I can. I happen to know
that she has some fresh butter because I helped her to
make it."
Mr. Willoughby rallied a little when the door closed
behind Meldon.
" Your friend," he said to Higginbotham," seems to
me to be a most remarkable man."
" He is. In college we always believed that if only
he'd give his mind to it and taken some interest in his
work, he could have done anything."
" I haven't the sUghtest doubt of it. He has given me
a talking to this afternoon such as I haven't had since
I left school— not since I left the nursery. Did you
ever read a book on pragmatism ? "
" No."
234 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
" You don't happen to know the name of the best
book on the subject ? "
" No, bu I'm sure that Medon — "
" Don't," said Mr. Willoughby. *' I'd rather not
start him on the subject again. Have you any cigars ?
I want one badly. I got no good of the two I half
smoked while he was here."
" I'm afraid not. But your own cigar-case has one
in it. It's on the table."
" I can't smoke that one. To put it plainly, I daren't.
Your friend Meldon said he might want it. I'd be afraid
to face him if it was gone."
" But it's your own cigar ! Why should Meldon "
** It's not my cigar. Nothing in the world is mine
any more, not even my mind, or my morality, or my
self-respect is my own. Mr. Meldon has taken them
from me, and orn them in pieces before my eyes. He
has left me ; nervous wreck of a man I once was. Did
you ay he was a parson ? "
" Yes. He's curate of Ballymoy."
" Thank God, I don't live in that parish ! I should
be hypnotised into going to church every time he
preached, and then . Hush ! Can he be coming
back already ? I believe he is. No other man would
whistle as loud as that. If he begins to illtreat me
again, Mr Higginbotham, I hope you'll try and drag
him off. 1 can't stand much more.
OLD TUMMUS AND THE BATTLE OF SCARVA. 235
Old Tummus and the Battle
of Scarva.
From " Lady Anne's Walk:'
By Eleanor Alexander.
I found old Tummus scuffling Lady Anne's walk ;
that is to say, he was busy looking pensively at the weeds
as he leaned on his hoe. He never suddenly pretends
to be at work when he is not at work, but always retains
the same calm dignity of carriage. He too frankly
despises his employers to admit that either his occasional
lapses into action, or his more frequent attitude
of storing his reserve force are any concern of theirs.
Gathering that he was graciously inclined for
conversation by a not unfriendly glance which he cast
in my direction after he had spat on the ground, I
settled myself to listen.
'' Do ye know what I'm goin' te tell ye ? "
With this he generally prefaces his remarks. It is,
however, merely rhetorical. He does not expect an
answer ; unless one were at least a minor prophet
it would be impossible to give one, except in the negative.
" Do ye know what I'm goin' te tell ye ?" he repeated,
gently, raising a weed with his hoe into what looked like
a sitting position, where he held it as if he were supporting
it in bed to receive its last communion. *' There's not
a hair's differ betwixt onny two weemen.' I was
speechless, and he continued : " There is thon boy o'
mine, and though I say it that shouldn't, he's a fine
boy, so he is, and no ways blate, and as brave a
236 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
boy as you'd wish for te see. From the time he was
six year old he was that old-fashioned he wouldn't go
to church without his boots was right jergers (creakers)
that ye'd hear all over the church when he cum in a wee
bit late : and he cud say off all the responses as bowld as
brass. Did I no' learn him his releegion mesel, and bid
him foUer after him that has gone before ? '
A solemn pause seemed only appropriate here, though
I had my doubts.
" But whiles he tuk te coUoque-in' with the wee
fellers round the corner there in Irish street. That's so.
But I soon quet him o' that. Says I te him : '' Do ye
know what I'm goin' te tell ye ? Me heart's broke with
ye, so it is. I'll have no colloque-in' from onny boy
o' mine, so I won't. Ye'll have no traffickin', no, nor
passin' o' the time o' day with them that's not yer own
sort, and that differs from the Reverend Crampsey ;
him and me and Johnston of Ballykilbeg, and the Great
Example.' What's that ye say? Who is the Great
Example ? Now ! Now ! Who wud it be, but him
on the white horse ? "
This is not, as might be supposed, from the
vision of the Apocalypse, but is easily recognised
by those who are in the know, as an allusion to William
of Orange, of " Glorious, pious, amd immortal memory,"
who is always represented on a white horse.
" But," I argued, *' he did traffic with those who
disagreed with him ; it is even said, you know, that
when he came to T^ngland he subsidised the Pope."
Tummus appeared not to have heard this remark.
" As I was sayin', thon boy o' mine, he has a mind
to get hisself marrict. So says I te him, ' There's not
(<
((
OLD TUMMUS AND THE BATTLE OF SCARVA. 237
a hair's differ between onny two o' them.' Ye see, it's
this way. He has the two o' them courted down to
the askin', and he's afeard that if he asks the wan he'll
think long for the other, or maybe he'll think he'd
sooner have had the other."
'' He is not behaving well. He can't, of course,
marry them both, and yet he has raised hopes which
must in one case be disappointed ; he might break the
poor girl's heart."
Break her heart ! Hoot. Blethers. Heart is it ? "
But," I interjected again, merely, of course, to
make conversation, for I have many times and oft
heard his opinion on the subject, and it is not favourable,
" Don't you believe in love ? "
Tummus had been twice married. His first wife
was called Peggy-Anne, and only lived a year after
her marriage. I try to persuade myself and him that
this was the romance of his life, but it is up-hill work.
The present Mrs. Thomas, who has been his wife for
five-and-twenty- years, he always speaks of as " Thon
widdy wumman." She was the rehct of one John
M'Adam, whose simple annal in this world seems to
be, that he was the first husband of Tummus 's second
wife ; for the other world, his successor considers that,
owing to his theological views, he is certainly — well —
not in heaven.
'' Do I no beUeve in love ? Why, wumman, dear,
have I no seen it mesel ? Sure, and I had an uncle o'
me own, me own mother's brother, that was tuk that way,
and what did he do ? but went and got the whole o'
Paul's wickedest Epistle off, so he did, and offered for
te tell it till her, all at the wan sitting. Boys, oh ! but
he was the quare poet I And she got marriet on a boy
238 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
out o' Ballinahone on him, and do ye know what I'm
goin' te tell ye ? he tuk to the hills and never did a
hand's turn after."
" Surely, Thomas, ycu have been in love yourself, too,
now, with Peggy-Anne, and your present wife ?
When you asked them to marry you, you had to pretend
it anyhow. What did you say to them ? "
" Is it me ? Well it was this way ; me and Peggy-
Anne, we went the pair of us to Scarva on the twelfth.
Did ever ye hear tell of the battle o' Scarva ? 1 mind
it well. I had a wheen o' cloves in me pocket, and Peggy-
Anne she had a wee screw o' pepperment sweeties.
Says I te her :
" * Peggy-Anne, wud ye conceit a clove ? '
" And says she te me :
*' ' Tak a sweetie, Tummus !
" And I went in the mornin' and giv in the names
till the Reverend Crampsey ; so I did."
After all, there are many worse ways of concluding
the business, and few that would be more full of symbol.
There is the mutual help ; the inevitable " give and
take " of married life ; the strength and pungency of
the manly clove ; the melting sweetness of the maidenly
peppermint ; two souls united in the savour of both
scents combined rising to heaven on the summer air.
I could not recall in the tale or history, or the varied
reminiscences of married friends on this interesting
topic, any manner of '* proposal " more delicate and
less ostentatious. Tummus graciously accepted my
congratulations on his elegant good taste, but when I
inquired about the preliminaries of his second alliance,
he only shook his head and muttered, " Them widdies !
Them widdies ! "
OLD TUMMUS AND THE BATTLE OF SCARVA. 239
In this there is almost a suggestion that, like Captain
Cuttle, he was taken at a disadvantage, but one can
scarcely credit it. It seems impossible that he would
not have extricated himself with the inspired dexterity
of a Sherlock Holmes, or the happy resource of a
Stanley Weyman hero, from whatever dilemma.
" As I was sayin'," he resumed, " Did ever ye hear
tell o' the battle o' Scarva ? "
Of course I had heard of it. Who has not heard
of the Oberammergau of the North ? There, in a
gentleman's prettily wooded park, on a large open meadow
sloping down to a clear running brook, is yearly enacted
a veritable Passion Play of the Battle of the Boyne,
** I suppose you have often seen it, Thomas."
" I have that ; many and many's a time. But there
was wan battle that bate all — do ye know what I'm
goin' te tell ye ? I would give a hundred pounds te
see thon agin — so I wud. Boys, oh i it was gran'.
There was me own aunt's nephew was King William,
and him on the top of the beautifullest white horse
ever ye seen, with the mane o' him tied with wee loops
o' braid, or'nge and bleue. Himself had an or'nge
scarf e on him and bleue feathers te his hat, just like
one o' them for'n Princes, and his Field-marshal and
Ginerals just the same, only not so gran'. And King
James, they had a fine young horse for him that Dan
Cooke bought off the Reverend Captain Jack n Moy
Fair But he set his ears back, and let a squeal out o'
him, nd got on with quare maneuvers whenever Andy
V/ilson came near him, and Andy — that was King
James — he says :
** * I am no used with horse exercise, and I misdoubt
thon baste/
s^^
240
HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
* * But,' says Dan Cooke, ' up with ye sonny, and
no more about it.'
" Well, with that Andy turned about, and, says he,
* I'll ride no blooded horse out of Moy. I'd sooner
travel. I'll ride none, without I have me own mare
that drawed me and hersel' and the childer out of
Poyntzpass~so I won't.'
" With that the Field-marshals and the Gincrals
and the Aiden-scampses away with them, and they found
Andy's mare takin' her piece by the roadside, and not
agreeable to comin' forbye. Howsumever she was coaxed
along with an Aiden-scamp sootherin' her and compli-
mentin' her : ' There's a daughter, and a wee jooel,' and a
Field-marshal holdin' a bite o' grass in the front o' her,
and a Gineral persuadin' her in the rare ; and they got
King James ontil her, and the two armies was drawed
up on the banks o' the wee burn that stood for the Boyne
Watter. Then they began, quite friendly and agreeable-
ike, temptin' other.
" ' Come on, ye thirsty tyrant ye,' says William.
" * Come on, ye low, mane usurper,' says James.
** * Come on ye heedious enemy to ceevil and releegious
liberty, ye,' says William.
" ' Come on, ye glorious, pious, and immortal
humbug, ye,' says James.
'' * Come on ye Glad-stone ye, and Parnell, and Judas,
and Koran— and Dathan— and Abiram,' says William,
" * Come on ye onnatural parasite ye, and Crumwell,
and Shadrach— and Mesech— and Abednego,' says
James.
*' ' Come on ye auld Puseyite, and no more about it,'
says William. With that he joined to go forrard, and
James he should have come forrard fornenst him, but
OLD TUMMUS AND THE BATTLE OF SCARVA. 24 1
Andy's mare, she just planted the fore-feet o' her and
stud there the same as she was growed in the ground.
With that there was two of the Aiden-scampses come
on, and of all the pullin' and hauHn* ! But de'il a toe
would she budge, and all the boys began larfin', so they
did, and William says, says he :
" ' Come on till I pull the neck out o' ye. . . Come
on, me brave boy. . . . Fetch her a clip on the lug.
Hit her a skelp behint. Jab her with yer knee, man
alive. Och, come on, ye Bap, ye.'
*' Well, the skin o' a pig couldn't stand that, and
Andy, he was middlin' smart at a repartee, so ' Bap
yersel',' says he, and with that he let a growl out o'
him ye might have beared te Portadown. Ye never
beared the like, nor what's more, Andy Wilson's mare,
she never beared the like, and she just made the wan
lep and landed in the strame fornenst William ; then
James he tuk a howlt o' WiUiam, and ' Bap yersel',
says he ; and with that he coped him off his gran'
white horse, and he drooked him in the watter.
" Then there was the fine play, and the best divarsion
ever ye seen. Some they were for William, and some
they were for James, and every wan he up with his
fut or his fist, or onny other weepon that come convenient,
and the boys they were all bloodin' other, and murder
and all sorts."
" I thought you were all friends at Scarva ? "
" And so we were — just friends fightin' through other."
" Was any one hurt } "
" Was anyone hurted ? Sure, they were just trailin'
theirselves oflF the ground. Ye wud have died larfin'.
There's Jimmy Hanlon was never his own man since,
and I had me nose broke on me — I find it yet — and some
242 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
says there was a wee girl from Tanderagee got herself
killed."
" What became of William ? "
" He was clean drowned."
" And King James ? "
" He's in hell with Johnny M'Adam."
I tried to explain that I had not meant the King
himself, but the actor in whom nature had been stronger
than dramatic instinct, but Tummus either could not
or would not dissociate the two. He really was not
attending to me : I had perceived for some time that
his thoughts were wandering far from our conversation.
Suddenly a spasm convulsed his features. With one
hand he raised his hoe in the air like a tomahawk,
disregarding the weed of his afternoon's toil, which
was left limp and helpless on the gravel ; with the
other he grasped his side. I feared the old man was
going to have a fit, but it was only uncontrollable laughter
at some joke as yet hidden from me.
" Well, do ye know what I'm goin' te tell ye .? I
wud just allow WilUam was a middUn' polished boy,
so he was. He subsidised the Pope o' Rome, did he ?
Man, oh 1 Do ye tell me that ? That bates all, and him
goin' to take just twiste what he let on."
Old Tummus unquestionably was absolutely sober
at the beginning of our interview, and had remained
" dry " during it, but he now became gradually intoxi-
cated with what had appeared to him to be his hero's
splendid cunning. The thought of a genius which could
overreach someone else in a bargain rose to his brain
like champagne. He swayed on his feet ; he ran his
words into each other ; he assumed a gaiety of manner
and expression quite unusual to him.
OLD TUMMUS AND THE BATTLE OF SCARVA. 243
I watched him lurch down the walk, and then pause
on the bridge. He supported himself by the wooden
railing, which creaked as he swayed to and fro, and
addressed the stream and the trees —
" Do ye know what Fm goin' to tell ye ? I wud just
allow he was a middlin' polished boy — so he was."
244 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
The Game Leg.
From " The Furry Farm''
By K. F. Purdon.
Heffernan's house at the Furry Farm stood very back-
wards from the roadside, hiding itself, you'd really
think, from anyone that might be happening by. i\s
if it need do that ! Why, there was no more snug,
well-looked-after place in the whole of Ardenoo than
Heffernan's always was, with full and plenty in it for
man and beast, though it wasn't to say too tasty-looking.
And it was terrible lonesome. There wasn't a neigh-
bour within the bawl of an ass of it. Heffernan, of
course, had always been used to it, so that he didn't
so much mind ; still, he missed Art, after he going
off with little Rosy Rafferty. That was nigh hand
as bad upon him as losing the girl herself. He had got
to depend on Art for every hand's turn, a thing that
left him worse, when he was without him. And he
was very slow-going. As long as Julia was there, she
did all, and Heffernan might stand to one side and look
at her. And so he missed her now, more than ever ;
and still he had no wish to see her back, though even to
milk the cows came awkward to him.
He was contending with the work one evening, and the
calves in particular were leaving him distracted ; above
all, a small little white one that he designed for Rosy,
when he'd have her Woman of the House at the Furry
Farm. That calf, I needn't say, was not the pick of
the bunch, but as Mickey thought to himself, a girl
wouldn't know any better than choose a calf by the
THE GAME LEG. 245
colour, and there would be no good wasting anything
of value on her. At all events, it would be " child's
pig and Daddy's bacon " most likely with that calf.
But sure, what matter ! Rosy was never to have any
call to it, or anything else at the Furry Farm.
Those calves were a very sweet lot, so that Mickey
might have been feeling all the pleasure in life, just
watching them, with their soft, little muzzles down in
the warm, sweet milk, snorting with the pure enjoyment.
But Mickey was only grousing to get done, and vexed
at the way the big calves were shoving the little ones
away, and still he couldn't hinder them. Art used to
regulate them very simple by means of a little ash quick
he kept, to slap the forward calves across the face when
they'd get too impudent. But as often as Mickey had
seen him do that, he couldn't do the same. The ash
quick was so close to him that if it had been any nearer
it would have bitten him. Stuck up in a corner of the
bit of ruin that had once been Castle Heffernan it was.
But it might as well have been in America for all the good
it was to Mickey.
" I wish to God I was rid of the whole of yous, this
minute ! " says he to himself, and he with his face all
red and steamy, and the milk slobbering out of the
pail down upon the ground, the way the calves were
butting him about the legs.
That very minute, he heard a sound behind him.
He turned about, and, my dear ! the heart jumped
into his mouth, as he saw a great, immense red face,
just peeping over the wall that shut in his yard from
the boreen. That wall was no more than four feet
high. Wouldn't anyone think it strange to see such a
face, only that far from the ground ! and it with a
246 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
bushy, black beard around it, and big rolling eyes,
and a wide, old hat cocked back upon it ? You'd have
to think it was something " not right " ; an Appearance
or Witchery work of some kind.
But, let alone that, isn't there something very terri-
fying and frightful in finding yourself being watched,
w^hen you think you're alone ; and of all things, by a
man ? The worst of a wild beast wouldn't put the same
bad fear in your heart.
** Good evening, Mr. Heffernan," says the newcomer,
with a grin upon him, free and pleasant ; ** that's a
fine lot of calves you have there ! "
Heffernan was so put about that he made no answer,
and the man went on to say, " Is it that you don't know
me ? Sure, you couldn't forget poor old Hopping
Hughie as simple as that ! "
And he gave himself a shove, so that he raised his
shoulders above the wall. A brave, big pair they were,
too, but they were only just held up on crutches.
Hughie could balance himself upon them, and get
about, as handy as you please. But he was dead of his
two legs.
" Oh, Hughie . . . ! " says Heffernan, pretty stiff ;
" well, and what do you want here ? "
*' Och, nothing in hfe. . . ."
*' Take it, then, and let you be off about your
business ! " says Mickey, as quick as a flash, for once ;
and he that was proud when he had it said I
Hughie had a most notorious tongue himself, but he
knew when to keep it quiet, and he thought it as good to
appear very mild and down in himself now, so he said,
** My business ! sure, what word is that to say to a poor
old fellah on clirutches 1 Not like you, Mr. Heffernan,
THE GAME LEG. 247
that'll be off to the fair of Balloch to-morrow morning,
bright and early, with them grand fine calves of yours.
The price they'll go ! There isn't the peel of them in
Ardenoo 1 "
" Do you tell me that ? " says Heffernan, that a child
could cheat.
" That's what they do be telling me," says Hughie.
He could build a nest in your ear, he was that cunning.
He thought he saw a chance of getting to the fair himself,
and a night's lodging as well, if he managed right.
" I wish to goodness I could get them there, so,"
says Mickey, " and hasn't one to drive them for me ! "
" Would I do ? " says Hughie.
Heffernan looked at him up and down.
" Sure you'd not be able 1 "
" Whoo ! me not able ? Maybe I'm like the singed
cat, better than I look ! I'm slow, but fair and easy
goes far in a day ! Never you fear but I'll get your
calves to Balloch the same way the boy ate the cake,
very handy . . . ."
The simplest thing would have been for Heffernan
to take and drive the calves himself. But he never had
the fashion of doing such things. Anyway, it wouldn't
answer for the people to see a man with a good means of
his own, like Mickey, turning drover that way.
So he thought again, while Hughie watched him, and
then says he, " You'll have to be off out of this before
the stars have left the sky ! "
" And why wouldn't I ? " says Hughie ; *' only give
me a bit of supper and a shakedown for the night, the
way I'll be fresh for the road to-morrow."
Hughie was looking to be put sitting down in the
kitchen alongside Heffernan himself, and to have the
248 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
settle-bed foreninst the fire to sleep in. But he had to
content himself with the straw in the barn and a plateful
carried out to him. Queer and slow-going Heffernan
might be, but he wasn't thinking of having the likes of
Hopping Hughie in his chimney-corner, where he had
often thought to see little Rosy Rafferty and she smiling
at him.
Hughie took it all very contented. Gay and happy
he was after his supper, and soon fell asleep on the
straw, with his ragged pockets that empty that the divil
could dance a hornpipe in them and not strike a copper
there ; while Mickey above in bed in his own house,
with his fine farm and all his stock about him, calves and
cows and pigs, not to speak of the money in the old
stocking under the thatch . . . Mickey couldn't
sleep, only worrying, thinking was he right to go to sell
the calves at all ; and to be letting Hughie drive them !
" I had little to do," he thought, " to be letting him in
about the place at all, and couldn't tell what divilment
he might be up to, as soon as he gets me asleep ! Hughie 's
terrible wicked, and as strong as a ditch ! 1 done well
to speak him civil, anyw^ay. But I'll not let them calves
stir one peg out of this with him ! I'd sooner risk
keeping them longer . . . ."
There's the way he was going on, tossing and tumbling
and tormenting himself, as if bed wasn't a place to rest
yourself in and not be raking up annoyances.
So it wasn't till near morning that Mickey dozed off,
and never wakened till it was more than time to be off to
the fair.
Up he jumped and out to stop Hughie. But the yard
was silent and empty. Hughie and the calves were gone.
Mickey was more uneasy than ever.
THE GAME LEG. 249
*' A nice bosthoon I must be," he thought, '' to go
trust my good-looking calves to a k'nat like Hughie !
And he to go off without any breakfast, too . . . ! "
Heffernan was a good warrant to feed man or beast.
But he mightn't have minded about Hughie, that had
plenty of little ways of providing for himself. His
pockets would be like sideboards, the way he would have
them stuck out with meat and eggs, and so on, that he
would be given along the road. Hughie was better fed
than plenty that bestowed food upon him.
Balloch, where the fair is held, is the wildest and most
lonesome place in Ardenoo, with a steep, rough bit of
road leading up to it, very awkward to drive along.
Up this comes Heffernan, on his sidecar, driving his best,
and in a great hurry to know where he would come on
Hughie. He had it laid out in his own mind that sight nor
light of his calves he never would get in this world again.
So it was a great surprise to him to find them there
before him, safe and sound. His heart Hghtened at
that as if a mill-stone was lifted off it.
And the fine appearance there was upon them.
Not a better spot in the fair-green than where Hughie
had them, opposite a drink-tent where the people would
be thronging most ! And it was a choice spot for
Hughie too. Happy and contented he was, his back
against a tree, leaning his weight on one crutch and the
other convenient to his hand.
" So there's where you are," says Hughie, a bit
scornful. Sure it was a foolish remark to pass and the
man there before him, as plain as the nose on your face.
But Hughie was puzzled too by the look of reUef he saw
on Mickey's face. He understood nothing of what
Heffernan was passing through. It's an old saying and
■■■
250 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
a true one, " Them that has the world has care ! '* but
them that hasn't it, what do they know about it ?
While Hughie was turning this over in his mind,
Mickey was throwing an eye upon the calves, and then,
seeing they were all right, he was bandying off with
himself, when Hughie said, " Terrible dry work it is,
driving stock along them dusty roads since the early
morning," and he rubbed the back of his hand across
his mouth with a grin.
At that, Mickey put his hand into his pocket and felt
round about, and then pulled it out empty.
" I'll see you later, Hughie," says he, " I'll not forget
you, never fear ! Just let you wait here till I have the
poor mare attended to that drew me here . . . ."
So he went off to do this, and then into the drink-
tent with him, the way he could be getting a sup himself.
But no sign of he to give anything to Hughie. And
there now is where Mickey made a big mistake.
He met up with a couple or three that he was
acquainted with in the tent, and they began to talk of
this thing and that thing, so that it was a gay little while
before Mickey came out again.
When he did : '* What sort is the drink in there, Mr.
Heffernan ? " says Hughie.
Now what Mickey had taken at that time was no more
than would warm the cockles of his heart. So he
looked quite pleasant and said, '' Go in yourself, Hughie,
and here's what will enable you to judge it ! "
And he held out a shilling to Hughie.
" A bird never yet flew upon the one wing, Mr.
Heffernan ! " said Hughie, that was looking to get another
shilling, and that would be only his due for driving
the calves.
THE GAME LEG. 25 1
Mickey said nothing one way or the other, only went
off, and left Hughie standing there, holding out his hand
in front of him with the shilling in it, lonesome.
He that was vexed ! He got redder in the face than
ever, and gave out a few curses, till he remembered there
wasn't one to hear him. So he stopped and went into
the tent and I needn't say he got the best value he could
there.
But all the time he was thinking how badly Heffernan
was after treating him, putting him off without enough
to see him through the fair even, let alone with a trifle
in his pockets to help him on his rounds. He began
planning how he could pay out Mickey.
He got himself back to the same spot, near the calves,
to see what would happen. After a time, he saw
Heffernan coming back, and little Barney Maguire with
him. A very decent boy Barney was, quiet and agree-
able ; never too anxious for work, but very knowledg?ible
about how things should be done, from a wake to a
sheep -shearing. Heffernan always liked to have Barney
with him at a fair.
The two of them stood near the calves, ca-^eless-like,
as if they took no interest in them at all.
A dealer came up.
" How much for them calves ? Not that I'm in need
of the like," says he.
** Nobody wants you to take them, so," says Barney,
" but the price is three pounds ... or was it
guineas you're after saying, Mr. Heffernan ?
Heffernan said nothing, and the dealer spoke up very
fierce ; '' Three pounds ! Put thirty shilUngs on them,
and I'll be talking to ye ! "
Mickey again only looked at his adviser, and says
252
HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
Barney, *' Thirty shillings ! 'Tis you that's bidding
wide, this day ! May the Lord forgive you 1 Is it
wanting a present you are of the finest calves in
Ardenoo ? "
Heffernan swelled out with delight at that ; as if
Barney's w^ord could make his calves either better or
worse.
*' Wasn't it fifty-seven and sixpence you're after telling
me you were offered only yesterday, Mr. Heffernan,"
says Barney, '' just for the small ones of the lot ? "
** Och ! I dare say ! don't you ? " says the dealer ;
*' the woman that owns you it was that made you that
bid, to save your word ! "
Poor Mickey ! and he hadn't a woman at all ! The
dealer of course being strange couldn't know that, nor
why Hughie gave a laugh out of him.
But that didn't matter. Mickey took no notice. A
man that's a bit '* thick " escapes many a prod that
another would feel sharp. So in all things you can see
how them that are afflicted are looked after in some little
j^^Y 've don't know.
Tne' deder looked at the calves again.
*' Troth, I'm thinking it's the wrong ones yous have
here ! Yous must have forgotten them fine three-pound
calves at home ! "
And Mickey began looking very anxiously at them, as
he thought maybe he had made some mistake.
" Them calves," says the dealer, slowly, " isn't like
a pretty girl, that everyone will be looking to get ! And,
besides, they're no size ! A terrible small calf they are 1 '*
** Small ! " said Barney, " It's too big they are ! And
if they're little itself, what harm ! Isn't a mouse the
prettiest animal you might ask to see ? "
THE GAME LEG. 253
" Ay, it is," says the dealer, '' but it'll take a power of
mice to stock a farm ! " and off with him in a real passion
— by the way of.
But Barney knew better than to mind. The dealer
came back, and at long last the calves were sold and paid
for. Then the lucky-penny had to be given. Hard-
set Barney was to get Heffernan to do that. In the end
Mickey was so bothered over it that he dropped a shilling
just where Hughie was standing leaning his weight on
the one crutch as usual.
As quick as a flash, he had the other up, and made a
kind of a lurch forward, as if to look for the money. But
he managed to get the second crutch down upon the
shilling, to hide it ; and then he looked round about
the ground as innocent as a child, as if he was striving
his best to find the money for Mickey.
" Where should it be, at all, at all ? " says Mickey ;
" bewitched it should be, to say it's gone like that ! '
And Heffernan, standing there with his m-m '^^li open,
looked as if he had lost all belonging to hi^ trh^^'^^ '^"^
began searching about a good piece off f^
shilling fell. _ Barney, " sure
'' It's not there you'll get it ! " _^ ^^ you lost it I "
you ought always look for a thing
He went over to Hughie. ^ J" -j-^,^ ^^s Mr.
" None of your tricks,^^^^ '• -^ ^p to him I "
Heffernan 's money, and 1/ -^.^ ^ ^^^ ^^^^ ^ould I do,
: Is it me have it ? ^^^^^^^ ^^^^ •, , » says Hughie.
only hand It over tot- ^^^^ ^^^^ the ground.
On the word, b ''^'' ^ . .unima
A y^u A 1 on top of the shilling.
Buttock .nd all as'he was, Barney was qmcker.
254 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
** Sure, you have it there, you vagabone, you !
Give it up, and get off out of this with yourself ! "
And he caught Hughie a cHp on the side of the head that
sent him sprawHng on the broad of his back And there,
right enough, under him, was the shilling.
So Barney picked it up, and for fear of any other
mistake, he handed it to the dealer.
" It's an ugly turn whatever, to be knocking a poor
cripple about that-a-way ! " said the dealer, dropping
the lucky-penny into his pocket.
" Ach, how poor he is, and let him be crippled,
itself ! " says Barney ; *' it's easy seeing you're strange
to Ardenoo, or you'd not be compassionating Hughie
so tender ! "
No more was said then, only in the tent with them
again to wet the bargain. Hughie gathered himself
up. He was in the divil's own temper. Small blame
to him, too ! Let alone the disappointment about the
shiUine , and the knock Barney gave him, the people
^lafe^' ^ '^^S^ ^^ ^^^* ^^ ^^^ liked that as little as
out of^h Ic ^^^'^ think he'd curse down the stars
A«^ -4. ^ >this time, the way he went on.
And It wasn^t-, > i . u j t i ir
much as MickevV""^^ ' '^^"''^ ^^ ""^'^"^ ^^''''^' ^^^^ ^'
mad. He felt he ^f "^^''- ^^ ''^'^^ ^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^"^ ^^
TT^ ^ . , J , .^t pay Heffernan out.
He considered a bit • ^ i i • i ,
« T 1 „ . , „ , hen he gave his leg a slap.
1 have It now ! " he saj ^^ t • ir
TT^ , , J '"■< to himself.
i-le beckoned two youne L ^ u- .u .
Qtri'Tn'r^rv +« 11 1 1 r ^ ^Y^ "P ^^ l^mi, that wcrc
ZTLa f '. °K ^ ,°^ "''■'^^ P'^nts they had there
upon the donkey s back, and getti,!; bad call for them.
Hnil " ''Ti *''='^\.y°"» ^■•^ Sing to-day," ,aid
very dry. You wouldn't care to earn the pKce of a pint ? "
((
<(
THE GAME LEG. 255
" How could we ? " says the boys.
" I'll tell you ! Do you see that car ? " and Hughie
pointed to where Heffernan had left his yoke drawn up,
and the old mare cropping a bit as well as she could,
being tied by the head ; " well, anyone that will pull
the linch-pin out of the wheel, on the far side of the car,
needn't be without tuppence to wet his whistle . . ."
and Hughie gave a rattle to a few coppers he had left in
his pocket.
*' Yous'U have to be smart about it, too," said he,
** or maybe whoever owns that car will have gone off
upon it, afore yous have time to do the primest bit of
fun that ever was seen upon this fair green ! "
Whose is the car ? "
Och, if I know ! " says Hughie ; " but what matter
for that ? One man is as good as another at the bottom
of a ditch ! ay, and better. It will be the height of
divarshin to see the roll-off they'll get below there at
the foot of the hill ..."
" Maybe they'd get hurted ! " said the boys.
" Hurted, how-are-ye ! " says Hughie ; " how could
anyone get hurted so simple as that ? I'd be the last
in the world to speak of such a thing in that case ! But
if yous are afraid of doing it . . ."
" Afraid 1 that's queer talk to be having ! " says one
of them, very stiff, for like all boys, he thought nothing
so bad as to have '' afraid " said to him ; " no, but
we're ready to do as much as the next one 1 "
" I wouldn't doubt yiz ! " said Hughie ; *' h-away
with the two of you, now ! Only mind ! don't let
on a word of this to any sons of man. . ."
Off they went, and Hughie turned his back on them and
the car, and stared at whatever was going on the other
256 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
end of the fair. He hadn't long to wait, before Heffernan
and Barney and the dealer came out of the drink-tent.
Hughie took a look at them out of the corner of his eye.
'' Ah ! " he said to himself, " all 'purty-well-I-thank-
ye ! ' after what they drank inside ! But, wait a bit,
Mickey Heffernan. ..."
The three men went over to where Heffernan 's
car was waiting. The boys were gone. The other two
men helped Mickey to get his yoke ready. Then he
got up, and they shook hands a good many times.
Heffernan chucked at the reins and started off.
Hughie was watching, and when he saw how steadily
the old mare picked her way down the steep boreen,
he began to be afraid he hadn't hit on such a very fine
plan at all. And if Mickey had only had the wit to leave
it all to the poor dumb beast, she might have brought
him home safe enough.
But nothing would to him, only give a shout and a
flourish of the whip, half-way down the hill. The mare
started and gave a jump. She was big and awk'ard,
much like Mickey himself. Still it was no fault of her
that, when she got to the turn, the wheel came off,
and rolled away to one side. Down came the car,
Mickey fell off, and there he lay, till some people that saw
what was going on ran down the hill after him, and got
the mare on to her feet, and not a scratch on her.
But poor Mickey ! It was easy to see with half an
eye that he was badly hurt.
*' Someone will have to drive him home, whatever,"
said Barney, coming up the hill to look for more help,
after doing his best to get Mickey to stand up ; and sure,
how was he to do that, upon a broken leg ? ** A poor
thing it is, too, to see how a thing of the kind could occur
C( )
THE GAME LEG. 257
SO simple ! and a decent man like Heffernin to be
nigh hand killed. ..."
Deed, and he is a decent man ! " said Hughie ;
and why wouldn't he ? I'd be a decent man meself
if I had the Furry Farm and it stocked. . . ."
'' He's in a poor way now, in any case," said Barney.
" I doubt will he ever get over this rightly ! That's apt
to be a leg to him all his life ! "
"Well, and so, itself!" said Hughie; '* haven't
I two of them lame legs ? and who thinks to pity
Hughie ? "
*' It's another matter altogether, with a man like Mr.
Heffernan," said Barney ; " what does the like of you
miss, by not being able to get about, compared with a
man that might spend his time walking a-through his
cattle, and looking at his crops growing, every day in the
week ? "
'' To be sure, he could be doing all that ! " said
Hughie, *' but when a thing of this kind happens out
so awkward, it's the will of God, and the will of man
can't abate that 1 "
258 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
Trinket's Colt.
From " Some Experiences o] an Irish R.M.'
By E. (E. Somerville and Martin Ross.
It was petty sessions day in Skebawn, a cold, grey
day in February. A case of trespass had dragged its
burden of cross -summonses and cross-swearing far into
the afternoon, and when I left the bench my head was
singing from the bellowings of the attorneys, and the
smell of their clients was heavy upon my palate.
The streets still testified to the fact that it was market
day, and I evaded with difficulty the sinuous course
of carts full of soddenly screwed people, and steered
an equally devious one for myself among the groups
anchored round the doors of the public-houses.
Skebawn possesses, among its legion of public-houses,
one establishment which timorously, and almost imper-
ceptibly, proffers tea to the thirsty. I turned in there,
as was my custom on court days, and found the little
dingy den, known as the Ladies' Coffee Room, in the
occupancy of my friend Mr. Florence McCarthy Knox,
who was drinking strong tea and eating buns with
serious simplicity. It was a first and quite unexpected
glimpse of that domesticity that has now become a marked
feature in his character.
" You're the very man I wanted to see," I said, as
I sat down beside him at the oilcloth covered table ; "a
man I know in England who is not much of a judge of
character has asked me to buy him a four-year-old
down here, and as I should rather be stuck by a friend
than a dealer, I wish you'd take over the job."
trinket's colt. 259
Flurry poured himself out another cup of tea, and
dropped three lumps of sugar into it in silence.
Finally he said, " There isn't a four-year-old in this
country that I'd be seen dead with at a pig fair."
This was discouraging, from the premier authority
on horseflesh in the district.
" But it isn't six weeks since you told me you had the
finest filly in your stables that was ever foaled in the
County Cork," I protested ; " what's wrong with her ? "
'' Oh, is it that filly ? " said Mr. Knox, with a lenient
smile ; "she's gone these three weeks from me. I
swapped her and £6 for a three-year-old Ironmonger
colt, and after that I swapped the colt and £19 for that
Bandon horse I rode last week at your place, and after
that again I sold the Bandon horse for £75 to old Welply,
and I had to give him back a couple of sovereigns luck-
money. You see, I did pretty well with the filly after all."
" Yes, yes — oh, rather," I assented, as one dizzily
accepts the propositions of a bimetallist ; " and you
don't know of anything else ? "
The room in which we were seated was closed from
the shop by a door with a muslin-curtained window
in it ; several of the panes were broken, and at this
juncture two voices, that had for some time carried on
a discussion, forced themselves upon our attention.
** Begging your pardon for contradicting you, ma'am,"
said the voice of Mrs. McDonald, proprietress of the
tea-shop, and a leading light in Skebawn Dissenting
circles, shrilly tremulous with indignation, " if the
servants I recommend you won't stop with you, it's no
fault of mine. If respectable young girls are set picking
grass out of your gravel, in place of their proper work,
certainly they will give warning ! "
26o HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
The voice that repHcd struck me as being a notable
one, well-bred and imperious.
" When I take a bare-footed slut out of a cabin, I
don't expect her to dictate to me what her duties are ! "
Flurry jerked up his chin in a noiseless laugh. " It's
my grandmother ! ' he whispered. " I bet you Mrs.
McDonald don't get much change out of her ! "
" If I set her to clean the pig-sty I expect her to
obey me," continued the voice in accents that would
have made me clean forty pig-stys had she desired me
to do so.
" Very well, ma'am," retorted Mrs. McDonald, " if
that's the way you treat your servants, you needn't
come here again looking for them. I consider your
conduct is neither that of a lady nor a Christian ! "
*' Don't you, indeed ? " replied Flurry's grandmother,
" Well, your opinion doesn't greatly distress me, for,
to tell you the truth, I don't think you're much of a
judge."
" Didn't I tell you she'd score ? " murmured Flurry,
who was by this time applying his eye to the hole in
the muslin curtain. " She's off," he went on, returning
to his tea. " She's a great character ! She's eighty-
three, if she's a day, and she's as sound on her legs
as a three-year-old ! Did you see that old shandrydan
of hers in the street a while ago, and a fellow on the
box with a red beard on him like Robinson Crusoe }
That old mare that was on the near side. Trinket her name
is — is mighty near clean bred. I can tell you her foals
are worth a bit of money."
I had heard of old Mrs. Knox of Aussolas ; indeed, I
had seldom dined out in the neighbourhood without
hearing some new story of her and her remarknble
trinket's colt. 261
menage, but it had not yet been my privilege to meet
her.
" Well, now," went on Flurry, in his low voice, " I'll
tell you a thing that's just come into my head. My
grandmother promised me a foal of Trinket's the day
I was one-and-twenty, and that's five years ago, and deuce
a one I've got from her yet. You never were at
Aussolas ? No, you were not. Well, I tell you the
place there is like a circus with horses. She has a couple
of score of them running wild in the woods, like deer."
''Oh, come," I said, " I'm a bit of a liar myself "
" Well, she has a dozen of them, anyhow, rattling
good colts, too, some of them, but they might as well
be donkeys for all the good they are to me or any one.
It's not once in three years she sells one, and there
she has them walking after her for bits of sugar, like a
lot of dirty lapdogs," ended Flurry with disgust.
" Well, what's your plan ? Do you want me to make
her a bid for one of the lapdogs ? "
" I was thinking," replied Flurry, with great delibe-
ration, '' that my birthday's this week, and maybe I
could work a four-year-old colt of Trinket's she has
out of her in honour of the occasion."
** And sell your grandmother's birthday present
to me ? "
" Just that, I suppose," answered Flurry, with a
slow wink.
A few days afterwards a letter from Mr. Knox
informed me that he had '' squared the old lady, and it
would be all right about the colt ! " He further told
me that Mrs. Knox had been good enough to offer me,
with him, a day's snipe shooting on the celebrated
Aussolas bogs, and he proposed to drive me there the
■j,^^^^^,^
262 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
following Monday, if convenient, to shoot the Aussolas
snipe bog when they got the chance. Eight o'clock
on the following Monday morning saw Flurry, myself,
and a groom packed into a dog-cart, with portmanteaus,
gun-cases, and two rampant red setters.
It was a long drive, twelve miles at least, and a very
cold one. We passed through long tracts of pasture
country, filled for Flurry, with memories of runs, which
were recorded for me, fence by fence, in every one of
which the biggest dog-fox in the country had gone to
ground, with not two feet — measured accurately on the
handle of the whip — between him and the leading hound ;
through bogs that imperceptibly melted into lakes,
and finally down and down into a valley, where the
fir-trees of Aussolas clustered darkly round a glittering
lake, and all but hid the grey roofs and pointed gables
of Aussolas Castle.
*' There's a nice stretch of a demesne for you,"
remarked Flurry, pointing downwards with the whip,
" and one little old woman holding it all in the heel of
her fist. Well able to hold it she is, too, and always
was, and she'll live twenty years yet, if it's only to
spite the whole lot of us, and when all's said and done,
goodness knows how she'll leave it ! "
" It strikes me you were lucky to keep her up to her
promise about the colt," said I.
Flurry administered a composing kick to the ceaseless
strivings of the red setters under the seat.
'' I used to be rather a pet with her,*' he said, after
a pause ; "but mind you, I haven't got him yet, and
if she gets any notion I want to sell him I'll never get
him, so say nothing about the business to her."
The tall gates of Aussolas shiieked on their hinges
trinket's colt. 263
as they admitted us, and shut with a clang behind us,
in the faces of an old mare and a couple of young horses,
who, foiled in their break for the excitements of the outer
world, turned and galloped defiantly on either side of
us. Flurry's admirable cob hammered on, regardless
of all things save his duty.
'* He's the only one I have that I'd trust myself
here with," said his master, flicking him approvingly
with the whip ; *' there are plenty of people afraid to come
here at all, and when my grandmother goes out driving,
she has a boy on the box with a basket full of stones to
peg at them. Talk of the dickens, here she is herself ! "
A short, upright old woman was approaching, preceded
by a white woolly dog with sore eyes and a bark like
a tin trumpet ; we both got out of the trap and advanced
to meet the Lady of the Manor.
I may summarise her attire by saying that she looked
as if she had robbed a scarecrow ; her face was small
and incongruously refined, the skinny hand that she
extended to me had the grubby tan that bespoke the
professional gardener, and was decorated with a magni-
ficent diamond ring. On her head was a massive
purple velvet bonnet.
" I am very glad to meet you. Major Yeates," she
said, with an old-fashioned precision of utterance ;
" your grandfather was a dancing partner of mine in
old days at the Castle, when he was a handsome young
aide-de-camp there, and I was — you may judge for
yourself what I was."
She ended with a startUng little hoot of laughter,
and I was aware that she quite realised the world's
opinion of her, and was indifferent to it.
Our way to the bogs took us across Mrs. Knox's
264 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE
home farm, and through a large field in which several
young horses were grazing.
*' There, now, that's my fellow," said Flurry, pointing
to a fine-looking colt, '* the chestnut with the white
diamond on his forehead. He'll run into three figures
before he's done, but we'll not tell that to the ould lady ! "
The famous Aussolas bogs were as full of snipe as
usual, and a good deal fuller of water than any bogs I
had ever shot before. I was on my day, and Flurry was
not, and as he is ordinarily an infinitely better snipe
shot than I, I felt at peace with the world and all men
as we walked back, wet through, at five o'clock.
The sunset had waned and a big white moon was
making the eastern tower of Aussolas look like a thing
in a fairy tale or a play when we arrived at the hall door.
An individual, whom I recognised as the Robinson
Crusoe coachman, admitted us to a hall, the like of
which one does not often see. The walls were
panelled with dark oak up to the gallery that ran round
three sides of it, the balusters of the wide staircase were
heavily carved, and blackened portraits of Flurry's
ancestors on the spindle side, stared sourly down on
their descendant as he tramped upstairs with the bog
mould on his hobnailed boots.
We had just changed into dry clothes when Robinson
Crusoe shoved his red beard round the corner of the
door, with the information that the mistress said we were
to stay for dinner. My heart sank. It was then barely
half-past five. I said something about having no
evening clothes, and having to get home early.
" Sure, the dinner'll be in another half-hour," said
Robinson Crusoe, joining hospitably in the conversation ;
'* and as for evening clothes — God bless ye !
trinket's colt. 265
The door closed behind him.
" Never mind," said Flurry, " I dare say you'll be
glad enough to eat another dinner by the time you
get home," he laughed. '' Poor SUpper ! " he added,
inconsequently, and only laughed again when I asked for
an explanation.
Old Mrs. Knox received us in the library, where she
was seated by a roaring turf fire, which lit the room a
good deal more effectively than the pair of candles
that stood beside her in tall silver candlesticks. Ceaseless
and implacable growls from under her chair indicated
the presence of the woolly dog. She talked with con-
founding culture of the books that rose all round her
to the ceiling ; her evening dress was accomplished
by means of an additional white shawl, rather dirtier
than its congeners ; as I took her in to dinner she quoted
Virgil to me, and in the same breath screeched an
objurgation at a being whose matted head rose suddenly
into view from behind an ancient Chinese screen, as
I have seen the head of a Zulu woman peer over a bush.
Dinner was as incongruous as everything else.
Detestable soup in a splendid old silver tureen that was
nearly as dark in hue as Robinson Crusoe's thumb ;
a perfect salmon, perfectly cooked, on a chipped kitchen
dish ; such cut glass as is not easy to find nowadays ;
sherry that, as Flurry subsequently remarked, would
burn the shell off an egg ; and a bottle of port, draped
in immemorial cobwebs, wan with age, and probably
priceless. Throughout the vicissitudes of the meal
Mrs. Knox's conversation flowed on undismayed,
directed sometimes at me — she had installed me in the
position of friend of her youth, and talked to me as if
I were my own grandfather — sometimes at Crusoe,
266 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
with whom she had several heated arguments, and some-
times she would make a statement of remarkable frank-
ness on the subject of her horse-farming affairs to Flurry,
who, very much on his best behaviour, agreed with
all she said, and risked no original remark. As I listened
to them both, I remembered with infinite amusement
how he had told me once that " a pet name she had
for him was ' Tony Lumpkin,' and no one but herself
knew what she meant by it." It seemed strange that
she made no allusion to Trinket's colt or to Flurry's
birthday, but, mindful of my instructions, I held my
peace.
As, at about half-past eight, we drove away in the moon-
light. Flurry congratulated me solemnly on my success
with his grandmother. He was good enough to tell me
that she would marry me to-morrow if I asked her, and
he wished I would, even if it was only to see what a nice
grandson he'd be for me. A sympathetic giggle behind
me told me that Michael, on the back seat, had heard
and relished the jest.
We had left the gates of Aussolas about half-a-mile
behind, when, at the corner of a by-road, Flurry pulled
up. A short, squat figure arose from the black shadow
of a furze bush and came out into the moonlight,
swinging its arms like a cabman, and cursing audibly.
** Oh, murdher, oh, murdher, Misther Flurry !
What kept ye at all ? 'Twould perish the crows to
be waiting here the way I am these two hours — "
" Ah, shut your mouth, SUpper 1 " said Flurry, who,
to my surprise, had turned back the rug and was taking
off his driving coat, " I couldn't help it. Come on,
Yeates, we've got to get out here."
*' What for ? " 1 asked, in not unnatural bewilderment.
trinket's colt. 2O7
" It's all right. I'll tell you as we go along," replied
my companion, who was already turning to follow
Slipper up the by-road. '' Take the trap on, Michael,
and wait at the River's Cross." He waited for me to
come up with him, and then put his hand on my arm.
'' You see, Major, this is the way it is. My grandmother's
given me that colt right enough, but if I waited for her
to send him over to me I'd never see a hair of his tail.
So I just thought that as we were over here we might as
well take him back with us, and maybe you'll give us
a help with him ; he'll not be altogether too handy
for a first go ofF."
I was staggered. An infant in arms could scarcely
have failed to discern the fishiness of the transaction,
and I begged Mr. Knox not to put himself to this trouble
on my account, as I had no doubt I could find a horse
for my friend elsewhere. Mr. Knox assured me that
it was no trouble at all, quite the contrary, and that,
since his grandmother had given him the colt, he saw
no reason why he should not take him when he wanted
him ; also, that if I didn't want him he'd be glad enough
to keep him himself ; and, finally, that I wasn't the
chap to go back on a friend, but I was welcome to drive
back to Shreelane with Michael this minute, if I
liked.
Of course, I yielded in the end. I told Flurry I
should lose my job over the business, and he said I
could then marry his grandmother, and the discussion
was abruptly closed by the necessity of following Slipper
over a locked five-barred gate.
Our pioneer took us over about half-a-mile of country,
knocking down stone gaps where practicable, and
scrambling over tall banks in the deceptive moonlight.
268 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
We found ourselves at length in a field with a shed
in one corner of it ; in a dim group of farm buildings ;
a litde way off a light was shining.
*' Wait here," said Flurry to me in a whisper ; " the
less noise the better. It's an open shed, and we'll just
shp in and coax him out."
Slipper unwound from his waist a halter, and my
colleagues glided like spectres into the shadow of the
shed, leaving me to meditate on my duties as Resident
Magistrate, and on the questions that would be asked
in the House by our local member when Slipper had
given away the adventure in his cups.
In less than a minute three shadows emerged from the
shed, where two had gone in. They had got the colt.
'' He came out as quiet as a calf when he winded the
sugar," said Flurry ; "it was well for me I filled my
pockets from grandmamma's sugar basin."
He and Slipper had a rope from each side of the colt's
head ; they took him quickly across a field towards ?
gate. The colt stepped daintily between them, over the
moonlit grass ; he snorted occasionally, but appeared
on the whole amenable.
The trouble began later, and was due, as trouble often
is, to the beguilements of a short cut. Against the
maturer judgment of Slipper, Flurry insisted on following
a route that he assured us he knew as well as his own
pocket, and the consequence was, that in about five
minutes I found myself standing on top of a bank
hanging on to a rope, on the other end of which the colt
dangled and danced, while Flurry, with the other rope,
lay prone in the ditch, and Slipper administered to the
bewildered colt's hindquarters such chastisement as
could be ventured on.
trinket's colt. 269
I have no space to narrate in detail the atrocious
difficulties and disasters of the short cut. How the colt
set to work to buck, and went away across a field,
dragging the faithful Slipper, literally veiitre-d-terre,
after him, while I picked myself in ignominy out of a
briar patch, and Flurry cursed himself black in the face.
How we were attacked by ferocious cur dogs and I lost
my eyeglass ; and how, as we neared the river's Cross,
Flurry espied the poUce patrol on the road, and we all
hid behind a rick of turf, while I realised in fulness
what an exceptional ass I was, to have been beguiled
into an enterprise that involved hiding with Slipper
from the Royal Irish Constabulary.
Let it suffice to say that Trinket's infernal offspring
was finally handed over on the highroad to Michael
and Slipper, and Flurry drove me home in a state of
mental and physical overthrow.
I saw nothing of my friend Mr. Knox for the next
couple of days, by the end of which time I had worked
up a high polish on my misgivings, and had determined
to tell him that under no circumstances would I have
anything to say to his grandmother's birthday present.
It was Uke my usual luck that, instead of writing
a note to this effect, I thought it would be good for
my liver to walk across the hills to Tory Cottage and tell
Flurry so in person.
It was a bright, blustery morning, after a muggy
day. The feeling of spring was in the air, the daffodils
were already in bud, and crocuses showed purple in
the grass on either side of the avenue. It was only a
couple of miles to Tory Cottage, by the way across
the hills ; I walked fast, and it was barely twelve o'clock
when I saw its pink walls and clumps of evergreens
270 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
below me. As I looked down at it, the chiming of
Flurry's hounds in the kennels came to me on the wind ;
I stood still to listen, and could almost have sworn
that I was hearing the clash of Magdalen bells, hard
at work on May morning.
The path that I was following led downwards through
a larch plantation to Flurry's back gate. Hot wafts
from some hideous cauldron at the other side of a wall
apprised me of the vicinity of the kennels and their
cuisine, and the fir-trees round were hung with gruesome
and unknown joints. I thanked heaven that I was not
a master of hounds, and passed on as quickly as might
be to the hall door.
I rang two or three times without response ; then the
door opened a couple of inches, and was instantly
slammed in my face. I heard the hurried paddling of
bare feet on oilcloth, and a voice, " Hurry, Bridgie,
hurry ! There's quality at the door ! "
Bridgie, holding a dirty cap on with one hand,
presently arrived and informed me that she believed
that Mr. Knox was out about the place. She seemed
perturbed, and she cast scared glances down the drive
while speaking to me.
I knew enough of Flurry's habits to shape a tolerably
direct course for his whereabouts. He was, as I had
expected, in the training paddock, a field behind the
stable-yard, in which he had put up practice jumps for
his horses. It was a good-sized field with clumps of
furze in it, and Flurry was standing near one of these
with his hands in his pockets, singularly unoccupied.
1 supposed that he was prospecting for a place to put
up another jump. He did not see me coming, and turned
with a start as I spoke to him. There was a queer
trinket's colt. 271
expression of mingled guilt and what I can only describe
as divilment in his grey eyes as he greeted me. In my
dealings with Flurry Knox, I have since formed
the habit of sitting tight, in a general way, when I see
that expression.
" Well, who's coming next, I wonder ! " he said,
as he shook hands with me ; " it's not ten minutes
since I had two of your d d peelers here searching
the whole place for my grandmother's colt ! "
'' What ! " I exclaimed, feeling cold all down my
back ; 'Mo you mean the police have got hold of it ? "
** They haven't got hold of the colt, anyway," said
Flurry, looking sideways at me from under the peak of his
cap, with the glint of the sun in his eye. *' I got word
in time before they came."
" What do you mean ? " I demanded ; *' where is
he ? For Heaven's sake don't tell me you've sent the
brute over to my place ! "
It's a good job for you I didn't," replied Flurry,
" as the police are on their way to Shreelane this
minute to consult you about it. You ! " He gave
utterance to one of his short, diabolical fits of laughter.
*' He's where they'll not find him, anyhow. Ho !
ho ! It's the funniest hand I ever played ! "
" Oh, yes, it's devilish funny, I've no doubt," I
retorted, beginning to lose my temper, as is the manner
of many people when they are frightened ; " but, I
give you fair warning that if Mrs. Knox asks me any
questions about it, I shall tell her the whole story."
" All right," responded Flurry ; " and when you do,
don't forget to tell her how you flogged the colt out on
to the road over her own bound's ditch '
272 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
" Very well," I said, hotly, " I may as well go home
and send in my papers. They'll break me over
this—"
*' Ah, hold on, Major," said Flurry, soothingly,
" it'll be all right. No one knows anything. It's only
on spec' the old lady sent the Bobbies here. If you'll
keep quiet it'll all blow over."
*' I don't care," I said, struggling hopelessly in the
toils ; " if I meet your grandmother, and she asks me
about it, I shall tell her all I know."
*' Please God you'll not meet her ! After all, it's not
once in a blue moon that she " began Flurry. Even
as he said the words his face changed. " Holy fly ! "
he ejaculated, " isn't that her dog coming into the field ?
Look at her bonnet over the wall ! Hide, hide, for your
life ! " He caught me by the shoulder and shoved me
down among the furze bushes before I realised what
had happened.
" Get in there ! I'll talk to her."
I may as well confess that at the mere sight of Mrs.
Knox'., purple bonnet my heart had turned to water.
In that moment I knew what it would be like to tell her
how I, having eaten her salmon, and capped her quota-
tions, and drunk her best port, had gone forth and helped
to steal her horse. I abandoned my dignity, my sense
of honour ; I took the furze prickles to my breast and
wallowed in them.
Mrs. Knox had advanced with vengeful speed ;
already she was in high altercation with Flurry at no
great distance from where I lay ; varying sounds of
battle reached me, and I gathered that Flurry was not —
to put it mildly — shrinking from that economy of truth
that the situation required.
trinket's colt. 273
" Is it that curby, long-backed brute ? You promised
him to me long ago, but I wouldn't be bothered with
him ' "
The old lady uttered a laugh of shrill derision. '* Is
it likely I'd promise you my best colt ? And still more,
is it likely that you'd refuse him if I did ? "
" Very well, ma'am," Flurry's voice was admirably
indignant. " Then I suppose I'm a liar and a thief."
" I'd be more obliged to you for the information
if I hadn't known it before," responded his grandmother
with lightning speed ; "if you swore to me on a stack
of Bibles you knew nothing about my colt I wouldn't
believe you ! I shall go straight to Major Yeates and
ask his advice. I believe him to be a gentleman, in
spite of the company he keeps ! "
I writhed deeper into the furze bushes, and thereby
discovered a sandy rabbit run, along which I crawled,
with m^y cap well over my eyes, and the furze needles
stabbing me through my stockings. The ground shelved
a little, promising profounder concealment, but the
bushes were very thick, and I had hold of the bare stem
of one to help my progress. It lifted out of the ground
in my hand, revealing a freshly-cut stump. Something
snorted, not a yard aWay ; I glared through the opening,
and was confronted by the long, horrified face of Mrs.
Knox's colt, mysteriously on a level with my own.
Even without the white diamond on his forehead
I should have divined the truth ; but how in the name
of wonder had Flurry persuaded him to couch like a
woodcock in the heart of a furze brake ? For a minute
I lay as still as death for fear of frightening him, while
the voices of Flurry and his grandmother raged on
alarmingly close to me. The colt snorted, and blew
T
274 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
long breaths through his wide nostrils, but he did not
move. I crawled an inch or two nearer, and after a
lew seconds of cautious peering I grasped the position
They had buried him !
A small sandpit among the furze had been utilised as
a grave ; they had filled him in up to his withers with
sand, and a few furze bushes, artistically disposed
round the pit had done the rest. As the depth of
Flurry's guile was revealed, laughter came upon me like
a flood ; I gurgled and shook apoplectically, and the
colt gazed at me with serious surprise, until a sudden
outburst of barking close to my elbow administered a
fresh shock to my tottering nerves.
Mrs. Knox's woolly dog had tracked me into the
furze, and was now baying the colt and me with mingled
terror and indignation. I addressed him in a whisper,
with perfidious endearments, advancing a crafty hand
towards him the while, made a snatch for the back of
his neck, missed it badly, and got him by the ragged
fleece of his hind-quarters as he tried to flee. If I had
flayed him alive he could hardly have uttered a more
deafening series of yells, but, like a fool, instead of
letting him go, I dragged him towards me, and tried
to stifle the noise by holding his muzzle. The tussle
lasted engrossingly for a few seconds, and then the
climax of the nightmare arrived.
Mrs. Knox's voice, close behind me, said, *' Let go
my dog this instant, sir ! Who are you "
Her voice faded away, and I knew that she also had
seen the colt's head.
I positively felt sorry for her. At her age there was
no knowing what effect the shock might have on her.
I scrambled to my feet and confronted her.
trinket's colt. 275
" Major Yeates \ " she said. There was a deathly
pause. *' Will you kindly tell me," said Mrs. Knox,
slowly, "am I in Bedlam, or are you ? And what is
that ? "
She pointed to the colt, and the unfortunate animal,
recognising the voice of his mistress, uttered a hoarse
and lamentable whinny. Mrs. Knox felt around her
for support, found only furze prickles, gazed speech-
lessly at me, and then, to her eternal honour, fell into
wild cackles of laughter.
So, I may say, did Flurry and I. I embarked on my
explanation and broke down. Flurry followed suit
and broke down, too. Overwhelming laughter held us
all three, disintegrating our very souls. Mrs. Knox
pulled herself together first.
" I acquit you, Major Yeates, I acquit you, though
appearances are against you. It's clear enough to me
you've fallen among thieves." She stopped and glowered
at Flurry. Her purple bonnet was over one eye. " I'll
thank you, sir," she said, '' to dig out that horse before
I leave this place. And when you've dug him out you
may keep him. I'll be no receiver of stolen goods ! "
She broke off and shook her fist at him. " Upon my
conscience, Tony, I'd give a guinea to have thought
of it myself ! "
276 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
The Wee Tea Table.
From " Irish Pastorals ,''
By Shan Bullock (1865 — ).
Somewhere near the hill-hedge, with their arms bare,
skirts tucked up, and faces peering from the depths of
big sunbonnets, Anne Daly and Judy Brady were
gathering the hay into long, narrow rows ; one raking
this side of a row, the other that, and both sweetening
toil with laughter and talk. Sometimes Anne leaned
on her rake and chattered for a while ; now Judy said
a word or two and ended with a titter ; again, both bobbed
heads and broke into merriment. I came nearer to
them, got ready my rake, and began on a fresh row.
The talk was of a woman, of her and her absurdities.
" I've come to help you to laugh, Anne," said I.
** What friend is this of yours and Judy's that you're
stripping of her character ? "
" The lassie," said Anne, *' we were talkin' about
is a marrit woman — one Hannah Breen be name — an'
she lives in a big house on the side of a hill over there
towards the mountain. The husband's a farmer —
an easy-goin', bull-voiced, good-hearted lump of a man,
wi' a good word for ould Satan himself, an' a laugh
always ready for iverything. But the wife, Hannah,
isn't that kind. Aw, 'deed she isn't. 'Tisn't much
good-spcakin' or laughin' Ilannah'll be doin' ; 'tisn't
herself'd get many cars to follow her funeral in these
parts. Aw, no 'Tisn't milkin' the cows, an' makin'
THE WEE TEA TABLE. 277
the butter, an' washin' John's shirts, an' darnin' his
socks, an' mendin' her own tatters, an' huntin' the
chickens from the porridge-pot, Hannah was made for.
Aw, no. It's a lady Hannah must be, a real live lady.
It's step out o' bed at eight o'clock in the mornin', Hannah
must do, an' slither down to her tay an' have it all in
grandeur in the parlour ; it's sittin' half the day she must
be, readin' about the doin's o' the quality, an' the goin's
on o' the world, an' squintin' at fashion-pictures, an'
fillin' her mind wi' the height o' nonsense an' foolery ;
it's rise from the table in a tantrum she must do because
John smacks his lips, an' ates his cabbage wi' his knife ;
it's worry the poor man out o' his mind she'd be after
because he lies and snores on the kitchen table, an'
smokes up to bed, an' won't shave more'n once a week,
an' says he'd rather be hanged at once nor be choked
up in a white shirt an' collar o' Sundays. An' for
herself — aw, now, it'd take me from this till sunset
to tell ye about all her fooleries. If you'd only see her,
Mr. John, stalkin' in through the chapel gates, wi' her
skirts tucked up high enough to show the frillin' on her
white petticoat, an' low enough to hide the big tear
in it ; an' black kid gloves on her fists ; an' a bonnet
on her wi'out a string to it ; an' light shoes on her ;
an' a big hole in the heel o' her stockin' ; and her nose
in the air ; an' her sniffin' at us all just as if we were the
tenants at the butter-show an' herself My Lady come to
prance before us all an' make herself agreeable for five
minutes or so. . . . Aw, Lord, Lord," laughed Anne,
*' if ye could only see her, Mr. John."
" An' to see her steppin' down Bunn Street," Anne
went on, as we turned at the hedge, and set our faces
once more towards the river, "as if the town belonged
278 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
to her — a ribbon flutterin' here, an' a buckle shinin*
there, an' a feather dangUn' another place — steppin'
along wi' her butter-basket on her arm, an' big John
draggin' at her heels, an' that look on her face you'd
expect to see on the face o' the Queen o' France walkin'
on a gold carpet, in goold slippers, to a goold throne !
An' to see the airs of her when someone 'd spake ; an'
to see the murderin' look on her when someone'd hint
at a drop o 'whiskey for the good of her health ; an'
to hear the beautiful talk of her to the butter-buyers —
that soft an' po-lite ; an' to see her sittin' in the ould
ramshackle of a cart goin' home, as straight in the back
an' as stiff as a ramrod, an' her face set like a plaster
image, an' her niver lettin' her eye fall on John sittin'
beside her, an' him as drunk an' merry as a houseful
o' fiddlers ! Aw, sure," cried Anne, flinging up a hand,
" aw, sure, it's past the power o' mortial tongue to tell
about her."
*' Yours, Anne, makes a good attempt at the telling,
for all that," said I.
" Ach, I'm only bleatherin'," said Anne. " If ye
only knew her — only did."
*' Well, tell me all about her," said I, " before your
tongue gets tired."
*' Ah, sure, an' I will," replied she ; *' sure, an' I'll
try me hand at it."."
" One day, then, sometime last summer, Hannah —
beggin' her ladyship's pardon," said Anne, a sudden
note of scorn rasping in her voice, '* but I meant Mrs.
Breen — decks herself out, tics on her bonnet, pulls on
her kid gloves, an' steps out through the hall door.
Down she goes, over the ruts an' the stones, along the
lane, turns down the main road ; after a \ hilc comes
THE WEE TEA TABLE. 279
to the house o' Mrs. Flaherty — herself that told me —
crosses the street, an' knocks po-lite on the door.
" * Aw, is Mrs. Flaherty at home, this fine day ? '
axes Hannah when the door opens, an' wee Nancy put
her tattered head between it an' the post. " Is Mrs.
Flaherty at home ? ' says she.
" * She is so,' answers Nancy ; ' but she'd be out at
the well,' says the wee crature.
" ' I see,' says Hannah, * I see. Then, if you please,
when she comes back,' says she, * would you be kindly
handin' her that, wi' Mrs. Breen's compliments ' — an'
out of her pocket Hannah pulls a letter, gives it to Nancy,
says good evenin' to the wee mortial, gathers up her
skirt, an' steps off in her grandeur through the hens
an' ducks back to the road. Well, on she goes another
piece, an' comes to the house of Mary Dolan ; an'
there, too, faith, she does the genteel an' leaves another
letter an' turns her feet for the house of Mrs. Hogan ;
an' at Sally's she smiles, an' bobs her head, an' pulls
another letter from her pocket, an' leaves it at the door ;
then twists on her heel, turns back home an' begins
dustin' the parlours, an' arrangin' her trumpery an'
readin' bleather from the fashion papers.
*' Very well, childer. Home Jane comes from the
well, an' there's Nancy wi' the letter in her fist. * What
the divil's this ? ' says Jane, an' tears it open ; an' there,
lo an' behold ye, is a bit of a card — Jane swears 'twas a
piece of a bandbox, but I'd be disbelievin' her — an'
on it an invite to come an' have tay with me bould
Hannah, on the next Wednesday evenin' at five o'clock
p.m. — whativer in glory p.m. may be after meanin' ;
when Mary Dolan opens hers, there's the same invite ;
an' when Sally Hogan opens hers, out drops the same
28o HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
bit of a card on the floor ; an' Sally laughs, an' Mary
laughs, an' Jane laughs, an' the three o' them, what wi*
the quareness o' the business, an' the curiosity of them
to see Hannah at her capers, put their heads together,
an' laughs again, an' settles it that sorrow take them,
but go they'll go. An' go they did. Aw, yis . . . .
Aw, Lord, Lord," laughed Anne, turning up her eyes.
'' Lord, Lord ! "
" Aw, childer, dear," giggled Judy, with a heaving
of her narrow shoulders. '' Aw, go they did ! "
" Good girl, Anne," said I, and slapped my leg '* my
roarin' girl ! Aw, an' go they did, Judy — go they did."
" Well, hearts alive," Anne went on, '* Wednesday
evenin' comes at last ; an' sharp at five o'clock up me
brave Jane Flaherty steps along the lane, crosses the yard,
an' mindin' her manners, knocks twice on Hannah's
back door — then turns, an' wi' the dog yelpin' at her,
an' the gander hissin' like a wet stick on a fire, waits
like a beggarwoman on the step. But divil a one comes
to the door ; aw, not a one. An' sorrow a soul budged
inside ; aw, not a soul. So round turns Jane, lifts her
fist again, hits the door three thundering bangs, an' looks
another while at the gander. Not a budge in the door,
not a move inside ; so Jane, not to be done out of her
tay, lifts the latch, — an', sure as the sun was shinin',
but the bolt was shot inside. ' Well, dang me,' says
Jane, an' hits the door a kick, ' but this is a fine way to
treat company,' says she, an' rattles the latch, an'
shakes it. At last, in the divil of a temper, spits on
the step, whips up her skirts, an' cursin' Hannah high
up an' low down, starts for home.
" She got as far as the bend in the lane, an' there meets
Mary Dolan.
THE WEE TEA TABLE. 28 1
'' ' What's up ? ' axes Mary. ' What's floostered
ye, Jane Flaherty ? Aren't ye goin' to have your tay, me
dear ? ' says Mary.
Aw, may the first sup she swallows choke the
breath in her,' shouts Jane, an' goes on to tell her story ;
an' before she'd said ten words, up comes Sally Hogan.
" ' Am I too late ? ' says Sally, ' or am I too early ? '
says she, ' or what in glory ails the two o' ye ? '
" * Ails ? ' shouts Jane. ' Ye may well say that,
Sally Hogan. Ye may turn on your heel,' says she,
an' begins her story again ; an' before she was half
through it Sally laughs out, and takes Jane by the arm,
an' starts back to the house .
" * Come away," says she ; * come away an' have your
tay, Jane ; sure, ye don't know Hannah yet.'
" So back the three goes — but not through the yard.
Aw, no. 'Twas through the wee green gate, an' down the
walk, an' slap up to the hall door Sally takes them ;
an' sure enough the first dab on the knocker brings a
fut on the flags inside, an' there's Kitty, the servant
girl, in her boots an' her stockin's, an' her Sunday dress
an' a white apron on her, standin' before them.
" ' Aw, an' is that you, Kitty Malone," says Sally.
* An' how's yourself, Kitty, me dear ? An' wid Mrs.
Breen be inside ? ' says she^
" * She is so, Mrs. Hogan,' answers Kitty, an' bobs
a kind of curtsy. ' Wid ye all be steppin' in, please ? '
" ' Aw, the Lord's sake,' gasps Sally on the door
step, at all this grandeur ; ' the Lord's sake,' says she,
an' steps into the hall ; an' in steps Mary Dolan, an' in
steps Jane Flaherty, an' away the three o' them goes
at Kitty's heels up to the parlour. . . . 'Aw, heavenly
hour,' cried Anne, and turned up her eyes.
282 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
" Well, dears," Anne went on, "in the three walks,
bonnets an' all, an' sits them down along the wall on
three chairs, an' watches Kitty close the door ; then
looks at each other in a puzzled kind o' way, an', after
that, without openin' a lip, casts their eyes about the room.
*Twas the funniest kind of a place, Jane allowed, that iver
she dropped eyes on. There was a sheep-skin, lyin'
woolly side up, in front o' the fireplace, an' a calf-skin
near the windy, an' a dog's skin over be the table, an'
the floor was painted brown about three fut all round
the walls. There was pieces of windy-curtain over the
backs o' the chairs ; there was a big fern growin' in an
ould drain-pipe in the corner ; there was an ould straw
hat o' John's stuffed full o' flowers an' it hangin' on the
wall, an' here an' there, all round it an' beside it were
picters cut from the papers an' then tacked on the plaster.
Ye could hardly see the mantelshelf, Jane allowed,
for all the trumpery was piled on it, dinglum-danglums
of glass an' chaney, an' shells from the say, an' a sampler
stuck in a frame, an' in the middle of all a picter of
Hannah herself got up in all her finery. An' there
was books, an' papers, an' fal-lals, an' the sorrow knows
what, lyin' about ; an' standin' against the wall, facin'
the windy, was a wee table, wi' a cloth on it about the
size of an apron, an' it wi' a fringe on it, no less, an' it
spread skew-wise an' lookin' for all the world like a
white ace o' diamonds ; an' on the cloth was a tray
wi' cups an* saucers, an' sugar an' milk, an' as much
bread an' butter, cut as thin as glass, as you'd give a
sick child for its supper ' Aw, heavenly hour,*
cried Anne, * heavenly hour ! '
" Aw, childer, dear," cried Judy.
" Aw, woman alive," said 1. ** Aw, Judy, dear."
THE WEE TEA TABLE. 283
** Well, childer, the three looks at all, an' looks at each
other, an' shifts on their chairs, an' looks at each other
again, an' says Mary Dolan at last : —
" * We're in clover, me dears,' says she, ' judgin'
be the spread beyont ' — and she nods at the wee table.
'' ' Ah, that'll do for a start,' says Sally Hogan ; ' but,
where in glory are we all to put our legs under that wee
table ? Sure it' 1 be an ojus squeeze/
" * It will so,' says Jane Flaherty, * it will so. But
isn't it powerful quare o' Hannah to keep us sittin' here
so long in our bonnets an' shawls, an' us dreepin' wi' the
heat ? '
" ' It's the quarest hole I iver was put in.' says Mary
Dolan, * an' if this is grandeur, give me the ould kitchen at
home wi' me feet on the hearth an' me tay on a chair. . . .
Phew,' says Mary, an' squints round at the windy,
* phew, but it's flamin' hot ! Aw,' says she, an' makes
a dart from her chair, * dang me, but I'll burst if I don't
get a mouthful o' fresh air.' An' just as she had her
hand on the sash to lift it, the door opens an' in steps
me da lin' Hannah
" * Good evenin', ladies all," says Hannah, marchin'
in wi' some kind of a calico affair, made like a shroud
wi' frills on it, hangin' on her, ' Good evenin', ladies,'
says she, an' wi' her elbow cocked up in the air as if
she was strivin' to scrape it against the ceilin', goes from
one to another an' shakes hands. ' It's a very pleasant
afternoon ' (them was the words), says she, makin' for
a chair beside the wee table ; ' an' I'm very pleased to
see ye all,' says she.
*' ' Aw, an' the same here,' says Mary Dolan, in her
free way, ' the same here ; an' ojus nice ye look in that
sack of a calico dress, so ye do,' says Mary, wi' a wink
284 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
at Jane Flaherty. ' But it's meself'd feel obliged to ye
if so be ye'd open the windy an' give us a mouthful
o' fre h air,' says Mary.
" An' Hannah sits down in her shroud wi' the frills
on it, an' smiles, an' says she, ' I'm rather delicate '
(them were the words) * this afternoon, Mrs. Dolan,
an' afeered o' catchin' cold ; an', forby that,' says she,
' the dust is so injurious for the parlour.'
" * Aw, just so,' answers Mary, ' just so. Sure,
I wouldn't for worlds have ye spoil your parlour for the
likes of us. But I'll ax your leave, Mrs. Breen, seein'
ye don't ax me yourself, to give me own health a
chance,' says L-he, * be throwin' this big shawl off me
shoulders. '
** ' But it's afternoon tay, Mrs. Dolan,' an^wers
Hannah, in her cool way; ' an' it's not fashionable at
afternoon tay for ladies to remove — '
" * Then afternoon tay be danged,' says Mary, an'
throws the shawl off her across the back of her chair ;
' an' it's meself'll not swelter for all the fashions in the
world,' says she, an' pushes her bonnet back an' lets it
hang be the strings down her back. ' Aw, that's great,'
says she, wi' a big sigh ; an' at that off goes Jane's
shawl an' bonnet, an' off goes Sally's ; an' there the
three o' them sits, wi' Hannah lookin' at them disgusted
as an ass at a field of thistles over a gate. . . Aw,
glory be," cried Anne.
** Aw, me bould Anne," cried Judy ; " me brave
girl."
** Well, dears, Hannah sits her down, puts her elbow
on a corner o' the ace o' diamonds, rests her cheek on her
hand, an' goes on talking about this and that. She hoped
Mrs. Flaherty, an' Mrs. Dolan, an' Mrs. Hogan were well
THE WEE TEA TABLE. 285
an' prosperous ; she hoped the crops were turnin' out well ;
she hoped all the childer were in the best o' good health.
Aw, like the Queen o' Connaught Hannah talked, an'
smiled, an' aired herself an' her beautiful English, but
sorrow a move did she make to shift her elbow off the
wee table-cloth, an' divil a sign or smell o' tay was there
to be seen. Aw, not a one. Ten minutes went, an'
twenty, an' half an hour ; an' at that, up Mary Dolan
stretched her arms, gives a powerful big yawn, an', says
she, * Och, dear Lord,' says she, * dear Lord, but the
throat's dry in me ! Och, och,' says she — an' with
the hint up gets Hannah in her frilled shroud, crosses
the calf-skin, opens the door, an' calls for Kitty. * Yis,
Mrs. Breen,' answers Kitty from the Kitchen. * Serve
tay,' calls Hcinnah ; then closes the door an' steps back
to her chai ' by the wee table.
" In about ten minutes, here comes me darlint Kitty,
boots an' stockin's an' all ; carries the taypot on a plate
over to the table, an' plants it down slap in the middle
o' the ace o' diamonds. Up jumps Hannah wi' a bounce.
" * What are you doin' Kitty ? ' says she, with a snap
of her jaw, an' lifts the taypot, an' glares at the black
ring it had made on her brand new cloth. 'D'ye see
what you've done ? ' says she, pointin' her finger,
* stand back and mend your manners, ye ignorant
little baggage, ye ! ' —
" * Yis, ma'am,' answers Kitty, an' stands back ;
then turns her head, when she gets to the calf-skin, an'
winks at the three sittin' by the wall ; an' out Mary
Dolan bursts into a splutter of a laugh.
" * Aw, Lord,' says Mary, an' holds her ribs ; ' aw,
dear Lord,' says she. But Hannah, standin' pourin'
tay into the wee cups, just kept her face as straight as
286 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
if Mary was a dummy, an' in a minute she turns round
to Kitty.
' ' Hand the cups to the ladies/ ssys she, an' sits her
down.
" Well, childer dear, Kitty steps from the calf-skin,
lifts two cups an' saucers from the tray, carries them
across the floor, an' offers one to Jane Flaherty, wi'
this hand, an' t'other to Sally Hogan wi' that hand.
An' Sally looks at the cup, an' then at Kitty ; an' Jane
looks at Kitty, an' then at the cup, an' says Sally :
** ' Is it take it from ye you'd have me do, Kitty
Malone ? ' says she.
*' ' It is so,' answers Kitty wi' a grin.
" * An' where in glory wid ye have me put it, Kitty
Malone ?' asks Sally an' looks here an' there. ' Sure —
sure, there's no table next or near me,' says she.
'' ' It's afternoon tay, Mrs. Hogan,' says Hannah
across ihe floor ; * an' at afternoon tay, tables aren't
fashionable,' says she, an' grins to herself.
" ' Well, thank God, Hannah Breen,' says Mary
Dolan, * that afternoon tay, as ye call it, has only come
my way once in me life. Take the cup in your fist,
Sally Hogan,' says Mary, ' an' if ye break it, bad luck
go with it, an' if ye don't, you've been a lady for once
in your life ; an' when you're done, stick it there on the
floor. I'm obliged to ye, Kitty Malone,' says Mary
again, an' takes a cup ; ' an' if so be I choke meself
wi' the full o' this thimble wi' a handle on it,' ays Mary,
an' squints at the cup, ' you'll do me the favour to tell
Pat I died a fool. An' if such things go well wi' after-
noon tay, Kitty, agra, I'd trouble ye for a look at a spoon.'
"... Aw, me bould Mary," cried Anne and laughed
in her glee " Ye were the girl for II nnah, so ye were."
THE WEE TEA TABLE<
287
" Aw, deed ay," cried Judy, and tittered most
boisterously. " Aw, me brave Hannah."
" Then begins the fun, me dears. First of all, Sally
Hogan, in trying to lift a bit o' bread an' butter from a
plate that Kitty held before her, must spill her tay
over her lap an' start screechin' that she was kilt. Then
Mary Dolan must finish her cup at a gulp, an' forgettin'
it was in Hannah's parlour she was at afternoon tay,
an' not at home in the kitchen, must give the dregs
a swirl an' sHng them over her shoulder against the wall.
Then Sally Hogan again, in tryin' to keep back a laugh
at the tay leaves on the wall, an' the glare of Hannah
across at them, must get a crumb in her throat an' bring
the whole room to thump her on the back.
** Then Jane Flaherty gets a second cup wi' no sugar
in it, an' makes a face like a monkey's, an' gives a big
splutter, an' sets Kitty Mdlone off into a fit o' laughin' ;
an' Kitty sets Jane off, an' Jane sets Mary off, an' Mary
sets Sally off ; an' there sits Hannah in her calico shroud,
beside the ace of diamonds, wi' a ^ace on her like a
child cuttin' its teeth, an' her arm out, an' he; ^houtin'
for Kitty to take herself out o' the room. An' in the
middle o' the whole hubbub the door opens, an' in tramps
big John in his dirty boots, wi' his shirt-sleeves turned
up, an' hay ropes round his legs, an' his hat on the back
o' his head, an' his pipe in his mouth — in steps John,
an' stands lookin' at them all.
" ' Ho, ho,' roars John, an' marches across the calf-
skin. " What have we here ? A tay party,* says he,
* as I'm a livin' sinner — an' me not to know a thing
about it ! Well, better late nor niver,' says he, then
turns an' looks at Hannah. * Aw, how d'ye do, Mrs.
Breen ? says he, wi' a laugh. * I hope I see ye well
288 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
in your regimentals. An' how the blazes are the rest
o' ye, me girls ? ' says he to the three along the wall.
* I'm glad to see ye all so hearty an' merry, so I am.
But what in glory are ye all doin' over there, away from
the table ? Why don't ye sit an' have your tay like
Christians ? ' says he. ' Come over, girls — come over
this mortial minute,' says John, 'an' I'll have a cup wi'
ye meself, so I will.'
" Then Hannah rises in her calico hroud.
" ' John,' says she, ' it's afternoon tay it'll be, an
tables—'
*' ' Aw, sit ye down, Hannah,' shouts John, 'sit ye
down, woman, an' be Hke another for once in a way.'
*' ' John,' says Hannah, again, an' looks knives an'
forks at him, ' where 's your manners the day ? '
" * Aw, manners be danged,' roars John, an' throws
his hat into the corner ; ' give us a cup o' tay an' quit
your nonsense. Come on, girls,' says he to the women,
' come over, an' have a cup in comfort wi' me here at
the table.'
" * John ! says Hannah again, * ye can't sit at this
table ; it's — it's too small,' says she.
" ' Then pull it out from the wall,' roars John, ' pull
it out and let us get round it. Come on,' says he, an'
grips an end o' the table, * give it a hft acros the floor !'
** ' No, no, John/ shou s Hannah, an' grip t'other
end to keep it from goin' ; ' ye mustn't, John ! '
" ' Out wi' it,' roa s John again.
" ' No, no,' shouts Hannah, * ye can't — aw, ye can't —
aw, ye mustn' — no, no, John ! '
*' ' Aw, to glory wi' you an' it,' shouts John. * Here
let me at it meself ! . . .'
" An' the next minute Hannah was screechin' in her
THE WEE TEA TABLE. 289
shroud; an' there was a clatter o' crockery, like as
if a bull had gone slap at a dresser ; an' John was standin'
like as if he was shot, in the middle of the floor ; an'
lyin' at his feet was the wee table, an' the ace of diamonds,
an' the whole o' Hannah's cups an' saucers, an' the tay-
pot, an' all, in a thousand pieces. . . . Aw, heart
alive . . . heart alive i . . . ."
Anne leant upon her rake and bowed her head in
laughter. Two minutes grace she had ; then said I :
" What had happened, Anne ? "
She looked at me. " Happened ? Sure, the table
was only an ould dressin'-table, an' had only three
legs, an' was propped wi' the lame side against the wall ;
an' when John put it down in the middle of the floor —
Aw, now," cried Anne, '* that's enough, that's enough. .
Aw, me sides — me sides."
" Aw, me sides— me sides," cried Judy, shaking
below her big sun-bonnet. '' Te-he ! "
" Aw, women alive," cried I, sinking back on the hay.
" Haw, haw ! "
u
290 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
The Interpreters.
From " The Adventures oj Dr. Whitty.*'
By George A. Birmingham.
At the end of January, after three weeks of violently
stormy weather, the American barque, '' Kentucky,"
went ashore at Carrigwee, the headland which guards
the northern end of Ballintra. She struck first on some
rocks a mile from the shore, drifted over them and
among them, and was washed up, frightfully shattered,
on the mainland. The captain and the crew were
saved, and made their way into the town of Ballintra.
They were dispatched thence to Liverpool, all of them,
except one sailor, a forecastle hand, whose right leg
had been broken by a falling spar. This man was
brought into Ballintra in a cart by Michael Geraghty,
and taken to the workhouse hospital. He arrived in a
state of complete collapse, and Dr. Whitty was sent
for at once.
The sailor turned out to be a man of great strength
and vigour. He recovered from the effects of the long
exposure rapidly, had his leg set, and was made as
comfortable as the combined efforts of the whoh work-
house hospital staff could make him. Then it was
noticed that he did not speak a word to anyone, and
was apparently unable to understand a word that was
said to him. Tbe master of the workhouse, after a
consultation with the matron and the nurse, came to the
conclusion that he must be a foreigner. Dr. Whitty
was sent for again and the fact reported to him.
THE INTERPRETERS. 29 1
" I was thinking," said the master, " that you might
be able to speak to him, doctor, so as he'd be able to
understand what you said."
" Well, I can't," said the doctor. " Fm not a pro-
fessional interpreter, but I don't see that it much matters
whether you're able to talk to him or not. Give him
his food. He'll understand the meaning of a cup of
tea when it's offered him, whatever language he's
accustomed to speak. That's all you need care about.
As a matter of fact, he'll be just as well off without
having you and the nurse and the matron sitting on the
end of his bed and gossiping with him all day long."
" What's troubling me," said the master, " is that
I've no way of finding out what religion he is."
" I don't see," said the doctor, " that his religion
matters in the least to us. He's not going to die."
'* I know that. But I have to enter his religion in
the book. It's the rule that the religion of every inmate
of the house or the hospital must be entered, and I'll
get into trouble after if I don't do it."
*' Well," said the doctor, " there's no use asking me
about it. I can't talk to him any better than you can,
and there isn't any way of telling by the feel of a man's
leg whether he's a Catholic or a Protestant."
" That may be," said the master, who disliked this
sort of flippant materialism, " but if I was to enter him
down as a Catholic, and it turned out after that he was a
Protestant, there 'd be a row I'd never hear the end of ;
and if I was to have him down as a Protestant, and him
being a Catholic all the time, there'd be a worse row."
Dr. Whitty was a good-natured man, and was always
ready to help anyone who was in a difficulty. He felt
for the master of the workhouse. He also had a natural
292 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
taste for solving difficult problems, and the question of
the sailor's religion attracted him.
*' Tell me this, now," he said. " Had he any kind of
a Prayer Book or a religious emblem of any sort on him
when you were taking the clothes off him ? "
" Not one. I looked myself, and the nurse went
through his pockets after. Barring a lump of ship's
tobacco and an old knife, there wasn't a thing on him."
** That's not much use to us," said the doctor. " I
never heard of a religion yet that forbid the use of
tobacco or objected to people carrying penknifes. If
you'd found a bottle of whiskey on him, now, it might
have helped us. We'd have known then that he wasn't
a Mohammedan.'*
" What'll I do at all ? "
" I'll tell you what it is," said the doctor. " I'll
go round the town and I'll collect all the people in it
that can speak any language besides English. I'll bring
them up here and let them try him one by one. It'll
be a queer thing if we can't find somebody that will be
able to make him understand a simple question."
Dr. Whitty called first at the Imperial Hotel, and had
an interview with Lizzie Glynn.
" Lizzie," he said, " you've had a good education at
one of the most expensive convents in Ireland. Isn't
that a fact ? "
'* It is," she said. *' And I took a prize one time for
playing the piano."
" It's not piano-playing that I expect from you now,"
said the doctor, " but languages. You speak French,
of course ? "
** I learned it," said Lizzie, " but I wouldn't say I
could talk it very fast."
THE INTERPRETERS. 293
" Never mind how slow you go," said the doctor,
** so long as you get it out in the end. Are you good at
German ? "
" I didn't learn German."
" Italian ? "
" There was one of the sisters that knew Italian,"
said Lizzie, " but it wasn't taught regular."
" Russian ? Spanish ? Dutch ? "
Lizzie shook her head.
** That's a pity. Never mind. I'll put you down
for French, anyway. I'll take you up with me to the
workhouse hospital at six o'clock this evening. I want
you to speak French to a man that's there, one of the
sailors out of the ship that was wrecked."
I mightn't be fit," said Lizzie, doubtfully.
Oh, yes, you will. Just look up the French for
religion before you start, and get off the names of the
principal kinds of religion in that language. All you
have to do is to ask the man, ' What is your reUgion ? '
and then understand whatever it is he says to you
by the way of an answer."
Dr. Whitty next called on Mr. Jackson and explained
the situation to him. The rector, rather unwillingly,
offered French, and seemed relieved when he was told
that that language was already provided for,
" I thought," said the doctor, " that you'd be sure to
know Greek."
" I do," said the Rector, " but not modern Greek."
" Is there much difference ? "
'' I don't know. I fancy there is."
" Well, look here, come up and try the poor fellow
with ancient Greek. I expect he'll understand it if
294 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
you talk slowly. All we want to get out of him is
whether he's a Protestant or a Catholic."
" If he's a Greek at all," said the rector, " he'll pro-
bably not be either the one or the other."
" He's got to be one or the other while he's here.
He can choose whichever happens to be the nearest thing
to his own religion, whatever that is. Does Mrs. Jackson
know Italian or Spanish ? "
"No. I rather think she learned German at school,
but I expect "
" Capital. I'll put her down for German."
"I'm sure she's forgotten it now."
" Never mind. She can brush it up. There's
not much wanted and she has till six o'clock this evening.
I shall count on you both. Good-bye."
*' By the way, doctor," said Mr. Jackson on the
doorstep, *' now I come to think of it, I don't believe
there's a word in ancient Greek for Protestant."
" There must be. It's one of the most important
and useful words in any language. How could the
ancient Greeks possibly have got on without it ? "
" There is7i't. I'm perfectly sure there isn't."
" That's awkward. But never mind, you'll be able
to get round it with some kind of paraphrase. After
all, we can't leave the poor fellow without the consola-
tions of religion in some form. Good-bye."
" And — and — Catholic in ancient Greek will mean
something quite different, not in the least what it means
now."
The doctor was gone. Mr. Jackson went back to his
study and spent two hours wrestling with the contents
of a lexicon. He airived at the workhouse in the evening
THE INTERPRETERS. 295
with a number of cryptic notes, the words lavishly
accented, written down on small slips of paper.
Father Henaghan was the next person whom Dr. Whitty
visited. At first he absolutely declined to help.
" The only language I could make any shift at
speaking," he said ** is Latin. And that would be no use
to you. There isn't one sailor out of every thousand,
outside of the officers of the Royal Navy, that would
know six words of Latin."
"They tell me," said the doctor, "that there's no
great difference between Latin and Spanish or Italian.
Anyone that knows the one will make a pretty good
push at understanding the others."
" Whoever told you that told you a lie," said the priest ;
" and, anyway, I'm not going near that man until I'm
sure he's a Catholic."
" Don't be hard-hearted, Father. Think of the poor
fellow lying there and not being able to tell any of us
what religion he belongs to."
" I'll tell you why I won't go." said the priest.
" There was one time when I was a curate in Dublin,
I used to be attending one of the hospitals. People
would be brought in suffering from accidents and
dying, and you wouldn't know what they were, Catholic
and Protestant. I got into the way of anointing them
all while they were unconcious, feeUng it could do them
no harm, even if they were Protestants. Well, one
day I anointed a poor fellow that they told me was
dying. What did he do but recover. It turned out
then that he was a Protestant, and, what's more, an
Orangeman, and when he heard what was done he gave
me all sorts of abuse. He said his mother wouldn't
rest easy in her grave when she heard of it, and more
talk of the same kind."
296 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
'' This is quite a different sort oi case," said the
doctor. " This man's not dying or the least Hkely to
die."
" ril not go near him," said the priest.
"I'm sorry to hear you say that, Father. The Rev.
Mr. Jackson is coming up, and he's prepared to ask the
man what reHgion he is in ancient Greek — ancient Greek,
mind you, no less. It wouldn't be a nice thing to have
it said about the town that the Protestant minister
could talk ancient Greek and that you weren't fit to say
a few words in Latin. Come, now, Father Henaghan,
for the credit of the Church say you'll do it."
This last argument weighed greatly with the priest.
Dr. Whitty saw his advantage and pressed the matter
home.
'* I'll put you down," he said, " for Spanish and
Italian."
" You may put me down if you like, but I tell you
he won't know a word I speak to him."
" Try him," said the doctor.
" I'll not be making a public fool of myself to please
you," said the priest. " If I do it at all I'll have no one
with me in the room at the time, mind that now."
" Not a soul. You shall have him all to yourself.
To tell you the truth, I expect everybody will feel the
same as you do about that. The Rev. Mr. Jackson
didn't seem very keen on showing off his ancient Greek."
Colonel Beresford, when Dr. Whitty called on him,
confessed to a slight, a very slight, acquaintance with the
Russian language.
** 1 took it up," he said, *' a long time ago when I was
stationed in Edinburgh. There was a Russian scare
on at the time and everybody thought there was going
THE INTERPRETERS. 297
to be a war. I happened to hear that there were a couple
of Russian medical students in the University, and I
thought if I picked up a little of the language I might fall
in for a staff appointment. I've nearly forgotten it
all now, and I didn't make any special study of religious
terms at the time, but I'll do the best I can for you.
You've got all the other languages you say."
" I think so. I have " — the doctor took a list from his
pocket — " French, Miss Lizzie Glynn. She was
educated at a first-rate convent, and speaks French
fluently. Greek (ancient and modern), the Rev. Mr.
Jackson. German and allied tongues, Mrs. Jackson.
Italian, Spanish and Portuguese, Father Henaghan.
That, with your Russian, makes a tolerably complete
list."
" I'd no idea," said the colonel, " that we were such
a polyglot in BaUintra. By the way, you haven't got
Norwegian."
" No," said the doctor, " I haven't and when you
come to think of it, a sailor is more likely to be that,
or a Swede, than any thing else. Can you speak it ? "
" Not a word."
*' Do you happen to have a dictionary, Norwegian
or Swedish, in the house ? "
" No."
*' That's a pity. I'd have tried to work it up a little
myself if you had."
"All I have," said the Colonel, "is a volume of
Ibsen's plays."
" Give me that," said the Doctor, " and I'll do my
best."
" It's only a translation."
298 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE
*' Never mind. I'll pick up something out of it that
may be useful. I have two hours before me. Do you
mind lending it to me ? "
Dr. Whitty went home with a copy of a translation
of " Rosmersholm," " Ghosts," and " An Enemy of
Society."
At six o'clock the whole party of linguists assembled
in the private sitting-room of the master of the work-
house Dr. Whitty gave them a short address of an
encouraging kind, pointing out that, in performing an
act of charity they were making the best possible use
of the education they had received. He then politely
asked Mrs. Jackson if she would like to visit the foreigner
first. She did not seem anxious to push herself forward.
Her German, she confessed, was weak ; and she hoped
that if she was reserved until the last he might possibly
recognise one of the other languages before her turn
came. Everybody else, it turned out, felt very much
as Mrs. Jackson did. In the end Dr. Whitty decided
the order of precedence by drawing lots. The colonel,
accepting loyally the decision of destiny, went first
and returned with the news that the sailor showed no
signs of being able to understand Russian. Lizzie
Glynn went next, and was no more fortunate with her
French.
" I'm not sure," she said, " did I speak it right. But,
right or wrong, he didn't know a word I said to him."
Mr. Jackson arranged his notes carefully and was
conducted by the doctor to the ward. He, too, returned
without having made himself intelligible.
" I knew I should be no use," he said. '* I expect
modern Greek is quite different from the language I
know."
THE INTERPRETERS. 299
Father Henaghan*s Latin was a complete failure.
He seemed irritated and reported very unfavourably
of the intelligence of the patient.
*' It's my belief," he said, " that the man's mind's gone.
He must have got a crack on the head somehow, as well
as breaking his leg, and had the sense knocked out of
him. He looks to me like a man who'd understand
well enough when you talked to him if he had his right
mind."
This view of the sailor's condition made Mrs. Jackson
nervous. She said she had no experience of lunatics,
and disUked being brought into contact with them.
She wanted to back out of her promise to ask the neces-
sary question in German. In the end she consented
to go, but only if her husband was allowed to accompany
her. She was back again in five minutes, and said defi-
nitely that the man knew no German whatever.
" Now," said the colonel, *' it's your turn, doctor.
Go at him with your Norwegian."
" The fact is," said the doctor, " that, owing to the
three plays you lent me being merely translations,
I've only been able to get a hold of one Norwegian
word. However, as it happens, it is an extremely
useful word in this particular case. The Norwegian
for a clergyman," he said, triumphantly, " is ' Pastor.'
What's more, I've got a hold of the name of one of their
clergy. If this man is a Norwegian, and has been in the
habit of going to the theatre, I expect he'll know all
about Pastor Manders."
" It's clever of you to have fished that out of the book
I lent you," said the colonel. " But I don't quite see
how it will help you to find out whether our friend
with the broken leg is a Protestant or a Roman Catholic."
300 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
" It will help if it's worked properly, if it's worked
the way I mean to work it, that is to say, if the man is
a Norwegian, and I don't see what else he can be."
'' He might be a Turk," said Father Henaghan.
"No he couldn't. I tried him with half a glass of
whiskey this morn, and he simply lapped it up. If
he had been a Turk the smell of it would have turned
him sick. We may fairly assume that he is, as I say,
a Norwegian, and if he is I'll get at him. I shall want
you, Father Henaghan, and you, Mr. Jackson, to come
with me."
" I've been twice already," said Mr. Jackson. " Do
you really think it necessary for me "
" I shan't ask you to speak another word of ancient
Greek," said the doctor. " You needn't do anything
except stand where I put you and look pleasant."
He took the priest and the rector, seizing each by the
arm, and swept them with him along the corridor to the
ward in which the injured sailor lay. He set them one
on each side of the bed, and stood at the foot of it himself.
The sailor stared first at the priest and next at the rector.
Then he looked the doctor straight in the face and his
left eyelid twitched slightly. Dr. Whitty felt almost
certain that he winked ; but there was clearly no
reason why he should wink with any malicious intent,
so he put the motion down to some nervous affection.
" Pastor," said the doctor, in a loud, clear tone,
pointing to Father Henaghan.
The sailor looked vacantly at the priest.
" Pastor," said the doctor again, indicating Mr.
Jackson, with his finger.
The sailor turned his face and looked at Mr. Jackson,
but there was no sign of intelligence on liis face.
THE INTERPRETERS. 3© I
" Take your choice," said the doctor ; '"^ you can have
either one or the other. We don't want to influence
you in the sUghtest, but you've got to profess a reUgion
of some sort while you're here, and these clergymen
represent the only two kinds we have. One or other
of them you must choose, otherwise the unfortunate
master of this workhouse will get into trouble for not
registering you. Hang it all ! I don't believe the fool
knows a single word I'm saying to him."
Again, the man's eyelid, this time his right, eyeUd,
twitched.
" Don't do that," said the doctor ; " it distracts
your attention from what I'm saying. Listen to me
now. Pastor Manders ! " He pointed to the priest.
" Pastor Manders ! " He indicated the rector.
Neither Father Henaghan nor Mr. Jackson had ever
read '' Ghosts," which was fortunate. If they had they
might have resented the name which the doctor imposed
on them. Apparendy, the sailor did not know the
play either. " Manders " seemed to mean no more to
him than " Pastor " did.
" There's no use our standing here all evening," said
Father Henaghan. " You told me to look pleasant, and
I have — I havent looked so pleasant for a long time —
but I don't see that any good is likely to come of
it."
*' Come on," said the doctor. " I've done my best,
and I can do no more. I'm inclined to think now that
the man must be either a Laplander or an Esquimaux.
He'd have understood me if he'd been a Dane, a Swede,
a Norwegian, or even a Finn."
'' I told you, as soon as ever I set eyes on him," said
the priest, " that he was out of his mind. My own
302 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
belief is, doctor, that if you give him some sort of a
soothing draught, and get him back into his right senses,
he'll turn out to be an Irishman. It's what he looks
like."
Michael Geraghty, who had carted the injured sailor
from the shipwreck, called on Dr. Whitty next day at
breakfast-time.
" I hear," he said, *' that you had half the towTi up
yesterday trying could they get a word out of that
fellow that's in the hospital with the broken leg."
*' I had. We spoke to him in every language in
Europe, and I'm bothered if I know what country he
belongs to at all. There wasn't one of us he'd answer."
" Did you think of trying him with the Irish } "
" I did not. Where would be the good ? If he
could speak Irish he'd be sure to be able to speak
English."
" Would you have any objection to my saying a few
words to him, doctor ? "
" Not the least in the world. If you've nothing
particular to do, go up there and tell the master I sent
you.
An hour later Michael Geraghty re-appeared at the
doctor's door. He was grinning broadly and seemed
pleased with himself.
*' Well, Michael, did you make him speak ? "
*' I didn't like to say a word to you, doctor, till I made
sure for fear of what I might be bringing some kind of
trouble on the wrong man; but as soon as ever I seen
that fellow put into my cart beyond at Carrigwee, I said
to myself : ' You're mighty like poor Affy Hynes that's
gone, only a bit older. I took another look at him as
we were coming along the road, and, says 1, ' If Affy
THE INTERPRETERS. 303
Hynes is alive this minute youVe him You'll recol-
lect, doctor, that the poor fellow couldn't speak at the
time, by reason of the cold that was on him and the
broken leg and all the hardships he'd been through.
Well, looking at him off and on, till I got to the work-
house I came to be pretty near certain that it was either
Affy Hynes or a twin brother of his ; and Mrs. Hynes,
the mother, that's dead this ten years, never had but the
one son."
** And who was Affy Hynes ? "
" It was before your time, of course, and before
Father Henaghan was parish priest ; but the colonel
would know who I mean." Michael sank his voice
to an impressive whisper. " Affy Hynes was the boy
that the police was out after in the bad times, wanting
to have him hanged on account of the way that the bailiff
was shot. But he made off, and none of us ever knew
where he went to, though they did say that it might be
to an uncle of his that was in America."
'* Did he murder the bailiff ? "
'* He did not ; nor I don't believe he knew who did,
though he might."
" Then what did he run away for ? "
" For fear they'd hang him," said Michael Geraghty.
*' Amn't I just after telling you ? "
" Go on," said the doctor.
*' Well, when Affy came to himself after all the hard-
ship he had it wasn't long before he found out the place
he was in. ' It's Ballintra,' says he to himself, ' or it's
mighty like it.' There did be a great dread on him
then that the police would be out after him again, and
have him took ; and, says he, into himself like, so as
no one would hear him, ' I'll let on I can't understand
304 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
a word they say to me, so as they won't know my
voice, anyway.' And so he did ; but he went very
near laughing one time when you had the priest and
the minister, one on each side of him, and ' Pastor,'
says you "
" Never mind that part," said the doctor.
" If it's displeasing to you to hear about it, I'll not
say another word. Only, I'd be thankful if you'd
tell me why you called the both of them
Manders. It's what Affy was saying to me this minute :
* Michael,' says he, ' is Manders the name that's on the
priest that's in the parish presently ? ' * It is not,'
says I, ' but Henaghan.' * That's queer,' said he. 'Is
it Manders they call the minister .? ' 'It is not,' I
says ; ' it's Jackson. There never was one in the place
of the name of Manders, priest or minister.' ' That's
queer,' says he ' for the doctor called both the two of
them Manders.' "
" So he understood every word we said to him all the
time ? " said the doctor.
" Not the whole of it, nor near the whole," said
Michael Geraghty. *' He's been about the world a
deal, being a sailor and he said he could make out what
Miss Glynn was saying pretty well, and knew the
minister's lady was talking Dutch, though he couldn't
tell what she was saying, for it wasn't just the same
Dutch as he'd been accustomed to hearing. The
colonel made a middling good offer at the Russian. Affy
was a year one time in them parts, and he knows ; but
he said he'd be damned if he could make any kind of
a guess at what either the priest or the minister was at,
and he told me to be sure and ask you what they were
talking because he'd hke to know."
((
THE INTERPRETERS 305
I'll go Up and see him myself," said the doctor.
If you speak the Irish to him he'll answer you,"
said Michael.
'* I will, if he likes," said the doctor. " But why
won't he speak English ? "
" There's a sort of dread on him," said Michael
Geraghty. " I think he'd be more willing to trust
you if you'd speak to him in the Irish, it being all one
to you. He bid me say to you, and it's a good job I
didn't forget it, that if so be he's dying, you might tell
Father Henaghan he's a Catholic, the way he'd attend
on him ; but if he's to live, he'd as soon no one but
yourself and me knew he was in the place."
Dr. Whitty went up to the workhouse, turned the nurse
out of the ward, and sat down beside Affy Hynes.
" Tell me this now," he said, " why didn't you let
me know who you were ? I wouldn't have told on
you."
" I was sorry after that I didn't," said Affy, " when I
seen all the trouble that I put you to. It was too much
altogether fetching the ladies and gentlemen up here
to be speaking to the like of me. It's what never
happened to me before, and I'm sorry you were
bothered."
" Why didn't you tell me then ? "
" Sure, I did my best. Did you not see me winking
at you once, when you had the priest and the minister
in with me, as much as to say : ' Doctor, if I thought
I could trust you I'd tell you the truth this minute.'
I made full sure you'd understand what it was I was
meaning the second time, even if you didn't at the firsi
go-off."
306 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE
*' That's not what 1 gathered from your wink at all,"
said the doctor. " I thought you'd got some kind of
a nervous affection of the eye."
" It's a queer thing, now," said AfTy, " that the two
of them reverend gentlemen should have the same name,
and that Manders.''
" We'll drop that subject," said the Doctor.
" We will, of course, if it's pleasing to you. But
it is queer all the same, and I'd be glad if I knew the reason
of it, for it must be mighty confusing for the people
of this place, both Catholic and Protestant. Tell me
now, doctor, is there any fear that I might be took by
the police? "
" Not a bit. That affair of yours, whatever it was,
is blown over long ago."
" Are 5^ou certain of that ?"
" I am."
" Then as soon as I'm fit I'll take a bit of a stroll out
and look at the old place. I'd like to see it again.
Many's the time I've said to myself, me being, may be,
in some far-away country at the time, * I'd like to see
Ballintra again, and the house where my mother lived,
and the bohireen that the asses does be going along
into the bog when the turf's brought home.' Is it there
yet ? "
" I expect it is," said the doctor.
" God is good," said Affy. " It's little ever I
expected to set eyes on it."
A TEST OF TRUTH. 307
A Test of Truth.
From " Irish Neighbours''
By Jane Barlow,
Jim Hanlon, the cobbler, was said by his neighbours
to have had his own share of trouble, and they often
added, ** And himself a very dacint man, goodness
may pity him ! " His misfortunes began when poor
Mary Anne, his wife, died, leaving him forlorn with
one rather sickly little girl, and they seemed to culminate
when one frosty morning a few years later he broke his
leg with a fall on his way to visit Minnie in hospital.
The neighbours, who were so much impressed by her
father's good qualities and bad luck, did not hold an
equally favourable opinion about this Minnie, inclining
to consider her a ** cross-tempered, spoilt little shrimp
of a thing." But Jim himself thought that the
width of the world contained nothing like her, which was
more or less true. So when she fell ill of a low fever,
and the doctor said that the skilled nursing in a Dublin
hospital would be by far her best chance, it was only
after a sore struggle that Jim could make up his mind to
let her go. And then his visit to her at the first moment
possible had brought about the unwary walking and
slip on a slide, which resulted so disastrously.
It was indeed a most deplorable accident. If it
had happened somewhere near Minnie's hospital, he
said to himself, it might have been less unlucky, but,
alas, the whole city spread between them and the
institution whither he was brought. The sense of his
308 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
helplessness almost drove him frantic, as he lay in the
long ward fretting over the thought that he was tied
by the leg, unable to come next or nigh her, whatever
might befall, or even to get a word of news about her.
But on this latter point his forebodings were not fulfilled,
his neighbours proved themselves to be friends in need.
At the tidings of his mishap they made their way in to
see him from unhandy little Ballyhoy, undeterred by
what was often to them no very trivial expense and
inconvenience. Nor were they slow to discover that
they couid do him no greater service than find out for
him "what way herself was at all over at the other place.'
Everybody helped him readily in this matter, more
especially three or four good-natured Ballyhoy matrons.
On days when they came into town to do their bits
of marketing they would augment their toils by long
trudges on foot, or costly drives on tramcars, that they
might convey to Jim Hanlon the report for which he
pined. They considered neither their heavy baskets,
nor the circumstance that they were folk to whom
time was time, and a penny a penny indeed.
Yet, sad to say, great as was Jim's rcUef and his
gratitude, their very zeal did in some degree diminish
the value of their kindness. For their evident desire
to please and pacify him awakened in his mind doubts
about the means which they might adopt ; and it must
be admitted that his mistrust was not altogether
ungrounded. The tales which they carried to him from
" the other place " were not seldom intrinsically
improbable, and sounded all the more so to him because
of his intimate acquaintance with their subject. When
Mrs. Jack Doyle averred that Minnie was devouring
all before her, and that the nurse said a strong man would
A TEST OF TRUTH. 309
scarce eat as much as she did, Jim remembered Minnie's
tomtit-Uke meals at home, and found the statement hard
to accept. It was still worse when they gave him
effusively affectionate messages, purporting to come from
Minnie, who had always been anything in the world
but demonstrative and sentimental. His heart sank
as Mrs. Doran assured him that Minnie had sent her
love to her own darling treasure of a precious old daddy,
for he knew full well that no such greeting had ever
emanated from Minnie, and how could he tell, Jim
reflected, but that they might be as apt to deceive him
about one thing as another ? Perhaps there was little
or no truth in what they told him about the child being
so much better, and able to sit up, and so forth. Like
enough one couldn't believe a word they said. On
this terribly baffling question he pondered continually
with a troubled mind.
Saturday mornings were always the most likely to
bring him visitors, and on a certain Saturday he rejoiced
to hear that somebody was asking for him. He was all
the more pleased because the lateness of the hour had
made him despair of seeing any friends, and because
this portly, good-humoured Mrs. Connolly was just
the person he had been wishing to come. She explained
that she would have paid him a visit sooner, had not
all her children been laid up with colds, and then, as
he had hoped, she went on to say that she was going over
to see after little Minnie. '' And the Sister here's
promised me," said Mrs. Connolly, " she'll let me in
to bring you word on me way back, even if I'm a trifle
beyond the right visitin' time itself."
Thereupon Jim produced a sixpence from under his
pillow, where he had kept it ready all the long morning.
310 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
** If it wouldn't be throublin' you too much, ma'am,"
he said, *' I was wonderin' is there e'er a place you would
be passin' by where you could get some sort of a little
doll wid this for Minnie."
" Is it a doll ? " said Mrs. Connolly. " Why to
be sure I will, and welcome. I know a shop in O'Connell
Street where they've grand sixpenny dolls, dressed real
delightful. I'll get her a one of them as aisy as anythin'."
Mrs. Connolly knew that the price of the dolls she had
in her eye was actually sixpence-halfpenny, but she
at once resolved to pay the halfpenny herself and not
let on.
" And you might maybe be gettin' her an orange
wid this," Jim said, handing her a penny.
/' Well, now, it's the lucky child poor Minnie is," Mrs.
Connolly declared, " to have such a good daddy. Finely
set up she will be wid a doll and an orange. I'll bring
her the best in Dublin, Jim, no fear."
" She might fancy the orange, anyway," Jim said,
half to himself, with a queer remorseful sort of look.
Mrs. Connolly having gone, he began to expect her
back again with an unreasonable promptitude which
lengthened the afternoon prodigiously. He had
suffered innumerable apprehensions, and fidgetted
himself into a fever of anxiety before she could possibly
have returned. At last, however, when her broad,
cheerful countenance did reappear to him, looming
through the misty March dusk, he felt that he would
almost have chosen a further delay. For he had staked
so much upon this venture that the crisis of learning,
whether it had failed or succeeded could not but be
rather terrible.
There was nothing apparently alarming in Mrs.
A TEST OF TRUTH 311
Connolly's report. She had found Minnie doing
finely. Her nurse said she would be out of bed next
week, and was very apt to get her health better than
before she took bad. The orange had pleased her
highly, and she had bid Mrs. Connolly tell her daddy
that he might be sending her another one next Saturday
if he liked. All this was good as far as it went, but about
the doll, Mrs. Connolly kept silence, and it struck Jim
that she shrank away from anything which seemed
leading towards a reference to the subject. Jim, who
at first had half dreaded and half longed every moment
to hear her speak of it, began to think that she might go
away without mentioning it, which would not do at all.
In the end he had to introduce it himself.
" And how about the bit of a doll, ma'am ? " he
inquired as unconcernedly as he could. " Was you
able to get her e'er a one ? "
Unmistakably Mrs. Connolly was much disconcerted
by the question. Her face fell, and she hesitated for
a while before she replied, with evident reluctance — ■
" Sure, now, man alive, you never can tell v/hat
quare notions childer'll take up wid when they're sick,
and more especially when they do be about gettin'
v^^ell agin, the way Minnie is now. Quiet enough the
crathurs do be as long as they're rale bad. But, tellin'
you the truth, Jim, not a bit of her would look at the
doll. Some fantigue she had agin it, whatever ailed
her, an' it a great beauty, wid a pink sash on it and all
manner. Slingin' it into the middle of the floor she was,
only the nurse caught a hould of it, an' biddin' me to
take it away out of that. So says I to her, * What at all
should I do wid the lovely doll, after your poor daddy
sendin' it to yourself ? ' And, says she to me, ' Give
312 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
the ugly big lump of a thing to the ould divil,' says she,
' an' let him give it to the little young black-leggy divils
to play wid if they like.' I declare to you, Jim, thim
was the very words of her, sittin' up in her bed, not
lookin' the size of anythin'. 'Deed, now, she's the
comical child. But sure who'd be mindin' her ? And
the nurse says she'll keep the doll till to-morrow, an'
if Minnie doesn't fancy it then, she'll give it to the little
girl in the next cot that does be frettin' after her mother,
so it won't go to loss. An' besides — "
She stopped short in surprise, for Jim, who had been
laughing silently to himself, now broke out in tones of
positive rapture —
*' ' The little young black-leggy divils ' — that's Minnie
herself, and no mistake this time, glory be to God !
Sorra the fantigue it was, but just the nathur of her,
for the thoughts of a doll she never could abide all the
days of her life. She'd as lief be playin' wid a snake
or a toad. So if you'd let on to me that she liked it,
ma'am, well I'd know 'twas only romancin' to me you
were. But the truth you tould me, right enough, and
thank you kindly. The little villin'U be runnin' about
before I am, plaze goodness. Och, bedad, 1 can sec
her slingin' it neck an' crop out of the bed."
As Jim fell to laughing again, Mrs. Connolly looked at
him puzzled, and with some disapproval, though she
would not express the latter sentiment to him in his
invalided condition. But she soon afterwards took leave,
and on her homeward way she said to herself, " Musha,
good gracious, mightn't one suppose Jim Hanlon 'ud
have more since than to go sind the poor imp of a child
a prisint only for the sake of annoyin' her ? 'Twas
the quare, foolish way to be spendin' a sixpence, in my
A TEST OF TRUTH. 313
Opinion. But sure, 'twas be way of a joke, an' the poor
man hasn't much chance of e'er a one lyin' there. It's
wonderful the store men set by nonsense. Sometimes
you'd think they were all born fools, they do be that
aisy amused. You'll hear thim guffawin' like a jackass
bewitched over silly ould blathers that an infant child
'ud have more wit than to be mindin'."
Certainly, Jim was so well satisfied with his joke, if
joke it were, that when he grew drowsy towards evening,
his last thoughts made him chuckle contentedly. " The
little black-leggy divils," he said to himself. " Glory
be to God ! she's finely." And he fell asleep with a
glad and grateful heart.
314 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE
The Wise Woman.
From " A Boy in the Country.''
By John Stevenson.
That she knew far more than all the doctors put
together was commonly considered, in the territory of
her operations, as truth beyond question. Sometimes
a man body, with a pain for which he could not account,
fearing the inquisition and expense of the qualified
practitioner, would make believe to doubt the potency
of her medicines, the reaUty of her cures. But even the
discernment of a boy was sufficient to detect the insin-
cerity of his contemptuous talk about " auld wife's
doctorin'," and to find lurking behind his brave w^ords
the strong desire to consult the wise woman. With
much show of impatience, and pretence of anger, at the
over-persuasion of his womankind, he would give a
seemingly reluctant consent to see Mrs. Moloney,
" if she should happen to look in." He knew as well as
that he lived that her coming would be by invitation.
Such a one, receiving in the field the message that
" Mrs, Moloney's in," would probably say, " Hoots,
nonsense," and add that he had his work to look after.
But, very soon, he would find that he needed a spade or
a hook, a pot of paint, or a bit of rope, from home, and
he must needs go home for it himself. He believed
in a man's doing a thing for himself if he wanted it well
done ; as like as not a messenger would spend half a
day in looking for what he wanted, and bring the wrong
thing in the end At home he would make a fine show
of searching out-houses and lofts, passing and repassing.
THE WISE WOMAN. 31S
with some noise, the kitchen windows, finally looking
in to see if the thing is in the kitchen ; and there, of
course, quite accidentally, he would see Mrs. Moloney
and would not be rude enough to leave without passing
the time o' day. Then the womankind took hold of the
case, drew out the man's story of distress, took notes
of the remedy, and saw to it that the medicine was
taken according to direction.
" The innards o' man is tough, and need to be dealt
with according" said Mrs. Moloney, and for man she
prescribed a dose which gave him some pain and, usually,
cured him. It may be that Nature, provoked by the
irritant remedy, got rid of it, and the ailment at once ; or
it may be that the man body, after the racket in '' his
innards," found his ailment, by comparison, easy to live
with, and imagined himself cured. In either case,
the result was counted as cure to the credit of Mrs.
Moloney,
By profession a seller of needles, pins, buttons, and
such small wares, she owed her livelihood, in reality,
to payment for her medical skill. Not that she took
money for her prescription or advice — '' Thanks be to
God," she said, " I never took wan penny for curin'
man, woman, or child " ; but then, no one ever asked
her advice without buying something, and if her charges
were just a little more than shop prices, she was entitled
to something extra for bringing the shop to the customer.
Then she got her meals from grateful and believing
patients, and her basket had an uncommercial end,
covered with a fair, white cloth, into which the good
wife, with some show of doing good by stealth, intro-
duced the useful wreck of a boiled fowl, or a ham-bone
with broth possibilities.
3l6 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
She did not meddle with diseases of children, except
in cases of measles, for which she prescribed whisky
and sulphur, and a diet of sw^eet milk warm from the
cow. Decline, she considered to be due to " a sappin'
o' the constitution," and she shared the old-time belief
in the noxious effect of night air on consumptives, and
would have them warm in curtained four-posters, in
rooms into which little light and no fresh air could
enter. Beyond a recommendation of port wine, she had
no message for healing for these poor sufferers. Her
strength lay in the treatment of adults' ailments which
do not necessarily kill. Her list of diseases was a short
one. For the numerous forms of hepatic trouble known
to the professional, she had one comprehensive title —
Liver Complent,
and for it one remedy, varied only in magnitude of dose.
She recognised also as a common ailment —
Stomach Complent,
differentiating under this heading, Andygestion, Water-
brash, and Shuperfluity o' phlegm on the stomach.
She knew, too —
Bowel Complent,
Rheumatism,
Gineral Wakeness,
and
Harry Siplars.*
The foundation of her great reputation was, indeed,
largely built on her celebrated cure of this last, in the
case of Peggy Mulligan. She shall tell of it herself : —
** She come to me, an' she ses, ' Mary,' ses she,
'can ye cure me, for I'm heart-sick o' them doctors at the
♦iirysipelas.
THE WISE WOMAN. 3 1?
dispinsary, an' they're not doin' me wan pick o' good.'
Ses I to her, ses I, ' What did they give ye ? ' ses I.
* O the dear knows,' ses she. ' I haven't tuk anythin'
they said, for I didn't believe they would do me no
good.' An' I had pity on the cratur, for her face was the
size o' a muckle pot, an' lek nothin' under the sun.
Ses I to her, ses I, ' I can cure you, my good woman,
but ye'll hev to do what you're tould,' ses I, ' an' I'll
make no saycret about it,' ses I—' it's cow-dung and
flour mixed, an' ye'll put it on your face, an* lave it there
for a fortnight,' ses I, 'an' when ye'll wash it off, ye'll
have no Harry Siplars.' An' nether she had."
She had a fine professional manner, and she knew how
to set at ease the anxious patient. The concerned man
body, wishful to appear unconcerned, she took at his
own valuation ; appearing more interested in a bit of
chat or gossip of the country than in particulars of
pains and aches. And while she talked with him of
crops and kine, and the good and ill-doings of men's
sons, the wife would urge John to tell Mrs. Moloney
about that bit of pain of his and how he could not sleep
for it o' nights. Then the wise woman would mention
something which the good wife " might " get for the
good man — it would cure him in no time, but — turning
to the man, — " 'deed, an' there's not much the matter
with ye. It's yerself that's gettin' younger lookin'
every year — shows the good care the mistress takes o'
ye." And the gratified creature would retire, proud
to think that he had acted so well the part of the uncon-
cerned, and filled with respect for Mrs. Moloney as a
v/oman of " great sinse and onderstandin'. "
Of new-fangled diseases she had a perfect horror,
speaking of them more in anger than in sorrow, as of
3l8 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
things which never should h^ve been introduced. Even
the New Ralgy she declined to entertain, dismissing
the mention of it, contemptuously, in the formula,
'* New Rolgy or Ould Ralgy, I'll have nothing to do
with it." To it, however, as Tic Doloro,* she gave a
qualified recognition, allowing its right to existence,
but condemning it as outlandish, and a gentry's ailment,
which the gentry should keep to themselves. And
while she did not refuse to treat it (with " Lodelum "
in " sperrits," hot milk, and a black stocking tied round
the jaws), the patient was made to feel a certain degree
of culpability in touching a thing with which she should
not have meddled, and that Mrs. Moloney had reason for
feeling displeased.
Very different was her attitude to one suffering from
Gineral Wakeness. This was her pet diagnosis, and
one much craved by overworked and ailing farmers'
wives, for it meant for them justification of rest, and
indulgence in food and drink which they would have
been afraid or ashamed to ask or take, unfortified by
an authoritative command. No man ever suffered
from Gineral Wakeness — it was a woman's trouble,
and never failed to draw from Mrs. Moloney a flood of
understanding sympathy, which was to the despairing
one like cool water on the hot and thirsty ground, making
hope and health revive ere yet medicament had been
prescribed. Seated before the patient, she would sway
slowly back and forward, gently patting the while the
aflrlicted's hand, and listening, with rapt attention, to the
longest and dreariest tale of woe.
The Patient. — O, but it's the weary woman 1 am,
waitin' and hopin' that you would come roun'. 'Deed,
♦Tic douloureux.
THE WISE WOMAN. 3^9
and if it hadn't been for the hope o' seein' ye I would
have give up altogether.
Mrs. M.— Puir dear ; tell me all aboot it.
The Patient. — It's a cough and a wakeness and a
drappin'-down feelin', as if my legs were goin' from
under me ; and I could no more lift that girdle o' bread
there than I could fly — not if ye were to pay me a
thousand pound.
Mrs. M. — I know, dear ; if it were writ out I cudn't
see it plainer.
The Patient. — And when I get up in the mornin', I
declare to ye, I have to sit on the edge o' the bed for five
minutes before puttin' fut to groun', and if I didn't
take a sup of cold water I couldn't put on my clothes.
Mrs. M. — That's it, dear ; that's just the way it goes.
The Patient. — And as for breakfast, I declare to ye,
ye couldn't see what I ate.
Mrs. M. — That's a sure sign, a sure sign.
The Patient. — And all through the day it's just the
same thing. I'm just in a state of collops the whole
time. Niver a moment's aise the day through, especi-
ally in the afternoon. It's just hingin' on I am ; that's
what it raly is.
After an hour of alternating symptomatic description
and sympathetic response, interrupted only by the
making and drinking of tea, the wise woman is prepared
to utter, and the patient to hear, the words of healing.
** Now, dearie, listen to me, that's a good woman.
It's Gineral Wakeness that ails ye. I knew it the minute
I set fut inside the dure, Ses I to myself, ses I, ' There's
Gineral Wakeness writ on the mistress's face ; it's
prented on her face like a book,' ses I, 'before ever she
says a word to me.' Now listen, dearie, and do what I
320 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
tell ye. Ye'll get a bottle o' sherry wine, and ye'll take
a bate-up egg in milk every day, with a sup o' sherry
in it, at eleven o'clock. And ye'll fill that pot there
with dandelion leaves and roots, and a handful o' mint
on the top o' it, and ye'll put as much water on it as '11
cover it, and ye'll let it sit at the side o' the fire all day
until all the vartue is out o' it. And ye'll take a table-
spoonful o' it three times a day, immajintly before your
meals. And every day, whin it comes to three o'clock,
ye'll go to your bed and lie down for an hour, and when
ye get up ye'll take a cup o' tay. Do that now, an' ye'll
not know yerself whin I come back."
As Mrs. Moloney's list of legitimate and proper
country diseases was a short one, so was her pharmaco-
poeia a small book. Besides such common remedies
as Epsom salts, senna, ginger, and powdered rhubarb,
it took account of —
Lodelum . . . . which is Laudanum,
Hickery pickery , . „ Hiera picra.
Gum Go Whackem ,, Gum guaiacum,
Assy Fettidy . . „ Asafoetida,
as chemist's stuff fit for her practice, and of various
herbs (pronounced yarbs), alterative or curative, such
as dandelion, camomile, peppermint, and apple-balm.
As she said herself, she made no " saycret " of many of
her remedies, but she was wise enough to carry and
dispense certain agents ; for, to the benefit of the wise
woman, these free gifts constituted a claim for the
liberal purchase of small wares, and the use ot one of
these gave a certain cachet to an ailment which, with a
prescription of hot milk and pepper, or of ginger tea,
would have been sufficiently commonplace These
THE WISE WOMAN. 32 1
secret remedies were kept In little bottles, each of which
had its own sewed compartment in a large linen pocket
hanging at the mistress's waist, between the gown and
the uppermost petticoat, A certain solemnity attached
to their production — three, four, or five being invariably
drawn and set out on the table, even when, as in most
cases, the contents of one only was needed. Mrs.
Moloney would contemplate the range, attentively
and silently, for a few minutes ; lifting one after another,
wrinkling her brows the while, and, finally, selecting
and uncorking one, while she requested " a clane bottle
and a good cork." The selected drug was generally
a crystal ; the bottle, by request, was half-filled with
hot water, in vv^hich, through vigorous shaking, the
crystal rapidly disappeared. Handing the bottle to the
patient, the instruction would be given to take a table-
spoonful immediately after eating. Silly young folks,
who had no need of the good woman's services, were
known to say that Mrs. Moloney knew perfectly well
what she was going to use, that the consideration was
simulated, and that the oft-used crystal was common
washing-soda and nothing- else. But these flighty
children took care not to say such things in the hearing
of their mothers, who had been treated for Gineral
Wakeness.
Doubtless the prescriptions of Mrs. Moloney lacked
precision on the quantitative side. A cure of rheumatism
was threepence- worth of " Hickery Pickery in a naggin
o' the best sperrits." To be well shaken and taken
by the teaspoonful, alternative mornings, on a fasting
stomach. " Sixpence worth o' Gum Go Wackem,"
also made up in the " best sperrits," was a remedy
supposed to acquire special potency from a prodigious
w
322 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
amount of shaking. '* Show me how ye'll shake it,'
the medicine-woman would say, and when the patient
made a great show of half-a-minute's shaking, she-
it was oftenest she — would be surprised to hear that
that was no shaking, and an exhibition of what was good
and sufficient shaking would be made by Mrs. Moloney.
In the case of her sovran remedy for sore eyes, to be used
very sparingly— a pennorth o' Red Perspitherate,*
in a tablespoonful of fresh butter— the quantity for an
application was always indicated in special and dramatic
fashion. She asked, '' And how much will ye be puttin'
in your eye, now ? — jist show me." The patient,
desiring to avoid a mean or niggardly use of the remedy,
would probably indicate on the finger a lump as large
as an eye of liberal measurements could be supposed
to accommodate. Then the good woman would lean
back and sigh. A pin would be withdrawn from some
part of her clothing, and held between the thumb and
finger so that only the head appeared.
" Do ye see that pin-head ? "
The afflicted nods in acquiescence.
" Do ve see that pin-head ? Now take a good look
at it."
Again the sore-eyed indicates accurate observation.
" Well, not a pick more nor that, if ye want to keep
your eyesight."
Other quantitative directions were given in ** fulls "
— " the full o' yer fist," " the full o' an egg-cup," even
*• the full o' yer mooth." Or, by sizes of objects, as,
" the size o' a pay," " the size o' a marble." Or by
coin areas, *' what'll He on a sixpence," or on a shilling,
or on a penny. Or by money values, as in the Hickery
*Red Precipitate— red oxide of mercury.
THE WISE WOMAN. 3^3
Pickery prescription. Fists, peas, marbles vary con-
siderably in size, and in the case of money- values a
change of chemist might mean a considerable variation
in quantity ; but, with the possible exception of
*' Lodelum," prescribed in drops, the quantities of the
good woman's remedies bore variation to a considerable
extent without serious difference in resvilt. That '' the
best sperrits " were so frequently the medium for " exhi-
bition " of her remedies may account for the great
popularity with adults which these remedies enjoyed.
These were the days when hospitality was not hos-
pitality without** sperrits " free from medicinal addition,
and, late in the afternoon, Mrs. Moloney was accustomed
to accept graciously ** the full o' an egg-cup," quahfied
by the addition of sugar and hot water. Once, while
sipping her punch, she asked that a little should be given
to me as a treat, and when the pungent spirit, in the
unaccustomed throat, produced a cough, she promptly
diagnosed *' a wake chist."
324 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
The Meet of the Beagles.
From *' Patsy."
By H. de Vere Stacpoole.
Directly Patsy had left the news that the '' quality "
were coming to the meet and returned to the house the
crowd in front of the Castle Knock Inn thickened.
Word of the impending event went from cabin to
cabin, and Mr. Mahony, the chimney sweep, put his
head out of his door.
" What's the news, Rafferty ? " cried Mr. Mahony.
" Mimber of Parlymint and all the quality comin'
to the meet ! " cried a ragged-looking ruffian who was
running by.
** Sure, it'll be a big day for Shan Finucane," said
Mrs. Mahony, who was standing behind her husband
in the doorway with a baby in her arms.
Mr. Mahony said nothing for a while, but watched
the crowd in front of the inn.
*' Look at him," said Mr. Mahony, breaking out at
last — " look at him in his ould green coat ! Look at
him with the ould whip undher his arm, and the boots
on his feet not paid for, and him struttin' about as if
he was the Marqus of Waterford ! Holy Mary ! did yiz
ever see such an objick ! Mr. Mullins ! "
" Halloo ! " replied Mr. Mullins, the cobbler across
the way, who, with his window open owing to the
mildness of the weather, was whaling away at a shoe-
sole, the only busy man in the village.
" Did y' hear the news ? "
" What news ? "
THE MEET OF THE BEAGLES. 325
*' Shan's going to get a new coat."
*' Faith, thin, I hope he'll pay first for his ould shoes."
" How much does he owe you ? "
*' Siven and six — bad cess to him ! "
" He'll pay you to-night, if he doesn't drink the money
first, for there's a Mimber of Parlymint goin' to the
meet, and he'll most like put a suverin in the poor box."
Mr. Mullins made no reply, but went on whaling
away at his shoe, and Bob Mahony, having stepped
into his cottage for a hght for his pipe, came back and
took up his post again at the door.
The crowd round the inn was growing bigger and
bigger. Sneer as he might, Mr. Mahony could not
but perceive that Shan was having the centre of the stage,
a worshipping audience, and free drinks.
Suddenly he turned to his offspring, who were
crowding behind him, and singling out Billy, the eldest :
" Put the dunkey to," said Mr. Mahony.
" Sure, daddy," cried the boy in astonishment, " it's
only the tarriers."
" Put the dunkey to ! " thundered his father, " or
it's the end of me belt I'll be brightenin' your intellects
with."
" There's two big bags of sut in the cart and the
brushes," said Billy, as he made off to do as he was
bidden.
" Lave them in," said Mr. Mahony ; " it's only the
tarriers."
In a few minutes the donkey, whose harness was
primitive and composed mainly of rope, was put to,
and the vehicle was at the door.
Bob ! " cried his wife as he took his seat.
What is it ? " asked Mr Mahony, taking the reins.
326 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
" Won't you be afther givin' your face the lick of a
tow'l ? "
" It's only the tarriers," replied Mr. Mahony ; " sure,
I'm clane enough for them. Come up wid you, Norah."
Norah, the small donkey, whose ears had been cocking
this way and that, picked up her feet, and the vehicle,
which was not much bigger than a costermonger's
barrow, started.
At this moment, also, Shan and the dogs and the crowd
were getting into motion, making down the road for Glen
Druid gates.
** HuUoo ! huUoo ! hulloo ! " cried Mr. Mahony,
as he rattled up behind in the cart, *' where are yiz oft
to?"
** The meet of the baygles," replied twenty voices ;
whilst Shan, who had heard his enemy's voice, stalked
on, surrounded by his dogs, his old, battered hunting
horn in one hand, and his whip under his arm.
" And where are they going to meet ? " asked Mr.
Mahony.
" Glen Druid gate," replied the camp followers.
" There's a Mimber of Parlymint coniin', and all the
quaUty from the Big House."
* " Faith," said Mr. Mahony, ** I thought there was
somethin' up, for, by the look of Shan, as he passed me
house this mornin', I thought he'd swallo\ved the Lord
Liftinant, Crown jew'ls and all. Hulloo ! huiioo !
hulloo ! make way for me carridge ! Who arc you
crowdin' ? Don't you know the Earl of Leinsthcr
when y' see him .? Out of the way, or I'll call me
futman to disparse yiz."
Shan heard it all, but marched on. He could have
killeci Bob Mahony, who was turning his triumph
<(
((
THE MEET OF THE BEAGLES, 327
into a farce, but he contented himself with letting fly
with his whip amongst the dogs, and blowing a note on
his horn.
" What's that nize ? " enquired Mr. Mahony, with a
wink at the delighted crowd tramping beside the donkey
cart.
Shan's blowin' his harn," yelled the rabble.
Faith, I thought it was Widdy Finnegan's rooster
he was carryin in the tail pockit of his coat," said the
humourist.
The crowed roared at this conceit, which was much
more pungent and pointed as delivered in words by Mr,
Mahony ; but Shan, to all appearances, was deaf.
The "- road opposite the park gates was broad and
shadowed by huge elm trees, which gave the spot in
summer the darkness and coolness of a cave. Here
Shan halted, the crowd halted, and the donkey-cart
drew^ up
Mr. Mahony tapped the dottle out of his pipe care-
fully on the rail of his cart, filled the pipe, replaced
the dottle on the top of the tobacco, and drew a whiff.
The clock of Glen Druid House struck ten, and the
notes came floating over park and trees ; not that anyone
heard them, for the yelping of the dogs and the noise
of the crowd filled the quiet country road with the
hubbub of a fair.
" What's that you were axing me ? " cried Mr.
Mahony to a supposed interrogator in the crowd. " Is
the Prince o' Wales comin' ? No, he ain't. I had a
tellygrum from him this mornin' sendin' his excuzes.
Will some gintleman poke that rat-terrier out that's
got under the wheels of me carridge — out, you baste ! "
He leaned over and hit a rabbit-beagle that had strayed
328 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
under the donkey-cart a tip with his stick. The dog,
though not hurt, for Bob Mahony was much too good
a sportsman to hurt an animal, gave a yelp.
Shan turned at the sound, and his rage exploded.
** Who are yiz hittin' ? cried Shan.
** I'm larnin' your dogs manners," replied Bob.
The huntsman surveyed the sweep, the cart, the soot
bags, and the donkey.
" I beg your pardin'," said he, touchin his hat, " I
didn't see you at first for the sut."
Mr. Mahony took his short pipe from his mouth,
put it back upside down, shoved his old hat further
back on his head, rested his elbows on his knees, and
contemplated Shan.
" But it's glad I am," went on Shan, " you've come to
the meet and brought a mimber of the family with
you."
Fate was against Bob Mahony, for at that moment
Norah, scenting another of her species in a field near by,
curled her lip, stiffened her legs, projected her head,
rolled her eyes, and " let a bray out of her " that almost
drowned the howls of laughter from the exulting mob.
But Shan Finucane did not stir a muscle of his face,
and Bob Mahony 's fixed sneer did not flicker or waver.
** Don't mention it, mum," said Shan, taking off his
old cap when the last awful, rasping, despairing note
of the bray had died down into silence.
Another howl from the onlookers, which left Mr.
Mahony unmoved.
" They get on well together," said he, addressing
an imaginary acquaintance in the crowd.
** Whist and hould your nize, and let's hear what else
they have to sjy to wan another."
THE MEET OF THE BEAGLES. 329
Suddenly, and before Shan Finucane could open his
lips, a boy who had been looking over the rails into
the park, yelled :
** Here's the Mimber of Parlyment — here they come
— Hurroo ! "
" Now, then," said the huntsman, dropping repartee
and seizing the sweep's donkey by the bridle, " sweep
yourselves off, and don't be disgracin' the hunt wid your
sut bags and your dirty faces — away wid yiz ! "
" The hunt ! " yelled Mahony, with a burst of terrible
laughter. " Listen to him and his ould rat-tarriers
callin' thim a hunt ! Lave go of the dunkey ! "
" Away wid yiz ! "
" Lave go of the dunkey, or I'll batter the head of
you in wid me stick ! Lave go of the dunkey ! "
Suddenly seizing the long flue brush beside him, and
disengaging it from the bundle of sticks with which it
was bound, he let fly with the bristle end of it at Shan,
and Shan, catching his heel on a stone, went over flat
on his back in the road.
In a second he was up, whip in hand ; in a second Mr.
Mahony was down, a bag half-filled with soot — a terrible
weapon of assault — in his fist.
" Harns ! harns ! " yelled Mahony, mad with the
spirit of battle, and unconsciously chanting the fighting
cry of long-forgotten ancestors. ** Who says cruckeder
than a ram's harn I "
" Go it, Shan ! " yelled the onlookers. " Give it
him, Bob — sut him in the face — Butt-end the whip,
y'idgit — Hurroo ! Hurroo ! Holy Mary ! he nearly
landed him then — Mind the dogs — "
Armed with the soot-bag swung like a club, and the
old hunting-whip butt-ended, the two combatants
formed the centre of a circle of yelling admirers.
330 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
" Look ! " said Miss Lestrange, as the party from the
house came in view of the road. ** Look at the crowd
and the two men ! "
*' They're fighting 1 " cried the general. " I beUeve
the ruffians dared to have the impudence to start
fighting ! "
At this moment came the noise of wheels from behind,
and the ** tub/' which had obtained permission to go
to the meet, drew up, with Patsy driving the children.
" Let the children remain here," said the General.
" You stay with them, Violet. Come along, Boxall,
till we see what these ruffians mean "
wSo filled was his mind with the objects in view that
he quite forgot Dicky Fanshawe.
** You have put on the short skirt," said Dicky, who
at that moment would scarcely have turned his head
twice or given a second thought had the battle of
Austerlitz been in full blast beyond the park palings.
" And my thick boots," said Violet, pushing forward
a delightful little boot to speak for itself.
The children were so engaged watching the proceedings
on the road that they had no eyes or ears for their elders.
" Have you ever been beaghng before ? " asked Dicky.
" Never ; but I've been paper-chasing."
" You can get through a hedge ? "
" Rather ! "
" That'll do," said Dicky.
" ]\Ir. Fanshawe," cried Lord Gawdor from the
• tub," " look at the chaps in the road— aren't they going
tor each otlier ! "
" I see,' said Mr. Fanshawe, whose back was to the
road--" Violet—"
'• Yes."
THE MEET OF THE BEAGLES. 33 1
*' No one's looking — "
'' That doesn't matter — No — not here — Dicky, if you
don't behave, I'll get into the tub — Gracious ! what's
that ? "
'' He's down 1 " cried Patsy, who had been standing
up to see better.
" Who ? " asked Mr. Fanshawe.
" The Mimber of Parlyment—Misther Boxall— Bob
Mahony's grassed him — "
"They're all fighting!" cried Violet. "Come,
Mr. Fanshawe — Patsy — " She started for the gates
at a run.
When the General had arrived on the scene, Shan
had just got in and landed his antagonist a drum-
sounding blow on the ribs with the butt of his whip.
" Seize the other chap, Boxall 1 " cried General
Grampound, making for Mahony.
He was just half a second too late ; the soot bag,
swung like a club, missed Shan, and, catching Mr.
Boxall fair and square on the side of the face, sent
him spinning like a tee-totum across the road, and
head over heels into the ditch.
That was all.
A dead silence took the yelling crowd.
" He's kilt ! " came a voice.
'* He isn't ; sure, his legs is wavin'."
" Who is he ? "
" He's the Mimber of Parlyment ! Run for your
life, and don't lave off runnin' till you're out of the
country."
" Hold your tongue ! " cried General Grampound.
" Boxall— hullo ! Boxall I are you hurt ? "
" I'm all right," replied Mr. Boxall, who, from being
332 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
legs Upwards, was now on hands and knees in the ditch.
*' I've lost something — dash it ! "
" What have you lost ?"
" Watch."
" Come out and I'll get some of these chaps to look."
Mr. Boxall came out of the ditch with his handkerchief
held to the left side of his forehead.
" Why, your watch and chain are on you ! " cried
the General.
" So they are," said Mr. Boxall, pulling the watch
out with his left hand, and putting it back. '* I'm off
to the house — I want to wash."
" Sure, you're not hurt ? "
" Not in the least, only my forehead scratched."
" What's up ? " cried Dicky Fanshawe, who had
just arrived.
*' Nothing," replied his uncle. " Fellow hit him
by mistake — no bones broken. Will you take the
governess cart back to the house, Boxall ? "
''No, thanks— I'll walk."
" His legs is all right," murmured the sympathetic
crowd, as the injured one departed still with his hand-
kerchief to his face, " and his arums. Sure, it's the
mercy and all his neck wasn't bruck."
" Did yiz see the skelp Bob landed him ? "
" Musha ! Sure, I thought it would have sent his
head flying into Athy, like a gulf ball."
Patsy, who had pulled the governess cart up, rose
to his feet ; his sharp eye had caught sight of some-
thing lying on the road.
Ilould the reins a moment, Mr. Robert," said he,
putting them into Lord Gawdor's hands. lie hopped
out of the cart, picked up the object in the road, whatever
THE MEET OF THE BEAGLES. 333
it was, put it in his trousers' pocket, and then stood
holding the pony's head ; whilst the Meet, from which
Bob Mahony had departed as swiftly as his donkey
could trot, turned its attention to the business of the day,
and Shan, collecting his dogs, declared his intention
of drawing the Furzes.
" Was that a marble you picked up, Patsy ? " asked
Lord Gawdor, as the red-headed one, hearing Shan's
declaration, climbed into the " tub " again and took the
reins.
Patsy grinned.
«ab 4fr 4b 4fe ^ ^
TP TP tP W w "TP
Meanwhile Mr. Fanshawe had been writing three
important letters in the library. When he had finished
and carefully sealed them, he placed them one on top
of the other, and looked at his watch.
The three letters he had just written would make
everything all right at the other end. This was the
hot end of the poker, and it had to be grasped.
Patsy was the person who would help him to grasp
it. Patsy he felt to be a tower of strength and 'cuteness,
if such a simile is permissible. And, rising from the
writing-table and putting the letters in his pocket, he
went to find Patsy. He had not far to go, for as he came
into the big hall Patsy was crossing it with a tray in
hand.
" Patsy," said Mr. Fanshawe, '* when does the post
go out ? "
*' If you stick your letters in the letter box be the hall
door, sir," said Patsy, " it will be cleared in half-an-hour.
Jim Murphy takes the letter-bag to Castle Knock."
" Right I " said Mr. Fanshawe, *' And, see here,
Patsy I "
334 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIP!?.
" Yes, sir ? "
** I'm in a bit of a fix, Patsy, and you may be able
to help."
** And what's the fix, sir ? " asked Patsy.
'* You luiow the young lady you gave the note to
this morning — by the way, how did you give it ? "
** I tried to shove it undher her door, sir."
*• Yes ? "
*' It wouldn't go, so I give a knock. ' Who's there .'' '
sa3^s she. ' No one,' says I ; ' it's only hot wather
I'm bringin' you,' for, you see, sir, the ould missis,
her ladyship, was in the next room, and she's not as
deaf as she looks, and it's afraid I was, every minnit,
her door'd open, and she and her ear-trumpet come out
in the passidge. ' I have hot wather,' says she. ' Nivcr
mind,' says I, * this is betther. Open the door, for the
love of God, for I can't get it under the door, unless
I rowl it up and shove it through the keyhole.' Wid
that she opens the door a crack and shoves her head out.
' Who's it from ? ' she says. ' I don't know,' says I ;
' it's just a letther I found on the stairs I thought might
belong to you.' ' Thanks,' says she, ' it does,' and wid
that she shut the door, and I left her."
" Well, see here, Patsy ! "
*' Yes, sir ? "
" I'm going to marry Miss Lestrange."
*' Faith, and I guessed that," said Patsy ; " and it's
I that'd be joyful to dance at your weddin', sir."
*' There won't be any dancing in the business," said
Mr. Fanshawe, grimly. " You know Mr. Boxall,
Patsy ? "
" The Mimber of Parlymint ? "
" Yes, Well, he wants to marry Miss Lestrange ;
•
THE MEET OF THE BEAGLES. 335
and the worst of it is, Patsy, that my uncle. General
Grampound, wants him to marry her, too."
" Yes, sir," said Patsy. " And, Mr. Fanshawe ? "
" Yes."
** I forgot to tell you, sir, you needn't be afear'd
of Mr. Boxall for the next few days."
" How's that ? "
" When Bob Mahony hit him the skelp on the head
wid the sut bag, his eye popped out of his head on the
road."
'* His what ? — Oh, I remember — "
" Finders is keepers, sir," said Patsy, with a grin.
" Why, good heavens — you don't mean to say — "
'* I've got his eye in my pocket, sir," said Patsy, in a
hoarse whisper. " He's sint a telygram for another wan
but till it comes he's tethered to his bed like a horse to
a—"
That's enough — that's enough," said Mr. Fanshawe.
Here's half a crown for you, Patsy, for — carrying my
cartridges."
336 HUMOURi^ OF IRISH LIFE.
The Bally gullion Creamery
Society, Limited.
From " Ballygullion.**
By Lynn Doyle.
TwAS the man from the Department of Agriculture
comin' down to give a lecture on poultry an' dairy-
farmin', that set the ball a-rollin'.
The whole farmers av the counthry gathered in to
hear him, an' for days afther it was over, there was no
talk at all barrin' about hens an' crame, an' iverybody
had a schame av their own to propose.
Ould Miss Armitage ap at the Hall was on for encou-
ragin' poultry-farmin' ; an' give a prize for the best
layin' hen in Ballygullion, that riz more scunners in
the counthry than the twelfth av July itself. There was
a powerful stir about it, an' near iverybody enthered.
Deaf Pether of the Bog's wife was an easy winner
if her hen hadn't died, an' nothin' would satisfy her
but it was poisoned ; though divil a all killed it but the
gorges of Indian male the ould woman kept puttin'
intil it.
I very time the hen laid she give it an extra dose of
male, ** to encourage the crather," as she said ; an' wan
day it laid a double-yolked wan, she put a charge intil
it that stre.ched it out t ff in half-an-hour.
Afther that there was no doubt but Larry Thomas's
wife would win the prize ; for, before the end av the
month Miss Armitage had allowed for the test, her hen
was above a dozen ahead av iverybody else's.
THE BALLYGULLION CREAMERY SOCIETY, LIMITED. 337
Howiver, when it came to the countin' there was a
duck-egg or two here an' there among the lot that
nayther Mrs. Thomas nor the hen could well account
for, so the both of thim was disqualified.
An' whin it came to the bit, an' Mrs. Archy Doran
won the prize, she counted up an' made out that between
corn an' male, she had paid away double the value of
it, so she wasn't very well plazed ; an' thim that had
spent near as much on feedin'-sluff, an' had got no
prize, was worse plazed still.
The only one that came out av it well was Miss
Armitage herself ; for she kept all the eggs, an' made
above twice the prize-mone out av thim. But there
was nobody else as well plazed about that as she was.
So all round the hen business was a failure ; an' it
looked as if there was nothin' goin' to come of the
ecture at all.
However, iverybody thought it would be a terrible
pity if Ballygullion should be behind the other places ;
an' at last there was a move made to start a cramery,
an' a committee was got up to set things goin'.
At first the most av us thought they got the crame
in the ould-fashioned way, just be skimmin' ; but
presently it begin to be talked that it was all done be
machinery. Some av us was very dubious about that ;
for sorrow a bit could we see how it was to be done
Thomas McGorrian maintained it would be done wi'
blades like the knives av a turnip-cutter, that it would
just shave the top off" the milk, an' sweep it intil a pan ;
but then he couldn't well explain how they'd avoid
shavin' the top off the milk-dish, too.
Big Billy Lenahan swore it was done with a worm
like a still ; but, although we all knowed Billy was well
X
338 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
Up on potheen, there was few had iver seen him havin'
much to do wi' milk ; so nobody listened to him.
At last the Committee detarmined they'd have a
dimonsthration ; and they trysted the Department man
to bring down his machine an' show how it was done ;
for all iv thim was agin spendin' money on a machine
till they were satisfied it would do its work.
The dimonsthration was to be held in Long Tammas
McGorrian's barn, an' on the night set above forty av
us was there. We all sat round in a half-ring, on chairs
an' stools, an' any other conthrivance we could get, for
all the world like the Christy Minstrels that comes to
the Market House av a Christmas.
The dimonsthrator had rigged up a belt to Tammas's
threshin'-machine, an' run it from that to the separator,
as he called it
The separator itself was a terrible disappointin' con-
thrivance at the first look, an' no size av a thing at all
for the money they said it cost. But whin the dimon-
sthrator begin to tell us what it would do, an' how by just
pourin' the milk intil a metal ball an' bizzin' it round,
ye could make the c am; come out av one hole, an' the
milk out av another, we began to think more av it.
Nobody liked to spake out wi' the man there, but there
was a power av whisperin'.
" It's a mighty quare conthrivance,' sez wan.
" Did ye ivcr see the like av it ? " sez another.
" Boy-a-boys," sez James Dougherty, " the works
av man is wonderful. If my ould grandmother could
see this, it would break her heart, 'Twas herself was
the handy dairy-woman, too ; but what'd she be till a
machine ? '
But most av thim wouldn't say one thing or another till
THE BALLYGULLION CRE.VMERY SOCIEIY, LIMITED. 339
they seen it workin' ; an', 'deed, we were all wishin'
he'd begin. We had to thole, though ; for the dimon-
sthrator was a bumptious wee man, an' very fond av
the sound av his own voice, an' kept talkin' away wi'
big, long words that nobody knowed the manin' av
but himself, till we were near deaved.
So we were powerful glad whin he sez to Mrs.
McGorrian : *' Now, Madam, if you'll be good enough
to bring in the milk, I will proceed to give an actual
demonstration."
But Mrs. McGorrian is a quiet wee woman, an' wi'
all the crowd there, an' him callin' her Madam, she was
too backward to get up out av the corner she was in ;
an' she nudges Tammas to go, tellin' him where to get
the milk.
So Tammas goes out, an' presently he staggers in wi' a
big crock in his arms, an' sets it down.
" Now," sez the demonsthrator, " if you'll just get the
horses goin', an' pour the milk into that receptacle,
I'll start the separator working."
Tammas in wi' the milk, an' the wee son whips up
the horses outside, an' away goes the separator bizzin'
like a hive av bees.
*' In a few seconds, gentlemen and ladies,'* sez the
dimonsthrator, ** you will see the milk come out here,
an' the cream here. Kindly pay attention, please."
But he needn't have spoke ; for iverybody was
leanin' forrard, holdin' their breath, an' there wasn't
a sound to be heard but the hummin' of the separator.
Presently there comes a sort av a thick trickle out av
the milk-hole, but divil a dhrap av cramc.
The dimonsthrator gathered up his brow a bit at that,
an' spakes out av the barn v/indy to Tammas 's wee
340
HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
boy to dhrive faster. The separator hums harder than
iver, but still no crame. Wan begin to look at the
other, an' some av the wimmen at the back starts
gigglin'.
The dimonsthrator begin to get very red an' flusthered-
lookin'. " Are ye sure this milk is fresh an' hasn't
been skimmed ? " he sez to Tammas, very sharp.
'' What do you say, Mary ? " sez Tammas, lookin'
over at the wife. '' Sartin, sir," sez Mrs. Tammas.
" It's just fresh from the cows this very evenin'. "
*' Most extraordinary," sez the dimonsthrator, rubbin'
his hair till it was all on end. *' I've niver had such an
experience before."
'' It's the way Tammas feeds his cows," sez Big Billy
Lenahan from the back ; " sure, iverybody knows he
gives them nothin' but shavin's."
There was a snigger av a laugh at this ; for Tammas
was well known to be no great feeder av cattle.
But Tammas wasn't to be tuk down so aisy.
*' Niver mind, Billy," sez he ; " av you were put on
shavin's for a week or two, ye'd maybe see your boots
again before you died."
There was another laugh at this, an' that started a
bit av jokin' all round — a good dale av it at the dimon-
sthrator ; till he was near beside himself. For, divil
a dhrop av crame had put in an appearance yet.
All at wanst he stoops down close to the milk.
" Bring mc a candle here," sez he, very sharp.
Tammas reaches over a sconce off the wall. The
dimonsthrator bends over the can, then dips the point
av his finger in it, an' puts it in his mouth.
" What's this } " sez he, lookin' very mad at Tammas.
" This isn't milk at all."
THE BALLYGULLION CREAMERY SOCIETY, LIMITED. 34I
" No: milk," sez Tammas. *' It must be milk. I
got it where you tould me, Mary."
The wife gets up an' pushes forward. First she takes
a look at the can av the separator, an' thin wan at the
crock.
" Ye ould fool," she sez to Tammas ; " ye've brought
the whitewash I mixed for the dairy walls ! "
I'll say this for the dimonsthrator, he was a game
wee fellow ; for the divil a wan laughed louder than he
did, an' that's sayin' something; but sorrow a smile
Tammas cracked, but stood gapin' at the wife wi' his
mouth open ; an' from the look she gave him back,
there was some av us thought she was, maybe, more
av a tarther than she looked.
Though troth 'twas no wondher she was angry,
for the joke wint round the whole counthry, an' Tammas
gets nothin' but " Whitewash McGorrian " iver since.
Howaniver, they got the machine washed out, an'
the rale milk intil it, an' there was no doubt it worked
well. The wee dimonsthrator was as plazed as Punch,
an' ivery body wint away well satisfied, an' set" on havin'
a cramery as soon as it could be got started.
First av all they wint round an' got the names av all
thim that was goin' to join in ; an' the explainin' of the
schame took a dale av a time. The co-operatin'
bothered them intirely.
The widow Doherty she wasn't goin' to join an' put in
four cows' milk, she said, whin she'd only get as much out
av it as Mrs. Donnelly, across the field, that had only two.
Thin, whin they explained to the widow that she'd
get twice as much, ould mother Donnelly was clane
mad ; for she'd thought she was goin' to get the betther
av the widow.
342 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
Thin there was tarrible bother over barrin* out wee
Mrs. Morley, because she had only a goat. Some wa»
for lettin' her in ; but the gineral opinion was that it
would be makin' too little av the Society.
Howiver, all was goin' brave an' paceable till ould
Michael Munay, the ould dunderhead, puts in his oar.
Michael was a divil of a man for pace-makin', an' riz
more rows than all the county, for all that ; for whin
two dacent men had a word or two av a fair-day, maybe
whin the drink was in them, an' had forgot all about
it, the next day ould Michael would come round to
make it up, an' wi' him mindin' them av what had
passed, the row would begin worse than iver
So, whin all was set well agoin', an' the committee
met to call a gineral meetin' av the Society, ould Michael
he gets up an' says what a pity it would be if the Society
would be broke up wi' politics or rehgion ; an' he
proposed that they should show there was no ill-feelin'
on either side by holdin' this giniral meetin' in the
Orange Hall, an' the nixt in the United Irish League
rooms. He named the Orange Hall first, he said,
because he was a Nationalist himself, an' a Home
Ruler, an' always would be.
There was one or two Orangemen begimiin' to look
mighty fiery at the tail-end av Michael's speech, an'
there's no tellin' what would a' happened if the chair-
man hadn't whipped in an* said that Michael's was a
very good idea, an' he thought they couldn't do betther
than folly it up.
So, right enough, the first gineral meetin' was held
in the BallyguUion Orange Hall.
Iverything was very quiet an' agreeable, except that
some av the red-hot Nationalists kept talkin' quare
THE BALLYGULLION CREAMERY SOCIETY, LIMITED. 343
skellys at a flag in the corner wi' King William on it,
stickin' a man in a green coat wi' his sword.
But, as fortune would have it, little Billy av the Bog,
the sthrongest wee Orangeman in Ulsther, comes in at
half-time as dhrunk as a fiddler, sits down on a form an'
falls fast asleep. An' there he snored for the most av
half an hour, till near the end av the meetin', whin the
chairman was makin' a speech, there was a bit av
applause, an' ap starts Billy all dazed. First he looked
up an' seen King William on the flag. Thin hearin'
the chairman's voice, he gives a stamp wi' his fut on the
flure, an' a " hear, hear," wi' a mortial bad hiccup
between the '' hears." The wee man thought he was
at a lodge-meetin'.
All av a sudden he sees ould Michael Murray, an',
beside him, Tammas McGorrian.
Wi' that he lepps to his feet like a shot, dhrunk as
he was, an' hits the table a terrible lick wi' his fist.
" Stap, brethren," sez he, glarin' round the room,
" Stap 1 There's Papishes present."
Ye niver seen a meetin' quicker broke up than that
wan. Half the men was on their feet in a minit, an'
the other half pullin' thim down be the coat-tails.
Iverybody was talkin' at the wan time, some av thim
swearin' they'd been insulted, an' others thryin' to make
pace.
Thin the wimmin begin to scrame an' hould back
men from fightin' that had no notion av it at the start,
an' only begin to think av it whin they were sure they
wouldn't be let.
Altogether there was the makin's of as fine a fight
as iver ye seen in your life.
However, there was a lot of dacent elderly men
344 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE
on both sides, and wi' arguin' an' perswadin', and
houldin' back wan, an' pushin' out the other, the hall
was redd without blows, an', bit by bit, they all went
home quiet enough.
But the Cramery Society was clane split. It wasn't
wee Billy so much ; for whin people begin to think
about it the next mornin', there was more laughed at
him than was angry ; but the party feelin' was up as
bitther as could be.
The Nationalists was mad at themselves for givin' in
to go to a mcetin' in the Orange Hall, for fear it might
be taken that they were weakenin' about Home Rule ;
an' the Orange party were just as afeard at the papers
makin' out that they were weakenin' about the Union.
Besides, the ould King William in the corner av the
Hall had done no good.
I'm no party man, myself ; but whin I see William
Robinson, that has been me neighbour this twinty
years, goin' down the road on the Twelfth av July wi'
a couple av Orange sashes on, me heart doesn't warm
to him as it does av another day. The plain truth
is, we were bate at the Boyne right enough ; but some
av us had more than a notion we didn't get fair play
at the iightin' ; an' between that and hearin' about the
batin' iver since, the look of ould Billy on his white
horse isn't very soothin'.
Anyway, the two parties couldn't be got to join again.
The red-hot wans av both av thim had meetin's, wee
Billy leadin' wan side, and Tammas McGorrian the other,
an' the nixt thing was that there was to be two
Crameries.
The moderate men seen that both parties were makin*
fools av themselves, for the place v/asn't big enough
THE BALLYGULLION CREAMERY SOCIETY, LIMITED. 345
for two ; but moderate men are scarce in our parts,
an* they could do nothin' to soothe matthers down.
Whin the party work is on, it's Httle either side thinks
av the good av thimselves or the counthry either.
It*s " niver mind a dig yourself if ye get a slap at
the other fellow."
So notices was sent out for a meetin' to wind up the
Society, an' there was a powerful musther av both
sides, for fear either of them might get an advantage
over the other wan.
To keep clear av trouble it was to be held in the
Market house.
The night av the meetin' come ; an* when I got into
the room who should I see on the platform but Major
Donaldson an' Father Connolly. An' thin I begin to
wondher what was on.
For the Major was too aisy-goin' and kindly to mix
himself up wi' party-work, an' Father Connolly was
well known to be terrible down on it, too.
So a sort av a mutther begin to run through the
meetin' that there was goin' to be an attempt to patch
up the split.
Some was glad and not afraid to say it ; but the most
looked sour an' said nothin' ; an' wee Billy and Tammas
McGorrian kept movin' in an' out among their friends
an' swearin' them to stand firm.
When the room was well filled, an' iverybody settled
down, the Major gets on his feet.
" Ladies an' gentlemen," sez he — the Major was
always polite if it was only a traveUin' tinker he w^as
spakin' to — '' Ladies an' gentlemen, you know why
we've met here to-night — to wind up the Ballygullion
Cramery Society. I wish windin' up meant that it
346 HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
would go on ail the better ; but, unfortunately, windin'
up a Society isn't like windin' up a clock."
" Now, I'm not going to detain you ; but before we
proceed, I'd like you to listen to Father Connolly here
for a minute or two. I may tell you he's goin' to express
my opinion as well as his own. I needn't ask you to
give him an' attentive hearin' ; ye all know, as well as
I do, that what he says is worth listenin* to." An'
down the Major sits.
Thin Father Connolly comes forward an' looks roun'
a minit or so before spakin'. Most av his own people
that catched his eye looked down mighty quick, for
they all had an idea he wouldn't think much av what
had been goin' on.
But wee Billy braces himself up an' looks very fierce,
as much as to say "' there'll no praste ordher me
about," and Tammas looks down at his feet wi' his
teeth set, much as if he meant the same.
*' Men an' wimmin av Ballygullion," sez Father
Connolly — he was aye a plain-spoken wee man —
*' we're met here to end up the United Cramery Society,
and after that we're goin' to start two societies, I hear.
" The sinsible men av Ballygullion sees that it would
be altogether absurd an' ridiculous for Catholics an'
Protestants, Home Rulers an' Unionists, to work
together in anything at all. As they say, the two parties
is altogether opposed in everything that's important.
" The wan keep St. Patrick's Day for a holiday,
and the other the Twelfth av July ; the colours of the
one is green, an' the colours of the other orange ; the
wan wants to send their Mimbers av Pi'rliament to
College Green, and the other to Westminster ; an'
there arc a lot more differences just as important as
these.
THE BALLYGULLION CREAMERY SOCIETY, LIMITED 347
" It's thrue," goes on the Father, " that some ignorant
persons says that, after all, the two parties live in the
same counthry, undher the same sky, wi' the same
sun shinin' on them an' the same rain wettin' thim ;
an' that what's good for that counthry is good for both
parties, an' what's bad for it is bad for both ; that they
live side by side as neighbours, an' buy and sell among
wan another, an' that nobody has iver seen that there
was twinty-one shillin's in a Catholic pound, an' nine-
teen in a Protestant pound, or the other way about ; an'
that, although they go about it in different ways, they
worship the same God, the God that made both av thim ;
but I needn't tell ye that these are only a few silly bodies,
an' don't riprisint the opinion av the counthry."
A good many people in the hall was lookin' foolish
enough be this time, an' iverybody was waitin' to hear
the Father tell them to make it up, an' most av them
wiilin' enough to do it. The major was leanin' back,
looking well satisfied.
'' Now," sez Father Connolly, '' after v/hat I've said,
I needn't tell ye that I'm av the opinion av the sinsible
men, and I think that by all manes we should have a
Catholic Cramer y and a Protestant wan."
The Major sits up wi' a start, an' wan looks at the
other all over the room. ..
" The only thing that bothers me," sez the Father,
goin' on an' takin' no notice, " is the difficulty av doin'
it. It's aisy enough to sort out the Cathohc farmers
from the Protestant ; but what about the cattle ? " sez he.
" If a man rears up a calf till it becomes a cow, there's
no doubt that cow must be Nationalist or Orange. She
couldn't help it, livin' in this country. Now, what are
you going to do when a Nationahst buys an Orange
34^ HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE.
COW ? Tammas McGorrian bought a cow from wee
Billy there last month that Billy bred an' reared him-
self. Do ye mane to tell me that's a Nationalist cow t
I tell ye what it is, boys," sez the Father, wi' his eyes
twinklin', " wan can av that cow's milk in a Nationalist
cramery would turn the butther as yellow as the shutters
av the Orange Hall."
By this time there was a smudge av a laugh on ivery-
body's face, an' even Tammas an' wee Billy couldn't
help crackin' a smile.
" Now," sez Father Connolly, " afther all, it's aisy
enough in the case of Tammas 's cow. There's no
denyin' she's an Orange cow, an' either Tammas may go
to the Orange cramery or give the cow back to Billy."
Tammas sits up a bit at that.
*' But, thin, there's a lot of mighty curious cases.
There's my own wee Kerry. Iverybody knows I bred
her myself ; but, thin, there's no denyin' that her father
— if that's the right way to spake av a bull — belonged
to Major Donaldson here, an' was called * Prince of
Orange.' Now, be the law, a child follows its father
in these matters, an' Fm bound be it to send the wee
Kerry's milk to the Orange cramery, although Fll
maintain she's as good a Nationalist as ever stepped ;
didn't she thramp down ivery Orange lily in Billy
Black's garden only last Monday ?
" So, boys, whin you think the matter out, ye'll see
it's no aisy matther this separatin' av Orange an' Green
in the cramery. For, if ye do it right — and Fm for no
half-measures — ye'll have to get the pedigree av ivery
bull, cow, and calf in the counthry, an' then ye'll be
little further on, for there's a lot av bastes come in every
year from Amcricay that's little better than haythin*.
THE BALLYGULLION CREAMERY SOCIETY, LIMITED. 349
" But, if ye take my advice, those av ye that isn't
sure av your cows '11 just go on quietly together in the
manetime, an' let thim that has got a rale thrue-blue
baste av either persuasion just keep her milk to them-
selves, and skim it in the ould-fashioned way wi' a
spoon."
There was a good dale av sniggerin' whin the Father
was spakin' ; but ye should have heard the roar of a
laugh there was whin he sat down. An' just as it was
dyin'away, the Major rises, wipin' his eyes—
" Boys," sez he, '' if it's the will av the prisint com-
pany that the Ballygullion Cramery Society go on,
will ye rise an' give three cheers for Father Pether
Connolly ? "
Ivery man, woman, an' child— Protestant and Catholic
—was on their feet in a minit ; an' if the Ballygullion
Market-house roof didn't rise that night, it's safe till
etarnity.
From that night on there was niver another word av
windin' up or splittin' either. An' if ever ye come
across a print av butther wi' a wreath of shamrocks an'
orange-hlies on it, ye'U know it come from the Bally-
guUion Cramery Society, Limited.
) I
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THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY
WILL INCREASE TO 50 CENTS ON THE FOURTH
DAY AND TO $1.00 ON THE SEVENTH DAY
OVERDUE.
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