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LEGENDS AND STORIES

IRELAND.

SAMUEL LOVER,

AUTHOR OF " HA?fDY ANDY," " irE WOULD BE A GENTLEMAN',
ETC., ETC.

IBigfjtt) ISfcttion.

LONDON :
CHAPMAN AND HALL,

193, PICCADILLY.

CONTENTS.

Page

King O'Toole and Saint Kevin— A Legend of Glendalough .. ]

Lough Corrib .. .. .. .. .. 13

MS. from the cabinet of Mrs. .. .. .. 14

The White Trout — A Legend of Cong .. .. .. 23

The Battle of the Berrins ,. .. , ..32

Father Roach . . . . . . . . . . . . 45

The Priest's Stoiy .. .. .. .. .. 50

The King and the Bishop — A Legend of Clonmacnoise . . 59

An Essay on Fools .. .. .. .. .. 73

The Devil's Mill . . . . . , . . . . 80

The Gridiron .. .. .. .. .. ..91

Paddy the Piper . . . . . . . . . . 101

The Priest's Ghost .. .. .,. ... ..112

New Potatoes — An Irish Melody .. .. .. 117

Paddy the Sport . . , . . . . . 125

Ballads and Ballad-Singers .. .. .. .. 147

Barny O'Rierdon, the Navigator.

Chap. I. — Outward-bound ,. .. .. .. 169

II. — Homeward-bound . . . . . . 189

The Burial of the Tithe . . . . . . . . 2U

The White Horse of the Peppers. A Legend of the Boyne.

Chap. I. .. .. .. .. ... ..242

II.— The Legend of the Little Weaver of Duleek

Gate. A Tale of Chivalry .. .. 274

III. — Conclusion of the White Horse of the Peppers 288

The Curse of Kishogue. — The Sheebeen House . . . . 297

Introduction . . . . . . 307

The Curse . . . . . . 309

The Fairy Finder . . . . . . . . S18

The Spanish Boar and the Irish Bull. A Zoological Puzzle 841

Little Fairly .. .. .. .. .. .. 351

«5udy of Roundwood .. .. ,. .. ,. 381

Hegcntis ann Stories?.

KINa O'TOOLE AND ST. KEVIN.

A LEGEND OF GLENDAMTTGH.

"By that lake, whose gloomy shore
Sky-lark never warbles o'er,
Where the cliff hangs high and steep,
Young Saint Kevin stole to sleep."

Moore.

Who has not read of St. Kevin, celebrated as he has
been by Moore in the melodies of his native land, with
•whose wild and impassioned music he has so intimately
entwined his name ? Through him, in the beautiful
ballad whence the epigraph of this story is quoted, the
world already knows that the sky lark, through the
intervention of the saint, never startles the morning
with its joyous note in the lonely valley of Grlendalough.
In the same ballad, the unhappy passion which the saint
inspired, and the " unholy blue " eyes of Kathleen, and
the melancholy fate of the heroine by the saint's being
" unused to the melting mood," are also celebrated ; as
well as the superstitious finale of the legend, in the
spectral appearance of the love-lorn maiden : —

" And her ghost was seen to glide
Gently o'er the fatal tide."

2 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

Thus has Moore given, within the limits of a ballad,
the spirit of two legends of Glendalough, which other-
wise the reader might have been put to the trouble of
reaching after a more round-about fashion. But luckily
for those coming after him, one legend he has left
to be

" touched by a hand more unworthy "~

and instead of a lyrical essence, the raw material in
prose is offered, nearly verbatim as it was furnished to
me by that celebrated guide and bore, Joe Irwin, who
traces his descent in a direct line from the old Irish
kings, and warns the public in general that " there's a
power of them spalpeens sthravaigin' about, sthrivin' to
put their comether upon the quol'ty, (quality*,) and
callin' themselves Irwin (knowin', the thieves o' the
world, how his name had gone far and near, as the rale
guide), for to deceave dacent people ; but never to
b'lieve the likes — for it was only mulvatherin people
they wor." For my part, I promised never to put faith in
any but himself; and the old rogue's self-love being satis-
fied, we set out to explore the wonders of Glendalough.
On arriving at a small ruin, situated on the south-
eastern side of the lake, my guide assumed an air of
importance, and led me into the ivy-covered remains,
through a small square doorway, whose simple structure
gave evidence of its early date ; a lintel of stone lay
across two upright supporters after the fashion of such
remains in Ireland.

" This Sir," said my guide, putting himself in an
attitude, "is the chapel of King O'Toole — av coorse
y'iv often heerd o' King O'Toole, your honour ?"

"Never," said I.

" Musha, thin, do you tell me so 1" said he ; " by
Gor, I thought all the world, far and near, heerd o'
King O'Toole — well ! well ! ! but the darkness of man-

• The Irish peasantry very generally call the higher orders " quality."

KING O'TOOLE AND ST. KEVIN. 3

kind is ontellible. Well, Sir, you must know as you
didn't hear it afore, that there was wanst a king, called
King O'Toole, who was a fine ould king in the ould
ancient times, long ago ; and it was him that owned
the Churches in the airly clays."

" Surely," said I, " the Churches were not in King
O'Toole's time ?"

" Oh, by no manes, your honor — throth, it's yourself
that's right enough there ; but you know the place is
called ' The Churches,' bekase they wor built afther by
St. Kavin, and wint by the name o' the Churches iver
more; and, therefore, av coorse, the place bein' so
called, I say that the king owned the Churches — and
why not, Sir, seem' 'twas his birthright, time out o'
mind, beyant the flood ? Well, the king, you see, was
the right sort — he was the rale boy, and loved sport as
he loved his life, and huntin' in partic'lar ; and from the
risin' o' the sun, up he got, and away he wint over the
mountains beyant afther the deer : and the fine times
them wor ; for the deer was as plinty thin, aye throth,
far plintyer than the sheep is now ; and that's the way
it was with the king, from the crow o' the cock to the
song o' the redbreast.

" In this counthry, Sir," added he, speaking paren-
thetically in an under tone, " we think it onlooky to
kill the redbreast, for the robin is Gcd's own bird."

Then, elevating his voice to its former pitch, he pro-
ceeded : —

" Well, it was all mighty good, as long as the king
had his health ; but, you see, in coorse o' time, the
king grewn owld, by raison he was stiff in his limbs,
and when he got sthriken in years, his heart failed him,
and he was lost intirely for want o' divarshin. bekase
he couldn't go a huntin' no longer ; and, by dad, the
poor king was obleeged at last for to get a goose to
divart him."

Here an involuntary smile was produced by this regal
mode of recreation, " the royal game of goose."

4 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

" Oil, you may laugh, if you like," said he, half-
affronted, " hvty it's thruth I'm tellin' you ; and the way
the goose divarted him was this-a-way : you see, the
goose used for to swim acrass the lake, and go down
divin for throut (and not finer throut in all Ireland,
than the same throut), and cotch fish on a Friday for
the king, and flew every other day round about the
lake divartin* the poor king, that you'd think he'd break
his sides laughin' at the frolicksome tricks av his goose ;
so, in coorse o' time, the goose was the greatest pet in
the counthry, and the biggest rogue, and divarted the
king to no end, and the poor king was as happy as the
day was long. So that's the way it was ; and all went
on mighty Avell, antil, by dad, the goose got sthricken
in years, as well as the king, and grewn stiff in the
limbs, like her masther, and couldn't divart him no
longer; and then it was that the poor king was lost
complate, and didn't know what in the wide world to
do, seein' he was gone out of all divarshin, by raison
that the goose was no more in the flower of her blume,

" Well, the king was nigh hand broken-hearted, and
melancholy intirely, and was walkin' one mornin' by
the edge of the lake, lamentin' his cruel fate, an'
thinkin' o' drownin' himself, that could get no divarshin
in life, when all of a suddint, turnin' round the corner
beyant, who should he meet but a mighty dacent young
man comin' up to him.

" ' God save you,' says the king (for the king was a
civil-spoken gintleman, by all accounts), ' God save
you/ says he to the young man.

" ' God save you kindly,' says the young man to
him back again ; ' God save you,' says he, ' King O'
Toole.'

" ' Thrue for you,' says the king, ' I am King O'
Toole,' says he, ' prince and plennypennytinchery o'
these parts,' says he ; ' but how kem ye to know that V
says he.

" ' O, never mind,' says Saint Kavin.

KINO O'TOOLE AND ST. KEVIN. 5

" For you see," said old Joe, in his under tone again,
and looking very knowingly, " it ivas Saint Kavin, sure
enough — the saint himself in disguise, and nobody else.
'Oh, never mind,' says he, 'I know more than that,'
says he, ' nor twice that.'

" ' And who are you ?' said the king, ' that makes so
bowld — who are you, at all at all ?'

" ' Oh, never you mind,' says Saint Kavin, ' who I
am ; you'll know more o' me before we part, King O'
Toole,' says he.

" ' I'll be proud o' the knowledge o' your acquaint-
ance, sir,' says the king, mighty p'lite.

" ' Troth, you may say that,' says St. Kavin. ' And
now, may I make bowld to ax, how is your goose, King
O'Toole ?' says he.

" ' Blur-an-agers, how kem you to know about my
goose V says the king.

" ' O, no matther ; I was given to understand it,' says
Saint Kavin.

" ' Oh, that's a folly to talk/ says the king ; ' bekase
myself and my goose is private frinds,' says he, ' and no
one could tell you,' says he, ' barrin' the fairies.'

" ' Oh thin, it wasn't the fairies,' says Saint Kavin ;
' for I'd have you to know,' says he, ' that I don't keep
the likes o' sitch company.'

" ' You might do worse then, my gay fellow,' says
the king ; ' for it's they could show you a crock o'
money as aisy as kiss hand ; and that's not to be sneezed
at,' says the king, ' by a poor man,' says he.

" ' Maybe I've a betther way of making money my-
self,' says the saint.

" ' By gor,' says the king, ' barrin' you're a coiner,'
says he, ' that's impossible ! '

" 'I'd scorn to be the like, my lord!' says Saint
Kavin, mighty high, ' I'd scorn to be the like,* says he.

" ' Then, what are you ?' says the king, ' that makes
money so aisy, by your own account.'
" ' I'm an honest man/ says Saint Kavin.

6 Legends and stories.

" ' Well, honest man/ says the king, ' and how is it
you make your money so aisy ?'

" ' By makin' ould things as good as new,' says Saint
Kavin.

" ' Is it a tinker you are V says the king.

" ' No,' says the saint ; ' I'm no tinker by thrade,
King O'Toole ; I've a betther thrade than a tinker,' says
he — ' what would you say,' says he, ' if I made your ould
goose as good as new.'

" My dear, at the word o' making his goose as good
as new, you'd think the poor ould king's eyes was ready
to jump out iv his head, ' and,' says he — 'troth thin I'd
give you more money nor you could count,' says he,
' if you did the like : and I'd be behoulden to you into
the bargain.'

" ' I scorn your dirty money,' says Saint Kavin.

" ' Faith then, I'm thinkin' a thrifle o' change would
do you no harm,' says the king, lookin' up sly at the
old caubeen that Saint Kavin had on him.

" ' I have a vow agin it,' says the saint ; ' and I am
book sworn,' says he, ' never to have goold, silver, or
brass in my company.'

" ' Barrm' the thrifle you can't help,' says the king,
mighty 'cute, and looking him straight in the face.

" 'You just hot it,' says Saint Kavin ; 'but though I
can't take money,' says he, ' I could take a few acres o'
land, if you'd give them to me.'

" ' With all the veins o' my heart,' says the king, ' if
you can do what you say.'

" ' Thry me ! ' says Saint Kavin. ' Call down your
goose here,' says he, ' and I'll see what I can do for
her.'

" ' With that, the king whistled, and down kem the
poor goose, all as one as a hound, waddlin' up to the
poor ould cripple, her masther, and as like him as two
pays. The minute the saint clapt his eyes an the
goose, ' I'll do the job for you,' says he, ' King
O'Toole!

KING OTOOLB AND ST. KEVIN. 7

" ' By Jaminee' says King O'Toole, ' if you do, bud
I'll say you're the cleverest fellow in the sivin parishes.'

" ' Oh, by dad,' says Saint Kavin, ' you must say
more nor that — my horn's not so soft all out,' says he,
' as to repair your ould goose for nothin' ; what'll you
gi' me, if I do the job for you ? — that's the chat,' says
Saint Kavin.

" ' I'll give you whatever you ax/ says the king ;
' isn't that fair ? '

" ' Divil a fairer,' says the saint ; ' that's the way to
do business. Now,' says he, 'this is the bargain I'll
make with you, King O'Toole : will you gi' me all the
ground the goose flies over, the first offer*, afther I make
her as good as new ? '

" ' I will,' says the king,

" ' You won't go back o' your word ? ' says Saint
Kavin.

" ' Honor bright ! ' says King O'Toole, howldin' out
his fist."

Here old Joe, after applying his hand to his mouth,
and making a sharp, blowing sound (something like
" thp,") extended it to illustrate the actionf.

" ' Honor bright,' says Saint Kavin, back agin, ' it's a
bargain,' says he. 'Come here!' says he to the poor
ould goose — ' come here you unfort'nate ould cripple,'
says he, ' and it's J that 'ill make you the sportin' bird.'

" With that, my dear, he tuk up the goose by the two
wings — ' criss o' my crass an you,' says he, markin' her
to grace with the blessed sign at the same minute — and
throwin' her up in the air, ' whew ! ' says he, jist givin'
her a blast to help her ; and with that, my jewel, she

* First effort or attempt.

f This royal mode of concluding a bargain has descended in its ori-
ginal purity from the days of King O'Toole to the present time, and is
constantly practised by the Irish peasantry. We believe something of
lack is attributed to this same sharp blowing we have noticed, and which,
for the sake of " ears polite," we have not ventured to call by its right
name; for, to speak truly, a slight escapement of saliva takes place at the
time. It is thus hansel is given and received; and many are the virtue*
attributed by the lower order of trie Irish to "fasting spittle."

8 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

tuk to her heels, flyin' like one o' the aigles themselves,
and cuttin' as many capers as a swallow before a shower
of rain. Away she wint down there, right forninst yon,
along the side o' the clift, and flew over Saint Kavin's
bed (that is where Saint Kavin's bed is note, but was
not thin, by raison it wasn't made, but was conthrived
afther by Saint Kavin himself, that the women might
lave him alone,) and on with her undher LugdufF, and
round the ind av the lake there, far beyant where you
see the watherfall (though indeed it's no watherfall at
all now, but only a poor dhribble iv a thing ; but if you
seen it in the winther, it id do your heart good, and it
roarin' like mad, and as white as the dhriven snow, and
rowlin' down the big rocks before it, all as one as
childher playin' marbles) — and on with her thin right
over the lead mines o' Luganure, (that is where the lead
mines is now, but was not thin, by raison they worn't
discovered, but was all goolcl in Saint Kavin's time.)
Well, over the ind o' Luganure she flew, stout and
studdy, and round the other ind av the little lake, by
the Churches, (that is, av coorse, where the Churches is
now, but was not thin, by raison they wor not built,
but aftherwards by St. Kavin,) and over the big hill
here over your head, where you see the big clift — (and
that clift in the mountain was made by Fan Ma Cool
where he cut it acrass with a big swoord, that he got
made a purpose by a blacksmith out o' Eathdrum, a
cousin av his own, for to fight a joyant [giant] that
darr'd him an the Curragh o' Kildare ; and he thried
the swoord first an the mountain, and cut it down into
a gap, as is plain to this day ; and faith, sure enough,
it's the same sauce he sarv'd the joyant, soon and sud-
dent, and chopped him in two like a pratie, for the glory
of his sowl and owld Ireland) — well, down she flew,
over the clift, and fluttherin' over the wood there at
Poulanass, (where I showed you the purty watherfall —
and by the same token, last Thursday was a twelve-
month sence, a young lady, Miss Eaflerty by name, fell

KING O'TOOLE AND ST. KEVIN. 9

into the same watherfall, and was nigh hand drownded
— and indeed would be to this day, but for a young
man that jumped in afther her ; indeed a smart slip iv
a young man he was — he was out o' Francis-street, I
hear, and coorted her sence, and they wor married, I'm
given to undherstand — and indeed a purty couple they
wor.) Well — as I said — afther flutterin' over the wood
a little bit, to plage herself, the goose flew down, and
lit at the fut o' the king, as fresh as a daisy, afther
flyin' roun' his dominions, just as if she hadn't flew three
perch.

" Well, my dear, it was a beautiful sight to see the
king standin' with his mouth open, lookin' at his poor
ould goose flyin' as light as a lark, and betther nor ever
she was : and when she lit at his fut, he patted her an
the head, and ' ma vourneen,' says he, ' but you are the
darlint o' the world.'

" ' And what do you say to me,' says Saint Kavin,
' for makin' her the like ? '

" ' By gor,' says the king, ' I say nothin' bates the
art o' man, barrin'* the bees.'

" ' And do you say no more nor that ? ' says Saint
Kavin.

" ' And that I'm behoulden to you,' says the king.

" ' But will you gi'e me all the ground the goose
flewn over ? ' says Saint Kavin.

" ' I will,' says King O'Toole, and you're welkim to
it,' says he, ' though it's the last acre I have to give.'

" 'But you'll keep your word thrue?' says the saint.

" ' As thrue as the sun,' says the king.

" ' It's well for you,' (says Saint Kavin, mighty
sharp) — ' it's well for you, King O'Toole, that you said
that word,' says he ; ' for if you didn't say that word,
the divil receave the bit o' your goose id ever fly agin,'
says Saint Kavin.

" Oh, you needn't laugh," said old Joe, half offended

* Barring is constantly used by the Irish peasantry for except.

10 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

at detecting the trace of a suppressed smile ; " you
needn't laugh, for it's thruth I'm telling you.

" Well, whin the king was as good as his word, Saint
Kavin was plaze.d with him, and thin it was that he
made himself known to the king. 'And,' says he,
' King O'Toole, you 're a dacent man,' says ho ; ' for I
only kem here to thy you. You don't know me,' say*
he, ' bekase I'm disguised* '

" ' Troth, then, you 're right enough,' says the king,
' I didn't perceave it,' says he ; ' for indeed I never seen
the sign o' sper'ts an you.'

" ' Oh ! that's not what I mane,' says Saint Kavin ;
' I mane I 'm deceavin' you all out, and that I 'm not
myself at all.'

' Musha ! thin,' says the king, 'if you 're not yourself,
who are you ? '

" ' I 'm Saint Kavin,' said the saint, blessin' himself.

" ' Oh, queen iv heaven !' says the king, makin' the
sign o' the crass betune his eyes, and fallin' down on
his knees before the saint. ' Is it the great Saint
Kavin,' says he, ' that I 've been discoorsin' all this
time without knowin' it/ says he, 'all as one as if he
was a lump iv a gossoon ? — and so you 're a saint V says
the king.

" ' I am,' says Saint Kavin.

" ' By gor, I thought I was only talking to a dacent
boyf,' says the king.

" ' Well, you know the differ now,' says the saint.
' I 'm Saint Kavin/ says he, ' the greatest of all the
saints/

" For Saint Kavin, you must know, Sir," added Joe,
treating me to another parenthesis, " Saint Kavin ia
counted the greatest of all the saints, bekase he went to
school with the prophet Jeremiah.

* A person in s state of drunkenness is said to be disguised.

•f- The English reader must not imagine the saint to have heen very
juvenile, from this expression of the king's. In Ireland, a man in the-
prime of life is called a "stout hoy."

KING O'TOOLE AND ST. KEVIN. 11

" Well, my dear, that's the way that the place kern,
all at wanst, into the hands of St. Kavin ; for the goose
flewn round every individyial acre o' King O'Toole's
property you see, bein' let into the saycret by St. Kavin,
who was mighty 'cute* ; and so, when he done the ould
king out iv his property for the glory of God, he was
plazed with him, and he and the king was the best o'
frinds iver more afther (for the poor ould king Avas
doatin,' you see), and the king had his goose as good as
new, to divart him as long as he lived : and the saint
supported him afther he kem into his property, as I
tould you, antil the day iv his death — and that was soon
afther ; for the poor goose thought he was ketchin' a
throut one Friday ; but, my jewel, it was a mistake he
made — and instead of a throut, it was a thievin' horse-
eelj ; and, by gor, instead iv the goose killin' a throut
for the king's supper, — by dad, the eel killed the king's
goose — and small blame to him ; but he didn't ate her,
bekase he darn't ate what Saint Kavin laid his blessed
hands on.

" Howsumdever, the king never recovered the loss iv
his goose, though he had her stuffed (I don't mane
stuffed with pratees and inyans, but as a curiosity), and
presarved in a glass-case for his own divarshin ; and the
poor king died on the next Michaelmas-day, which was
remarkable. — Throth,ifs thruth I'm tellin' you; — and
when he was gone, Saint Kavin gev him an illigant
wake and a beautiful berrin'; and more betoken, he
said mass for his sowl and tuk care av his goose."

* Cunning— an abbreviation of acute.

f Eels of uncommon size are said to exist in the upper lake of Glenda-
longh : the guides invariably tell marvelous stories of them: they describe
them of forbidding aspect, with manes as large as a horse's. One of these
"slippery rogues" is said to have amused himself by entering a pasture
on the borders of the lake, and eating a cow— maybe 'twas a butt.

LOUGH COEEIB.

These things to hear
'Would Desdemona seriously incline.

Othello.

It chanced, amongst some of the pleasantest adventures
of a tour through the West of Ireland, in 1S25, that the

house of Mr. of received me as a guest.

The owner of the mansion upheld the proverbial
reputation of his country's hospitality, and his lady -was
of singularly winning manners and possessed of much
intelligence^an intelligence arising not merely from
the cultivation resulting from careful education, but
originating also from the attention which persons of
good sense bestow upon the circumstances which come
within the range of their observation.

Thus, Mrs. , an accomplished English woman,

instead of sneering at the deficiencies which a poorer
country than her own laboured under, was willing to be
amused by observing the difference which exists in the
national character of the two people, in noticing the
prevalence of certain customs, superstitions, &c, &c. ;
while the popular tales of the neighbourhood had for
her a charm, which enlivened a sojourn in a remote
district, that must otherwise have proved lonely.

To this pleasure was added that of admiration of the
natural beauties with which she was surrounded ; the
noble chain of the Mayo mountains, linking with the
majestic range of those of Joyce's country, formed no
inconsiderable source of picturesque beauty and savage
grandeur ; and when careering over the waters of Lough
Corrib that foamed at their feet, she never sighed for
the grassy slopes of Hyde-park, nor that unruffled pond,
the Serpentine river.

In the same boat which often bore so fair a charge,
have I explored the Noble Lough Corrib to its remotest

LOUGH CORRIB. 13

extremity, sailing over the depths of its dark waters,
amidst solitudes whose echoes are seldom awakened but
by the scream of the eagle.

From this lady I have heard some characteristic stories
and prevalent superstitions of the country. Many of these
she had obtained from an old boatman, one of the crew

that manned Mr. 's boat ; and often, as he sat at

the helm, he delivered his " round, unvarnished tale ; "
and, by the way, in no very measured terms either,
whenever his subject happened to touch upon the wrongs
his country had sustained in her early wars against
England, although his liege lady was a native of the
hostile land. Nevertheless, the old Corribean (the
name somehow has a charmingly savage sound about it)
was nothing loth to have his fling at " the invaders " —
a term of reproach he had always cast upon the English.

Thus skilled in legendary lore, Mrs. proved an

admirable guide to the " lions " of the neighbourhood ;
and it was previously to a projected visit to the Cave of
Cong, that she entered upon some anecdotes relating to
the romantic spot, which led her to tell me, that one
legend had so particularly excited the fancy of a young
lady, a friend of hers, that she wrought it into the form
of a little tale, which, she added, had not been con-
sidered ill done. " But," said she, " 'tis true we were
all friends who passed judgment, and only drawing-
room critics. You shall, therefore, judge for yourself,
and hearing it before you see the cave, will at least
rather increase your interest in the visit." And,
forthwith, drawing from a little cabinet a manuscript,
she read to me the following tale — much increased in
its effect by the sweet voice in which it was delivered.

MANUSCRIPT

FROM THE CABINET OP MRS.

A LEGEND OP LOUGH MASK.

All tilings that we ordained festival
Turn from their office to black funeral ;
Our instruments, to melancholy bells ;
Our wedding cheer, to a sad burial feast;
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change ;
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse,
And all tilings change them to the contrary.

Komeo and Juliet.

The evening was closing fast, as the young Cormac
OTlaherty had reached the highest acclivity of one of
the rugged passes of the steep mountains of Joyce's
country. He made a brief pause — not to take breath,
fair reader — Cormac needed no breathing time, and
would have considered it little short of an insult to
have had such a motive attributed to the momentary
stand he made, and none that knew the action of the
human figure would have thought it ; for the firm footing

LOUGH MASK. 15

which one beautifully-formed leg held with youthful
firmness on the mountain path, while the other, slightly
thrown behind, rested on the half-bent foot, did not
imply repose, but rather suspended action. In sooth,
young Cormac, to the eye of the painter, might have
seemed a living Antinous — all the grace of that beautiful
antique, all the youth, all the expression of suspended
motion Avere there, with more of vigour and impatience.
He paused — not to take breath, Sir Walter Scott ; for
like your own Malcolm Graeme,

Eight up Ben Lomond could he press,
And not a sob his toil confess ;

and our young OTlaherty was not to be outdone in
breasting up a mountain side, by the boldest Graeme
of them all.

But he lingered for a moment to look back upon a
scene at once sublime and gorgeous; and cold must
the mortal have been who could have beheld, and had
not paused.

On one side, the Atlantic lay beneath him brightly
reflecting the glories of an autumnal setting sun, and
expanding into a horizon of dazzling light ; on the other
lay the untrodden wilds before him, stretching amidst
the depths of mountain valleys, whence the sun-beam
had long since departed, and mists were already wreath-
ing round the overhanging heights, and veiling the
distance in vapoury indistinctness : as though you looked
into some wizard's glass, and saw the uncertain con-
juration of his wand. On the one side all was glory,
light, and life — on the other all was awful, still, and al-
most dark. It was one of Nature's sublimest moments ;
— such as are seldom witnessed, and never forgotten.*

Ere he descended the opposite declivity, Cormac
once more bent back his gaze ; — and now it was not one

* The view from the Pass of Salruck in Cunnemara, commanding at
once, on one side, the great Killery harhour, and on the other the
Atlantic Ocean, once afforded me just such a magnificent prospect as the
one described.

16 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

exclusively of admiration ; there was a mixture of
scrutiny in his look, and turning to Diarmid, a faithful
adherent of his family, and only present companion, he
said, " That sunset forbodes a coming storm ; does it
not, Diarmid?"

" Ay, truly does it," responded the attendant, " and
there 's no truth in the clouds, if we haven 't it soon
upon us."

'■Then let us speed," said Cormac — "for the high
hill and the narrow path must be traversed ere our
journey be accomplished." And he sprang down thb
steep and shingly pass before him, followed by the
\iithful Diarmid.

'Tis sweet to know there is an eye to mark
Our coining — and grow brighter when we come.

And there was a bright eye watching for Cormac,
and many a love-taught look did Eva cast over the
waters of Lough Mask, impatient for the arrival of the
©'Flaherty. " Surely he will be here this evening,"
thought Eva, " yet the sun is already low, and no
distant oars disturb the lovely quiet of the lake — but
may he not have tarried beyond the mountains ? he has
friends there," recollected Eva. But soon the maiden's
jealous fancy whispered "he has friends here too" —
and she reproached him for his delay ; — but it was only
for a moment.

" The accusing spirit blushed " — as Eva continued
her train of conjecture. " 'Tis hard to part from press-
ing friends," thought she, " and Cormac is ever welcome
in the hall, and heavily closes the portal after his
departing footsteps."

Another glance across the lake. — 'Tis yet unrippled
by an oar. The faint outline of the dark grey moun-
tains, whose large masses lie unbroken by the detail
which daylight discovers — the hazy distance of the lake,
whose extremity is undistinguishable from the over-
hanging cliffs which embrace it — the fading of the

LOUGH MASK. 17

western sky — the last lonely rook winging his weary
way to the adjacent wood — the flickering flight of the
bat across her windows — all — all told Eva that the
night was fast approaching ; yet Comae was not come.
She turned from the casement with a sigh. — Oh ! only
those who love can tell how anxious are the moments
we pass in watching the approach of the beloved one.

She took her harp : every heroine, to be sure, has a
harp : but this was not the pedal harp, that instrument
par excellence of heroines, but the simple harp of her
country, whose single row of brazen wires had often
rung to many a sprightly planxty ; long, long before
the double action of Erard had vibrated to some fantasia
from Eossini or Mayerbeer, under the brilliant finger of
a Bochsa or a Labarre.

But now the harp of Eva did not ring forth the
spirit-stirring planxty, but yielded, to her gentlest touch,
one of the most soothing and plaintive of her native
melodies ; and to her woman sensibility, which long
expectation had excited, it seemed to breathe an un-
usual flow of tenderness and pathos, which her heated
imagination conjured almost into prophetic wailing.
Eva paused — she was alone ; the night had closed —
her chamber was dark and silent. She burst into tears,
and when her spirits became somewhat calmed by this
gush of feeling, she arose, and dashing the lingering
tear-drops from the long lashes of the most beautiful
blue eyes in the world, she hastened to the hall, and
sought in the society of others to dissipate those feelings
by which she had been overcome.

The night closed over the path of Cormac, and the
storm he anticipated had swept across the waves of the
Atlantic, and now burst in all its fury over the moun-
tains of Joyce's country. The wind rushed along in
wild gusts bearing in its sweeping eddy heavy dashes
of rain, which soon increased to a continuous deluge of
enormous drops, rendering the mountain gullies the
channel of temporary rivers, and the path that wound

18 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

along the verge of each precipice so slippery, aa to
render its passage death to the timid or unwary, and
dangerous even to the firmest or most practised foot.
But our hero and his attendant strode on — the torrent
was resolutely passed, its wild roar audible above the
loud thunder-peals that rolled through the startled
echoes of the mountains ; the dizzy path was firmly
trod, its clangers rendered more perceptible by the blue
lightnings, half revealing the depths of the abyss be-
neath, and Cormac and Diarmid still pressed on towards
the shores of Lough Mask, unconscious of the inter-
ruption that yet awaited them, fiercer than the torrent,
and more deadly than the lightning.

As they passed round the base of a projecting crag,
that flung its angular masses athwart the ravine through
which they wound, a voice of brutal coarseness sud-
denly arrested their progress with the fiercely uttered
word of "Stand!"

Cormac instantly stopped — as instantly his weapon
was in his hand ; and with searching eye he sought to
discover through the gloom, what bold intruder dared
cross the path of the OTlaherty. His tongue now
demanded what his eye failed him to make known ; and
the same rude voice that first addressed him answered,
" Thy mortal foe ! — thou seek'st thy bride, fond boy,
but never shalt thou behold her — never shalt thou share
the bed of Eva."

" Thou liest ! foul traitor I" cried Cormac fiercely ;
"avoid my path — avoid it, I say, tor death is in it!"

" Thou say'st truly," answered the unknown, with
a laugh of horrid meaning ; " come on, and thy words
shall be made good !"

At this moment, a flash of lightning illumined the
whole glen with momentary splendour, and discovered
to Cormac, a few paces before him, two armed men of
gigantic stature, in one of whom he recognised Emman
O'Flaherty, one of the many branches of that ancient
and extensive family, equally distinguished for his per-
sonal prowess and savage temper.

LOUGH MASK. 19

"Ha!" exclaimed Cormac, "is it Eminan Duth?"
for the black hair of Emman had obtained for him this
denomination of Black Edward, a name fearfully suit-
able to him who bore it.

" Yes," answered he tauntingly, " it is Emman Dubh
■who waits the coming of his fair cousin ; you have said
death is in your path — come on, and meet it."

Nothing daunted, however shocked at discovering the
midnight waylayer of his path, in his own relative,
Cormac answered, " Emman Dubh, I have never
wronged you ; but since you thirst for my blood, and
cross my path, on your own head be the penalty. —
Stand by me, Diarmid ! " said the brave youth ; and
rushing on his Herculean enemy, they closed in mortal
combat.

Had the numbers been equal, the colossal strength of
Emman might have found its overmatch in the activity
of Cormac, and his skill in the use of his weapon. But
oh ! the foul, the treacherous Emman — he dared his
high-spirited rival to advance, but to entrap him into
an ambuscade ; for as he rushed upon his foe, past the
beetling rock that hung over his path, a third assassin,
unseen by the gallant Cormac, lay in wait ; and when
the noble youth was engaged in the fierce encounter,
a blow, dealt him in the back, laid the betrothed of
Eva lifeless at the feet of the savage and exulting
Emman.

Eestlessly had Eva passed that turbulent night — each
gust of the tempest, each flash of living flame and burst
of thunder awakened her terrors, lest Cormac, the
beloved of her soul, were exposed to its fury ; but in
the lapses of the storm, hope ventured to whisper he yet
lingered in the castle of some friend beyond the moun-
tains. The morning dawned, and silently bore witness
to the commotion of the elements of the past night.
The riven branch of the naked tree, that in one night
had been shorn of its leafy beauty ; the earth strown
with foliage half green, half yellow, ere yet the

0

20 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

autumnal alchemy had converted its summer verdure
quite to gold, gave evidence that an unusually early
storm had been a forerunner of the equinox. Th
general aspect of nature too, though calm, was cold ;
the mountains wore a dress of sombre grey, and the
small scattered clouds were straggling over the face of
heaven, as though they had been rudely riven asunder,
and the short and quick lash of the waters upon the
shore of Lough Mask, might have told to an accustomed
eye, that a longer wave and a whiter foam had broken
on its strand a few hours before.

But what is that upthrown upon the beach ? And
who are those who surround it in such consternation ?
It is the little skiff that was moored at the opposite side
of the lake on the preceding eve, and was to have borne
Cormac to his betrothed bride. And they who identify
the shattered boat are those to whom Eva's happiness
is dear ; for it is her father and his attendants, who are
drawing ill omens from the tiny wreck. But they
conceal the fact, and the expecting girl is not told of
the evil-boding discovery. But days have come and
gone, and Cormac yet tarries. At length 'tis past a
doubt ; and the father of Eva knows his child is widowed
ere her bridal — widowed in heart, at least. And who
shall tell the fatal tale to Eva? Who shall cast the
shadow o'er her soul, and make the future darkness ? — .
Alas! ye feeling souls that ask it, that pause ere you
can speak the word that blights for ever, pause no
longer, for Eva knows it. Yes ; from tongue to tongue
— by word on word from many a quivering lip, and
meanings darkly given, the dreadful certainty at last
arrived to the bewildered Eva.

It was nature's last effort at comprehension ; her
mind was filled with the one fatal knowledge — Cormac
was gone for ever ; and that was the only mental con-
h;.'iousness that ever after employed the lovely Eva.

The remainder of the melancholy tale is briefly told.
Though quite bereft of reason, she was harmless as a

LOUGH MASK. 21

clilld, and was allowed to wander round the borders of
Lough Mask, and its immediate neighbourhood. A
favourite haunt of the still beautiful maniac was the
Cave of Cong, where a subterranean river rushes from
beneath a low natural arch in the rock, and passing for
some yards over a strand of pebbles, in pellucid swift-
ness, loses itself in the dark recesses of the cavern with the
sound of a rapid and turbulent fall. This river is formed
by the waters of Lough Mask becoming engulfed at one
of its extremities, and hurrying through a subterranean
channel until they rise again in the neighbourhood of
Cong, and become tributary to Lough Corrib. Here
the poor girl would sit for hours ; and, believing that
her beloved Cormac had been drowned in Lough Mask,
she hoped, in one of those half-intelligent dreams which
haunt a distempered brain, to arrest his body, as she
fancied it must pass through the Cave of Cong, borne on
the subterranean river.

Month after month passed by ; but the nipping winter
and the gentle spring found the lovely Eva still watch-
ing by the stream, like some tutelary water nymph
beside her sacred fountain. At length she disappeared
— and though the strictest search wi"5 i^auC, the broken-
hearted Eva was never heard of more ; and the tradition
of the country is, that the fairies took pity on a love so
devoted, and carried away the faithful girl, to join her
betrothed in fairy land !

Mrs. closed the manuscript, and replaced it in

the little cabinet.

" Most likely," said I, " poor Eva, if ever such a
person existed "

'"If!" said the fair reader. "Can you be so un-
grateful as to question the truth of my legend, after all
the trouble I have had in reading it to you ? Get
away ! A sceptic like you is only fit to hear the
common places of the daily press."

" I cry your pardon, fair lady," said I. " I am most
orthodox in legendary belief, and question not the ex-

LEGENDS AND STORIES.

istence of your Eva. I was only about to say that
perchance she might have been drowned in, and carried
away by, the river she watched so closely."

" Hush, hush," said the fair chronicler — " As you
hope for favour or information in our fair counties of
Galway or Mayo, never dare to question the truth of a
legend — never venture a 'perhaps ' for the purpose of
making a tale more reasonable, nor endeavour to sub-
stitute the reign of common sense, in hopes of super-
seding the empire of the fairies. Gro to-morrow to the
Cave of Cong, and if you return still an unbeliever, I
give you up as an irreclaimable infidel.

THE WHITE TROUT.

A LEGEXD OP COXG.

Oh ! I would ask no happier hed

Than the chill wave my love lies under,

Sr.eeter to rest together, dead,
Far sweeter than to live asunder.

Lalla Eookh.

The next morning I proceeded alone to the cave, to
witness the natural curiosity of its subterranean river,
my interest in the visit being somewhat increased by the
foregoing tale. Leaving my horse at the little village
of Cong, I bent my way on foot through the fields, if
you may venture to give that name to the surface of
this immediate district of the county Mayo, which,
presenting large flat masses of limestone, intersected by
patches of verdure, gives one the idea much more of a
burial-ground covered with monumental slabs, than a
formation of nature. Yet (I must make this remark en
passant), such is the richness of the pasture in these
little verdant interstices, that cattle are fattened upon it
in a much shorter time than on a meadow of the most
cultured aspect ; and though to the native of Leinster,
this land (if we may be pardoned a premeditated bull)
would appear all stones, the Mayo farmer knows it from
experience to be a profitable tenure. Sometimes deep
clefts occur between these laminre of limestone rock,
which, closely overgrown witn verdure, have not un-
frequently occasioned serious accidents to man and
beast ; and one of these chasms, of larger dimensions
than usual, forms the entrance to the celebrated cave in
question. Very rude steps of unequal height, partly
natural and partly artificial, lead the explorer of its
quiet beauty, by an abrupt descent to the bottom of

24 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

the cave, which contains an enlightened area of some
thirty or forty feet, whence a naturally vaulted passage
opens, of the deepest gloom. The depth of the cave
may be about equal to its width at the bottom : the
mouth is not more than twelve or fifteen feet across ;
and pendent from its margin clusters of ivy and other
parasite plants hang and cling in all the fantastic variety
of natural festooning and tracery. It is a truly beauti-
ful and poetical little spot, and particularly interesting
to the stranger, from oemg unlike any thing else one
has ever seen, and having none of the noisy and vulgar
pretence of regular show-places, which calls upon you
every moment to exclaim "Prodigious!"

An elderly and decent looking woman had just filled
her pitcher with the cleliciously cold and clear water of
the subterranean river that flowed along its bed of small,
smooth, and many-coloured pebbles, as I arrived at the
bottom ; and perceiving at once that I was a stranger,
she paused, partly perhaps with the pardonable pride of
displaying her local knowledge, but more from the native
peasant politeness of her country, to become the tem-
porary Cicerone of the cave. She spoke some words of
Irish, and hurried forth on her errand a very handsome
and active boy, of whom she informed me, she was the
great grandmother.

" Great grandmother ! " I repeated, in unfeigned
astonishment.

"Yes, your honour," she answered, with evident
pleasure sparkling in her eyes, which time had not yet
deprived of their brightness, or the soul-subduing in-
fluence of this selfish world bereft of their kind-hearted
expression.

" You are the youngest woman I have ever seen,"
said I, "to be a great grandmother."

" Troth, I don't doubt you, Sir," she answered.

" And you seem still in good health, and likely to
live many a year yet," said I.

" With the help of God, Sir," said she reverently.

THE "WHITE TROUT. 25

" But,'' I added, " I perceive a great number of per-
sons about here of extreme age. Now, how long
generally do the people in this country live ? "

" Troth, Sir," said she, with the figurative drollery
of her country, " -we live here as long as we like.'"'

"Well, that is no inconsiderable privilege," said I;
"but you, nevertheless, must have married very young? "

" I was not much over sixteen, your honour, when I
had my first child at my breast."

" That was beginning early," said I.

" Thrue for you, Sir ; and faith, Noreen — (that's my
daughter, Sir) — Noreen herself lost no time either ; I
suppose she thought she had as good a right as the
mother before her — she was married at seventeen, and
a likely couple herself and her husband was. So you
see, Sir, it was not long before I was a granny. Well,
to make the saying good, ' as the ould cock crows, the
young bird cherrups,' and faiks, the whole breed, seed,
and generation, tuk after the owld woman (that's my-
self, Sir) ; and so, in coorse of time, I was not only a
granny, but a grate granny ; and by the same token,
here comes my darling Paudeen Bawn*, with what I
sent him for."

Here the fine little fellow I have spoken of, with his
long fair hair curling about his shoulders, descended into
the cave, bearing some faggots of bog-wood, a wisp of
straw, and a lighted sod of turf.

" Now, your honour, it's what you'll see the pigeon-
hole to advantage."

" What pigeon-hole ? " said I.

" Here where we are," she replied,

" Why is it so called ? " I inquired.

"Because, Sir, the wild pigeons often build in the
bushes and the ivy that's round the mouth of the cave,
and in here too," said she pointing into the gloomy
depth of the interior.

* Fair little Paddy.

-6 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

" Blow that turf, Paudeen ; and Paudeen, with dis-
tended cheeks and compressed lips, forthwith poured a
few vigorous blasts on the sod of turf, wh.ch soon
flickered and blazed, while the kind old woman lighted
her faggots or. bog-wood at the flame.

"Now, Sir, follow me," said my conductress.

" I am sorry you hare had so much trouble on my
account," said I.

'; Oh, no throuble in life, your honour, but the greatest
of pleasure ; " and so saying, she proceeded into the cave,
and I followed, carefully choosing my steps by the help
of her torch-light, along the slippery path of rock that
overhung the river. When she had reached a point of
some little elevation, she held up her lighted pine
branches, and waving them to and fro, asked me could
I see the top of the cave.

The effect of her figure was very fine, illumined as it
was, in the midst of utter darkness, by the red glare of
the blazing faggots ; and as she wound them round her
head, and shook their flickering sparks about, it required
no extraordinary stretch of imagination to suppose her,
with her ample cloak of dark drapery, and a few
straggling tresses of grey hair escaping from the folds of
a rather Eastern head-dress, some Sybil about to com-
mence an awful rite, and evoke her ministering spirits
from the dark void, or call some water demon from the
river, which rushed unseen along, telling of its wild
course by the turbulent dash of its waters, which the
reverberation of the cave rendered still more hollow.

She shouted aloud, and the cavern-echoes answered
to her summons. " Look ! " said she — and she lighted
ihe wisp of straw, and flung it on the stream : it floated
rapidly away, blazing in wild undulations over the
perturbed surface of the river, and at length suddenly
disappeared altogether. The effect was most picturesque
and startling ; rt was even awful. I might almost say,
sublime !

Our light having nearly expired, we retraced our steps

THE WHITE TROUT. 27

and emerging from the gloom, stood beside the river, in
the enlightened area I have described.

"Now, Sir, said my old woman, " we must thry and
sec the White Throut ; and you never seen a throut o'
that colour yet, I warrant."

I assented to the truth of this.

" They say it's a fairy throut, your honour, and tells
mighty quare stories about it."

" What are they ? " I inquired.

" Troth, it's myself doesn't know the half o' them —
only partly : but sthrive and see it before you go, Sir ;
for there's them that says it isn't lucky to come to the
cave, and lave it without seein' the white throut ; and if
you're a bachelor, Sir, and didn't get a peep at it,
throth you'd never be married ; and sure that 'id be a
murther* ? "

" Oh," said I, "I hope the fairies would not be so
spiteful "

" Whisht — whishtf ! " said she, looking fearfully
around; then, knitting her brows, she gave me an
admonitory look, and put her finger on her lip, in token
of silence, and then coming sufficiently near me to make
herself audible in a whisper, she said, " Never speak ill,
your honour, of the good people — beyant all, in sitch a
place as this — for it's in the likes they always keep ; and
one doesn't know Avho may be listenin'. Grod keep uz !
But look, Sir ! look ! " And she pointed to the stream
>-" There she is."

" Who 1 what ?" said I.

" The throut, Sir."

I immediately perceived the fish in question, perfectly
a trout in shape, but in colour a creamy white, heading
up the stream, and seeming to keep constantly within
the region of the enlightened part of it.

" There it is, in that very spot evermore," continued
my guide, " and never any where else."

• A great pity. t Silence.

28 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

'■' The poor fish, I suppose, likes to swim in the light,"
said 1.

" Oh, no, Sir," said she, shaking her head signifi-
cantly, " the people here has a mighty owld story about
that throut."

" Let me hear it, and you will oblige me."

" Och ; it's only laughin' at me you'd be, and call me
an ould fool, as the misthiss* beyant in the big housef
often did afore, when she first kem amoung us — but she
knows the differ now." s

"Indeed I shall not laugh at your story," said I," but
on the contrary, shall thank you very much for your
tale."

"Then sit downaminnit, Sir,', said she, throwing
her apron upon the rock, and pointing to the seat," and
I'll tell you to the best of my knowledge ;" and seating
herself on an adjacent patch of verdure, she began her
legend.

" There was wanst upon a time, long ago, a beautiful
young lady that lived in a castle up by the lake beyant,
and they say she was promised to a king's son, and they
wor to be married : when, all of a suddent, he was mur-
thered, the crathur, (Lord help us,) and threwn into the
lake abowf, and so, of coorse, he couldn't keep his
promise to the fair lady,- — and more's the pity.

" Well, the story goes, that she went out iv her mind,
bekase av loosin' the king's son — for she was tindher-
hearted, God help her, like the rest iv us ! — and pined
away after him, until, at last, no one about seen her,
good or bad ; and the story wint, that the fairies took
her away.

" Well, Sir, in coorse o' time, the white throut, God
bless it, was seen in the sthrame beyant ; and sure the
people didn't know what to think av the crathur, seein'
as how a white throut was never heerd av, afore nor
sence ; and years upon years the throut was there, just

* The lady. t A gentleman's mansion. J Above.

THE WHITE TROUT. 29

where you seen it this blessed minit, longer nor I can
tell — aye throth, and beyant the memory o' th' ouldest
in the village.

" At last the people began to think it must be a
fairy ; for what else could it be ? — and no hurt nor harm
was iver put an the white throut, antil some wicked
sinner of sojers* kem to these parts, and laughed at all
the people, and gibed and jeered them for thinkin' o' the
likes; and one o' them in partic'lar, (bad luck to him;
— God forgi' me for sayin' it !) swore he'd catch the
throut and ate it for his dinner — the blackguard !

" Well, what would you think o' the villiany of the
sojer ? — sure enough he cotch the throut ; and away wid
him home, and puts an the fryin'pan, and into it he
pitches the purty ^'-Ue il'-'uj. The throut squeeled all
as one as a Christian crathur, and, my dear, you'd think
the sojer id split his sides laughin' — for he was a harden'd
villian : and when he thought one side was done, he
turns it over to fry the other ; and what would you
think, but the divil a taste of a burn was an it at all at
all ; and sure the sojer thought it was a quare throut
that couldn't be briled ; ' but,' says he, ' I'll give it
another turn by and by' — little thinkin' what was in
store for him, the haythen.

"Well, when he thought that side was done, he turns
it again — and lo and and behould you, the divil a taste
more done that side wras nor the other : ' Bad luck to
me,' says the sojer, ' but that bates the world/ says he ;
' but I'll thry you agin, my darlint', says he, ' as cunnin'
as you think yourself,' — and so with that, he turns it
over and over ; but not a sign av the fire was an the
purty throut. " Well, ' says the desperate villian — (for
sure, Sir, only he was a desperate villian entirely, he
might know he was doin' a wrong thing, seein' that all
his endayvours was no good) ; — 'well,' says he, 'my jolly
little thrbut, may be you're fried enough, though you

* Soldiers.

30 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

don't seem over-well dress'd ; but you may be better
than you look, like a singed cat, and a tit-bit, afther all,
says he ; and with that he ups with his knife and fork to
taste a piece o' the throut — but, my jew'l, the minit he
puts his knife into the fish, there was a murtherin' screech,
that you'd think the life id lave you if you heerd it, and
away jumps the throut out av the fryin'-pan into the
middle o' the flure* ; and an the spot where it fell, up
rizf a lovely lady — the beautifullest young crathur that
eyes ever seen, dressed in white, and a band o' goold in
her hair, and a sthrame o' blood runnin' clown her arm.

" 'Look where you cut me, you villian,' says she, and
she held out her arm to him — and, my dear, he thought
the sight id lave his eyes.

" Couldn't you lave me cool and comfortable in the
river where you snared me, and not disturb me in my
duty ?' says she.

" 'Well, he thrimbled like a dog in a wet sack, and
at last he stammered out somethin', and begged for his
life, and ax'd her ladyship's pardin, and said he didn't
know she was an duty, or he was too good a sojer not
to know betther nor to meddle wid her.

" 'I was on duty then,' says the lady ; 'I was watchin'
for my thrue love, that is comin' by wather to me,' says
she ; 'an' if he comes while I ani away, 'an' that I miss
iv him, I'll turn you into a pinkeenj, and I'll hunt you
up and down for evermore, while grass grows or wather
runs.'

" Well, the sojer thought the life id lave him, at the
thoughts iv his bein' turned into a pinkeen, and begged
for marcy : and with that, says the lady —

" 'Eenounce your evil coorses,' says she, 'you villian,
or you'll repint it too late ; be a good man for the
futhur, and go to your duty§ reg'lar. And now,' says

* Floor. f Arose J Stickle-back.

§ The Irish peasant calls his attendance at the confessional "going to
his duty."

THE WHITE TROUT. 31

she, 'take me back and put roe into the river agin,
where you found me.'

" 'Oh, my lady/ says the sojer, 'how could I have
the heart to drownd a beautiful lady like you ?*

"But before he could say another word, the lady was
vanished, and there he saw the little throut an the
ground. Well, he put it in a clane plate, and away he
run for the bare life, for fear her lover would come
while she was away ; and he run, and he run, ever till
he came to the cave ag.n, and threw the throut into the
river. The minit he did, the wather was as red as blood
for a little while, by the rayson av the cut, I suppose,
until the sthrame washe> the stain away ; and to this day
there's a little red ma; v an the throut's side, where it
was cut*.

"Well, Sir, from that J- v out the sojer was an althered
man, and reformed his ways, and wint to Ms duty reglar,
and fasted three times a week — though it was never fish
he tuk an fastio.' days ; for, afther the fright he got,
fish id never rest an his stomach — savin' your presence.
But any how, he was an althered man, as I said before ;
and in coorse o* time he left the army, and turned
hermit at last ; and they say he used to pray evermore/or
thesowlofthe White Throut."

* The fish has really a red spot on its side.

THE BATTLE OF THE BEEEINS,

OK,

THE DOUBLE FONEBAL.

Belong to the gallows, and Be hanged, you rogue ; is this a place to
roar in ? ... Fetch me a dozen staves, and strong ones — these are bat
switches to them I'll scratch your heads !

I was sitting alone in the desolate church-yard of

, intent upon my " silent art," lifting up my eyes

from my portfolio, only to direct them to the interesting
ruin I was sketching — when the deathlike stillness that
prevailed was broken by a faint and wild sound, unlike any
thing I had ever heard in my life. I confess I was
startled — I paused in my occupation, and listened in
breathless expectation. Again this seemingly unearthly
sound vibrated through the still air of evening, more
audibly than at first, and partaking of the vibratory
quality of tone I have noticed, in so great a degree as
to resemble the remote sound of the ringing of many
glasses crowded together.

I rose and looked around — no being was near me, and

THE BATTLE OP THE BERRIXS. 33

again this heart-chilling sound struck upon my ear ; its
wild and wailing intonation reminding me of the jEolian
harp. Another burst was wafted up the hill ; and then
it became discernible that the sound proceeded from
many voices raised in lamentation.

It was the ulicctn. I had hitherto known it only by
report ; for the first time, now, its wild and appalling
cadence had ever been heard ; and it will not be won-
dered at by those acquainted with it that I was startled
on hearing it under such circumstances.

I could now perceive a crowd of peasants of both
sexes, winding along a hollow way that led to the
church-yard where I was standing, bearing amongst
them the coffin of the departed ; and ever and anon a
wild burst of the ulicaii would arise from the throng,
and ring in wild startling unison up the hill until, by a
gradual and plaintive descent through an octave, it
dropped into a subdued wail ; and they bore the body
onward the while, not in the measured and solemn step
that custom (at least our custom) deems decent, but in
a rapid and irregular manner, as if the violence of their
grief hurried them on, and disdained all form.

The effect was certainly more impressive than that of
any other funeral I had ever witnessed, however much
the "pride, pomp, and circumstance," of such arrays
had been called upon to produce a studied solemnity ;
for no hearse with sable plumes, nor chief mourners, nor
pall-bearers, ever equalled in poetry or picturesque these
poor people, bearing along on their shoulders, in the
stillness of evening, the body of their departed friend to
its " long home." The women raising their arms above
their heads, in the untaught action of grief ; their dark
and ample cloaks waving wildly about, agitated by the
varied motions of their wearers, and their wild cry raised
in lament

" Most musical, most melancholy."

At length they reached the cemetery, and the coffin

34: LEGENDS A3Ii> STORIES.

was borne into the interior of the ruin, where the women
still continued to wail for the dead, while Trt'f a duzen
athletic young men immediately proceeded to prepare a
grave; and seldom have I seen finer fellows, or men
more full of activity : their action, indeed, bespoke so
much life and vigour, as to induce an involuntary and
melancholy contrast with the object on which that action
was bestowed.

Scarcely had the spade upturned the green sod of the
burial-ground, when the will peal of the vlican again
was heard at a distance. The young men paused in
their work, and turned their heads, as did ail the
bystanders, towards the point whence the sound pro-
ceeded.

We soon perceived another funeral procession wind
round the foot of the hill, and immediately the gra-re-
makers renewed their work with redoubled activity;
while exclamations of anxiety on their part, for the com-
pletion of their work, and of encouragement from the
lookers-on, resounded on all sides ; and such ejaculations
as *• Hurry, boys, hurry''" — •■ Stir vourseli, Paddy!'" —
'• That's your sort, Mike'"' — "Bouse, your sowl"" tc,
&c, resounded on all sides. At the same time, the
second funeral party that was advancing, no sooner per-
ceived the church-yard already occupied, then they
directly quickened their pace, as the wail rose more
loudly and wildly .^rom the train ; and a detachment
bearing pick and spade, forthwith sallied from the main
body, and dashed with headlong speed up the MIL In
the mean time, an old woman, with streaming eves and
dishevelled hair, rushed wildly from the ruin where the
first party had borne their eotRn. towards the voum?
athletes I have already described as working1 with
'• might and main.""' and adressiug them with all the
passionate intensity of her country, ^he exclaimed,
" Sure you wouldn't let them have the advantage of uz,
that-a-way, and lave my darlin' boy wunderhiu" about,
dark an' 'lone in the long nights. Work, boys ! work '

THE IiATTI/E OP THE BIWUTITP. 35

for the baro life, and tho mother's blessing bo an you,
and let my poor Paudoon have rest."

I thought tho poor woman was crazed, as indeed her
nppearanco and vehemence of manner, as well as the (to
me) unintelligible address she had uttered, might well
...duce mo to bcliovo, and I questioned one of the by-
standers accordingly.

" An' is it why she's goin' wild about it, you're axin'?"
said tho person I addressed, in evident wonder at my
quostion. " Sure then I thought all the world knew
that, let alone a gintleman like you, that ought to be
knowledgablo : and suro she doesn't want tho poor boy
to be wulkin', as of coorse he must, barrin' they're
smart."

" What do you mean?" said I, "I don't understand
you."

" Whisht I -whisht," said ho ; " here they come, by tho
powers, and the Gallaghers at the head of them," as ho
looked towards the new-comers' advanced-guard, who
had now gained tho summit of the hill, and, leaping over
tho boundary-ditch of tho cemetery, advanced towards
tho group that surrounded the grave, with rapid strides
and a resolute air.

" Giv over there, I bid you," said a tall and ably-
built man of tho party, to those employed in open-
ing tho ground, who still plied their implements with
energy.

" Give over, or it '11 be worso for you. Didn't you
hoar me, Eooney 1" said he, as he laid his muscular hand
on the arm of ono of the party he addressed, and ar-
rested him in his occupation.

" I did hear you," said Eooney ; "but I didn't heed
you."

" I'd have you keep a civil tongue in your head," said
the former.

" You're mighty ready to give advice that you want
yourself," rejoined the latter, as ho again plunged th«
spaao into the earth.

36 LEGENDS AND STORIES,

"Lave off, I tell you!" said our Hercules, in a higher
tone; " or, by this and that, I'll make you sorry !"

" Arrah ! what brings you here at all ?" said another
of the grave-makers, "breedin' a disturbance?"

"What brings him here but mischief?" said a grey-
haired man, who undertook, with national peculiarity,
to answer one interrogatory by making another —
" there's always a quarrel, whenever there's a Gallagher."
For it was indeed one of "the Gallaghers" that the
peasant I spoke to noticed as being " at the head o'
them," who was assuming so bold a tone.

"You may thank your grey hairs, that I don't make
you repent o' your words," said Gallagher, and his brow
darkened as he spoke.

" Time was," said the old man, " when I had some-
thing surer than grey hairs to make such as you respect
me ;"and he drew himself up with an air of patriarchal
dignity, and displayed in his still expansive chest and
commanding height, the remains of a noble figure,
that bore testimony to the truth of what he had just
uttered. The old man s eye kindled as he spoke — but
'twas only for a moment ; and the expression of pride
and defiance was succeeded by that of coldnesss and
contempt.

"I'd have beat you blind the best day ever you seen,"
said Gallagher, with an impudent swagger.

"Troth you wouldn't, Gallagher," said a contemporary
of the old man : but your consait bates the world I"

" That's true," said Eooney. " He's a great man
intireby, in his own opinion. I'd make a power of mon :v
if I could but/ Gallagher at my price, and sell him at his
own."

A low and jeering laugh followed this hit of my friend
Eooney ; and Gallagher assumed an aspect so lowering,
that a peasant, standing near me, turned to his compa-
nion and said, significantly, " By gor, IN ed there'll be
wigs on the green afore long !"

And he was quite right.

TIIK BATTLK OP TIIK NTCRMNS. 37

Tho far off speck on tho horizon, whence the pro-
phetic eye of a sailor can forctel tho coming storm, is
not more nicely discriminated by the mariner, than the
.symptoms of an approaching fray by an Irishman ; and
scarcely had tho foregoing words been uttered, than I
saw tlie men tucking up their long frieze coats in a sort
of jacket fashion — thus getting rid of their tails, like
game- cocks before a battle. A more menacing grip
was taken by the bearer of each stick (a usual appen-
dage of Hibernians) ; and a general closing-in of the
bystanders round tho nucleus of dissatisfaction, made it
perfectly apparent that hostilities must soon commence,.

I was not long left in suspense about such a catas-
trophe, for a general outbreak soon took place, com-
mencing in tho centre with tho principals already
noticed, and radiating throughout tho whole circle,
until a general action ensued, and the belligerents were
dispersed in various hostile groups over the churchyard.

L was a spectator from the topmost step of a stile
leading into tho burial-ground, deeming it imprudent
to linger within tho precincts of the scene of action,
when my attention was attracted by the appearance of
a horseman, who galloped up the little stony road, and
was no sooner at my side, than he dismounted, exclaim-
ing, at tho top of his voice, " Oh ! you reprobates, lave
oil', I toll you, you heathens ! Are you Christians at
all?"

I must hero pause a moment to describe the person
of tho horseman in question. Ho was a tall, thin, pale
man — having a hat, which from exposure to bad weather,
had its broad slouching brim crimped into many fantastic
involutions — its crown somewhat depressed in the middle,
and tho edges of the same exhibiting a napless paleness;
very far removed from its original black; no shirt-collar
sheltered his angular jaw-bones — a narrow white cravat
was drawn tightly round his spare neck — a single-
breasted coat of rusty black, with standing collar, was
tightly buttoned nearly up to his chin, and a nether

^° LEGENDS AND STORIES.

garment of the same, with large silver knee-1mckle%
meeting a square-cut and buckram-like pair of black
father boots, with heavy, plated spurs, that had scon
the best of their clays, completed the picture. His
horse was a small well-built hack, whose long rough
coat would have been white, but that soiled litter had
stained it to a dirty yellow ; and taking advantage
of the liberty which the abandoned rein afforded, he
very quietly turned him to the little fringe of grass
which bordered each side of the path, to make as
much profit of his time as he might, before his rider
should resume his seat in the old high-pommelled saddle
which he had vacated, in uttering the ejaculation I have
recorded.

This person then, hastily mounting the stile on which
I stood, with rustic politeness said, "By your leave, Sir,"
as he pushed by me in haste, and jumping from the top
of the wall, proceeded with long and rapid strides
towards the combatants, and brandishing a heavy thong
whip which he carried, he began to lay about him with
equal vigour and impartiality on each and every of the
peace-breakers, both parties sharing in the castigation
thus bestowed, with the most even, and, I might add,
heavy-handed justice.

My surprise was great on finding that all the blows
inflicted by this new belligerent, instead of being resented
by the assaulted parties, seemed taken as if resistance
against this potent chastiser were vain, and in a short
time they all fled before him, like so many frightened
school-boys before an incensed pedagogue, and huddled
themselves together in a crowd, which at once became
pacified at his presence.

Seeing this result, I descended from my perch, and
ran towards the scene that excited my surprise in no
ordinary degree. I found this new-comer delivering to
the multitude he had quelled, a severe reproof of their
" unchristian doings," as he termed them ; and it became
evident that he was the pastor of the flock, and it must

THE BATTLE OF THE BERRINS. 39

be acknowledged, a very turbulent flock, he seemed to
have of it.

This admonition was soon ended. It was certainly
impressive, and well calculated for the audience to whom
it was delivered, as well as from the simplicity of its
language as the solemnity of its manner, which was
much enhanced by the deep and somewhat sepulchral
voice of the speaker. " And now," added the pastor,
" let me ask you for what you were fighting like so
many wild Indians ; for surely your conduct is liker to
savage creatures than men that have been bred up in the
hearing of God's word?"

A pause of a few seconds followed this question ;
and, at length, some one ventured to answer from
amongst the crowd, that it was " in regard of the
berrin."

" And is not so solemn a sight," asked the priest, " as
the burial of the departed, enough to keep down the
evil passions of your hearts ? "

" Troth then, and plaze your Eiverince, it was
nothin' ill-nathured in life, but only a good-nathured
turn we wor doin' for poor Paudeen Moonoy that's
departed ; and sure it's to your Eiverince we'll be goin'
immadiantly for the masses for the poor boy's sowl."
Thus making interest in the offended quarter, with an
address for which the Irish peasant is pre-eminently dis-
tinguished.

" Tut ! tut ! " rapidly answered the priest ; anxious,
perhaps, to silence this very palpable appeal to his own
interest. "Don't talk to me about doing a good-natured
turn. Not," added he, in a subdued under-tone, " but
that prayers for the souls of the faithful departed are
enjoined by the church ; but what has that to do with
your scandalous and lawless doings that I witnessed this
minute ? and you yourself," said he, addressing the
last speaker, " one of the busiest with your alpecn ? I'm
afraid your're rather fractious, Rooney — take care that
I don't speak to you from the altar,"

40 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

" Oh, God forbid that your Riverince id have to do
the like, said the mother of the deceased, already-
noticed, in an imploring tone, and with the big tear-
drops chasing each other down her cheeks ; " and sure
it was only they wanted to put my poor boy in the
ground first, and no wondher sure, as your Riverince
knows, and not to have my poor Paudeen "

" Tut ! tut ! woman," interrupted the priest, waving
his hand rather impatiently, "don't let me hear any
folly."

"I ax your Riverince's pardon, and sure it's myself
that id be sorry to offind my clargy — God's blessin' be
an them night and day ! But I was only goin' to put
in a word for Mikee Booney, and sure it wasn't him at
all, nor wauldn't be any of us, only for Shan Gallagher,
that wouldn't lave us in peace."

" Gallagher !" said the priest in a deeply-reproachful
tone. " Where is he ? "

Gallagher came not forward, but the crowd drew
back, and left him revealed to the priest. His aspect
was that of sullen indifference, and he seemed to be
the only person present totally uninfluenced by the
presence of his pastor, who now advanced towards
him, and extending his attenuated hand in the atti-
tude of denunciation towards the offender, said very
solemnly —

" I have already spoken to you in the house of wor-
ship, and now, once more, I warn you to beware. Eiot
and battle are found wherever you go, and if you do
not speedily reform your course of life, I shall expel
you from the pale of the church, and pronounce sentence
of excommunication upon you from the altar."

Every one appeared awed by the solemnity and
severity of this address from the onset, but when the
word " excommunication " was uttered, a thrill of horror
seemed to run through the assembled multitude : and
even Gallagher himself I thought betrayed some emotion
on hearing the terrible word. Yet he evinced it but

THE BATTLE OP THE BEB.KXXS. 41

for a moment, and turning on his heel, he retired from
the ground with something of the swagger with which
he entered it. The crowd opened to let him pass, and
openei widely, as if they sought to avoid contact with
one so fearfully denounced.

"You have two coffins here," said the clergyman,
"proceed, therefore, immediately to make two graves,
and let the bodies be interred at the same time, and 1
will read the service for the dead"

Xo very great time was consumed in makinar the
necessary preparation. The " narrow beds '"' were made,
and, as their tenants were consigned to their last long
sleep, the solemn voice of the priest was raised in the
" De Profundis ; " and when he had concluded the short
and beautiful psalm, the friends of the deceased closed
the graves, and covered them neatly with fresh-cut sods,
which is what Paddy very metaphorically calls

P-~ing the daisy qui.- oTer him.

The clergyman retired from the church-yard, and I
followed his footsteps for the purpose of introducing
myself to •'his reverence,'"' and seeking from him an
explanation of what was still a most unfathomable
mystery to me, namely the cause of the quarrel, which,
from certain passages in his address to the people,
I saw he understood, though so slightly glanced at.
Accordingly, I overtook the priest, and as the Irish
song has it,

To him I (Knosionslv made mv apjr-:a:hes.

He received me with courtesy, which though not
savouring much of intercourse with polished circles,
seemed to spring whence all true politeness emanates —
from a good heart.

I begged to assure him it was not an impertinent
curiosity that made me desirous of becoming acquainted
■with the cause of the fray which I had witnessed, and

42 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

he had put a stop to in so summary a manner; and
hoped he would not consider it an intrusion if I applied
to him for that purpose.

" No intrusion in life, Sir," answered the priest very
frankly, and with a rich brogue, whose intonation was
singularly expressive of good nature. It was the speci-
men of brogue I have never met but in one class, the
Irish gentleman of the last century — an accent, which,
though it possessed all the characteristic traits of " the
brogue," was at the time divested of the slighest trace
of vulgarity. This is not to be met with now, or at
least very rarely. An attempt has been made by those
who fancy it genteel, to graft the English accent upon
the Broguish stem — and a very bad fruit it has produced.
The truth is, the accents of the two countries could
never be happily blended ; and far from making a
pleasing amalgamation, it conveys the idea that the
speaker is endeavouring to escape from his own accent
for what he considers a superior one ; and it is this
attempt to be fine, which so particularly allies the idea of
vulgarity with the tone of brogue so often heard in the
present day.

Such, I have said, was not the brogue of the Rev.
Phelim Roach, or Father Roach, as the peasants called
him ; and his voice, which I have earlier noticed as
almost sepulchral, I found derived that character from
the feeling of the speaker when engaged in an admoni-
tory address ; for when employed on colloquial occasions,
it was no more than what might be called a rich and deep
manly voice. So much for Father Roach, who forthwith
proceeded to enlighten me on the subject of the funeral,
and the quarrel arising therefrom.

" The truth is, Sir, these poor people are possessed of
many foolish superstitions ; and however we may, as
men, pardon them, looking upon them as fictions
originating in a warm imagination, and finding a ready
admission into the minds of an unlettered and sus-
ceptible peasantry, we cannot, as pastors of the flock,

THE BATTLE OP THE BERKINS. 43

admit their belief to the poor people committed to
our care."

This was quite new to me ; to find a clergyman of the
religion I had hitherto heard of as being par excellence
abounding in superstition, denouncing the very article
in question. — But let me not interrupt Father Roach.

" The superstition I speak of," continued he, " is one
of the many these warm-hearted people indulge in, and
is certainly very poetical in its texture.

" But, Sir," interrupted my newly-made acquaintance,
pulling forth a richly chased gold watch of antique
workmanship, that at once suggested ideas of the ' bon
vieux temps,'' " I must ask your pardon — I have an
engagement to keep at the little hut I call my home,
which obliges me to proceed there forthwith. If you
have so much time to spare as will enable you to walk
with me to the end of this little road, it will suffice to
make you acquainted with the nature of the superstition
in question."

I gladly assented ; and the priest, disturbing the
nibbling occupation of his hack, threw the rein over his
arm, and the docile little beast following him on one
side as quietly as I did on the other, he gave me the
following account of the cause of all the previous riot, as
we wound down the little stony path that led to the
main road.

" There is a belief among the peasantry in this par-
ticular district, that the ghost of the last person interred
in the church-yard, is obliged to traverse, unceasingly,
the road between this earth and purgatory, carrying
water to slake the burning thirst of those confined in
that ' limbo large ; ' and that the ghost is thus obliged
to walk

Through the dead waste and middle of the night;

until some fresh arrival of a tenant to the 'narrow
house,' supplies a fresh ghost to ' relieve guard,' if I may
be allowed so military an expression ; and thus, the

44 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

supply of water to the sufferers in purgatory is kept up
unceasingly* "

Henee it was that the fray had arisen, and the poor
mother's invocation, " that her darling boy should not
be left to wander about the church-yard dark and lone
in the long nights," became at once intelligible. Father
Eoach gave me some curious illustrations of the different
ways in which this superstition influenced his " poor
people," as he constantly called them ; but I suppose my
readers have had quite enough of the subject, and I
shall therefore say no more of other "cases in point,"
contented with having given them one example, and
recording the existence of a superstition, which, however
wild, undoubtedly owes its existence to an affectionate
heart and a poetic imagination.

* A particularly affectionate husband, before depositing the remains of
his departed wife in the grave, placed a pair of new brogues in her eoflin,
th.it she might not have to walk all the way to purgatory barefooted. This
"Bras vouched for as a fact.

FATHER EOACH.

I focxd the company of Father Roach so pleasant,
that I accepted an invitation which he gave me, when
we arrived at the termination of our walk, to breakfast
the next morning at the little hut, as he called the un-
pretending but Beat cottage he inhabited, a short mile
distant from the church-yard where we first met. I
repaired, accordingly, the next morning, at an early
hour, to my appointment, and found the worthy pastor
ready to receive me. He met me at the little avenue,
(not that I mean to imply an idea of grandeur by the
term), which led from the main road to his dwelling —
it was a short narrow road, bordered on each side by
alder bushes, and an abrupt awkward turn placed you
in front of the humble dwelling of which he was
master ; the area before it, however, was clean, and the
offensive dunghill, the intrusive pig, and barking cur-
dog, were not the distinguishing features of this, as
unfortunately they too often are of other Irish cot-
tagers.

On entering the house, an elderly and comfortably-
clad woman curtsied as we crossed the threshold, and I
was led across an apartment, whose

Neatly sanded fioor— ■

(an earthen one, by the way,) — we traversed diagonally
to an opposite corner, where an open door admitted us
vnto a small but comfortable hoarded apartment, where
breakfast was laid, unostentatiously but neatly, and in-
viting to the appetite, as far as that could be stimulated
by a white cloth, most promising fresh butter, a plate
of evidently fresh eggs, and the best of cream, whose

46 LEGENDS AXD STORIES.

rich -white was most advantageously set off by the plain
blue ware of which the ewer "was composed; add to
this, an ample cake of fresh griddle bread, and

Though last, not least,

the savoury smell that arose from a rasher of bacor.,
",vhich announced itself through the medium of more
senses than one ; for its fretting and fuming in the
pan, playing many an ingenious variation upon '■' fiz
and whiz ! "

Gave dreadful note of pre-ira:' :n.

But I must not forget to notice the painted tin tea
canister of mine host, "which "was emblazoned with the
talismanic motto of

" O'Connell and Liberty ; "

and underneath the semicircular motto aforesaid, ap-
peared the rubicund visage of a lusty gentleman in a
green coat, holding in his hand a scroll inscribed with
the dreadful words, '• Catholic rent,"

'• Untie."? ant m:st to Brunswick ears,"

which was meant to represent no less a personage than
the " Great Liberator" himself.

While breakfast was going foward, the priest and
myself had made no inconsiderable advances towards
intimacv. Those who have mine-led much in the world,
have often, no doubt, experienced like myself, how
much easier it is to enter at once, almost, into friend-
ship with some, before the preliminaries of common
acquaintance can be established with others.

Father .Roach was one of the former species. We
soon sympathised with each other ; and becoming, as
it were, at once possessed of the keys of each other's
freemasonry, we mutually unlocked our confidence.

Father roacS. 4?

This led to many an interesting conversation with the
good father, while I remained in his neighbourhood.
He gave me a sketch of his life in a few words. It was
simply this : he was a descendant of a family that had
once been wealthy and of large possessions in the verv
county, where, as he said himself, he was " a pauper."

" For what else can I call myself,'' said the humble
priest, "when I depend for my support, on the gra-
tuitous contributions of those who are themselves little
better than paupers ? But God's will be done."'

His forefathers had lost their patrimony by repeated
forfeitures, under every change of power that had dis
tracted the unfortunate island of which he was a na-
tive* ; and for him and his brothers, nothing was left
but personal exertion.

" The elder boys would not remain here," said he,
" where their religion was a barrier to their promotion.
They went abroad, and offered then swords to the ser-
vice of a foreign power. They fought and fell under
the banners of Austria, who disdained not the accession
of all such strong arms and bold hearts, that left their
native soil to be better appreciated in a stranger land.

'■ I, and a younger brother, who lost his father ere he
could feel the loss, remained in poor Ireland. I was a

* This has been too often the case in Ireland.
•ountry :s from the seat of government, it is only lately that the interests
of Ireland have been an object to Great Britain. To ssy nothing of the
earlier oppressions and confiscations, the adherents of the first Charles in
Ireland were crushed by Cromwell. The forfeitures under the Common-
wealth were tremendous. — " Hell or Connaught," sitll lives as a proverb.
Charles IL was not careful to repair the wrongs which his subject* suf-
fered for being adherents of his father ; and yet their loyalty remained
unshaken to the t'ai-hiess race, in the person of the second J;ones. A
new series of forfeitures then ensued under William III ; and thus,
by degrees, the principal ancient families of Ireland had their properties
wrested from thein, and bestowed upon the troopers of successive in-
vaders; and for what?— attachment to the kings to whom they had
sworn alle?iance. The Irish have often, most unjustly, been denomi-
nated rebels. We shall find the truth is, if we consult history, their
great misfortune has been, that they were on'.y too I032L But England,
is, at length, desirous of doing Ireland justice.

48 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

sickly boy, and was constantly near my beloved mother
— God rest her soul ! — who early instilled into my infant
mind, deeply reverential notions of religion, which at
length imbued my mind so strongly with their influence,
that I determined to devote my life to the priesthood.
I was sent to St. Omcr to study, and on my return was
appointed to the ministry, which I have ever since exer-
cised to the best of the ability that God has vouchsafed
to his servant."

Such Avas the outline of Father Eoach's personal and
family history.

In some of the conversations which our intimacy ori-
ginated, I often sought for information, touching the
peculiar doctrines of his church, ancl the discipline which
its followers are enjoined to adopt.

I shall not attempt to weary the reader with an
account of our arguments ; for the good Father Roach
was so meek as to condescend to an argument with one
unlearned as myself, and a heretic to boot ; nor to detail
some anecdotes that to me were interesting on various
points in question. I shall reserve but one fact— and a
most singular one it is — to present to my readers on the
subject of confession.

Speaking upon this point, I remarked to Father Roach,
that of all the practices of the Roman Catholic Church,
that of confession I considered the most beneficial within
the range of its discipline.

He concurred with me in admitting it as highly ad-
vantageous to the sinner. I ventured to add that I con-
sidered it very beneficial also to the person sinned against.

" Very true," said Father Roach ; " restitution is often
made through its agency."

"But in higher cases than those you allude to,-' said
I : " for instance, the detection of conspiracies, unlaw-
ful meetings, &c. &c."

" Confession," said he, somewhat hesitatingly, " does
not immediately come into action in the way vou allude
to."

FATHER ROACH. 49

I ventured to hint, rather cautiously, that in this
kingdom, where the Roman Catholic religion was not
the one established by law, there might be some
reserve between penitent and confessor, on a subject
where the existing government might be looked upon
something in the light of a step-mother.*

A slight flush passed over the priest's pallid face — •
" No, no," said he ; " do not suspect us of any foul play
to the power under which we live. — No ! — But recollect,
the doctrine of cnv church is this — that whatsoever
penance may be enjoined on the offending penitent by
his confession, his crime, however black, must in all
cases be held sacred, when its acknowledgment is made
under the seal of confession."

" In all ca res ?" said I.

'• Without an exception," answered he.

" Then, w add you not feel it your duty to give a
murderer up \ o justice 1"

The counteivmce of Father Roach assumed an instan-
taneous change, as if a sudden pang shot through him
— his lip became suddenly ashy pale, he hid his face in
his hands, and seenu/l struggling with some deep emo-
tion. Ifeared I had oh^nded, and feeling quite confused,
began to stammer out som<_ nonsense, when he interrupted
me.

" Do not be uneasy," saiu *>e. " You have said
nothing to be ashamed of, but you:' words touched a
chord," and his voice trembled as he spoko, " that cannot
vibrate without intense pain ;" and wiping away a tear
that glistened in each humid eye, "I shall tell you a
story," said he, " that will be the strongest illustration
of such a case as you have supposed ;" — and he proceeded
to give me the following narrative.

* This was previous to the passing of the Roman Catholic relief bill.

4

THE PRIEST'S STORY.

" I have already made known unto you, that a younger
brother and myself were left to the eare of my mother
—best and dearest of mothers ! " said the holy man,
sighing deeply, and clasping his hands fervently, whils
his eyes were lifted to heaven, as if love made him con-
scious that the spirit of her he lamented had found its
eternal rest there — " thy gentle and affectionate nature
sunk under the bitter trial that an all-wise providence
was pleased to visit thee with ! — Well, sir, Frank was
my mother's darling ; not that you are to understand,
by so saying, that she was of that weak and capricious
tone of mind which lavished its care upon one at the
expense of others — far from it ; never was a deep store
of maternal love more equally shared than among the
four brothers ; but when the two seniors went away,
and I was some time after sent, for my studies, to St,
Onier, Frank became the object upon which all the
tenderness of her affectionate heart might exercise the
little maternal cares that hitherto had been divided

*HE PRIEST*' S STORY. 51

mmngst many. Indeed, my dear Frank deserve! it all;
us was the gentlest of natures combined with a mind
)f singular strength and brilliant imaginariom In short,
is the phrase has it. he was ' the flower of the flock, '
ind great things were expected from him. It was
sometime after my return from St. Onier. while prepa-
ration.? were making for advancing Frank in the pursuit
Thick had been selected as the business of his life, that
>very hour which drew nearer to the moment of his
Fparture made him dearer, not only to us, but to all
vho knew him, and each friend claimed a day that
iTrank should spend with him, which always passed in
•eealling the happy hours they had already spent
ogerher, in assurances given and received of kindly
■ernembranees that still should be cherished, and in
nutuai wishes for success, with many a hearty prophecy
Tom my p»oor Frank's friends. "' that he would one day
oe a great man.'

" One night, as my mother and myself were sitting at
lome beside the lire, expecting Frank's return from one
ji these parties, my mother said, in an unusua.iy
inxlous tone, 'I wish Frank was come home.'

••What makes you think of his return so s:on??'
said I.

■;iI don't know/ said she; 'but somehow, Tm un-
easy about him/

■■ Oh, make yourself, quiet.' said I, •' on that subject ;
we cannot possibly expect Frank' for an hour to come vet.'

*"•' Still my mother could not become c;.lm, and sh :■
thicreted about the room, became busyin doing nothing.
ai;.l now-and-then would go to the door of the house to
Ibten for the distant tramp of Frank's horse ; but Frame
came not.

" More than the hour I had named, as the probable
time of Ids return, had elapsed and my mother s anxiety
had amounted to a painful pitch : and I began myself
to blame my brother for so long and late an absence.
Still. I endeavoured to calm her, and had prevailed on

52 LEGEND ASV STORIES.

her to seat herself again at the fire, and commenced
reading a page or two of an amusing book, when sucl
denly she stopped me, and turned her head to the
window in the attitude of listening.

" ' It is ! it is ! ' said she ; ' I hear him coming.' "
" And now the sound of a horse's feet in a rapid pace
became audible. She rose from her chair, and with a
deeply aspirated ' Thank God !' -went to open the door
for him herself. I heard the horse now pass by the
window ; in a second or two more, the door was opened,
and instantly a fearful scream from my mother brought
me hastily to her assistance. I found her lying in the
hall in a deep swoon — the servants of the house hastily
crowded to the spot, and gave her immediate aid. I
ran to the door to ascertain the cause of my mother's
alarm, and there I saw Frank's horse panting and foam-
ing, and the saddle empty. That my brother had been
thrown and badly hurt, was the first thought that sug-
gested itself; and a car and horse were immediately
ordered to drive in the direction he had been re-
turning ; but, in a few minutes, our fears were excited
to the last degree, by discovering there was blood on
the saddle.

" We all experienced inconceivable terror at the dis-
covery, but, not to weary you with details, suffice it to
say, that we commenced a diligent search, and at length
arrived at a small by-way that turned from the main
road, and led through a bog, which was the nearest
course for my brother to have taken homewards, and
we accordingly began to explore it. I was mounted
on the horse my broiher had ridden, and the animal
snorted violently, and exhibited evident symptoms of
dislike to retrace this by-way, which, I doubted not, he
had already travelled that night ; and this very fact
made me still more apprehensive that some terrible
occurrence must have taken place, to occasion such ex-
cessive repugnance on the part of the animal. How-
ever, I urged him onward, and telling those who

the pbiest's stobt. 53

accompanied me, to folio-*- with what speed they misht,
I dashed forward, followed by a faithful dog of poor
Frank's. At the termination of about half a mile, the
horse became still more impatient of restraint, and
started at every ten paces ; and the dog began to tra-
verse the little road, giving an occasional yelp, sniffing
the air strongly, and lashing his sides with his tail, as if
on some scent. At length he came to a stand, and beat
about within a very circumscribed space — yelping oc-
casionally, as if to draw my attention. I dismounted
immediately, but the horse was so extremely restless,
that the difficulty I had in holding him prevented me
from observing the road by the light of the lantern
which I carried. I perceived, however, it was very
much trampled hereabouts, and bore evidence of having
been the scene of a struggle, I shouted to the party in
the rear, who soon came up and lighted some faggots of
bog- wood which they brought with them to assist in
our search, and we now more clearly distinguished the
marks I have alluded to. The dog still howled, and
indicated a particular spot to us ; and on one side of
the path, upon the stunted grass, we discovered a quan-
tity of fresh blood, and I picked up a pencil case that I
knew had belonged to my murdered brother — for I now
was compelled to consider him as such ; and an attempt
to describe the agonised feelings which at that moment
I experienced would be in vain. We continued our
search for the discovery of his body for many hours
without success, and the morning was far advanced be-
fore we returned home. How changed a home from
the preceding day ! My beloved mother could scarcely
be roused for a moment from a sort of stupor that
seized upon her, when the paroxysm of frenzy was over,
which the awful catastrophe of the fataL night had pro-
duced. If ever heart was broken, her's was. She
lin cered but a few weeks after the son she adored, and
seldom spoke during the perio-1, except to call upon his
name.

54 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

" But I will not dwell on this painful theme. Suffice
it to say — she died ; and her death, under such circum-
stances, increased the sensation which my brother's
mysterious murder had excited. Yet, with all the hor-
ror which was universally entertained for the crime, and
the execrations poured upon its atrocious perpetrator,
still, the doer of the deed remained undiscovered ! and
even I, who of course was the most active in seeking to
develope the mystery, not only could catch no clue to
lead to the discovery of the murderer, but failed even
to ascertain where the mangled remains of my lost
brother had been deposited.

'■' It was nearly a year after the fatal event, that a
penitent knelt to me, and confided to the ear of his
confessor the misdeeds of an ill-spent life ; I say of
his whole life — for he had never before knelt at the
confessional.

"Fearful was the catalouge of crime that was revealed
to me — unbounded selfishness, oppression, revenge,
and lawless passion, had held unbridled influence over
the unfortunate sinner, and sensuality in all its shapes,
even to the polluted home and betrayed maiden, had
plunged him deeply into sin.

"I was shocked — I may even say I was disgusted,
and the culprit himself seemed to shrink from the re-
capitulation of his crimes, which he found more extensive
and appalling than he had dreamed of, until the recital
of them called them all up in fearful array before him. I
was about to commence an admonition, when he interup-
ted me — he had more to communicate. I desired him to
proceed — he writhed before me. I enjoined him in the
name of the God he had offended, and who knoweth the
inmost heart, to make an unreserved disclosure of I: is
crimes, before he dared to seek a reconciliation with his
Maker. At length, after many a pause and convulsive
sob, he told me, in a voice almost suffocated by terror,
that he had been guilty of bloodshed. I shuddered, but
in a short time I recovered myself, and asked how and

THE PBIEsT'S STOHT. OO

where he had deprived a fellow-creature of life ? Never,
to the latest hour of my life, shall I forge: the look
which the miserable sinner save me at that moiueitt.
His eyes were glazed, and seemed starting; from their
sockets with terror ; his face assumed a deadly paleness
— he raised his clasped hands up to me in the mo?:
imploring; action, as it' supplicating: mercy, and with livid
and quivering- lips he gasped out — ;'Tvras I who
killed your brother "

" Oh God ' how I felt at that instant ' Even now,
after the lapse of years. I recollect the sensation : it was
as if the blood were flowing' back upon my heart, until
I felt as if it would burst ; and then, a few convulsive
breathings, — and back rushed the blood again Through
my tingling veins. I thought I was dying ; but suddenly
I uttered an hysteric laugh, and fell back, senseless, in
my s .-at.

"When I recovered, a cold sweat was pouring down
my forehead, and I was weeping eopl'usly Xever,
bef ire. did I feel my manhood annihilated under the
influence of an hysterical anecrion — it was dreadful.

'•I found the bloodstained sinner supporting me,
roused from his own prostration by a sense of terror at
my emotion; for when I could hear any thing, his
entreaties that I would not discover upon him were
poured forth in the most abject strain of supplication.
' Eear not for your miserable life,' said I ; ' the seal of
confession is upon what you have revealed to me, and
you are sale : but leave me for the present, and
come not to me again until I send for you.' — He
departed.

" I knelt and prayed for strength to Him who alone
could give it, to fortify me in this dreadful trial. Here
was the author of a brother's murder, and a mother's
consequent death, discovered to me in the person of my
penitent. It was a fearful position for a frail mortal to
be placed in : but as a consequence of the holy calling
I professed, I hoped, through the blessing of Hini whom

56 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

I served, to acquire fortitude for the trial into which
the ministry of his gospel had led me.

" The fortitude I needed came through prayer, and
•when I thought myself equal to the task, I sent for the
murderer of my brother. I officiated for him as our
church has ordained — I appointed penances to him, and,
in short, dealt with him merely as any other confessor
might have done.

" Years thus passed away, and during that time he
constantly attended his duty ; and it was remarked
through the country, that he had become a quieter
person since Father Eoach had become his confessor.
But still he was not liked — and, indeed, I fear he was
far from a reformed man, though he did not allow his
transgressions to be so glaring as they were wont to be ;
and I began to think that terror and cunning had been
his motives in suggesting to him the course he had
adopted, as the opportunities which it gave him of being
often with me as his confessor, were likely to lull every
suspicion of his guilt in the eyes of the world ; and in
making me the depositary of his fearful secret, he thus
placed himself beyond the power of my pursuit, and
interposed the strongest barrier to my becoming the
avenger of his bloody deed.

" Hitherto I have not made you acquainted with the
cause of that foul act — it was jealousy. He found him-
self rivalled by my brother in the good graces of a
beautiful girl of moderate circumstances, whom he
would have wished to obtain as his wife, but to whom
Frank had become an object of greater interest ; and I
doubt not, had my poor fellow been spared, that mar-
riage would ultimately have drawn closer the ties that
;yere so savagely severed. But the ambuscade and the
knife had done their deadly work; for the cowardly
villain had lain in wait for him on the lonely bog-road
ho. guessed he would travel on that fatal night, — and,
springing from his lurking-place, he stabbed my noble
Fr ank in the back.

the priest's story. 57

" Well, Sir, I fear I am tiring you with a story
which, you cannot wonder, is interesting to me ; but I
shall hasten to a conclusion.

" One gloomy evening in March, I was riding along
the very road where my brother had met his fate, in
company with his murderer. I know not what brought
us together in such a place, except the hand of Provi-
dence, that sooner or later brings the murderer to jus-
tice ; for I was not wont to pass the road, and loathed
the company of the man who happened to overtake me
upon it. I know not whether it was some secret visita-
tion of conscience that influenced him at the time, or
that he thought the lapse of years had wrought upon me
so far, as to obliterate the grief for my brother's death,
which had never been, till that moment, alluded to,
however remotely, since he confessed his crime. Judge
then my surprise, when, directing my attention to a
particular point in the bog, he said,

" ' 'Tis close to that place that your brother is buried.'

"I could not, I think, have been more astonished had
my brother appeared before me.

" ' What brother !' said I.

" ' Your brother Frank,' said he ; ' twas there I buried
him, poor fellow, after I killed him.'

" ' Merciful Grod !' I exclaimed, * thy will be done,'
and seizing the rein of the culprit's horse, I said, 'Wretch
that you are ! you have owned to the shedding of the
innocent blood that has been crying to heaven for ven-
geance these ten years, and I arrest you here as my
prisoner.'

" He turned ashy pale, as he faltered out a few words,
to say I had promised not to betray him.

" ' 'Twas under the seal of confession,' said I, that
you disclosed the deadly secret, and under that seal my
lips must have been for ever closed ; but now, even in
the very place were your crime was committed, it has
pleased God that you should arraign yourself in the
face of the world — and the brother of your victim

53 LE&EXDS AXD ST0BTE3.

is appointed to be the avenger of Ms innocent
blood.'

" He was overwhelmed by the awfulness of this truth,
and unresistingly he rode beside me to the adjacent towa
of , where he was committed for trial.

'; The report of this singular and providential dis-
covery of a murder excited a great deal of interest in the
country ; and as I was known to be the culprit s con-
fessor, the bishop of the diocese forwarded a statement
to a higher quarter, which procured for me a dispensation
as regarded the confessions of the criminal ; and I was
handed this instrument, absolving me from further
secrecy, a few days before the triaL I was the principal
evidence against the prisoner. The body of my brother
had, in the interim, been found in the spot his murderer
had indicated, and the bog preserved it so iir from
decay, as to render recognition a task of no difficulty ;
the proof was so satisfactorily adduced to the jury, that
the murderer was found guiizy and executed, ten years
after he had committed the crime.

" The judge pronounced a very feeling comment on
the nature of the situation in which I had been placed
for so many years ; and passed a very flattering eulogium
upon what he was pleased to call, •' my heroic observance
of the obligation of secrecy by which I had been bound.'

•• Thus, Sir, you see how sacred a trust that of a fact
revealed under confession is held by our church, when
even avenging a brother's murder was not sufficient
warranty for its being broken.'"*

This story is a fact, ajid :te com~ cut cf the jcige ^pc^ the priest's

fidelity, I am happy to say, is true

THE KING AND THE BISHOP.

A LEGEND OP CLONJIACNOISB.

GuUdenstern — The King, Sir,

Hamlet-- Ay, Sir, what of him ?

Gull. — Is, in his retirement, marvellously distempered.

.flam.— With drink, Sir ?

Guil J\To, my Lord.

There are few things more pleasant to those who are
doomed to pass the greater part of their lives in the
dust, and din, and smoke of a city, than to get on the
top of a stage-coach, early some fine summer morning,
and whirl along through the yet unpeopled streets,
echoing from their emptiness to the rattle of the wel-
come wheels that are bearing you away from your
metropolitan prison, to the

Free blue streams and the laughing sky

of the sweet country. How gladly you pass the last
bridge over one of the canals— and then deeming your-
self fairly out of town, you look back once only on its
receding " groves of chimneys," and settling yourself
comfortably in your seat, you cast away care, and look
forward in gleeful anticipation of your three or four
weeks in the tranquillity and freedom of a country
ramble.

Such have my sensations often been ; not a little
increased, by-the-bye, as I hugged closer to my side my
portfolio, well stored with paper, and heard the rattle
of my pencils and colours in the tin sketching box in
my pocket. Such were they when last I started one
fresh and lovely summer's morning, on the Eallinasloe
coach, and promised myself a rich treat in a vi -it to

60 LEGENDS AND BTORIES.

Clonmacnoise, or " the churches," as the place is fami-
liarly called by the peasantry. — Gladly I descended
from my lofty station on our dusty conveyance, when it
arrived at Shannonbridge, and engaging a boat, em-
barked on the noble river whence the village takes its
name, and proceeded up the wide and winding stream,
to the still sacred and once celebrated Clonmacnoise,
the second monastic foundation established in Ireland,
once tenanted by the learned and the powerful, now
scarcely known but to the mendicant pilgrim, the
learned antiquary, or the vagrant lover of the pic-
turesque.

Here, for days together, have I lingered, watching its
noble " ivy-mantled " tower, reposing in shadow, or
sparkling in sunshine, as it spired upward in bold relief
against the sky ; or admiring the graceful involutions of
the ample Shannon that wound beneath the gentle
acclivity on which I stood, through the plashy meadows
and the wide waste of bog, whose rich brown tones of
colour faded into blue on the horizon ; or in noting the
red-tanned sail of some passing turf-boat, as it broke
the monotony of the quiet river, or in recording with my
pencil the noble stone cross, or the tracery of some
mouldering ruins,

Where ivied arch, or pillar lone,
Plead haughtily for glories gone,

though I should not say " haughtily," for poor old
Clonmacnoise pleads with as much humility as the
religion which reared her now does* ; and which, like
her, interesting in decay, appeals to our sympathies and
our imagination. It is a truly solemn and lonely spot ;
I love it almost to a folly, and have wandered day after
day through its quiet cemetery, till I have almost made
acquaintance with its ancient grave-stones.

* This was written hefore the Roman Catholic petitions had achieved
" Emancipation."

THE KING AND THE BISHOP. 61

One day I was accosted by a peasant who had watched
for a long time, in silent wonder, the draft of the stone
cross, as it grew into being beneath my pencil; and
finding the man "apt,"' as the ghost says to Hamlet,
I entered into conversation with him. To some remark
of mine touching the antiquity of the place, he assured
me " it was a fine ovJ.d place, in the ould ancient times."
In noticing the difference between the two round towers,
— for there are two very fine ones at Clonmacnoise, one
on the top of the hill, and one close beside the plashy bank
of the river, — he accounted for the difference by a piece
of legendary information with which he favoured me, and
which may, perhaps, prove of sufficient importance to
interest the reader.

" You see, Sir," said he, " the one down there beyant,
at the river side, was built the first, and finished corn-
plate entirely, for the roof is an it, you see ; but when
that wa3 built, the bishop thought that another id look
very purty on the hill beyant, and so he bid the masons
3et to work, and build up another tower there.

" Well, away they went to work, as busy as nailers ;
troth it was jist like a bee-hive, every man with his
hammer in his hand, and sure the tower was complated
in due time. Well, when the last stone was laid on the
roof, the bishop axes the masons how much he was to
pay them, and they ups and towld him their price ; but
the bishop, they say, was a neygar, (niggard,) God forgi'
me for saying the word of so holy a man ! and he said
they axed too much, and he wouldn't pay them. With
that my jew'l, the masons said they would take no less ;
and what would you think, but the bishop had the
cunnin' to take away the ladthers that was reared up
agin the tower.

"'And now/ says he, 'my gay fellows,' says he,
' the divil a down out o' that you'll come antil you larn
manners, and take what's offered to yees,' says he ; ' and
when yees come down in your price you may come
down yourselves into the bargain.'

LEGENDS AND STORIES.

" "Well, sure enough, he kep his word, and wouldn't
let man nor mortyel go nigh them to help them ; and
faiks the masons didn't like the notion of losing their
honest airnins, and small blame to [hem ; but sure they
wor starvin' all the time, and didn't know what in the
wide world to do, when there was a fool chanced to pass
by, and seen them.

"'Musha! but you look well there,' says the inno-
cent ; ' an' how are you ? ' says ho.

" 'Not much the betther av your axin,' says they.

'"Maybe you're out there,' says he. So ho ques-
tioned them, and they tould him how it was with them,
and how the bishop tuk away the ladthers, and they
couldn't come down.

" ' Tut, you fools,' says he ; ' sure isn't it asier to take
down two stones nor to put up one?'

" Wasn't that mighty cute o' the fool, sir ? And wid
that, my dear sowl, no sooner said than done. Faiks
the maisons begun to pull down their work, and whin
they went an for some time, the bishop bid them stop,
and he'd let them down ; but faiks, before he gev in
to them they had taken the roof clane off; and that's
the raison that one tower has a roof, Sir, and the other
has none."

But before I had seen Clonmacnoise and its towers,
I was intimate with the most striking of its legends, by
favour of the sinewy boatman who rowed me to it. We
had not long left Shamionbridge, when, doubling an
angle of the shore, and stretching up a reach of the river
where it widens, the principal round tower of Clonmac-
noise became visible.

" What tower is that ? " said I to my Charon.

" That's the big tower of Clonmacnoise, Sir," 1

10

answered ; '•' an', if your honour looks sharp a little to
the right of it, lower down, you'll see the ruins of the
ould palace."

On a somewhat closer inspection, I did perceive the
remains he spoke of, dimly discernible in the distance ;

THE KUTG AND THE BISHOP. 63

and it was not without his indication of their relative
situation to the tower, that I could have distino-L'.ished
thorn from the sober grey of the horizon behind them,
for the evening was closing fast, and we were moving
eastward.

"Does your honour see it yit ?" said my boat-
man.

" I do," said I.

" God spare you your eyesight," responded he, " for
troth it's few gintlemen could see the ould palace
this far off, and the sun so low, barrin' they were used
to spo_ .tin ; and had a sharp eye for the birds over a
bog, or the like o' that. Oh, then it's CloDmacnoise,
your honour, that's the holy place," continued he:
'•'mighty holy in the ould ancient times, and mighty
great too, wid the sivin churches, let alone the two
towers, and the bishop, and plinty o' priests, and all to
that."

"Two towers?'' said I; "then I suppose one has
fallen?"

"Not at all, Sir," said he; "but the other one that
vou can't see, is beyant in the hollow by the river
sMe."

'•' And it was a great place, you say, in the ould
ancient times ?"

" Troth it was, Sir, and is still, for to this day it bates
the world in regard o' pilgrims."

"Pilgrims !" I ejaculated.

'•' Yes, Sir," said the boatman, with Lis own quiet
manner ; although it was evident to a quick observer,
that my surprise at the mention of pilgrims had not
escaped him.

I mused a moment. Pilgrims, thought I, in the
British dominions, in the nineteenth century — strange
enough !

" And so," continued I aloud, " you have pilgrims at
Clonmacnoise ? '

" Troth we have, your honour, from the top of the

G4 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

north and the farthest corner of Kerry; and you may
see them any day in the week, lot alone the paihern
(patron) dav, when all the world, you'd think, was
there."

"And the palace," said I, "I suppose belonged to the
bishop of Clonmacnoise ? "

" Some says 'twas the bishop, your honour, and indeed
it is them that has larnin' says so : but more says 'twas
a king had it long ago, afore the churches was there at
all at all ; and sure enough it looks far oulder nor the
churches, though them is ould enough in all conscience.
All the knowledgable people I ever heerd talk of it, says
that ; and now, Sir," said he in an expostulatory tone,
" wouldn't it be far more nath'ral that the bishop id live
in the churches ? And sure," continued he, evidently
leaning to the popular belief, " id stands to raison that
a king id live in a palace, and why shud it be called a
palace if a king didn't live there ?"

Satisfying himself with this most logical conclusion,
he pulled his oar with evident self-complacency ; and as
I have always found, I derived more legendary informa-
tion by yielding somewhat to the prejudice of the
narrator, and by abstaining from inflicting any wound
on his pride (so Irish a failing) by laughing at or endea-
vouring to combat his credulity, I seemed to favour his
conclusions, and admitted that a king must have been
the ci-devant occupant of the palace. So much being
settled, he proceeded to tell me that " there was a
mighty quare story " about the last king that ruled
Clonmacnoise ; and having expressed an eager desire to
hear the quare story — he seemed quite happy at being
called on to fulfil the office of chronicler ; and pulling
his oar with an easier sweep, lest he might disturb the
quiet hearing of his legend by the rude splash of the
water, he prepared to tell his tale, and I, to "devour up
his discourse."

" Well, Sir, they say there was a king wanst lived in
the palace beyant and a sportin' fellow he was, and

the' king and the bishop. 65

Cead milefailte* was the word in the palace; no one
kem but was welkim, and I go bail the sorra one left it
without the deoch art doris\, — well, to be sure, the king
av coorse had the best of eatin' and drinkin,' and there
was bed and boord for the stranger, let alone the welkim
for the neighbour — and a good neighbour he was by all
accounts, until, as bad luck would have it, a crass ould
bishop (the saints forgi' me for saying the word) kem to
rule over the churches. ]>7ow, you must know, the king
was a likely man, and, as I said already, he was a sportin'
fellow, and by coorse a great favourite with the women ;
he had a smile and a wink for the crathers at every hand's

turn, and the soft word, and the the short and the

long of it is, he was the divil among the girls.

" Well, Sir, it was all mighty well, untell the ould
bishop I mentioned arrived at the churches ; but whin
he kem, he tuck great scandal at the goings-an of the
king, and he detarmined to cut him short in his coorses
all at wanst , so with that whin the king wint to his
duty, the bishop ups and he tell him that he must mend
his manners, and all to that ; and when the king said
that the likes o' that was never tould him afore by the
best priest o' them all, ' More shame for them that wor
before me/ says the bishop.

" But to make a long story short, the king looked
mighty black at the bishop, and the bishop looked twice
blacker at him again, and so on, from bad to worse,
till they parted the bittherest of inimies : and the king
that was the best o' friends to the churches afore, swore
be this and be that, he'd vex them for it, and that he'd
be even with the bishop afore long.

" Now, Sir, the bishop might jist as well have kept
never mindin' the king's little kimneens with the girls,
for the story goes that he had a little failin' of his own
in regard of a dhrop, and that he knew the differ betune
wine and wather, for, poor ignorant crathurs, it's little

* A Lundrecl thousand welcomes. t The parting cup

66 LEGENDS AND STOEIES.

they knew about whiskey in them days. Well, the king
used often to send lashins o' wine to the churches, by
the way, as he said, that they should have plinty of it
for celebrating the mass — although he knew well that it
was a little of it went far that-a-way, and that their
Riverinces was fond of a hearty glass as well as himself,
and why not, Sir ? — if they'd let him alone ; for says the
king, as many a one said afore, and will again, I'll make
a child's bargain with you, says he, do you let me alone,
and I'll let you alone; manirC by that, Sir, that if
they'd say nothin' about the girls, he would give them
plinty of wine.

" And so it fell out a little before he had the scrim-
mage* with the bishop, the king promised them a fine
store of wine that was comin' up the Shannon in boats,
Sir, and big boats they wor, I'll go bail — not all as one
as the little drolleen (wren) of a thing we're in now, but
nigh-hand as big as a ship ; and there was three of these
fine boats-full comin' — two for himself, and one for the
churches ; and so says the king to himself, ' the divil
receave the dhrop of that wine they shall get,' says he,
' the dirty beggarly neygars : bad cess to the dhrop,1
says he, ' my big-bellied bishop, to nourish your jolly
red nose — I said I'd be even with you,' says he, 'and so
I will ; and if you spoil my divarshin, I'll spoil yours,
and turn about is fair play, as the divil said to the
smoke-jack.' So with that, Sir, the king goes and he
gives ordhers to his sarvants how it wid be when the
boats kem up the river with the wine — and more especial
to one in partie'lar they called Corny, his own man, by
raison he was mighty stout, and didn't love priests much
more nor himself.

" Now Corny, Sir, let alone bein' stout, was mighty
dark, and if he wanst said the word, you might as well
sthrive to move the rock of Dunamaise as Corny, though
without a big word at all at all, but as quite (quiet) as a

• Evidently derived from the French escrimer.

THE KBTG ASD THE BISHOP. 67

child. Well, in good time, up kem the boat?, and down
runs the monks, all as one as a flock o' crows over a
corn-field, to pick up whatever they could for themselves ;
but troth the king was afore them, for all his men was
there with Corny at their head.

" 'Dominin vobueam,' (which manes, God save you,
Sir,) says one of the monks to Corny, ' we kem down to
save you the throuble of unloading the wine, which the
king, God bless him, gives to the church.'

" ' Oh, no throuble in life, plaze your Biverince,' says
Corny, 'well unload it ourselves, your Biverince,'
says he.

" So with that they began unloading, first one boat,
and then another; but sure enough, every individual
cashk of it went up to the palace, and not a one to the
churches: so whin they seen the second boat a'most
empty ; quare thoughts began to come into their heads,
for before this offer, the first boatload was always sent
to the bishop, afore a dhrop was taken to the king,
which, you know, was good manners, Sir; and the king,
by all accounts, was a gintleman, every inch of him.
So, with that, says one of the monks :

" ' My blessin' an you, Corny, my sen,' says he, ' sure
it's not forgettin' the bishop you'd be, nor the churches,'
says he, ' that stands betune you and the divii.'

" WeD, Sir, at the word divtt, 'twas as good as a play
to see the look Corny gave out o' the corner of his eye
at the monk.

"'Forget yez,' says Corny, 'throth it's long afore
me or my masther/ says he, (nodding his head a bit at
the word,) 'wCl forget the bishop of Clonmacnoise.
Go an with your work, boys,' says he to the men about
him, and away they wint, and soon finished unloadin'
the second boat; and with that they began at the third.

" ' God bless your work, boys,' says the bishop ; for,
sure enough, 'twas the bishop himself kem down to the
liver side, having got the hard word of what was goin'
an. 'God bless your work,' says he, as they heaved

C3 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

the first barrel of -wine out of the boat. ' Go, help
them, my sons,' says he, turnin' round to half a dozen
strappin' young priests as was standing by.

" ' ]N"o occasion in life, plaze your Kiverince,' says
Corny ; I'm intirely obleeged to your lordship, but
we're able for the work ourselves,' says he. And
without sayin' another word, away went the barrel
out of the boat, and up on their shoulders, or what-
ever way they wor takin' it, and up the hill to the
palace.

" ' Hillo ! ' says the bishop, ' where are yiz goin' with
that wine ? ' says he.

" ' Where I tould them,' says Corny.

" ' Is it to the palace ? ' says his Riverince.

" ' Faith, you jist hit it,' says Corny.

" ' And what's that for ? ' says the bishop.

" ' For fun,' says Corny, no way frikened at all by
the dark look the bishop gave him. And sure it's a
wondher the fear of the church didn't keep him in
dread — but Corny was the divil intirely.

'; ' Is that the answer you give your clargy, you
reprobate ? ' says the bishop. ' I'll tell you what it is,
Corny,' says he, 'as sure as your standin' there I'll
excommunicate you, my fine fellow, if you don't keep a
civil tongue in your head.'

" ' Sure it wouldn't be worth your Riverince's while,'
says Corny, ' to excommunicate the likes o' me,' says
he, ' while there's the king my masther to the fore, for
your holiness to play bell, book, and candle-light with.'

" 'Do you mane to say, you scruff o' the earth,' says
the bishop, 'that your masther, the king, put you up to
what you're doing ?'

" 'Divil a thing else I mane,' says Corny,

" 'You villian !' says the bishop, 'the king never did
the like.'

'• ' Yes, but I did though,' says the king, puttin' in
his word fair and aisy ; for he was lookin' out o' Ids
dhrawin'-room windy, and run down the hill to the

TUB KING AND THE BISHOP. 69

river, when he seen the bishop go-in', as he thought, to
put his couiethcr upon Oorny.

" 'So,' says the bishop, turnin' round quite short to
the king — 'so, my lord,' says he, 'am I to understand
this villian has your commands for his purty behavor :' '

" 'He has my commands for what he done,' says the
king, quite stout ; 'and more to be token, I'd have you
to know he's no villian at all,' says he, 'but a thrusty
sarvant, that does his masther's biddin' '

" 'And don't you intind sendin' any of this wine
over to my churches beyant ? ' says the bishop.

" 'Bad luck to the dhrop,' says the king.

" 'And what for ? ' says the bishop.

" 'Bekase I've changed my mind,' says the king.

'• 'And won't you give the church wine for the holy
mass ? ' says the bishop.

" 'The mass !' says the king, eyin' him mighty sly

" 'Yes, Sir — the mass,' says his Eiverinee, colouring
up to the eyes — ' the mass.'

" 'Oh, baithcrsMll!, says the king.

" 'What do you mane ?' says the bishop — and his nose
got blue with fair rage.

" Oh, nothin',' says the king, with a toss of his
head.

" 'Are you a gintleman?' says the bishop.

" 'Every inch o' me,' says the king.

" ' Then sure no gintleman goes back of his word,'
says the other.

" 'I wont go back o' my word, either,' says the king.
— ' I promised to give wine for the mass,' says he, 'and
so I will. Send to my palace every Sunday moroin',
and you shall have a bottle of wine, and that's pliniy ;
for I'm thinkin',' says the king, 'that so much wine
lyin' beyant there, is neither good for your bodies nor
your sowls.'

"'What do you mane ?' says the bishop in a great
passion, for all the world like a turkey-cock,

" 'I mane, that when your wine-cellar is so full,' says

70 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

the king, 'it only brings the fairies about you, and
makes away with the wine too fast,' says he laughin' ;
and the fairies to be about the churches isn't good, your
Riverince,' says the king ; ' for I'm thinkin',' says he,
'that some of the spiteful little divils has given your
Riverince a blast, and burnt the ind of your nose.'

" With that, my dear, you couldn't hould the bishop,
with the rage he was in ; and says he, ' You think to
dhrink all that wine — but you're mistaken/ says he —
' fill your cellars as much as you like,' says the bishop,
' but you'll die in drooth yit ; — and with that he
went down on his knees and cursed the king (God
betune us and harm !) and shakin' his fist at him, he
gother [gathered] all his monks about him, and away
they wint home to the churches.

"Well, Sir, sure enough, the king fell sick of a suddent,
and all the docthors in the country round was sent for ;
— but they could do him no good at all at all — and day
by day he was wastin' and wastin', and pinin' and pinin',
till the flesh was worn off Ids bones, and he was as bare
and yallow as a kite's claw ; and then, what would you
think, but the drooth came an him sure enough, and he
was callin' for dhrink every minit, till you'd think he'd
dhrink the sae dhry.

" Well, when the clock struck twelve that night, the
drooth was an him worse nor ever, though he dhrunk as
much that day — ay, troth, as much as would turn a
mill ; and he called to his servants for a dhrink of grule
[gruel].

" ' The grule's all out,' says they

" ' Well, then give me some whay,' says he.

" ' There's none left, my lord,' says they.

" ' Then give me a dhrink of wine,' says he.

" ' There's none in the room, dear,' says the nurse-
tindher.

" ' Then go down to the wine-cellar,' says he ' and
get some.'

" With that, they wint to the wine-cellar — but, jew'l

THE KING AND THE BISHOP. 71

machree, they soon run back into his room, -with their
faces as white as a sheet, and tould him there was not
one dhrop of wine in all the cashks in the cellar.

" ' Oh murther ! murther ! ' says the king, ' I'm dyirH
f drooth,' says he.

" And then, God help iz ! they bethought themselves of
what the bishop said, and the curse he laid an the king.

" ' You've no grule V says the king.

" ' No,' says they.

« < Nor W}.iay ? '

" ' No,' says the sarvants.

" ' Nor wine 1 ' says the king.

" ' Nor wine either, my lord,' says they.

" ' Have you no tay ? ' says he.

"■' 'Not a dhrop,' says the nurse-tindher.

" ' Then,' says the king, ' for the tindher marcy of
heaven, gi' me a dhrink of wather'

" 'And what would you think, Sir, but there wasn't
a dhrop of wather in the place.

" ' Oh, murther ! murther '.' says the king, ' isn't it a
poor case, that a king can't get a dhrink of wather in
his own house ? Go then,' says he, ' and get me a jug
of wather out of the ditch.'

" For there was a big ditch, Sir, all round the palace.
And away they run for wather out of the ditch, while
the king was roarin' like madfor the drooth, and his mouth
like a coal of fire. And sate, Sir, as the story goes, they
couldn't find any wather in the ditch !

" ' Millia murther ! niillia murther !' cries the king,
' will no one take pity an a king that's dijin' for the bare
drooth ? '

"And they thrimbled again, with the fair fright,
when they heerd this, and thought of the ould bishop' 3
prophecy.

" ' Well,' says the poor king, ' run down to the Shan-
non,' says he, ' and sure, at all events, you'll get wather
there,' says he.

" Well, Sir, away they run with pails and noggins,

72 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

down to the Shonnon, and (God betune us and harm !)
what do you think, Sir, but the river Shannon was clhry!
So, av coorse, when the king heerd the Shannon was
gone dhry, it wint to his heart ; and he thought o' the
bishop's curse an him — and, givin' one murtherin' big
screech, that split the walls of the palace, as may be seen
to this day, he died, Sir, — makin' the bishop's words
good, that ' lie would die of drootli yet /'

" And now, Sir," says my historian, with a look of
lurking humour in his dark grey eye, " isn't that mighty
wondherful — iv it's thruef

AN ESSAY ON FOOLS.

"A fool, a fool !— I met a fool i' the forest."

AS TOTJ LIKE IT.

As some allusion has been made in the early part of the
foregoing story to a fool, this, perhaps, is the fittest
place to say something of fools in general. Be it under-
stood, I only mean fools by profession ; for, were
amateur fools included, an essay on fools in general
would be no trifling undertaking. And further, I
mean to limit myself within still more circumscribed
bounds, by treating of the subject only as it regards
that immediate part of his Majesty's dominions called
Ireland.

In Ireland, the fool, or natural, or innocent, (for by
all these names he goes), as represented in the stories
of the Irish peasantry, is very much the fool that
Shakspeare occasionally embodies ; and even in the
present day, many a witticism and sarcasm, given birth
to by these mendicant Touchstones, would be treasured
iu the memory of our beau monde, under the different

74 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

heads of brilliant or biting-, had they been uttered by a
Bushe or a Plunket. I recollect a striking piece of
imagery employed by one of the tribe, on his perceiving
the approach of a certain steward, -who, as a severe task-
master, had made himself disliked amongst the peasantry
employed on his master's estate. This man had acquired
a nickname (Irishmen, by the way, are celebrated for
the application of sobriquets,) which nick-name was
"Danger;" and the fool, standing one day amidst a
parcel of workmen who were cutting turf, perceived this
steward crossing the bog towards tnem : " Ah, ah ! by
clad, you must work now, boys," said he, " here come3
Danger. Bad luck to you, daddy Danger, you dirty
blood-sucker, sure the earth's heavy with you." But
suddenly stopping in his career of common-place abuse,
he looked with an air of contemplative dislike towards
the man, and deliberately said, " There you are, Danger!
and may I never break bread, if all the turf in the bog
'id icarm me to you."

Such are the occasional bursts of figurative language
uttered by our fools, who are generally mendicants ; or
perhaps it would be fitter to call them dependants, either
on some particular family, or on the wealthy farmers of
the district. But they have a great objection that such
should be supposed to be the case, and are particularly
jealous of their independence. An example of this was
given me by a friend who patronised one that was
rather a favourite of the gentlemen in the neighbour-
hood, and a constant attendant at every fair within ten
or fifteen miles, where he was sure to pick up a good
deal of money from his gentlemen friends. Aware of

this fact, Mr. meeting Jimmy* one morning on

the road, and knowing what errand he was bound on,
asked him where he was going ?

" I'm goin' to the fair, your honour."

* This is the name almost universally applied here to fools. Tom
seems to be the one in use in England, even as far hack as Shakspeare's
time : hut Jimmy is the established name in Ireland.

AN ESSAY ON FOOLS. 75

" Why, what can bring you there ?'*

" Oh, I've business there."

"What business ?"

"I'll tell you to-morrow."

"Ah ! Jimmy," said the gentleman, "I see how it is
—you're going to the fair to ask all the gentlemen for
money."

" Indeed I'm not : I'm no beggar — Jimmy wouldn't
be a beggar. Do you think I've nothin' else to do but
beg?"

""Well, what else brings you to the fair?"

" Sure I'm goin' to sell a cow there," said Jimmy,
quite delighted at fancying he had successfully baffled
the troublesome inquiries of the squire : and not willing
to risk another question or answer, he uttered his deaf-
ening laugh, and pursued his road to the fair.

From the same source I heard that they are
admirable couriers, which my friend very fairly
accounted for, by attributing it to the small capabi-
lity of comprehension in the constitution of their
minds, which rendering them unable to embrace
more than one idea at a time, produces a singleness of
purpose, that renders them valuable messengers. As an
instance of this, he told me that a gentleman in his
neighbourhood once sent a certain fool to the town of

■ , with a packet of great consequence and value,

to his banker, with a direction to the bearer not to hand

it to any person but Mr. himself, and not to return

without seeing him.

It so happened Mr. had gone to Dublin that

morning ; and no assurances nor persuasion on the part
of that gentleman's confidential clerk, could induce the
fool to hand him the parcel — thus observing strict
obedience to the commands of his master. Biit he
adhered still more literally to his commission ; for when

he was told Mr. had gone to Dublin, and that,

therefore, he could not give him the packet, he said,
" Oh, very well, Jimmy 'ill go back again ;" but when

76 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

he left the office, he took the road to Dublin, in3tec
homewards, having been bidden not to return with
delivering it, and ran the distance to the capital, (abou
one hundred and forty miles,) in so short a time, that he
arrived there but a few hours after the gentleman he
followed, and never rested until he discovered where he
was lodged, and delivered to him the parcel, in strict
accordance with his instruction.

They are affectionate also. I have heard of a fool,
who, when some favourite member of a family he was
attached to died, went to the church-yard, and sat on
the grave, and there wept bitterly, and watched night
and day ; nor could he be forced from the place, nor
could the calls of hunger and thirst induce him to quit
the spot for many days ; and such was the intensity of
grief on the part of the affectionate creature, that he
died in three months afterwards.

But they can be revengeful too, and entertain a
grudge with great tenacity. The following is a ridicu-
lous instance of this : — A fool, who had been severely
bitten by a gander, that was unusually courageous,
watched an opportunity, when his enemy was absent,
and getting among the rising family of the gander, he
began to trample upon the goslings, and was caught in
the act of murdering them wholesale, by the enraged
woman who had reared them.

" Ha ! Jimmy, you villain, is it murtherin' my lovely
goslins you are, you thief of the world ? Bad scran to
you, you thick-headed vagabond."

" Divil mend them, granny," shouted Jimmy, Avith
a laugh of idiotic delight, as he leaped over a ditch!
out of the reach of the hen-wife, who rushed upon
him with a broom-stick, full of dire intent upon Jimmy's,
skull.

" Oh, you moroadin' thief," cried the exasperated
woman, shaking her uplifted broom-stick at Jimmy
in impotent rage ; " wait, till Maurice ketches you —
that's all."

AN ESSAY ON POOLS. 77

" Divil mend them, granny," shouted Jimmy—" ha !
ha ! — why did their daddy bite me ? "

The peasantry believe a fool to be insensible to fear,
from any ghostly visitation ; and I heard of an instance
-where the experiment was made on one of these unhappy
creatures, by dressing a strapping fellow in a sheet, and
placing him in a situation to intercept " poor Jimmy " on
his midnight path, and try the truth of this generally-
received opinion, by endeavouring to intimidate him.
When he had reached the appointed spot, a particularly
lonely and narrow path, and so hemmed in by high banks
on each side, as to render escape difficult, Mr. Ghost
suddenly reared his sheeted person, as Jemmy had half
ascended a broken stile, and with all the usual terrific
formulsa of " Boo," " Fee-fa-fum," &c, &c, demanded
who dared to cross that path ? The answer, " I'm poor
Jimmy," was given in his usual tone. " I'm Eaw-head
and bloody-bones," roared the ghost. "Ho! ho! I often
heerd o' you," said Jimmy. " Baw," cried the ghost,
advancing—" I'll kill you— I'll kill you— I'll kill you."
" The divil a betther opinion I had w you," said Jimmy.
"Boo!" says Raw-head, "I'll eat you— I'll eat you."
"The divil do you good with me," says Jimmy. And
so the ghost was at a nonplus, and Jimmy won the
field.

I once heard of a joint-stock company having been
established between a fool and a blind beggarman, and
for whom the fool acted in the capacity of guide. They
had share and share alike in the begging concern, and
got on tolerably well together, until one day the blind
man had cause to suspect Jimmy's honour. It happened
that a mail-coach passing by, the blind man put forth all
his begging graces to induce the " quality " to " extind
their charity," and succeeded so well, that not only some
copper, but a piece of silver was thrown by the wayside,
Jimmy, I'm sorry to say, allowed " the filthy lucre of
gain " so. far to predominate, that in picking up these
gratuities, he appropriated the silver coin to his own

78 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

particular pouch, and brought the half pence only for
division to his blind friend ; but sense of hearing was so
nice in the latter, that he detected the sound of the fall-
ing silver, and asked Jimmy to produce it. Jimmy
denied the fact stoutly. " Oh, I heerd it fall," said the
blind man. " Then you were betther off than poor
Jimmy," said our hero ; " for you heerd it, but poor
Jimmy didn't see it." "Well, look for it," says the
blind man. " Well, well, but you're cute, daddy," cried
Jimmy; "you're right enough, I see it mow;'' and
Jimmy affected to pick up the sixpence, and handed it
to his companion.

" Now we'll go an to the Squire's," said the blind man,
" and they'll give us somethin' to eat ;" and he and his
idiot companion were soon seated outside the kitchen
door of the Squire's house, waiting for their expected
dish of broken meat and potatoes.

Presently Jimmy was summoned, and he stepped for-
ward to receive the plate that was handed him, but in
its transit from the kitchin-door to the spot where the
blind man was seated, Jimmy played foul again, by
laying violent hands on the meat, and leaving potatoes
only in the dish. Again the acute sense of the blind
man detected the fraud ; he sniffed the scent of the pur-
loined provision ; and after poking with hurried fingers
amongst the potatoes, he exclaimed, " Ha ! Jimmy,
Jimmy, I smelt meat." "Deed and deed, no," said
Jimmy, who had in the mean time, with the voracity of
brutal hunger, devoured his stolen prey. " That's a lie,
Jimmy," said the blind man — " that's like the sixpence.
Ha ! you thievin' rogue, to cheat a poor blind man, you
villian ;" and forthwith he aimed a blow of his stick at
Jimmy with such good success, as to make the fool bellow
lustily. Matters, however, were accommodated ; and
both parties considered that the beef and the blow pretty
well balanced one another, and so accounts were
squared.

After their meal at the Squire's, they proceeded to

AN ESSAY ON FOOLS. 79

an adjoining village ; but in the course of their way
thither, it was necessary to pass a rapid, and sometimes
swollen, mountain-stream, and the only means of transit
was by large blocks of granite placed at such intervals
in the stream, as to enable a passenger to step from one
to the other, and hence called " stepping-stones." Here,
then, it was necessary, on the blind man's part, to employ
great caution, and he gave himself up to the guidance
of Jimmy, to effect his purpose. " You'll tell me where
I'm to step," said he, as he cautiously approached the
brink. " Oh, I will, daddy," said Jimmy ; " give me
your hand."

But Jimmy thought a good opportunity had arrived,
for disposing of one whom he found to be an over-
intelligent companion, and leading him to a part of the
bank where no friendly stepping-stone was placed, he
cried, " step out now, daddy." The poor blind man
obeyed the command, and tumbled plump into the
water. The fool screamed with delight, and clapped
his hands. The poor deluded blind man floundered for
some time in the stream, which, fortunately, was not
sufficiently deep to be dangerous ; and when he
scrambled to the shore, he laid about him with his stick
and tongue, in dealing blows and anathemas, all in-
tended for Jimmy. The former Jimmy carefully
avoided, by running out of the enraged blind man's
reach. " Oh, my curse light an you, you black-hearted
thraitor," said the dripping old beggar, " that has just
wit enough to be wicked, and to play such a hard-
hearted turn to a poor blind man ." "Ha! ha ! daddy,"
cried Jimmy, " you could smell the mate — why didn't you,
smell the wather ? "

THE DEVIL'S MILL.

" His word is more than the miraculous harp ;
He hath raised the wall, and houses too."

Tempest.

Beside the River Liffey stand the picturesque ruins
of a mill, overshadowed by some noble trees that grow
in great luxuriance at the water's edge. Here, one day,
after making a sketch, I was accosted by a silver-haired
old man that for some time had been observing me, and
who, when I was about to leave the spot, approached ma
and said, "I suppose it's after takin' off* the ould mil]
you'd be, Sir ?"

I answered in the affirmative.

" Maybe your honor id let me get a sight iv it," said he.

" With pleasure," said I, as I untied the strings of my
portfolio, and, drawing the sketch from amongst its com-
panions, presented it to him. He considered it atten-
tively for some time, and at length exclaimed,

" Throth, there it is to the life — the broken roof and

* "Take off" — to represent pictorially.

THE DEVIL'S MILL. 81

the wather-coorse ; ay, even the very spot where the
gudgeon of the wheel was wanst, let alone the big stone
at the corner, that was laid the first by himself;" and he
gave the last word with mysterious emphasis, and handed
the drawing back to me, with a " thankee, sir," of most
respectful acknowledgment.

" And who was ' himself,' " said I, " that laid that
stone 1" feigning ignorance, and desiring " to draw him
out," as the phrase is.

" Oh, then, maybe it's what you'd be a stranger here V
said he.

" Almost," said I.

" And did you never hear tell of L 's mill," said

he, " and how it was built?"

" Never," was my answer.

" Throth then I thought young and owld, rich and
poor, knew that — far and near."

"I don't, for one," said I ; "but perhaps," I added,
bringing forth some little preparation for a lunch, that I
had about me, and producing a small flask of whiskey —
"perhaps you will be so good as to tell me, and take a slice
of ham, and drink my health," offering him a dram from
my flask, and seating myself on the sod beside the river.

" Thank you kindly, sir," says he ; and so, after
" warming his heart," as he said himself, he proceeded to
give an account of the mill in question.

" You see, sir, there was a man wanst, in times back,
that owned a power of land about here — but God keep
uz, they said he didn't come by it honestly, but did a
crooked turn whenever 'twas to sarve himself — and sure
he sowld the pass* and what luck or grace could he have
afther that V

" How do you mean he sold the pass ?" said I.

" Oh, sure your honour must have heerd how the pass
was sowld, and he bethrayed his king and counthry.'

" No, indeed," said I.

• An allusion to a post of importance that was betrayed in some of tha
battles between William III. and James II.

O

82 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

" Och, well," answered my old informant, with a shake
of the head, which he meant, like Lord Burleigh in the
Critic, to be very significant, " it's no matther now, and
I don't care tal'kin' about it ; and laist said is soonest
mended — howsomever, he got a power of money for that
same, and lands and what not ; but the more he got, the
more he craved, and there was no ind to his sthrivin' for
goold evermore, and thirstin' for the lucre of gain.

"Well, the story goes that at last, the Divil (God
bless us) kem to him, and promised him hapes o' money,
and all his heart could desire, and more too, if he'd sell
his sowl in exchange."

" Surely he did not consent to such a dreadful bargain
as that ?" said I.

" Oh, no, sir," said the old man, with a slight play o1
muscle about the corners of his mouth, which but that
the awfulness of the subject suppressed it, would have
amounted to a bitter smile — " Oh no, he was too cunnin
for that, bad as he was — and he was bad enough, God
knows — he had some regard for his poor sinful sowl, and
he would not give himself up to the Divil, all out ; but,
the villian, he thought he might make a bargain with the
oivld chap, and get all he wanted, and keep himself out
of harm's way still : for he was mighty 'cute — and
throth he was able for owld Nick any day.

" Well, the bargain was struck : and it was this-a-way:
— The Divil was to give him all the goold ever he'd ask
for, and was to let him alone as long as he could ; and
The Timpter promised him a long day, and said 'twould
be a great while before he'd want him at all at all ; and
whin that time kem, he was to keep his hands aff him, as
long as the other could give him some work he couldn't do.

" So, when the bargain was made, ' Now,' says the
Colonel to the Divil, ' give me all the money I want.'

•' ' ' As much as you like,' says Owld Nick — ' how much
will you have V

" ' You must fill me that room,' says he, pointin' into
a murtherin' big room that he e&iptied out on purpose

the devil's mill. 83

—'you must fill that room, says he, up to the very
ceilin' with goolden guineas.'

" ' And welkem,' says the Divil.

" With that, sir, he began to shovel in the guineas
into the room, like mad ; and the Colonel towld liim, that
as soon as he was done, to come to him in his own parlour
below, and that he would then go up and see if the Divil
was as good as his word, and had filled the room with
the goolden guineas. So the Colonel went down stairs,
and the Owld Fellow worked away as busy as a nailer,
shovellin' in the guineas by hundherds and thousands.

" Well, he worked away for an hour, and more, and
at last he began to get tired ; and he thought it mighty
odd that the room wasn't fillin' fasther. — Well, afther
restin' for a while, he began agin, and he put his
shouldher to the work in airnest : but still the room way
no fuller, at all at all.

" ' Och ! bad luck to me,' says the Divil, ' but the likes
of this I never seen,' says he, ' far and near, up and down
— the dickens a room I ever kem across afore,' says he,
' I couldn't cram while a cook would be crammin' a tur-
key, till now ; and here I am,' says he ' losin' my whole
day, and I with such a power o' work an my hands yit,
and this room no fuller than if I began five minutes ago.'

"By gor, while he was spakin', he seen the hape o'
guineas in the middle of the flure growing littler and
littler every minit ; and at last they wor disappearing,
for all the world, like corn in the hopper of a mill.

" ' Ho ! ho !' says Owld Nick, ' is that the way wid
you,' says he ; and with that, he ran over to the hape of
goold — and what would you think, but it was runnin'
down through a great big hole in the flure, that the
Colonel made through the ceilin' in the room below ;
and that was the work he was at afther he left the
Divil, though he purtended he was only waitin' for
him in his parlour ; and there the Divil, when he looked
down the hole in the flure, seen the Colonel, not content
with the two rooms full of guineas, but with a big shovel,

84 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

throwin' them into a closet a' one side of him, as fast as
they fell down. So, putting his head through the hole,
he called down to the Colonel —

" ' Hillo ! neighbour,' says he.

" The Colonel looked up, and grew as white as a sheet,
when he seen he was found out, and the red eyes starin'
down at him through the hole.

" ' Musha, bad luck to your impudence !' says Ould
Nick: 'it is sthriven to chate me you are/ says he, 'you
villian ?'

" ' Oh ! forgive me this wanst,' says the Colonel,
' and, upon the honour of a gintleman,' says he, ' I'll
never '

" ' Whisht ! whisht ! you thievin' rogue,' says the
Divil — ' I'm not angry with you, at all at all, but only
like you the betther, bekase you're so cute ; — lave off
slaving yourself there,' says he, ' you have got goold
enough for this time ; and whenever you want more,
you have only to say the word, and it shall be your's to
command.'

" So, with that, the Divil and he parted for that time:
and myself doesn't know whether they used to meet
often afther, or not ; but the Colonel never wanted
money, any how, but went on prosperous in the world
■ — and, as the saying is, if he took the dirt out o' the
road, it id turn to money wid him ; and so, in course of
time, he bought great estates, and was a great man
entirely — not a greater in Ireland, throth."

Fearing here a digression on landed interest, I inter-
rupted him, to ask how he and the fiend settled their
1 accounts at last ?

"0, sir, you'll hear that all in good time. Sure
enough it's terrible, and wondherful it is at the ind, and
mighty improvin' — glory be to God !'

"Is that what you say," said I, in surprise, "be-
cause a wicked and deluded man lost his soul to The
Tempter !"

" Oh# the Lord forbid, your honour ; but don't be

THE devil's mill. 85

impatient, and you'll hear all. They say, at last, aftet
many years of prosperity, that the owld Colonel got
stricken in years, and he began to have misgivings in
his conscience for his wicked doings, and his heart
was heavy as the fear of death came upon him ; and
sure enough, while he had such murnful thoughts,
the Divil kem to him, and tould him he should go
loid him.

"Well, to be sure the owld man was frekened, but he
plucked up his courage and his cuteness, and towld the
Divil, in a bantherin' way, jokin' like, that he had par-
tic'lar business thin, that he was goin' to a party, and
hoped an owld friend wouldn't inconvaynience him, that
a-way ."

"Well," said I, laughing at the "put off" of going to
a party, " the Devil, of course, would take no excuse,
and carried him off in a flash of fire ?"

" Oh, no, sir," answered the old man, in something of
a reproving, or, at least, offended tone — "that's the
finish, I know very well, of many a story, such as we're
talkin' of, but that's not the way of this, which is thruth
every word, what I tell you ."

" I beg your pardon for the interruption," said I.

"No offence in life, sir," said the venerable chro-
nicler, who was now deep in his story, and would not be
stopped.

" Well, sir," continued he, " the Divil said he'd call
the next day, and that he must be ready; and sure
enough in the evenin' he kem to him ; and when the
Colonel seen him, he reminded him of his bargain that
as long as he could give him some work he couldn't do,
he wasn't obleeged to go.

" ' That's thrue,' says the Divil.

" ' I'm glad you're as good as your word, any how,'
says the Colonel.

" ' I never bruk my work yit,' says the owld chap,
cocking up his horns consaitedly — ' honour bright,'
says he.

86 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

" ' Well, then,' says the Colonel, ' build me a mill,
down there, by the river,' says he, ' and let me have it
finished by to-morrow morninV

"'Your will is my pleasure,' says the owld chap.
and away he wint; and the Colonel thought he had
nick'd Owld Nick at last, and wint to bed quite aisy in
his mind.

"But, jeivel machree, sure the first thing he heerd the
next mornin' was, that the whole counthry round was
runnin' to see a fine bran' new mill, that was an the
river side, where, the evening before, not a thing at all
at all but rushes was standin', and all, of coorse,
wonderin' what brought it there ; and some sayin' 'twas
not lucky, and many more throubled in their mind, but
one and all agreein' it was no good; and that's the very
mill forninst you, that you were takin' aff, and the
stone that I noticed is a remarkable one — a big coign-
stone — that they say the Divil himself laid first, and
has the mark of four fingers and a thumb an it, to
this day.

" But when the Colonel heerd it, he was more
throubled than any, of coorse, and began to conthrive what
else he could think iv, to keep himself out iv the claws of
the owld one. Well, he often heerd tell that there was
one thing the Divil never could do, and I dar say you
heerd it too, Sir, — that is, that he could't make a rope
out of the sands of the sae ; and so when the owld
one kem to him the next day, and said his job was
done, and that now the mill was built, he must either
tell him somethin' else he wanted done, or come away
wid him.

" So the Colonel said he taw it was all over wid
him ; ' but,' says he, ' I wouldn't like to go wid
you alive, and sure it's all the same to vou, alive or
dead V

" ' Oh, that won't do,' says his frind ; ' I can' wait no
more,' says he.

" ' I don't want you to wait, my dear frind,' says the

THE devil's mill. 87

Colonel ; ' all I want is, that you'll be plased to kill me,
before you take me away.'

" ' With pleasure,' says Owld Nick.

" ' But will you promise me my choice of dyin' one
partic'lar way ?' says the Colonel.

" ' Half a dozen ways, if it plazes you,' says he.

" ' You're mighty obleegin,' says the Colonel ; ' and
so,' says he, ' I'd rather die by bein" hanged with a rope
made out of the sands of the sue,' says he, lookin' mighty
knowin' at the owld fellow.

" ' I've always one about me,' says the Divil, ' to
obleege my frinds,' says he ; and with that, he pulls out
a rope made of sand, sure enough.

" ' Oh, it's game you're makin',' says the Colonel,
growin' as white as a sheet.

" ' The game is mine, sure enough,' says the owld
fellow, grinnin', with a terrible laugh.

" ' That's not a sand-rope at all,' says the Colonel.

" ' Isn't it V says the Divil, hittin' him acrass the face
with the ind iv of the rope, and the sand (for it ivas
made of sand, sure enough) went into one of his eyes,
and made the tears come with the pain.

" ' That bates all I ever seen or heerd,' says the Colo-
nel sthrivin' to rally, and make another offer — ' is there
any thing you can't do V

" ' Nothing you can tell me,' says the Divil, ' so you
may as well lave off your palaverin', and come along at
wanst.'

" ' Will you give me one more offer,' says the Colonel.

" ' You dont't desarve it,' says the Divil, ' but I don't
care if I do ;' for you see, sir, he was only playin' wid
him, and tantalising the owld sinner.

" ' All fair,' says the Colonel, and with that he ax'd
him could he stop a woman's tongue.

" ' Thry me,' says Owld Nick.

'"Well then,' says the Colonel, 'make my lady's
tongue be quiet for the next month, and I'd thank
you.'

88 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

" ' She'll never throuble you agin,' says Owld Nick ;
and, with that, the Colonel heercl roarin' and cryin', and
the door of his room was thrown open, and in ran his
daughter, and fell down at his feet, telling him her
mother had just dhropped dead.

'" The minit the door opened, the Divil runs and
hides himself behind a big elbow chair ; and the Colonel
was frekened almost out of his siven sinses, by raison of
the sudden death of his poor lady, let alone the jeopardy
he was in himself, seem' how the Divil had forestall'd
him every way ; and after ringin' his bell, and callin' to
his sarvants, and recoverin' his daughther out of her
faint, he was goin' away wid her out o' the room, whin
the Divil caught howld of him by the skirt of the coat,
and the Colonel was obleeged to let his daughter be
carried out by the sarvants, and shut the door afther
them.

'' 'Well,' says the Divil, and he grinn'd and wagg'd
his tail, and all as one as a dog when he's plaised —
' what do you say now ?' says he.

" ' Oh,' says the Colonel, ' only lave me alone until I
bury my poor wife,' says he, ' and I'll go with you then,
you vidian,' says he.

" ' Don't call names/ says the Divil ; ' you had
better keep a civil tongue in your head,' says he ;
' and it doesn't become a gintleman to forget good
manners.'

':Well, sir, to make a long story short, the Divil
purtended to let him off, out of kindness, for three days
antil his wife was buried ; but the raison of it was this,
that when the lady his daughter fainted, he loosened the
clothes about her throat, and in pulling some of her
dhress away, he tuk off a goold chain that was on her
neck, and put it in his pocket, and the chain had a
diamond crass on it, (the Lord be praised !) and the
Divil clam't touch him while he had the sign of the
crass about him.

" Well, the poor Colonel (God forgive him !) wai

the devil's mill. 89

grieved for the loss of his lady, and she had an illigant
berrin — and they sajr, that when the prayers was readin'
over the dead, the owld Colonel took it to heart like
any thing, and the word o' God kem home to his poor
sinful sowl at last.

" Well, sir, to make a long story short, the ind if it
was, that for the three days o' grace that was given
to him the poor deluded owld sinner did nothin' at all
but read the Bible from mornin' till night, and bit or
sup didn't pass his lips all the time, he was so intint
upon the Holy Book, but he sat up in an owld room in
the far ind of the house, and bid no one disturb him an
no account, and struv to make his heart bould with the
words iv life ; and sure it was somethin' strinthened him
at last, though as the time drew nigh that the inimy was
to come, he didn't feel aisy ; and no wondher ; and, by
dad, the three days was past and gone in no time, and
the story goes that at the dead hour o' the night, when
the poor sinner was readin' away as fast as he could, my
jew'l, his heart jumped up to his mouth, at gettin' a tap
on the shoulder.

" ' Oh, murther !' says he, ' who's there V for he was
afeard to look up.

" ' It's me,' says the owld one, and he stood right
forninst him, and his eyes like ooals o' fire, lookin' him
through, and he said, with a voice that almost split his
owld heart, ' Come !' says he.

" 'Another day,' cried out the poor Colonel.

" ' Not another hour,' says Sat'n.

" ' Half an hour V

" ' Not a quarther,' says the Divil, grinnin', with a
bitther laugh — ' give over your readin', I bid you/ says
he, ' and come away wid me.'

" ' Only gi' me a few minits,' says he.

" ' Lave aii your palavering' you snakin' owld sinner,'
says Sat'n ; 'you know you're bought and sould to me,
and a party bargain I have o' you, you owld baste,' says
he — ' so come along at wansfc,' and he put out his claw

90 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

to ketch him ; hut the Colonel tuk a fast hould o' the
Bible, and begg'd hard that he'd let him alone, and
wouldn't harm him antil the bit o' candle that was just
blinkin' in the socket before him was burned out.

'' ' Well, have it so, you dirty coward,' says Owld
Kick — and with that he spit an him.

"But the poor owld Colonel didn't lose a minit (for
he was cuirnin' to the ind), but snatched the little taste
o' candle that was forninst him, out o' the candlestick,
and puttin' it an the Holy Book before him, he shut
down the cover of it, and quinched the light. With
that, the Divil gave a roar like a bull, and vanished in a
flash o' fire, and the poor Colonel fainted away in his
chair ; but the sarvants heerd the noise, (for the Divil
tore aff the roof o' the house when he left it,) and run
into the room, and brought their master to himself agin.
And from that day out he was an althered man, and
used to have the Bible read to him every day, for he
couldn't read himself any more, by raison of losin' his
eyesight, when the Divil hit him with the rope of sand
in the face, and afther spit an him — for the sand wint
into one eye and he lost the other that-a-way, savin'
your presence.

" So you see, sir, afther all, the Colonel, undher
heaven, was too able for the Divil, and by readin' the
good Book his sowl was saved, and (glory be to God)
isn't that mighty improviri?"

The foregoing tale, we believe, is somewhat common
to the legendary lore of other countries — at least, there
is a German legend built on a similar foundation. We
hope, however, it may not be considered totally unin-
teresting, our effort being to show the different styles
his sable majesty Las of cutting his capers in Germany
and in Ireland.

THE GRIDIRON;

on,

PADDY MULLOWNEY'S TEAVELS IN FRANCE.

11 Soldier — Bos7cos fhromuldo boskos.
Parolles — I know you are the Musko's regiment.
Soldier — Boskos vaitvado.
Parolles — I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue."

All's "Well That Ends Well.

Mathews, in his " Trip to America," gives a ludicrous
representation of an Irishman who has left his own
country on the old-fashioned speculation of " seeking
his fortune," and who, after various previous failures in
the pursuit, at length goes into the back settlements,
with the intention of becoming interpreter-general
between the Yankees and the Indian tribes; but the
Indians rejected his proffered service, " the poor ignorant
craytures," as he himself says, "just because he did not
understand the language." We are told, moreover,
that G-oldsmith visited the land of dykes and dams, for
the purpose of teaching the Hollanders English, quite
overlooking (until his arrival in the country made it
obvious) that he did not know a word of Dutch himself !
I have prefaced the following story thus, in the hope
that the "precedent," which covers so many absurdities
in law, may be considered available by the author, as well
as the suitor, and may serve a turn in the court of
criticism, as well as in the common pleas.

A certain old gentleman in the west of Ireland, whose
love of the ridiculous quite equalled his taste for claret
and fox-hunting, was wont, upon certain festive occasions
when opportunity offered, to amuse his friends by draw-
ing out one of his servants, who was exceedingly fond

92 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

of what he termed his " thravels," and in whom a good
deal of whim, some queer stories, and perhaps, more than
all, long and faithful services, had established a right of
loquacity. He was one of those few trusty and
privileged domestics, who, if his master unheedingly
uttered a rash thing in a fit of passion, would venture to
set him right. If the squire said, " I'll turn that rascal
off," my friend Pat would say, " throth you won't, sir ;"
and Pat was always right, for if any altercation arose
upon the "subject matter in hand," he was sure to
throw in some good reason, either from former services,
general good conduct, or the delinquent's " wife and
childher," that always turned the scale.

But I am digressing. On such merry meetings as I
have alluded to, the master, after making certain
" approaches," as a military man would say, as the pre-
paratory steps in laying siege to some extravaganza of
his servant, might, perchance, assail Pat thus : — "By-the-
bye, Sir John, (addressing a distinguished guest,) Pat has
a very curious story which something you told me to-
day reminds me of. You remember, Pat, (turning to
the man, evidently pleased at the notice thus paid to
himself) — you remember that queer adventure you had
in France ? "

" Throth I do, sir," grins forth Pat.

"What!" exclaims Sir John, in feigned surprise,
" was Pat ever in France ? "

" Indeed he was," cries mine host ; and Pat adds, " ay,
and farther, plaze your honour."

" I assure you, Sir John," continues my host, " Pat
}old me a story once that surprised me very much,
respecting the ignorance of the French."

'•Indeed!" rejoins the baronet; "really, I always
supposed the French to be a most accomplished people."

" Throth then, they are not, sir," interrupts Pat.

" Oh, by no means," adds mine host, shaking his
head emphatically.

" I believe, Pat, 'twas when you were crossing the

THE GRIDIRON. 93

Atlantic?" says the master, turning to Pat with a
seductive air, and leading into the "full and true
account," (for Pat had thought fit to visit North America,
for a " raison he had," in the autumn of the year 'ninety-
eight.)

"Yes, sir," says Pat, "the broad Atlantic," — a
favourite phrase of his, which he gave with a brogue as
broad, almost, as the Atlantic itself.

" It was the time I was lost in crassin' the broad
Atlantic, a comin' home," began Pat, decoyed into the
recital, " whin the winds began to blow, and the sae to
rowl, that you'd think the Colleen dhas (that was her
name) would not have a mast left but what would rowl
out of her.

" Well, sure enough, the masts went by the boord, at
last, and the pumps were choak'd, (divil choak them for
that same,) and av coorse the wather gained an us ; and
troth, to be filled with wather is neither good for man or
baste ; and she was sinkin' fast, settlin' down, as the
sailors call it; and faith I never was good at settlin'
down in my life, and I liked it then less nor ever;
accordingly we prepared for the worst, and put out the
boat, and got a sack o' bishkets, and a cashk o' pork,
and a kag o' wather, and a thrifle o' rum aboord, and
any other little matthers we could think iv in the mortial
hurry we wor in — and fait there was no time to be lost,
for my darlint, the Colleen dhas went down like a lump
o' lead, afore we wor many strokes o' the oar away from
her.

"Well, we dhrifted away all that night, and next
mornin' we put up a blanket an the ind av a pole as
well as we could, and then we sailed iligant ; for we
darn't show a stitch o' canvass the night before, bekase
it was blowin' like murther, savin' your presence, and
sure it's the wondher of the world we worn't swally'd
alive by the ragin' sae.

"Well, away we wint, for more nor a week, and
nothin' before our two good-lookin' eyes but the canophy

94 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

iv heaven, and the wide ocean — the broad Atlantic —
not a thing was to be seen but the sae and the sky ;
and though the sae and the sky is mighty purty things
in themselves, throth they're no great things when
you've nothin' else to look at for a week together — and
the barest rock in the world, so it was land, would be
more welkim. And then, soon enough throth, our pro-
vision began to ran low, the bishkits, and the wather,
and the rum — throth that was gone first of all — God
help uz — and, oh ! it was thin starvation began to stare
us in the face — ' Oh, murther, murther, captain darlint,'
says I, ' I wish we could see land any where,' says I.

" 'More power to your elbow, Paddy, my boy,' says
he, 'for sitch a good wish, and throth it's myself wishes
the same.'

" 'Oh,' says I, 'that it may plaze you, sweet queen iv
heaven, supposing it was only a dissolute island,' says I,
'inhabited wid Turks, sure they wouldn't be such bad
Christhans as to refuse us a bit and a sup.'

" ' Whisht, whisht, Paddy,' says the captain, 'don't be
talkin' bad of any one,' says he ; ' you don't know how
soon you may want a good word put in for yourself, if
you should be called to quarthers in th' other world all
of a suddint,' says he.

" ' Thrue for you, captain darlint,' says I — I called
him darlint, and made free wid him, you see, bekase
disthress makes uz all eq-ap.l — 'thrue for you, captain
jewel — God betune uz and harm, I own no man any
spite' — and throth that was only thrutli. Well, the last
bishkit was sarved out, and by gor the watlier itself was
all gone at last, and we passed the night mighty cowld.
— Well, at the brake o' day the sun viz most beautiful
outo' the waves, that was as bright as silver and as clear as
crysthal :--but it was only the more cruel upon us, for
we wor beginnm' to feel terrible hungry; when all ai
wanst I thought I spied the land — by gor I thought I
felt my heart up in my throat in a minit, and ' Thunder
an' turf, captain,' says I, 'look to leeward,' says I.

"'What for?' says he.

THE GRIDIRON. 95

" ' I think I see the land,' says I. So he ups with
his bring-'m-near — (that's what the sailors call a spy-
glass, sir,) and looks out, and, sure enough, it was.

" 'Hurra ' says he, ' we're all right now ; pull away,
my boys,' says he.

" ' Take care you're not mistaken,' says I ; ' naybeit's
only a fog-bank, captain darlint,' says I.

" 'Oh no,' says he, ' it's the land in airnest.'

" ' Oh then, whereabouts in the wide world are Ave,
captain ?' says I, ' maybe it id be in Boosia, or Proosia,
or the Garman Oceant,' says I.

" ' Tut, you fool,' says he — for he had that consaited
way wid him — thinkin' himself cleverer nor any one
else — ' tut, you fool,' says he, ' that's France? says he.

" ' Tare an ouns,' says I, ' do you tell me so ? and
how do you know it's France it is ; captain dear V
says I.

" ' Bekase this is the Bay o' Bishky we're in now,'
says he.

" ' Throth I was thinkin' so myself,' says I, ' by the
rowl it has ; for I often heerd av it in regard of that
same ;' and throth the likes av it I never seen before nor
since, and with the help o' God, never will.

" Well, with that, my heart began to grow light ; and
when I seen my life was safe, I began to grow twice
hungrier nor ever — ' so,' says I, ' captain jewel, I wish
we had a gridiron.'

" ' Why then,' says he, ' thunder an turf,' says he,
' what puts a gridiron into your head V

" ' Bekase I'm starvin' with the hunger,' says I.

" 'And sure, bad luck to you/ says he, 'you couldn't
ate a gridiron,' says he, 'barrin' you wor a pelican o' the
ivildhemess,' says he.

" ' Ate a gridiron ?' says I ; ' och, in throth I'm not
sich a gommocli all out as that, any how. But sure, if
we had a gridiron, we could dress a beefstake,' says I.

" ' Arrah ! but where's the beefstake ?' says he.

" ' Sure, coudn't we cut a slice aff the pork, says I.

96 LEGENDS A^D STQRIE8.

" ' Be gor, I never thought o' that,' says the captain.
' You're a clever fellow, Paddy,' says he, laughin'

" ' Oh, there's many a thrue word said in a joke,'
says I.

" ' Thrue for you, Paddy,' says he.

" 'Well then,' says I, 'if you put me ashore there
beyant,' (for we were nearin' the land all the time,) ' and
sure I can ax thim for to lind me the loan of a gridiron,'
says I.

" ' Oh by gor, the butther's comin' out o' the stirabout
in airnest now,' says he ; ' you gommoch,' says he, ' sure
I towld you before that's Prance — and sure they're all
furriners* there,' says the captain.

! " ' Well/ says I, ' and how do you know but I'm as
good a furriner myself as any o' thim.'

" ' What do you mane ? ' says he.

" ' I mane,' says I, ' what I towld you, that I'm as
good a furriner myself as any o' thim.'

" ' Make me sinsible]' says he.

" ' By dad, maybe that's more nor I could do,' says I
— and we all began to laugh at him, for I thought
'I'd pay him off for his bit o' consait about the Grarman
Oceant.

; " ' Lave aff your humbuggin',' says he, ' I bid you,
and tell me what it is you mane, at all at all.'

" ' Parly voo frongsay,' says I.

" ' Oh, your humble sarvant,' says he ; ' why, by gor,
you're a scholar, Paddy.'

" ' Throth, you may say that,' says I.

« c Why, you're a clever fellow, Paddy,' says the
captain, jeerin' like.

" ' You're not the first that said that,' says I, ' whether
you joke or no.'

" ' Oh, but I'm in airnest,' says the captain — ' and do
you tell me, Paddy,' says he, ' that you spake Prineh ? '

" < parly Vqo frongsay,' says I.

• Foreigners. t That is to say, " make it intelligible to me."

THE GRIDIRON. 97

" ' By gor, that bangs Banagher, and all the world
knows Banagher bangs the divil — I never met the likes
o' you, Paddy,' says he — 'pull away, boys, and put
Paddy ashore, and maybe we won't get a good bellyful
before long.'

" So, with that, it was no sooner said nor done — they
pulled away, and got close in shore in less than no
time, and run the boat up into a little creek, and a beau-
tiful creek it was, with a lovely white sthrand — an iligant
place for ladies to bathe in the summer ; and out I got
— and it's stiff enough in my limbs I was, afther bein'
cramp'd up in the boat, and perished with the cowld and
hunger ; but I conthrived to scramble on, one way or
t'other, tow'rds a little bit iv a wood that was close to
the shore, and the smoke curlin' out of it, quite timptin*
like.

" ' By the powdhers o' war, I am all right,' says I ;
' there's a house there ; ' — and sure enough there was,
and a parcel of men, women, and childher, ating their
dinner round a table, quite convaynient. And so I
wint up to the door, and I thought I'd be very civil to
thim, as I heerd the Frinch was always mighty p'lite
intirely — and I thought I'd show them I knew what
good manners was.

" So I took aff my hat, and making a low bow, says
I, ' God save all here,' says I.

" Well, to be sure, they all stopt ating at wanst, and
begun to stare at me — and, faith, they almost look'd me
out of countenance ; and I thought to myself it was not
good manners at all — more betoken from furrincrs
which they call so mighty p'lite ; but I never minded
that, in regard o' wanting the gridiron ; and so says I,
' I beg your pardon,' says I, ' for the liberty I take, but
it's only bein' in disthress in regard of ating,' says I,
' that I make bowld to throuble yez, and if you could
lind me the loan of a gridiron,' says I, ' I'd be entirely
obleeged to ye.'

"By gor, they all stared at me twice worse nor

1)8 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

before ; and with that says I, (knowm what was in their
minds,) ' indeed, it's thrue for you,' says I — ' I'm
tatthered to pieces, and God knows I look quare enough
— but its by raison of the storm,' says I, ' which dhruv
us ashore here below, and we're all starvin',' says I.

" So then they began to look at each other agin ; and
myself, seeing at wanst dirty thoughts was in their
heads, and they tuk me for a poor beggar, comin' to
crave charity — with that, says I, ' Oh ! not at all,' says
I, 'by no manes — we have plenty o' mate ourselves,
there below, and we'll dhress it,' says I, ' if you would
be plased to lind us the loan of a gridiron,' says I,
makin' a low bow.

" Well, sir, with that, throth they stared at me twice
worse nor ever — and, faith, I began to think that maybo
the captain was wrong, and that it was not Franco at
all at all ; and so says I, ' I beg pardon, sir,' says I, to
a fine owld man, with a head of hair as white as silver —
' maybe I'm undher a mistake,' says I ; ' but I thought
I was in France, sir : aren't you furriners ? ' says I —
' Parly voo frongsay ? '

" ' We munseer,' says he.

" ' Then would you lind me the loan of a gridiron,'
says I, ' if you plase ? '

" Oh, it was thin that they stared at me as if I had
siven heads ; and, faith, myself began to feel fiusthered
like, and onaisy — and so says I, makin' a bow and scrape
agin, ' I know it's a liberty I take, sir,' says I, ' but it's
only in the regard of bein' cast away ; and if you plase,
sir,' says I, ' Parly voo frongsay ? '

" ' Yfe munseer,' says he, mighty sharp.

" ' Then would you lind me the loan of a gridiron t
says I, ' and you'll obleege me,'

" Well, sir, the owld cheat began to munseer me; but
the divil a bit of a gridiron he'd gi'e me ; and so I
began to think they wor all neygars, for all their fine
manners ; and thvoth my blood begun to rise, and says
I, ' By my sowl, if it was you was in disthress,' says I,

THE GRIDIRON. 99

' and if it was to owld Ireland you kem, it's not only the
gridiron they'd give you, if you ax'd it but something
to put an it too, and the dhrop o' dhrink into the bargain,
and cead mile failte.'

" Well, the word cead mile failte seemed to sthreck
his heart, and the owld chap cocked his ear, and so I
thought I'd give him another offer, and make him sinsible
at last ; and so says I, wanst more, quite slow, that he
might undherstand — 'Parly — voo — frongsay, munseer?'

" ' We munseer,' says he.

" ' Then lind me the loan of a gridiron,' says I, ' and
bad scran to you.'

" Well, bad win to the bit of it he'd gi' me, and the
owld chap begins bo win' and scrapin', and said something
or other about a long tongs.*

" ' Phoo ! — the divil sweep yourself and your tongs,'
says I, ' don't want a tongs at all at all ; but can't you
listen to raison,' says I — ' Parly voo frongsay? '

" ' We munseer.'

" ' Then lind me the loan of a gridiron/ says I, ' and
howld your prate.'

" Well, what would you think but he shook his owld
noddle, as much as to say he wouldn't ; and so says I,
' bad cess to the likes o' that I ever seen — throth if you
wor in my counthry it's not that a-way they'd use you ;
the curse o' the crows an you, you owld sinner,' says I,
' the divil a longer 111 darken your door.'

" So he seen I was vex'd, and I thought, as I was
turnin' away, I seen him begin to relint, and that his
conscience throubled him : and, says I, turnin' bade,
' Well, I'll give you one chance more — you owld thief —
are you a Chrishthan at all at all ? Are you a furriner ?'
says I, ' that all the world call so p'lite. Bad luck to
you, do you undherstand your own language 1 — Parly
voo frongsay?' says I.

" ' We munseer,' says he.

• Some mystification of Paddy's, touching the French n'enUnth.

100 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

" ' Then thunder an turf,' says I, ' will you lind me
the loan of a gridiron ? '

" Well, sir, the divil resave the bit of it he'd gi' me—
and so with that, the ' curse o' the hungry an you, you
owld negarly villian,' says I : ' the back o' my hand and
the sowl o' my fut to you, that you may want a gridiron
yourself yit,' says I, ' and wherever I go, high and low,
rich and poor, shall hear o' you,' says I, and with that
I left them there, sir, and kem away — and in throth it's
often sence that / thought that it was remarkable

PADDY THE PIPEK.

" Dogberry. — Marry, sir, they have committed false reports ; moreover
they have spoken untruths; secondarily, they are slanderers; sixthly and
lastly, they have belied a lady ; thirdly, they have verified unjust things ;
and to conclude, they are lying knaves."

Mitch Ado About Nothing.

The only introduction I shall attempt to the following
" extravaganza" is, to request the reader to suppose it
to be delivered by a frolicking Irish peasant, in the
richest brogue, and most dramatic manner.

" I'll tell you, sir, a mighty quare story, and it's as
thrue as I'm standin' here, and that's no lie : —

" It was in the time of the 'ruction* whin the long
summer days, like many a fine fellow's precious life,
was cut short by raison of the martial law — that
wouldn't let a dacent boy be out in the evenin', good
or bad ; for whin the day's work was over, divil a one
of uz dar go to meet a frind over a glass, or a girl at
the dance, but must go home, and shut ourselves up,

* Insurrectioa,

102 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

and never budge, nor rise latch, nor dhraw boult, antil
the morning kem agin.

" Well, to come to my story: — 'Twas afther night-
fall, and we wor sittin' round the fire, and the praties
wor boilin', and the noggins of butthermilk was standin'
ready for our suppers, whin a nock kem to the door.

" ' Whisht ! ' says my father, ' here's the sojers come
upon us now/ says he ; ' bad luck to thim, the vidians,
I'm af ear eel they seen a glimmer of the fire through the
crack in the door,' says he.

" ' No,' says my mother, ' for I'm afther hangin' an
owld sack and my new petticoat agin it, a while ago.'

" ' Well, whisht, any how,' says my father, ' for
there's a knock agin ; ' and we all held our tongues till
another thump kem to the door.

" ' Oh, it's a folly to purtind any more,' says my
father — ' they're too cute to be put off that-a-way,' says
he. ' Go, Shamus,' says he to me, ' and see who's in it.'

" ' How can I see who's in it in the dark ? ' says I.

" ' Well,' says he, ' light the candle thin, and see
who's in it, but don't open the door, for your life,
barrin' they brake it in,' says he, 'exceptin' to the
sojers, and spake thim fair, if it's thim.'

"So with that I wint to the door, and there was
another knock.

" ' Who's there ?' says I.

" ' It's me,' says he.

" ' Who are you ?' says I.

" 'A frin d,' says he.

" ' BaitkersJiin,' says I, — ' who are you at all ? '

" < Arrah ! don't you know me ? ' says he.

" ' Divil a taste,' says I.

" ' Sure I'm Paddy the Piper,' says he.

" ' Oh, thunder an turf,' says I, ' is it you, Faddy,
that's in it ? '

" ' Sorra one else,' says he.

" ' And what brought you at this hour ? ' says I.

« ' By gar,' says he, ' I didn't like goin' the roun' by

PADDY THE PIPER. 103

the road,' says he, ' and so I kem the short cut, and that's
what delayed me,' says he.

" 'Oh, murther ! ' says I — 'Paddy, I wouldn't be in your
shoes for the king's ransom,' says I; 'for you know
yourself it's a hangin' matther to be cotched out these
times/ says I.

" ' Sure I know that,' says he, ' and that's what I kem
to you for,' says he ; ' so let me in for owld acquaintance
sake,' says poor Paddy.

" ' Oh, by this and that,' says I, ' I darn't open the
door for the wide world ; and sure you know it ; and
throth, if the Husshians or the Yeos* ketches you,' says
I, ' they'll murther you, as sure as your name's Paddy.'

" ' Many thanks to you,' says he, ' for your good
intintions ; but plase the pigs, I hope it's not the likes o'
that is in store for me, any how.'

" ' Faix then,' says I, ' you had betther lose no time
in hidin' yourself,' says I ; ' for, throth I tell you, it's a
short thrial and a long rope the Husshians would bo
afther givin' you — -for they've no justice, and less marcy,
the villians ! '

" ' Faith thin, more's the raison you should let me in,
Shamus,' says poor Paddy.

" ' It's a folly to talk,' says I, ' I darn't open the door.'

•"Oh then, millia murther?' says Paddy, 'what'll
become of me at all at all,' says he.

" ' Go aff into the shed,' says I, ' behin' the house,
where the cow is, and there there's an iligant lock o'
straw, that you may go sleep in,' says I, ' and a fine bed
it id be for a lord, let alone a piper.'

" So off Paddy set to hide in the shed, and throth it
wint to our hearts to refuse him, and turn him away from
the door, more by token when the praties was ready —
for sure the bit and the sup is always welkim to the poor
thraveller. Well, we all wint to bed, and Paddy hid
himself in the cow-house ; and now I must tell you how it
was with Paddy : —

* Yeomen.

104 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

tt

You see, afther sleeping for some time, Paddy
wakened up, tliinkin' it was mornin', but it wasn't
mornin' at all, but only the light o' the moon that de-
saved him ; but at all evints, he wanted to be stirrin'
airly, bekase he was goin' off to the town hard by, it
bein' fair day, to pick up a few ha'pence Avith his pipes
— for the divil a betther piper was in all the counthry
round, nor Paddy ; and every one gave it up to Paddy
that he was iligant an the pipes, and played ' Jinny
bang'd the Weaver,' beyant tellin', and the ' Hare in
the Corn,' that you'd think the very dogs was in it, and
the horsemen ridin' like mad.

" Well, as I was sayin', he set off to go to the fair,
and he wint meandherin' along through the fields, but
ho didn't go far, antil climbin' up through a hedge,
when he was comin' out at t'other side, his head kern
plump agin somethin' that made the fire flash out iv his
eyes. So with that he looks up — and what do you
think it was, Lord be rnarciful to uz, but a corpse
hangin' out of a branch of a three.

" ' Oh, the top o' the mornin' to you, sir,' says
Paddy, ' and is that the way with you, my poor fellow ?
throth you tuk a start out o' me,' says poor Paddy;
and 'twas thrue for him, for it would make the heart of
a stouter man nor Paddy jump, to see the like, and to
think of a Chrishthan crathur being hanged up, all as
one as a dog.

" Now, 'twas the rebels that hanged this chap —
bekase, you see, the corpse had good clothes an him,
and that's the raison that one might know it was the
rebels — by raison that the Husshians and the Orange-
men never hanged any body wid good clothes an him,
but only the poor and defmceless crathurs, like uz ; so,
as I said before, Paddy knew well it was the hoys that
done it ; ' and,' says Paddy, eyin' the corpse, ' by my
sowl, thin, but you have a beautiful pair o' boots an
you,' says he, ' and it's what I'm thinkin' you won't
have any great use for thim no more ; and sure it's a

PADDY THE PIPER. 105

shame for the likes o' me,' say3 he, ' the best piper in
the sivin counties, to be trampin' wid a pair of owld
brogues not worth three traneens, and a corpse with
£>uch an iligant pair o' boots, that wants some one to
wear thim. So, with that, Paddy lays hould of him by
the boots, and began a pullin' at thim, but they wor
mighty stiff; and whether it was by raison of their
bein' so tight, or the branch of the three a-jiggin' up an
down, all as one as a weighdee buckettee, an not lettin'
Paddy cotch any right hoult o' thim — he could get no
advantage o' thim at all — and at last he gev it up, and
was goin' away, whin lookin' behind him agin, the sight
of the iligant fine boots was too much for him, and he
turned back, determined to have the boots, any how, by
fair means or foul ; and I'm loath to tell you now how
he got thim — for indeed it was a dirty turn, and throth
it was the only dirty turn I ever knew Paddy to be
guilty av; and you see it was this a-way; 'pon my
sowl, he pulled out a big knife, and, by the same token,
it was a knife with a fine buck-handle, and a murtherin'
big blade, that an uncle o' mine, that was a gardener
at the lord's, made Paddy a prisint av ; and, more by
token, it was not the first mischief that knife done, for
it cut love between thim, that was the best of frinds
before ; and sure t'was the wondher of every one, that
two knowledgeable men, that ought to know betthcr,
would do the likes, and give and take sharp steel in
frindship ; but I'm forgettin' — well, he outs with his
knife, and what does he do, but he cuts off the legs of
the corpse ; ' and,' says he, ' I can take off the boots at
my convaynience ; ' and throth it was, as I said before,
& dirty turn.

" Well, sir, he tuck'd the legs undher his arms, and
at that minit the moon peeped out from behind a cloud
■ — ' Oh ! is it there you are ? ' says he to the moon, for
he was an impidint chap — and thin, seein' that lie made
a mistake, and that the moon-light deceaved him, and
that it wasn't the earlv dawn, as he conceavcd ; and bcin'

106 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

freken'd for fear himself might be cotehed and thrated
like the poor corpse he was afther a malthr eating, if he
was found walking the counthry at that time — by gar,
he turned about, and walked back agin to the cow-house,
and, hidin' the corpse's legs in the sthraw, Paddy wint
to sleep agin. But what do you think ? Paddy was not
long there antil the sojers came in airnest, and, by the
powers, they carried off Paddy — and faith it was only
sarvin' him right for what he done to the poor corpse.

" Well, whin the mornin' kern, my father says to me,
' Go, Shamus,' says he, ' to the shed, and bid poor
Paddy come in, and take share o' the praties, for, I go
bail, he's ready for his breakquest by this, any how ? '

" Well, out I wint to the cow-house, and calied out
' Paddy ! ' and afther callin' three or four times, and
gettin' no answer, I wint in, and called agin, and
dickins an answer I got still. Tatthar-an-agers ! ' says
I, ' Paddy, where are you at all at all ? ' and so, castin'
my eyes about the shed, I seen two feet sticking out
from undher the hape o' straw — ' Musha ! thin, says I,
, bad luck to you, Paddy, but you're fond of a warm
corner, and maybe you haven't made yourself as snug
as a flay in a blanket ? but I'll disturb your dhrames,
I'm thinkin',' says I, and with that I laid hould of his
heels, (as I thought, God help me,) and givin' a good
pull to waken him, as I intinded, away I wint, head
over heels, and my brains was a'most knocked out agin
the wall.

" Well, whin I recovered myself, there I was, an the
broad o' my back, and two things stickin' out o' my
hands like a pair o' Husshian's horse-pist'ls — and I
thought the sight 'id lave my eyes, when I seen they
wor two mortial legs.

" My jew'l, I threw them down like a hot pratee, and
jumpin' up, I roared out millia murther. ' Oh, you
murtherin' villian,' says I, shakin' my list at the cow — ■
' Oh you unnath'ral baste,' says 1, ' you've ate poor
Paddy, you thievin' cannible, you're worse than a ney-

PADDY THE PIPER. 107

gar, says I ; ' and bad luck to you, how dainty you
are, that nothin' 'id sarve you for your supper, but the
best piper in Ireland. Weirasthru ! weirasthru ! what'll
the whole counthry say to such an unnath'ral murther ?
and you lookin' as innocent there as a lamb, and atin'
your hay as quiet as if nothin' happened.' With that,
I run out — for, throth, I didn't like to be near her —
and, goin' into the house, I tould them all about it.

" ' Arrah ! be aisy,' says my father.

" ' Bad luck to the lie I tell you,' says I.

" ' Is it ate Paddy ? ' says they.

«' ' Divil a doubt of it,' says I.

" ' Are you sure, Shamus 1 ' says my mother.

" ' I wish I was as sure of a new pair o' brogues,'
says I. ' Bad luck to the bit she has left iv him but
his two legs.'

" ' And do you tell me she ate the pipes too 1 ' says
my father.

" ' By gor, I b'lieve so,' says I.

" ' Oh, the divil fly away wid her,' says he, ' what a
cruel taste she has for music ! '

"'Arrah!' says my mother, 'don't be cursni' the
cow, that gives the milk to the childhcr.'

" ' Yis, I will,' says my father, ' why shouldn't I
curse sich an unnath'ral baste ? '

" ' You oughtn't to curse any livin' thing that's
undher your roof,' says my mother.

" ' By my sowl, thin,' says my father, ' she shan't be
undher my roof any more ; for I'll sind her to the fair
this minit,' says he, ' and sell her for whatever she'll
bring. Go aff,' says he, ' Shamus, the minit you've ate
your breakquest, and dhrive her to the fair.'

" ' Throth I don't like to dhrive her,' says I.

" ' Arrah, don't be makin' a gommagh of yourself,'
says he.

" ' Faith, I don't,' says 1.

" ' Well, like or no like,' says he, ' you must dhrive
her.'

108 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

" ' Sure, father,' says I, ' you could take more care iv
her yourself.'

" ' That's mighty good,' says he, * to keep a dog, '.nd
bark myself;' and, faith, I rec'llected the sayin' from
that hour ; — ' let me have no more words about it,' says
he, ' but be aff wid you.'

" So, aff I wint — and it's no lie I'm tellin', whin I
say it was sore agin my will I had any thing to do
with sich a villian of a baste. But, howsomever, I cut
ji brave long wattle, that I might dhrive the man-ater
iv a thief, as she was, without bein' near her, at all
at all.

" Well, away we wint along the road, and mighty
throng it wuz wid the boys and the girls — and, in
short, all sorts, rich and poor, high and low, crowdin' to
the fair.

God save you,' says one to me.
God save you kindly/ says I.
: That's a fine baste you're dhrivin,' says ho.

" ' Throth she is,' says I; though it wint agin my
heart to say a good word for the likes of her.

'"It's to the fair you're goin', I suppose, says he,
' with the baste ? ' (He was a snug-lookin' farmer, ridin'
a purty little gray hack.)

" ' Faith, thin you're right enough,' says I, ' it is to
the fair I'm goin'."

" ' What do you expec' for her ? ' says he.

" ' Faith, thin, mysel doesn't know,' says I — and that
was thrue enough, you see, bekase I was bewildhcred
like about the baste entirely.

" ' That's a quare way to be goin' to market,' says he,
' and not to know what you expec' for your baste.'

" ' Och,' says I — not likin' to let him suspict there
was anything wrong wid her — ' Och,' says I, in a careless
sort of a way, ' suro no one can toll what a baste 'ill
bring, antil they come to the fair,' says I, ' and see what
price is goin' '

" ' Indeed, that's nath'ral enough,' says he. 'But if

PADDY THE PIPER. 109

you wor bid a fair price before you come to the fair, sure
you might as well take it,' says he.

" ' Oh, I've no objection in life,' says I.

" ' Well, thin, what 'ill you ax for her ? " says he.

" ' Why, thin, I wouldn't like to be onraysonable,'
says I — (for the thruth was, you know I wanted to get
rid of her) — ' and so I'll take four pounds for her/ says
I, ' and no less.'

" ' No less ! ' says he.

" ' Why, sure that's chape enough,' says I.

" ' Throth it is,' says he ; ' and I'm thinking i'ts too
chape it is,' says he ; 'for if there wasn't somethin' the
matter, it's not for that you'd be sellin' the fine milch
cow, as she is to all appearance.'

" ' Indeed thin,' says I, ' upon my conscience, she is a
fine milch cow.'

" ' Maybe,' says he, ' she's gone off her milk, in regard
that she dosen't feed well ? '

" ' Och, by this and that/ says I, ' in regard of feedin'
there's not the likes of her in Ireland ; so make your
mind aisy — and if you like her for the money, you may
have her.'

" ' Why, indeed, I'm not in a hurry,' says he, ' and
I'll wait to see how they go in the fair.'

" ' With all my heart/ says I, purtendin' to be no
ways consarned — but in throth I began to be afeard that
the people was seein' somethin' unnath'ral about her,
and that we'd never get rid of her, at all at all. At
last we kem to the fair, and a great sight o' people was
in it — throth, you'd think the whole world was there,
let alone the standins o' gingerbread and iligant ribbins,
and makins o' beautiful gownds, and pitch-and-toss, and
merry-go-rouns, and tints with the best av dhrink in
thim, and the fiddles playin' up t' incourage the boys and
girls ; but I never minded thim at all, but detarmint to
sell the thievin' rogue av a cow afore I'd mind any
dr tirshin in life ; so an I dhriv her into the thick av
the fair, whin all of a suddint, as I kem to the door av

110 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

a tint, up sthruck the pipes to the tune av ' Tather- Jack-
Welsh,' and my jow'l, in a minit the cow cock'd her ears,
and was makin' a dart at the tint.

" ' Oh, murther ! ' says I, to the boys standin' by,
hould her,' says I, 'hould her — she ate one piper
already, the vagabone, and, bad luck to her, she wants
another now.'

" ' Is it a cow for to ate a piper ? ' says one o' thim.

" ' Not a word o' lie in it, for I seen his corpse my-
self, and nothin' left but the two legs,' says I ; ' and it's
a folly to be sthrivin' to hide it, for I see she'll never
lave it aff — as poor Paddy Grogan knows to his cost,
Lord be merciful to him.'

" ' Who's that takin' my name in vain ? ' says a voice
in the crowd ; and with that, shovin' the throng a one
side, who should I see but Paddy Grogan, to all
appearance.

" ' Oh, hould him too,' says I ; keep him av me, for
it's not himself at all, but his ghost,' says I, ' for he was
kilt last night to my sartin knowledge, every inch av
him, all to his legs.'

"Well, sir, with that, Paddy — for it was Paddy
himself, as it Item out afther — fell a laughin', that you'd
think his sides 'ud split ; and whin he kem to himself,
he ups and he tould uz how it was, as I towld you
already ; and the likes av the fun they made av me was
beyant tellin', for wrongfully misdoubtin' the poor cow,
and layin' the blame iv atin' a piper an her. So we all
wint into the tint to have it explained, and by gor it
took a full gallon o' sper'ts t' explain it ; and we
dl.i'ank health aixl long life to Paddy and the cow, and
Paddy played that day beyant all tellin', and many a
ons said the likes was never heerd before nor senec,
even from Paddy himself — and av cocrse the poor
slandhored cow was dhruv home agin, and many a
quiet day she had wid us afther that ; and whin she
died, throth my father had sitch a regard for the poor
thing, that he had her skinned, and an iligant pair of

PADDY THE PIPER. HI

breeches made out iv her hide, and it's in the family to
this day : and isn't it mighty remarkable it is, what I'm
goin' to tell you now, but it's as thrue as I'm here, that
from that day out, any one that has thim breeches an,
the minit a pair o' pipes sthrikes up, they can't rest, but
goes jiggin' and jiggin' in their sate, and never stops as
long as the pipes are playin' — and there," said he,
slapping the garment in question that covered his
sinewy limb, with a spank of his brawny hand that
might have startled nerves more tender than mine —
"there, them is the very breeches that's an me now,
and a fine pair they are this minit."

The foregoing story I heard related by a gentleman,
who said he was not aware to whom the original au ■
thorship was attributable.

THE PRIEST'S GHOST

•* Eermoine. — Pray you sit by us,
And tell's a tale.
Mamilius. — Merry or sad shall' t be ?
Her. — As merry as you will.
Mam. — A sad tale's best for winter;
I have one of sprites and goblins."
Winter's Tale.

** A sad tale's best for winter," saith the epigraph ;
and it was by the winter's hearth that I heard the fol-
lowing ghost-story, rendered interesting from the air of
reverential belief with which it was delivered from the
withered lips of an old woman.

Masses for the souls of the dead are amongst the most
cherished items of the Roman Catholic peasant's belief ;
and it was to prove how sacred a duty the mass for the
" soul of the faithful departed " is considered before the
eternal judgment-seat, that the tale was told, which I
shall endeavour to repeat as nearly as my memory will
serve, in the words of the original narrator. It was
a certain eve of St. John, as well as I can remember,
that the old dame gave as the rlato of the supernatural
occurrence.

"Whin Mary O'Malley, a friend of my mother's
(God rest her sowl !) and it was herself told me the
story : Mary O'Malley was in the chapel hearin' vespers
an the blessed eve o' Saint John, whin, you see, whether
it was that she was dhrowsy or tired afther the day's
work — for she was all day teddin' the new-cut grass,
for 'twas haymakin' sayson : or whether it was ordhered,*
and that it was all for the glory of God, and the repose

i

1 * A reverential mode the Irish have ol implying a dispensation of

providence.

THE PRIEST'S GHOST. 113

of a throubled sowl, or how it was, it doesn't become
me to say ; but, howsomever, Mary fell asleep in the
chapel, and sound enough she slep', for never a wink
she wakened antil every individhial craythur was gone,
and the chapel doors was locked. Well, you may
be sure it's poor Mary O'Malley was freken'd, and
thrimbl'd till she thought she'd ha' died on the spot,
and sure no wondher, considerin' she was locked up
in a chapel all alone, and in the dark, and no one
near her.

" Well, afther a time she recovered herself a little,
and she thought there was no use in life in settin' up
a phillelew, sthrivin' to make herself heerd, for she
knew well no livin' sowl was within call ; and so, on a
little considheration, whin she got over the first fright
at being left alone that-a-way, good thoughts kem into
her head to comfort her ; and sure she knew she
was in God's own house, and that no bad sper't daar
come there. So, with that, she knelt down agin, and
repeated her crados and pather-and-aves, over and
over, antil she felt quite sure in the purtection of hiv'n
— and then, wrappin' herself up in her cloak, she
thought she might lie down and sthrive to sleep
till mornin', whin — may the Lord keep us ! ' piously
ejaculated the old woman, crossing herself most de-
voutly— ' all of a suddint a light shined into the chapel
as bright as the light of day, and with that, poor
Mary, lookin' up, seen it shinin' out of the door of
the vesthry, and immediately, out walked, out of the
vesthry, a priest, dhressed in black vestments, and
going slowly up to the althar, he said, 'is there any
one here to answer this mass?'

" Well, my poor dear Mary thought the life 'id lave
her, for she dhreaded the priest was not of this world,
and she couldn't say a word ; and whin the priest ax'd
three times was there no one there to answer the mass,
and got no answer, he walked back agin into the
vesthry, and- in a minit all was dark agin ; but before

8

114 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

he wint, Mary thought he looked towards her, and she
said she'd never forget the melancholy light of his eyes,
and the look he gave her quite pitiful like ; and she
said she never heerd before nor sence such a wondherful
deep voice.

"Well, sir, the poor craythnr, the minit the sper't
was gone — for it was a sper't, God be good to us —
that minit the craythur fainted dead away ; and so I
suppose it was with her, from one faint into another,
for she knew nothin' more about any thing antil she
recovered and kem to herself in her mother's cabin
afther being brought home "ffom the chapel next
mornin' whin it was opened for mass, and she was
found there.

" I hear thin it was as good as a week before she
could lave her bed, she was so overcome by the mortial
terror she was in that blessed night, blessed as it was,
bein' the eve of a holy saint, and more by token, the
manes of givin' repose to a throubled sper't ; for you see
whin Mary tould what she had seen and heerd to her
clargy, his Eiverence, undher God, was enlightened to
see the maynin' of it all ; and the maynin' was this,
that he undherstood from hearin' of the priest appearin'
in black vestments, that it was for to say mass for the
dead that he kem there ; and so he supposed that the
priest durin' his lifetime had forgot to say a mass for the
dead that he was bound to say, and that his poor sowl
couldn't have rest antil that mass was said ; and that he
must walk* antil the duty was done.

" So Mary's clargy said to her, that as the knowledge
of this was made through her, and as his Eiverence said
she was chosen, he ax'd her would she go and keep

* The appearance of a troubled spirit is expressed, in Ireland, by the
phrase " he walks." — This is Shakspearian, as many other peculiar words
and phrases are, in Ireland

" I am thy father's spirit ;
Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night."

Hamlet.

THE PKIEST'S GHOST. 115

another vigil in the chapel, as his Eiverence said— and
thrue for him — for the repose of a sowl. So Mary bein'
a stout girl, and always good, and relyin' on doin' what
she thought was her duty in the eyes of God, said she'd
watch another night, but hoped she wouldn't be ax'd to
stay long in the chapel alone. So the priest tould her
'twould do if she was there a little afore twelve o'clock
at night ; for you know, sir, that people never appears
antil afther twelve, and from that till cock crow ;* and
so accordingly Mary wint on the night of the vigil,
and before twelve down she knelt in the chapel, and
began a countin' of her beads, and the craythur, she
thought every minit was an hour antil she'd be re-
laysed.

" Well, she wasn't kep' long ; for soon the dazzlin'
light burst from out of the vesthry door, and the same
priest kem out that appeared afore, and in the same
melancholy voice he ax'd when he mounted the althar,
' is there any one here to answer this mass ?'

" Well, poor Mary sthruv to spake, but the craythur
thought her heart was up in her mouth, and not a word
could she say ; and agin the word was ax'd from the
althar, and still she couldn't say a word ; but the sweat
ran down her forehead as thick as the winther's rain,
and immediately she felt relieved, and the impression
was taken aff her heart, like : and so, whin for the third
and last time the appearance said, ' Is there no one here
to answer this mass V poor Mary mutthered out, ' yis,'
as well as she could.

',' Oh, often I heerd her say the beautiful sight it was
to see the lovely smile upon the face of the sper't, as he
turned round, and looked kindly upon her, saying these
remarkable words — ' It's twenty years,' says he, ' I have
been askin' that question, and no one answered till this

• Again Shakspearian :

*' It was about to speak when the cock crew
And then it started like a guilty thing
Upon a fearful summons."

116 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

blessed night, and a blessin' be on her that answered,
and now my business on earth is finished ;' and with
that he vanished, before you could shut your eyes.

" So never say, sir, it's no good praying for the dead ;
for you see that even the sowl of a priest couldn't have
pace, for forgettin' so holy a thing as a mass for the sowl
of the faithful departed."

NEW POTATOES.

AN IKISH MELODY.

" Great cry, and little wool."

Old Sayings.

In the merry month of Juno, or thereabouts, the afore-
said melody may be heard, in all the wailing intonation
of its minor third, through every street of Dublin.

We Irish are conversational, the lower orders par-
ticularly so ; and the hawkers, who frequent the streets,
often fill the lapses that occur between their cries, by a
current conversation with some passing friend, occa-
sionally broken by the deponent " labouring in her
calling," and yelling out, " Brave lemons," or " Green
pays," in some awkward interval, frequently productive
of very ludicrous effects.

Such was the case, as I happened to overhear a con-
versation between Katty, a black-eyed dealer in " New
pittayatees ! " and her friend Sally, who had "Fine
fresh Dublin-bay herrings ! " to dispose of. Sally, to
do her justice, was a very patient hearer, and did not
interrupt her friend with her own cry in the least ;
whether it was from being interested in her friend's little
misfortunes, or that Katty was one of those " out-and-
outers" in story-telling, who, when once they begin,
will never leave off, nor even allow another to edge in
a word, as " thin as a sixpence," I will not pretend to
say ; but certain it is, Katty, in the course of her history,
had it all her own way, like " a bull in a chaynee-shop,"
as she would have said herself.

118 LEGENDS AND 8T0REES.

Such is the manner in which the following sketch
from nature came into my possession. That it is
altogether slang, I premise ; and give all fastidious
persons fair warning, that if a picture from low life be
not according to their taste, they can leave it unread
rather than blame me for too much fidelity in my outline.
So here goes at a scma, as the Italians say.

«*MY NEW PITTAYATEES *»

Enter Katty, with a gray cloak, a dirty cap, and a black eye ; a sieve of
potatoes on her head, and a "trifle o' sper'ts" in it. Katty meanders
down Patrick-street.

Katty — " My new Pittayatees ! — My-a-new Pit-
tayatees 1 — My new — "

(Meeting a friend.)

Sally, darlin', is that you ?

Sally — Throth, it's myself ; and what's the matther
wid you, Katty ?

Kat. — 'Deed my heart's bruk, cryin'— -" New pit-
tayatees " — cryin' afther that vagabone.

Sal.— Is it Mike ?

Kat. — Throth, it's himself indeed.

Sal.— And what is it he done ?

Kat Och ! he ruined me with his: — " New pittaya-
tees " — with his goins-an — the owld thing my deal' —

Sal. — Throwin' up his little finger, I suppose* ?

Kat. — Yis, my darlint : he kem home th' other night,
blazin' blind dhrunk, cryin' out — " New pittay-a-tees ! "
— roarin' andbawlin', that you'd think he'd rise the roof
aff o' the house.

"Bad luck attend you; bad cess to you, you pot-
wallopin' varmint," says he, (maynin' me, i' you plaze)
— " wait till I ketch you, you sthrap, and it's I'll give
you your fill iv " — ' New pittayatees ! ' — " your fill iv a
licking, if ever you got it," says he.

So, with that, I knew the villian was muhathered\ ;
let alone the heavy fut o' the miscrayint an the stairs3
that a child might know he was done for — " My new pit-
tayatees !" — Throth, he was done to a turn, like a
mutton-kidney.

Sal. — Musha ! God help you, Katty.

* Getting drunk. t Intoxicated.

120 LEGENDS AXD STORIES.

Kat. — Oli, wait till you hear the ind o' my — " New
pittayatees ! " — o' my throubles, and it's then you'll open
your eyes — "My new pittayatees ! "

Sal. — Oh, bud I pity you.

Kat. — Oh, wait — wait, my jewel — wait till you hear
what became o' — u My new pittayatees ! " — wait till I
tell you the ind of it. Where did I lave aff ? Oh, ay,
at the stairs.

Well, as he was comin' up stairs, (knowin' how it ud
be,) I thought it best to take care o' my — " New pittay-
atees ! " — to take care o' myself ; so with that I put
the bowlt an the door, betune me and danger, and kep'
listnin' at the key-hole ; and sure enough, what should
I hear but — " New pittayatees ! " — but the vagabone
gropin' his way round the cruked turn in the stair, and
tumblin' afther into the hole in the flure an the landin',
and whin he come to himself he gev a thunderin' thump
at the door. " Who's there ? " says I : says he — " New
pittayatees ! " — " let me in," says he, " you vagabone,
(swarein' by what I wouldn't mintion,) or by this and
that, I'll massacray you," says he, " within an inch o' —
' New pittayatees ■' ' within an inch o' your life," says
he. " Mikee, darlint," says I, sootherin' him.

Sal. — Why would you call sitch a 'tarnal vagabone,
darlint ?

Kat. — My jew'l, didn't I tell you I thought it best
to soother him with — "New pittayatees!" — with a
tindher word : so, says I, " Mikee, you villian, you're dis-
guised," says I, " your disguised, dear."

" You lie," says he, " you impident sthrap, I'm not
disguised; but, if I'm disguised itself," says he, "I'll
make you know the differ," says he.

Oh ! I thought the life id lave me, when I heerd him
say the word ; and with that I put my hand an — " My
new pittayatees !" — an the latch o' the door, to purvint
it from slippin' ; and he ups and he gives a wicked kick
at the door, and says he, " If you don't let me in this
minit," says he, "I'll be the death o' your — "New

MY NEW PITTAYATEES. 121

pittayatees .'" — o' yourself and your dirty breed," says
he. Think o' that, Sally dear, to abuse my relations.

Sal. — Oh, the ruffin.

Kat. — Dirty breed, indeed ! By my sowkins, they're
as good as his any day in the year, and was never
behoulden to — " New pittayatees!" — to go a beggin' to
the mendicity for their dirty — "New pittayatees !" —
their dirty washins o' pots, and sarvints' lavins, and dogs'
bones, all as one as that cruk'd disciple of his mother's
cousin's sisther, the owld dhrunken aper-se-and, as she is.

Sal. — No, in throth, Katty dear.

Kat. — Well, where was I ? Oh, ay, I left off at —
"New pittayatees !" — I left off at my dirty breed.
Well, at the word " dirty breed," I knew full well the
bad dhrop was up in him — and, faith it's soon and
suddint he made me sensible av it, for the first word he
said was — "New pittayatees !" — the first word he said
was to put his shoulder to the door, and in he bursted
the door, fallin' down in the middle o' the fiure, cryin'
out — " New pittayatees !" — cryin' out, " bad luck attind
you," says he, " how dar' yo\i refuse to lit me into my
own house, you sthrap," says he, " agin the law o' the
land," says he, scramblin' up on his pins agin, as well as
he could ; and, as he was risin', says I — "New pittayatees !"
— says I to him (screeching out loud, that the neighbours
in the fiure below might hear me), " Mikee, my darlint,"
says I.

" Keep the pace, you vagabone," says he ; and with
that, he hits me a lick av a — "New pittayatees!" — a
lick av a stick he had in his hand, and down I fell
(and small blame to me), down I fell on the fiure,
cryin' — "New pittayatees!" — cryin' out, "Murther!
murther!"

Sal. — Oh, the hangin' bone villian !

Kat.— Oh, that's not all ! As I was risin', my jew'l,

he was going to sthrek me agin ; and with that I cried

out — "New pittayatees!" — I cried out, "Fair play,

Mikee," says I "don't sthrek a man down;" but he

122 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

wouldn't listen to rayson, and was goin' to hit me
agin, when I put up the child that was in my arms
betune me and harm. " Look at your babby, Mikee,"
says I. " How do I know that, you nag-hoppin' jade,"
says he. (Think o' that, Sally, jew'l — misdoubtin' my
vartue, and I an honest woman, as I am. God help
me!!!)

Sal. — Oh ! bud you're to be pitied, Katty dear.

Kat. — Well, puttin' up the child betune me and
harm, as he was risin' his hand — " Oh ! " says I, " Mikee,
darlint, don't sthrek the babby ;" but, my dear, before
the word was out o' my mouth, he sthruk the babby.
(I thought the life 'id lave me.) And, iv coorse, the
poor babby, that never spuk a word, began to cry —
" New pittayatees !" — began to cry and roar, and bawl,
and no wondher.

Sal. — Oh, the haythen, to go sthrek the child.

Kat. — And, my jew'l, the neighbours in the flure
below, hearin' the skrimmage, kem runnin' up the stairs,
cryin' out — " New pittayatees" — cryin' out, "Watch,
watch, Mikee M'Evoy," says they, "would youmurther
your wife, youvillian?" "What's that to you?" says
he ; " isn't she my own ? " says he, " and if I plaze to
make her feel the weight o' my — "New pittayatees" —
the weight o' my fist, what's that to you ? " says he ;
"it's none o' your business, any how, so keep your
tongue in your jaw, and your toe in your pump, and
'twill be betther for your — " New pittayatees — "twill be
betther for your health, I'm thinking" says he ; and
| with that he looked cruked at thim, and squared up
j to one o' thim — (a poor definceless craythur, a tailor).

"Would you fight your match?" says the poor
innocent man.

"Lave my sight," says Mike, "or, by jingo, I'll put
a stitch in your side, my jolly tailor," says he.

" Yiv put a stitch in your wig already," says the tailor
" and that'll do for the present writin'."

And with that, Mikee was goin' to hit him with a—

MY NEW PITTAYATEES. 123

" New pittayatees " — a lift-hander ; but he was cotch
howld iv before he could let go his blow ; and who
should stand up forninst him, but—" My new pittayatees"
— but the tailor's wife ; (and, by my sowl, it's she that's
the sthrapper, and more's the pity she's thrown away
upon one o' the sort ;) and says she, " let me at him,"
says she, " it's I that used to give a man a lickin' every
day in the week ; you're bowld an the head now, you
vagabone," says she ; " but if I had you alone," says
she, " no matther if I wouldn't take the consait out o'
your — " New pittayatees" — out o' your braggin' heart ; "
and that's the way she wint an ballyraggin' him ; and,
by gor, they all tuk patthern afther her, and abused
him, my dear, to that degree, that I vow to the Lord,
the very dogs in the sthreet wouldn't lick his blood.

Sal. — Oh, my blessin' an thini.

Kat. — And with that, one and all, they begun to
cry — "New pittayatees!" — they began to cry him
down; and, at last, they all swore out, "Hell's bells
attind your berrin," says they, " you vagabone," as
they just tuk him up by the scruff o' the neck, and
threw him down the stairs ; every step he'd take, you'd
think he'd brake his neck, (Glory be to God !) and so
I got rid o' the ruffin ; and then they left me cryin' —
"New pittayatees!" — cryin' afther the vagabone —
though the angels knows well he wasn't desarvin' o' one
precious drop that fell from my two good-lookin' eyes :
— and, oh ! but the condition he left me in.

Sal. — Lord look down an you !

Kat. — And a purty sight it id be, if you could see
how I was lyin' in the middle o' the Sure, cryin' —
" New pittayatees V — cryin' and roarin', and the poor
child, with his eye knocked out, in the corner cryin' —
"New pittayatees!" — and, indeed, every one in the
place was cryin' — " New pittayatees !"

Sal. — And no wondher, Katty dear.

Kat. — Oh, bud that's not all. If you seen the con-
dition the place was in afther it ; it was turned upside

124 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

down, like a beggar's breeches. Throth, I'd rather be
at a bull-bait than at it — enough to make an honest
woman cry — " New pittayatees ! ' ' — to see the daycent
room rack'd and ruin'd, and my cap tore aff my head
into tatthers — throth, you might riddle bull-dogs
through it ; and bad luck to the hap'orth he left me,
but a few — "New pittayatees I" — a few coppers; for
the morodin' thief spint all his — " New pittayatees /" —
all his wages o' the whole week in makin' a baste iv
himself; and God knows but that comes aisy to him !
and divil a thing had I to put inside my face, nor a
dhrop to dhrink, barrin' a few — " New pittayatees !" —
a few grains o' tay, and the ind iv a quarther o' sugar,
and my eyes as big as your fist, and as black as the pot,
(savin' your presence), and a beautiful dish iv — " New
pittayatees!" — dish iv delf, that I bought only last
week in Temple-bar, bruk in three halves, in the middle
o' the ruction — and the rint o' the room not ped — and
I dipindin' only an — " New pittayatees" — an cryin' a
sieve-full o' pratees, or schreechin' a lock o' savoys, or
the like.

But I'll not brake your heart any more, Sally dear ;
— God's good, and never opens one door but he shuts
another, and that's the way iv it ; an' strinthins the
wake with — " Neio pittayatees" — with his purtection —
and may the widely and the orphin's blessin' be an his
name, I pray ! — And my thrust is in Divine Providence,
that was always good to me — and sure I don't despair ;
but not a night that I kneel down to say my prayers,
that I don't pray for — " New pittayatees" — for all
manner o' bad luck to attind that vagabone, Mikee
M'Evoy. My curse light an him this blessid minit;
and —

[A voice at a distance calls, " Potatoes."^

Kat. — Who calls ? — (Perceives her customer.) — Here,
Ma'am, — Good-bye, Sally, darlint — good-bye. " Keu:
pittay-a~tees."

[Exit Katty ly the Cross Poddle."]

PADDY THE SPORT.

" My lord made himself much sport out of him ; hy his authority he re-
mains here, which he thinks is a patent for his sauciness."

" He will lie, sir, with such volubility, that you would think truth were
a fool. — Drunkenness is his best virtue."

All's "Well That End's "Well.

During a sojourn of some days in the county of
- , visiting a friend, who was anxious to afford as
much amusement to his guests as country sports could
furnish, " the dog and the gun" were, of course, put
into requisition ; and the subject of this sketch was a
constant attendant on the shooting-party.

He was a tall, loose-made, middle-aged man, rather
on the elder side of middle-age, perhaps — fond of
wearing an oil-skinned hat and a red waistcoat — much
given to lying and tobacco, and an admirable hand at
filling a game-bag or emptying a whiskey-flask ; andif
game was scarce in the stubbles, Paddy was sure to
create plenty of another sort for his master's party, by
the marvellous stories he had ever at his command.
Such was " Paddy the Sport," as the country-people
invariably called him,

Paddy was fond of dealing in mystification, which he
practised often on the peasants, whom he looked upon
as an inferior class of beings to himself — considering
that his office of sportsman conferred a rank upon him
that placed him considerably above them, to say nothing
of the respect that was due to one so adroit in the use
of the gun as himself ; and, by the way, it was quite a
scene to watch the air of self-complacency that Paddy,
after letting fly both barrels into a covey, and dropping
his brace of birds as dead as a stone, quietly let down
the piece from his shoulder, and commenced reloading,

126 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

looking about him the while with an admirable careless-
ness, and when his piece was ready for action again;
returning his ramrod with the air of a master, and then,
throwing the gun into the hollow of his arm, walk
forward to the spot where the birds were lying, and
pick them up in the most business-like manner.

But to return to Paddy's love of mystification. One
day I accompanied him, or perhaps it would be fitter to
say he acted as guide, in leading me across a country to
a particular point, where I wanted to make a sketch.
His dogs and gun, of course, bore him company, though
I was only armed with my portfolio; and we beat
across the fields, merrily enough, until the day became
overcast, and a heavy squall of wind and rain forced us
to seek shelter in the first cottage we arrived at. Here
the good woman's apron was employed in an instant in
dusting a three-legged stool to oiler to " the gintle-
man," and "Paddy the Sport" was hailed with welcome
by every one in the house, with whom he entered into
conversation in his usual strain of banter and mystifica-
tion.

I listened for some time to' the passing discourse;
but the bad weather still continuing, I began amusing
myself, until it should clear, in making an outline of a
group of dogs that were stretched upon the floor of the
cabin, in a small green covered sketching-book that I
generally carry about me for less important memoranda.
This soon caused a profound silence around me; the
silence was succeeded by a broken whisj)ermg, and
Mr. Paddy, at last approaching me with a timidity of
manner I could not account for, said — " Sure, sir, it
wouldn't be worth your while to mind puttin' down the
pup ? " pointing to one that had approached the group
of dogs, and had commenced his awkward gambols with
his seniors.

I told him I considered the pup as the most desirable
thing to notice ; but scarcely were the words uttered,
until the old woman cried out, " Terry, take that cur

PADDY THE SPORT. 127

out o' that — I'm sure I don't know what brings all the
dogs here : " and Terry caught up the pup in his arms,
and was running away with him, when I called after
him to stop ; but 'twas in vain. He ran like a hare
from me ; and the old lady, seizing a branch of a furse-
bush from a heap stowed beside the chimney corner for
fuel, made an onset on the dogs, and drove them
yelping from the house.

I was astonished at this, and perceived that the air of
every one in the cottage was altered towards me ; and
instead of the civility which had saluted my entrance,
estranged looks, or direct ones of no friendly character,
were too evident. I was about to inquire the cause,
when Paddy the Sport, going to the door, and casting
a weather-wise look abroad, said, " I think, sir, we
may as well be goin' — and, indeed, the day's clearin'
up fine afther all, and 'ill be beautiful yit. Good-bye
to you, Mrs. Flannerty," — and off went Paddy ; and I
followed immediately, having expressed my thanks to
the aforesaid Mrs. Flannerty, making my most engaging
adieu, which, however, was scarcely returned.

On coming up with my conductor, I questioned him
touching what the cause might be of the strange altera-
tion in the manner of the cottagers, but all his answers
were unsatisfactory or evasive.

We pursued our course to the point of destination.
The day cleared, as was prophesied — Paddy killed his
game — I made my sketch — and we bent our course
homeward, as the evening was closing. After proceed-
ing for a mile or two, I pointed to a tree in the distance,
and asked Paddy what very large bird it could be that
was sitting in it.

After ' looking sharply for some time, he said, " It a
bird, is it? — throth, it's a bird that never flew yit."

"What is it then ? " said I.

" It's a dog that's hangin'," said he.

And he was right — for as we approached, it became
more evident every moment. But my surprise was

128 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

excited, when, having scarcely passed the suspended
dog, another tree rose up in my view, in advance, deco-
rated by a pendant brace of the same breed.

" By the powers ! there's two more o' thim," shouted
Paddy. " Why, at this rate, they have had more
sportin' nor myself," said he. And I could see an
expression of mischievous delight playing over the fea-
tures of Mr. Paddy, as he uttered the sentence.

As we proceeded, we perceived almost every seconc
bush had been converted into a gallows for the canine
race ; and I could not help remarking to my compa-
nion, that we were certainly in a very hang-doc
country.

" Throth, thin, you may thank yourself for it," saic
he, laughing outright ; for, up to this period, his mirth
though increasing at every fresh execution he perceived
had been smothered.

" Thank myself," said I—" how ? "

; By my sowl, you frekened the whole counthry this
said he, " with that little green book o
yours "

" Is it my sketch-book ? " said I.

" By gor, all the people thought it was a ketch-
book, sure enough, and that you wor goin' round the
counthry, to ketch all the dogs in it, and make thin
pay "

" What do you mean ? " said I.

"Is it what I mane you want to know, sir ?—
throth, thin, I don't know how I can tell it to a gintle-
man, at all at all."

" Oh, you may tell me."

" By gor, sir, I wouldn't like offindin' your honour
but you see, (since you must know, sir,) that whin yen
tula that little green book out iv your pocket, they tut
you for — savin' your presence — by gor, I don't like
tellin' you."

" Tut, nonsense, man," said I.

" Well, sir (since you must know), by dad, they tuL

PADDY THE SPORT. 129

you — I beg your honour's pardon — but, by dad, they
tuk you for a tax-gatherer."
" A tax-gatherer ! "

" Divil a lie in it ; and whin they seen you takin off
the dogs, they thought it was to count thim, to make
thim pay for thim ; and so, by dad, they thought it
best, I suppose, to hang them out o' the way."

" Ha ! Paddy," said I, " I see this is a piece of your
knavery, to bewilder the poor people."

' Is it me ?" says Paddy, with a look of assumed
innocence, that avowed, in the most provoking manner,
the inward triumph of Paddy in his own hoax.

"'Twas too much, Paddy," said I, "to practise so far
on innocent people."

" Innocent !" said Paddy. " They're just about as
innocent as a coal o' fire in a bag o' flax."
" And the poor animals, too !" said I.
" Is it the blackguard curs ?" said Paddy, in the most
sportsmanlike wonder at my commiserating any but a
spaniel or pointer.

" Throth, thin, sir, to tell you thruth, I let thim go
an in their mistake, and I seen all along how 'twould be,
and, 'pon my conscience, but a happy riddance the
counthry will have o' sich riff-raff varmint of cabin curs.
Why, sir, the mangy mongrels goes about airly in the
sayson, moroding through the corn, and murthers the
young birds, and does not let them come to their full
time, to be killed in their nath'ral way, and ruinin'
gintlemen's sport into the bargain, and sure hangin' is
all that's good for them."

So much for Paddy's mystifying powers. Of this
coup he was not a little vain, and many a laugh he has
made at my expense afterwards, by telling the story of
the "painter gintleman that was mistuk for a tax-
gatherer."

Paddy being a professed story-teller, and a notorious
liar, it may be naturally inferred that he dealt largely
in fairy tales and ghost stories. Talking of fairies one

9

130 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

day, for the purpose of exciting him to say something of
them, I inquired if there were many fairies in that part
of the country.

" Ah ! no, sir !" said he, with the air of a sorrowing
patriot — " not now. There was wanst a power of fairies
used to keep about the place; but sence the rale
quol'ty — the good owld families — has left it, and the up-
starts has kern into it — the fairies has quitted it all out,
and wouldn't stay here, but is gone further back into
Connaught, where the owld blood is."

" But, I dare say, you have seen them some-
times ?"

" No, indeed, sir. I never saw tlurn, barrin' wanst,
and that was whin I was a boy ; but I heerd them
often."

" How did you know it was fairies you heard ?"

" Oh. what else could it be 1 Sure it was crossin'
out over a road I was in the time o' the ruction, and
heard full a thousand men marchin' down the road, and
by dad I lay down in the gripe o' the ditch, not wishin'
to be soon, nor liken to be throublesome to thim ; and I
watched who they wor, and was peepin' out iv a turf o'
rishes, when what should I see but nothin' at all, to all
appearance, but the thrampin' o' min, and a clashin',
and a jinglin', and that you'd think the infanthry, and
yeomanthry, and cavalthry was in it, and not a sight iv
anything to be seen, but the brightest o' moonlight that
ever kem out of the hivins."

" And that was all ?"

" Divil a more ; and by dad 'twas more nor I'd like
to see or to hear agin."

" But you never absolutely saw any fairies V

" Why, indeed, sir, to say that I seen thim, that is
with my own eyes, wouldn't be thrue, barrin' wanst, as
I said before, and that's many a long day ago, whin I
was a boy, and I and another chap was watchin' turf in
a bog ; and whin the night was fallin' and we wor goin'
home, ' What would you think,' says T, ' Charley, if we

PADDY THE SPOBT. 131

wor to go home by old Shaughnessey's field, and stale a
shafe o' pays V So he agreed, and off we wint to stale
the pays ; but whin we got over the fince, and Avas
creepin' along the furrows for fear of bein' seen, I heerd
some one runnin' afther me, and I thought we wor
cotch, myself and the boy, and I turned round, and
with that I seen two girls dhressed in white — throth I
never seen sitch white in my born days — they wor as
white as the blown snow, and runnin' like the wind,
and I knew at wanst that they wor fairies, and I threw
myself down an my face, and by dad I was aferad to
look up for nigh half an hour."

I inquired of him what sort of faces these fine girls
had.

" Oh, the divil a stim o' their faytures I could see,
for the minit I clapt my eyes on thim, knowin they
wor fairies, I fell down, and darn't look at thim
twicet."

" It was a pity you did not remark them," said I.

" And do you think it's a fool I am, to look twicet at
a fairy, and maybe have my eyes whipt out iv my head,
or turned into stones, or stone blind, which is all as
one."

" Then you can scarcely say you saw them ?"
says I.

" Oh, by dad, I can say I seen thim, and sware it
for that matther ; at laste, there was somethin' I seen as
white as the blown snow."

" Maybe they were ghosts, and not fairies," said I ;
" ghosts, they say, are always seen in white."

" Oh, by all that's good, they warn't ghosts, and that
I know full well, for I know the differ betune ghosts
and fairies."

" You have had experience then in both, I suppose."

" Faix you may say that. Oh I had a wondherful
great appearance wanst that kem to me, or at laste
to the house where I was, for, to be sure, it wasn't
to me it kem, why should it? But it was whin I

132 LEGENDS AND STOEIES.

was livin' at the lord's in the next county, before I
kem to live with his honour here, that I saw the
appo" ranee."

" In what shape did it come ? "

" Throth thin I can't well tell you what shape ; for
you see whin. I heerd it comin' I put my head undher
the clothes, and never looked up, nor opened my eyes
until I heerd it was gone."

" But how do you know that it was a ghost ? "

" Oh, sure all the country knew the house was
throubled, and, indeed, that was the rayson I had fo:
lavin' it, for whin my lord turned me off^ he was
expectin' that I'd ax to be tuk back agin, and faith
sorry he was, I go bail, that I didn't, but I wouldn't
stay in the place and it hanted ! "

" Then it was haunted ? "

" To be sure it was ; sure I tell you, sir, the sper'i
kem to me."

" Well, Paddy, that was only civil — returning i
visit ; for I know you are fond of going to the spirits
occasionally."

" Musha, bud your honour is always jokin' me abou
the dhrop. Oh, bud faith the sper't. kem to me, anc
whin I hid my head undher the clothes, sure didn't '.
feel the sper't sthrivin' to pull them aff o' me. But war
and I'll tell you how it was. — You see, myself anc
another sarvant was sleepin' in one room, and by th(
same token, a thievin' rogue he was the same sarvant
and I heerd a step comin' down the stairs, and the latel
was riz, but the door was locked, for I turned the kej
in it myself ; and whin the sper't seen the latch wa:
fast, by dad the key was turned in the door, (though ii
was inside, av coorse,) and the sper't walked in, and ]
heerd the appearance walkin' about the place, and i
kem and shuk me : but as I tould you, I shut my eyes
and rowled my head up in the clothes ; well with that
it wint and raked the fire, (for I suppose it was cowld,
but the fire was a'most gone out, and with that it wini

PADDY THE SPORT. 133

to the turf-bucket to see if there was any sods there to
throw an the fire ; but not a sod there was left, for we
wor sittin' up late indeed, (it bein' the young lord's
birth-day, and we wor drinkin' his health,) and whin it
couldn't find any turf in the bucket, bad cess to me but
it began to kick the buckets up and down the room for
spite, and divil such a clatter I ever heerd as the sper't
made, kickin' the turf-bucket like a fut-ball round the
place ; and whin it was tired plazin' itself that-a-way,
the appearance came and shuk me agin, and I roared
and bawled at last, and thin away it wint, and slammed
the door afther it, that you'd think it id pull the house
down."

" I'm afraid, Paddy," said I, " that this was nothing
more than a troublesome dream."

" Is it a dhrame, your honour ! That a dhrame !
By my sowl, that id be a quare dhrame ! Oh, in throth
it was no dhrame it was, but an appearance ; but indeed,
afther, I often thought it was an appearance for death,
for the young lord never lived to see another birth-day.
Oh, you may look at me, sir, but it's thruth. Aye, and
I'll tell you what's more : the young lord, the last time
I seen him out, was one day he was huntin', and he
came in through the back yard, and passed through
that very room to go up by the stairs, and, as he wint
in through that very door that the appearance slammed
afther it — what would you think, but he slammed the
door afther it the very same way ; and indeed I
thrimbled whin I thought iv it. He was in a hurry to

be sure ; but I think there was some maynin' in it "

and Paddy looked mysterious.

After the foregoing satisfactory manner in which
Paddy showed so clearly that he understood the differ-
ence between a ghost and a fairy, he proceeded to
enlighten me with the further distinction of a spirit, from
either of them. This was so very abstruse, that I shall
not attempt to take the elucidation of the point out of
Paddy's own hands ; and should you, gentle reader,

134 1EGENDS AND STORIES.

ever have the good fortune to make his acquaintance,
Paddy, I have no doubt, will clear up the matter aa
fully and clearly to your satisfaction as he did to mine.
But I must allow Paddy to proceed in his own way.

" Well, sir, before I go an to show you the differ
betune the fairies and spert's, I must tell you about a
mighty quare thrick the fairies were goin' to play at the
lord's house, whin the appearance kem to me, only that
the nurse (and she was an aunt o' my own) had the
good luck to baulk thini. You see the way it was, was
this. The child was a man-child, and it was the first
boy was in the family for many a long day ; for they
say there was a prophecy standin' agin the family, that
there should be no son to inherit : but at last there was
a boy, and a lovely fine babby it was, as you'd see in a
summer's day ; and so, one evenin', that the fam'ly, my
lord and my lady, and all o' thim, was gone out, and
gev the nurse all sorts o' charges about takin' care o'
the child, she was not long alone, whin the housekeeper
kem to her, and ax'd her to come down stairs, where
she had a party; and they expected to be mighty
pleasant, and was to have great goins an ; and so the
nurse said she didn't like lavin the child, and all to that ;
but, howsomever, she was beguiled into the thing ; and
she said at last that as soon as she left the child out iv
her lap, where she was hushing it to sleep, forninst the
fire, that she'd go down to the rest o' the sarvants, and
take share o' what was goin'.

" Well, at last the child was fast asleep, and the nurse
laid it an the bed, as careful as if it was goolden
diamonds, and tucked the curtains roun about the bed,
and made it as safe as Newgate, and thin she wint
down, and joined the divarshin — and merry enough
they wor, at playin' iv cards, and dhrmkin' punch, and
dancin', and the like o' that.

" But I must tell you, that before she wint down at
all, she left one o' the housemaids to stay in the room,
and charged her, on her apparel, not to lave the place

PADDY THE SPORT. 135

until she Item back ; but, for all that, her fears wouldn't
let her be aisy ; and, indeed, it was powerful lucky that
she had an inklin' o' what was goin' an. For, what id
you think, but the blackguard iv a housemaid, as soon
as she gets the nurse's back turned, she ups and she
goes to another party was in the sarvants' hall, wid the
undher-sarvants ; for whin the lord's back was turnci,
you see, the house was all as one as a play-house, fairly
turned upside clown.

" Well, as I said, the nurse (undher God) had an
inklin' o' what was to be : for, though there was all
sorts o' divarshin goin' an in the housekeeper's room,
she could not keep the child out iv her head, and she
thought she heerd the screeches av it rinsrin' in her ear
every minit, although she knew full well she was far
beyant where the cry o' the child could be heerd — but
still the cry was as plain in her ear as the ear-ring she
had in it ; and so at last she grewn so onaisy about the
child, that she was goin' up stairs agin — but she was
stopped by one, and another coaxed her, and another
laughed at her, till at last she grew ashamed of doin'
what was right, (and God knows, but many a one iv
uz is laughed out o' doin' a right thing,) and so she sat
down agin — but the cry in her ears wouldn't let her be
aisy ; and at last she tuk up her candle, and away she
wint up stairs.

" Well, afther passin' the two first flights, sure enough
she heerd the child a screechin', that id go to your heart ;
and with that she hurried up so fast, that the candle
a'most wint out with the draught ; and she run into the
room, and wint up to the bed, callin' out My lanna bawn,
and all to that, to soother the child ; and pullin' open
the bed-curtain, to take the darlin' up — but what would
you think, not a sign o' the child was in the bed, good,
bad, or indifferent ; and she thought the life id lave her ;
for thin she was afeard the child dhropped out o' the bed
— though she thought the curtains was tucked so fast
and so close, that no accident could happen ; and so she

136 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

run round to the other side, to take up the child, (though,
indeed, she was afeard she'd see it with its brains dashed
out,) and lo and behould you, divil a taste iv it was there,
though she heerd it screechin' as if it was murtherin' ;
and so thin she didn't know what in the wide world to
do ; and she run rootin' into every corner o' the room,
lookin' for it : but bad cess to the child she could find
— whin, all iv a suddint, turnin' her eyes to the bed
agin, what did she persave, but the fut-carpet that wint
round the bed, goin' by little and little undher it, as if
some one was pullin' it ; and so she made a dart at the
carpet, and cotch hould o' the ind iv it — and, with that,
what should she see, but the baby lyin' in the middle o'
the fut-carpet, as if it was dhrawiu down into the flure,
undher the bed ; one half o' the babby was out o' sight
already, undher the boords, whin the nurse seen it, and
it screechin' like a sae-gull, and she laid houl' iv it ; and
faith, she often towl' myself, that she was obleeged to
give a good sthrong pull before she could get the child

from the fairies "

" Then it was the fairies were taking the child away 1 "
said I.

" Who else would it be ?" said Paddy ! Sure the carpet
wouldn't be runnin" undher the bed itself, if it wasn't
pulled by the fairies ! — besides, I towl' you there was a
prophecy stannin' agin the male boys of the lord's
family."

" I hope, however, that boy lived ?"
" Oh yes, sir, the charm was bruk that night; for the
other childher used to be tuk away always by the fairies;
and that night the child id have been tuk, only for the
nurse, that was givin (undher God) to undherstan' the
screechin' in her ears, and arrived betimes to ketch howlt
o' the carpet, and baulk the fairies ; for all knowledgable
people I ever heerd, says, that if you baiilk the fairies
wanst, they'll lave you alone evermore."

" Pray, did she see any of the fairies that were steal-
ing the child ?"

PADDY THE SPORT. 137

" No, sir ; the fairies doesn't love to be seen, and
seldom at all you get a sight iv them ; and that's the
differ I was speakin' iv to you betune fairies and sper'ts.
Now the sper'ts is always seen in some shape or other ;
and maybe it id be a bird, or shafe o' corn, or a big
stone, or a hape o' dung, or the like o' that, and never
know 'twas a sper't at all, antil you wor made'sinsible av
it, some how or other; maybe it id be that you wor
comin' home from a friend's house late at night, and you
might fall down, and couldn't keep a leg undher you,
and not know why, barrin' it was a sper't misled you —
and maybe it's in a ditch you'd find yourself asleep in
the mornin' whin you woke."

" I dare say, Paddy, that same has happened to your-
self before now ?"

" Throth, and you may say that, sir ; but the com-
monest thing in life is for a sper't for to take the shape
iv a dog — which is a favourite shape with sper'ts — and,
indeed, Tim Mooney, the miller, in the next town, waj
a'most frekened out iv his life by a sper't that-a-way ;
and he'd ha' been murthered, only he had the good looci.
to have a rale dog wid him — and a rale dog is the fines'
thing in the world agin sper'ts."

" How do you account for that, Paddy ?"
" Bekase, sir, the dog's the most sinsible, and the
bowldest baste, barrin' the cock, which is bowldher for
his size than any o' God's craythurs ; and so, whin the
cock crows, all evil sper'ts vanishes ; and the dog bein',
as I said, bowld, and sinsible also, is mighty good ; be-
sides, you couldn't make a cock your companion — it
wouldn't be nath'ral to rayson, you know — and there-
fore a dog is the finest thing in the world for a man to
have with him in throublesome places : but I must tell
you, that though sper'ts dhreads a dog, a fairy doesn't
mind him — for I have heerd o' fairies ridin' a dog, all as
one as a monkey — and a lanthern also is good, for the
sper't o' darkness dhreads the light. But this is not
tellin' you about Mooney the miller : — he was comin'

138 LEGENDS AOT> STORIES.

home, you see, from a neighbour's, and had to pass by a
rath ; and whin he just kem to the rath, his dog that
was wid him (and a brave dog he was, by the same
token) began to growl, and gev a low bark ; and with
that, the miller seen a great big baste of a black dog
comin' up to thim, and walks a one side iv him, all as
one as if he was his masther ; with that Mooney's own
dog growled agin, and runs betune his master's lee;.;,
and there he staid walkin' on wid him, for to purteet
him ; and the miller was frekened a'most out iv his liiv,
and his hair stood up sthrait an his head, that he was
obleeged to put his hand up to his hat, and shove it
down an his head, and three times it was that way, that
his hair was risin' the hat aff his head with the fright,
and he was obleeged to howld it down, and his dog
growlin' all the time, and the black thief iv a dog keep-
in' dodgin' him along, and his eyes like coals o' fire, and
the terriblest smell of sulphur, I hear, that could be, all
the time, till at last they came to a little sthrame that
divided the road ; and there, my dear, the sper't disap-
peared, not bein' able to pass runnin' wather ; for
sper'ts, sir, is always waken'd with wather."

" That I believe," said I ; " but, I think, Paddy, you
seldom put spirits to so severe a trial."

" Ah thin, but your honour will you never give over
jeerin' me about the dhrop. But, in throth, what I'm
tellin' you is thrue about it — runnin' wather desthroys
sper ts.

" Indeed, Paddy, I know that is your opinion."

" Oh ! murther, murther ! — there I made a slip agin,
and never seen it till your honour had the advantage o'
me. Well, no matther, whiskey is good any way ; but,
indeed, I think it has so good a name iv its own that
it's a pity to spile it, baptizin' it any more."

Such were the marvellous yarns that Paddy was con-
stantly spinning. Indeed he had a pride, I rather think,
in being considered equally expert at "the long bow"
as at the rifle ; and if he had not a bouncer to astonish

PADDY THE SPORT. 139

his hearers with, he endeavoured that his ordinary
strain of conversation, or his answer to the commonest
question, should be of a nature to surprise them.
Such was his reply one morning to his master, when
he asked Paddy what was the cause of his being
so hoarse.

" Indeed, sir," answered Paddy, " it's a cowld I got,
and indeed myself doesn't know how I cotch cowld,
barrin' that I slep' in a field last night, and forgot to
shut the gate afther me."

" Ah, Paddy," said the squire, " the old story — you
were drunk as usual, and couldn't find your way home.
You are a shocking fellow, and you'll never get on, as
long as you give yourself up to whiskey."

" Why thin, your honour, sure that's the rayson
I ought to get an the fasther ; for isn't a ' spur in
the head worth two in the heel/ as the owld sayin'
is?"

Here a laugh from the squire's guests turned the scale
in Paddy's favour.

" I give you up, Paddy," said the master — " you're a
sad dog — worse than Larry Lanigan."

" Oh, murther ! Is it Lanigan you'd be afther com-
parin' me to," said Paddy. "Why, Lanigan is the
complatest dhrinker in Ireland — by my sowkins — mora
whiskey goes through Lanigan than any other worm in
the county. Is it Lanigan ? Paiks, that's the lad could
take the consait out iv a gallon o' sper'ts, without quit-
tin' it. Throth, Lanigan is just the very chap that id
go to first mass every mornin' in the year, if holy wather
was whiskey."

This last reply left Paddy in possession of the field,
and no further attack was made upon him on the score
of his love of " the dhrop !" and this triumph on his
part excited him to exert himself in creating mirth for
the gentlemen who formed the shooting party. One
of the company retailed that well-known joke made
by Lora Norbury, viz., when a certain gentleman

140 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

declared that he had shot twenty hares before break-
fast, his lordship replied, that he must have Jircd at
a vng.

Here Paddy declared that he thought " it was no great
shootin' " to kill twenty hares, for that ho had shot
seventy-five brace of rabbits in one day.

" Seventy-five brace !" was laughed forth from every
one present.

" Bad loock to the lie in it," said Paddy.
" Oh, be easy, Paddy," said his master.
" There it is now : and you won't b'live me ? "Why
thin, in throth, it's not that I'm proud iv it, I tell you,
for I don't think it was any great things iv shootin' at
all at all."

Here a louder burst of merriment than the former
hailed Paddy's declaration.

" Well now," said Paddy, " if yiz be quiet, and listen
to me, I'll explain it to your satisfaction. You see, it
was in one of the islan's aff the shore there, and he
pointed seawards — " it was in one o' the far islan's out
there, where rabbits are so plinty, and runnin' so thick
that you can scarcely see the grass."

" Because the island is all sand," said his master.
" Xo, indeed, now ! — though you thought you had
me there," said Paddy, very quietly. " It's not the
sandy islau', at all, bud one further out."
" Which of them ?"

" Do you know the little one with the black
rock?"
" Yes."

" Well, it's not that. But you kno.w "

" Arrah ! can't you tell his honour," said a peasant
who was an attendant on the party, to carry the game
— ''■ can't you tell his honour at wanst, and not be de-

layin' '"'

Paddy turned on this plebeian intruder with the
coolest contempt, and said, " Hurry no man's cattle,
get a jackass for yourself — " and then resumed —

PADDY THE SPORT. 141

"Well, sir, bud you know the islan' with the sharp

headlan' "

"Yes."

" Well, it's not that either ; but if you *'

" At this rate, Paddy," said the squire, " we shall
never hear which island this wonderful rabbit burrow is
in. How would you steer for it after passing Innis-
moyle 1"

" Why, thin, you should steer about nor-west, and
when you cleared the black rocks you'd have the
sandy islan' bearin' over your larboard bow, and thin
you'd see the islan' I spake av, when you run about as

far as "

" Pooh ! pooh ! " said the squire, " you're dreaming,
Paddy ; there's no such island at all."

" By rny sowl, there is, beggin, your hononr's par-
don."

" It's very odd I never saw it."
" Indeed it's a wondher, sure enough."
" Oh ! it can't be," said the squire. " How big
is it?"

"Oh! by dad, it's as big as ever it'll be," said
Paddy, chuckling.

This answer turned the laugh against the squire
again, who gave up further cross-questioning of Paddy,
whose readiness of converting his answers into jokes
generally frustrated any querist who was hardy
enough to engage with Paddy in the hope of puzzling
him.

" Paddy," said the squire, " after that wonderful
rabbit adventure, perhaps you would favour the gen-
tlemen with that -story you told me once, about a
fox ?"

" Indeed and I will, plaze your honour," said Paddy,
" though I know full well the divil a one word iv it you
b'live, nor the gintlemen won't either, though you're
axin' me for it — but only want to laugh at me, and cal]
me a big liar, whin my back's turned/'

142 LEGENDS AND ST0RIE9.

" Maybe we wouldn't wait for your back being turned,
Paddy, to honour you with that title."

" Oh, indeed, I'm not saying you wouldn't do it
as soon foreninst ray face, your honour, as you of tea
did before, and will agin, plaze Grod, and wel-
kim "

"Well, Paddy, say no more about that, but let' a
have the story."

" Sure I'm losin' no time, only tellin' the gintle-
men before hand, that it's what they'll be callin' it, a
lie — and indeed it's ancommon, sure enough ; but
you see, gintlemen, you must remimber that the
fox is the cunnin'est baste in the world, barrin' tha

wran

Here Paddy was questioned why he considered the
wren as cunniiV a baste as the fox.

" Why, sir, bekase all birds build their nest wid one
hole to it only, excep'n the wran ; but the wran builds
two holes to the nest, and so that if any inimy comes to
disturb it upon one door, it can go out an the other.
But the fox is 'cute to that degree, that there's many a
mortial a fool to him — and, by dad, the fox could buy
and sell many a Christian, as you'll soon see by-and-by,
when I tell you what happened to a wood-ranger that
I knew wanst, and a dacent man he was, and wouldn't
say the thing in a lie.

" Well, you see, he kem home one night, mighty tired
— for he was out wid a party in the domain, cock-
shoothr that day ; and whin he got back to his lodge,
he threw a few logs o' wood an the fire, to make himself
comfortable, an' he tuk whatever little matther he had
for his supper ; and, afther that, he felt himself so tired,
that he wint to bed. But you're to undherstan that,
though he wint to bed, it was more for to rest himself
like, than to sleep, for it was airly ; and so he jist
wint into bed, and there he divarted himself lookin' at
the fire, that was blazin' as merry as a bonfire an the
hearth.

PADDY THE SPORT. 143

" Well, as he was lyin' that-a-way, jist thinkin' o' no-
thin' at all, what should come into the place but a fox.
But I must tell you, what I forgot to tell you before,
that the ranger's was on the bordhers o' the wood, and
he had no one to live wid him but himself, barrin' the
dogs that he had the care iv, that was his only com-
panions, and he had a hole cut an the door, with
a swingin' boord to it, that the dogs might go in or out
accordin' as it plazed thim ; and, by dad, the fox came
in, as I tould you, through the hole in the door, as
bould as a ram, and walked over to the fire, and sat
down foreninst it.

" Now, it was mighty provokin' that all the dogs was
out — they wor rovin' about the wood, you see, lookin'
for to catch rabbits to ate, or some other mischief, and
so it happened that there wasn't as much as one in-
dividhial dog in the place ; and, by gor, I'll go bail the
fox knew that right well, before he put his nose inside
the ranger's lodge.

" Well, the ranger was in hopes some o' the dogs id
come home and ketch the chap, and he was loath to
stir hand or fut himself, afeard o' freghtenin' away the
fox; but, by gor, he could hardly keep his timper
at all at all, when he seen the fox take his pipe aff o'
the hob, where he left it afore he wint to bed, and
puttin' the bowl o' the pipe into the fire to kindle it,
(it's as thrue as I'm here,) he began to smoke foreninst
the fire, as nath'ral as any other man you ever seen.

" ' Musha, bad luck to your impidence, you long-
tailed blaguard,' says the ranger, ' and is it smokin'
my pipe you are ? Oh, thin, by this and by that, ii
I had my gun convaynient to me, it's fire and smoke
of another sort, and what you wouldn't bargain for,
I'd give you,' says he. But still he was loath to stir,
hopin' the dogs id come home ; and, ' by gor, my fine
fellow,' says he to the fox, ' if one o' the dogs comes
home, salpethre wouldn't save you, and that's a sthrong
pickle.'

144 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

" So, with that, he watched antil the fox wasn't
mindin' him, but M*as busy shakin' the cindhers out o'
the pipe, whin he was done wid it, and so the ranger
thought he was goin' to go immediately afther gitten'
an air o' the fire and a shough o' the pipe ; and so,
says he, ' Faiks, my lad, I won't let you go so aisy as
all that, as cunnin' as you think yourself ;' and with that
he made a dart out o' bed, and run over to the door,
and got betune it and the fox ; and ' now,' says he,
' your bread's baked, my buck, and maybe my lord
won't have a fine run out o' you, and the dogs at your
brish every yard, you morodin' thief, and the divil pity
you,' says he, 'for your impidence — for sure, if you
hadn't the impidence of a highwayman's horse, it's not
into my very house, undher my nose, you'd daar for to
come ; ' and with that, he began to whistle for the dogs ;
and the fox, that stood eyein' him all the time while he
was spakin', began to think it was time to be joggin'
whin lie heard the whistle — and says the fox to himself,
' Throth, indeed, you think yourself a mighty great
ranger now,' says he, ' and you think you're very cute,
but upon my tail, and that's a big oath, I'd be long
sorry to let sitch a mallet-headed box-throtter as your-
self take a dirty advantage o' me, and I'll engage,' says
the fox, ' I'll make you lave the door soon and suddint ;'
and with that, he turned to where the ranger's brogues
was lyin' hard by beside the fire, and, what would you
think, but the fox tuk up one o' the brogues, and wint
over to the fire and threw it into it.

" ' I think that '11 make you start,' says the fox.
" ' Divil resave the start,' says the ranger — ' that won't
do, my buck,' says he ; ' the brogue may burn to cind-
hers,' says he, ' but out o' this I won't stir ;' and thin,
puttin' his fingers into his mouth, he gev a blast iv a
whistle you'd hear a mile off, and shouted for the dogs.
" ' So that won't do,' says the fox. ' Well, I must
thry another offer,' says he ; and, with that, he tuk up
the other brogue, and threw it into the fire too,

PADDY THE SPORT. 145

" ' There, now,' says he, ' you may keep the other
company, says he ; ' and there's a pair o' ye now, as the
divil said to his knee-buckles.'

" ' Oh, you thievin' varmint,' says the ranger, ' you
won't lave me a tack to my feet ; but no matther,' says
he,' ' your head's worth more nor a pair o' brogues to
me, any day ;' and, by the Piper o' Blessintown, you're
money in my pocket this minit,' says he ; and with that,
the fingers was in his mouth agin, and he was goin' to
whistle, whin, what would you think, but up sits the fox
an his hunkers, and puts his two fore-paws into his mouth,
makin' game o' the ranger — (bad luck to the lie I tell
you).

"Well, the ranger, and no wondher, although in a
rage he was, couldn't help laughin' at the thought o' the
fox mockin' him, and, by dad, hetuk sitch a fit o' laughin',
that he couldn't whistle, and that was the 'cuteness o'
the fox to gain time ; but when his first laugh was over,
the ranger recovered himself, and gev another whistle ;
and so says the fox, ' By my sowl,' says he, ' I think it
wouldn't be good for my health to stay here much longer,
and I mustn't be thriflin' with that blackguard ranger
any more,' says he, 'and I must make him sinsible that
it is time to let me go ; and though he hasn't understanin'
to be sorry for his brogues, I'll go bail I'll make him lave
that,' says he, 'before he'd say sparables' — and, with that,
what do you think the fox done ? By all that's good —
and the ranger himself towld me out iv his own mouth,
and said he would never have b'lieved it, only he seen
it — the fox tuk a lighted piece iv a log out o' the blazin'
fire, and run over wid it to the ranger's bed, and was
goin' to throw it into the sthraw, and burn him out of
house and home ; so when the ranger seen that, he gev
a shout out iv him —

"'Hilloo! hilloo! you murdherin' villian,' says he,
' you're worse nor Captain Kock ; is it goin' to burn me
out you are, you red rogue iv a Bibbonman V and he
made a dart betune him and the bed, to save the house

10

146 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

from bein' burned ; but, my jew'l, that was all the fox
wanted — and as soon as the ranger quitted the hole in
the door that he was standin' forninst, the fox let go
the blazin' faggit, and made one jump through the door,
and escaped.

" But before he wint, the ranger gev me his oath, that
the fox turned round and gev him the most contemptible
look he ever got in his life, and showed every tooth in
his head with laughin' : and at last he put out his tongue
at him, as much as to say — ' You've missed me, like you?
mammy's blessin',' and off wid him ! — like a flash o'
lightenin'."

NATIONAL MINSTIiELSY.

BALLADS AND BALLAD SINGERS.

" Give me the making of a people's ballads, and let who will enact
tiieir laws." — Fletcher of Saltoun.

" Validius ohlectat populum, meliusque moratur,
Quam versus inopes rerum, nugseque canorse.' ' Hor. A. P.

It is well remarked by Mr. Addison, in his justly
celebrated paper on the ballad of " The Children in
the Wood," of which Mr. Godwin has lately given us
so admirable an amplification in his novel of " Cloudes-
lcy," that "those only who are endowed with true
greatness of soul and genius can divest themselves of
the little images of ridicule, and admire nature in her
simplicity and nakedness " of beauty. We trust,
therefore, that we shall not only be forgiven but
commended by our most thinking public, for the zeal
and diligence with which we have, according to the
Horatian precept, devoted sleepless nights and clays to
t-lio rowvevy of some of those precious gems of taste

148 legends and stories.

and genius, which adorn what may, in the strictest
sense, be termed "our national literature," and which,
according to the notion of the grave Scotch politician
quoted above, moves and influences the people,

" And wields at will the fierce democracy,"

more than any other species of writing whatever.

Xotwithstanding the laborious researches of our
countryman, Mr. Edward Bunting, and the elegant
adaptations of Mr. Moore, we confess that we indulge
in a pleasing belief, that now, for the first time, most
of the reliques which will be found embalmed in the
following paper, are rescued from the chilling gripe of
forgetfulness, and reserved as a xm^a a a%i—i\ possession
for ever, to the envy of surrounding nations, and the
admiration of the world.

Your ballad singer, let us tell you, is a person of no
despicable renown, whatever you, reader, gentle or
simple, may think — ay, or say to the contrary. It may
be that you rejoice in possessing the luxury of a carriage,
and so — rolling along our metropolitan world, escaping
the jar and jostle of us wayfaring pedestrians, by the
sliding smoothness of patent axles and Macadam — you
have heard but the distant murmur of the ballad strain,
and asked, perhaps in a wondering tone, —

" What means that faint halloo ?"

Or, haply, you are an equestrian exquisite, and your
charger has taken fright at the admiring auditory
thronging round the minstrel, and spared your fash-
ionable ears nearly at the expense of your still more
fashionable neck, starched into the newest stiffness ; o»
you may chance to be a dandy of inferior grade, and
only ride that homely yet handy animal, yclept in the;
vulirar tongue, shank's mare, and are forced to be con-
tented with the "bare ground," consoling yourself for
this contact with mere citizens, by staring every woman

BALLADS AND BALLAD SINGERS. 149

you meet out of countenance, and preserving yourself
from the tainted atmosphere of the dross of humanity
that surrounds you by the purifying influence of a
cigar. To each and all of you, then, wo confidently
affirm, that you are not prepared to give any opinion
on the subject ; and we enjoin you, therefore, to a
sacred silence, while we sing, "strains never heard
before" to the merry and hearty. You may, if you
like it, go on reading this article, and enlighten your
benighted understandings, or turn over to the next,
and remain in your "fat contented ignorance" of the
sublimity and beauty of 'our national minstrelsy.

Your ballad-monger is of great antiquity. Homer
himself, —

" The blind old man of Scio's rocky shore,
The father of soul-moving poesy "—

sat by the way side, or roved from town to town, and
sang

" His own bright rhapsodies."

But if this be going too far back, and you are inclined
to tax us with affectation for so classical an authority
for Bartle Corcoran's vocation, we shall jump over a
handful of centuries, and bring you down " at one fell
swoop " to the middle ages, citing the troubadours and
jongleurs as examples of the ballad-monger's craft. To
be sure, all sentimental young ladies will cry shame
upon us at this, and think of L. E. L. and the Impro-
visatrice, and remember the fatal fame of Kaoul de
Couci. But, gentle young ladies, start not — our ballad-
singers are the true descendants of those worthies, the
troubadours ; something the worse for the wear, perhaps,
just the least in the world degenerated or so, like many
another romantic thing of the same day.

For instance, your gentle page of fat/re ladye is, in
modern times, a pert servant-boy, with a snub nose,
vying in brilliancy with the scarlet collar that overlaps

150 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

his bluejacket. Your faithful bower-woman has rather
a poor representative in the roguish petite maitresse of a
French maid, who is, for all the world, like a milliner's
doll, except in the article of silence. Your gallant
knight himself no longer bestrides a proudly-prancing
war-horse, sheathed " in complete steel," with spear in
rest, ready to "answer all comers" in the lists, at the

behest of his ladye love. No. Your warrior,

now-a-days, is no longer a " gintleman in the tin
clothes," as Jerry Sullivan describes him, but a very
spruce person, in superfine scarlet, ready to answer all

■ invitations to dinner. Your warder, or warden, is,

in fact, now a mere hall-porter, and the high-sounding
" donjon-keep " — nothing more nor less than Newgate.

And now, having, we think, successfully proved that
your ballad-singer comes from an "owld ancient family,"
we trust we have influenced the aristocratic feelings of
our readers in his favour ; and hoping for a patient
reading, we shall plunge directly into our subject, first
asking pardon for this somewhat lengthy introduction,
in which our anxiety for the reputation of the ancient
and respectable craft of ballad-singing has betrayed us.

When the day begins to wane, and the evening air
is fresh, (if anything can ever be fresh in a city,) and
people are sauntering along the streets, as if the busi-
ness of all were over — of all, save the lamplighter, he,
the only active being amongst a world of loungers,
skipping along from lamp to lamp, which one by one
"start into light" with perspective regularity, telling
of the flight of the "flaming minister" up the long-
street before you — then we say, it is pleasant to roam
along the quays, for instance, and halt at the foot of
each bridge, or branch off into Capel-street or Parlia-
ment-street, or proceed further westward to the more
vocal neighbourhood of Bridge or Barrack-streets, and
listen to the ballad-singers of all denominations that,
without fail, are labouring in their vocation in these
quarters.

BALLADS AND BALLAD SINGERS. 151

Music, they say, sounds sweetest upon water ; and
hence the reason, we suppose, of the ballad-singer
choosing the vicinity of the river for his trade ; and,
like that other notorious songster, the nightingale,
he, too, prefers the evening for his strains. Ballad-
singers, to be sure, may be heard at all times of the
day, making tuneful the corners of every street in the
city, and moving the vocal air " to testify their hidden
residence;" but, by the initiated in ballads, they are
detected at once for scurvy pretenders. No ballad-
singer of any eminence in his or her profession ever
appears until the sun is well down ; your she-ballad-
singers, in particular, are all " maids that love the
moon;" and indeed the choicest among them, like
your very fashionable people at a party, do not con-
descend to favour their friends by their presence
until a good while after the others have made their
entree.

The amateur in ballads well knows where he may
expect to find good entertainment, just as one calculates
the sort of party he may expect to meet by the address
on the card of invitation. Your amateur, for instance,
would no more lose his time in listening to a performance
in Merrion-square, than an officer of the guards would
go to a rout in Skinner's-row. No, no — Merrion-square
is far too genteel for any thing good in the ballad line.
But oh! sweet High-street, and Corn-market — Cutpurse-
row, too — (by-the-bye, always leave your watch and
sovereigns at home, and carry your pocket handkerchief
in your hat, when you go a larking in search of ballad
minstrelsy,) — and so on to Thomas-street. Your des-
perate explorer, who with a Columbian courage, pants
for greater or more western discoveries, will push on to
the CrosS'-poddle, (as far as which point we once ventured
ourselves, and fished for city trout in the Brithogue,)
double the cape of Tailor's close, turn the corner of
Elbow-alley, and penetrate the mysteries of Fumbally's-
Jane, rife in the riches of ballad lore, returning to the

152 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

civilised haunts of men by the purlieus of Patrick's-
close, Golden-lane, and so on through Squeezegut-alley,
until he gets into port — that is, Kevin's-port — and there,
at the corner of Cheater' s-lane, it is hard if he don't get
an honest hap'orth of ballad. They are generally loving
and pathetic in this quarter, Kevin-street, as if the
music of the region were, with an antithetical pecu-
liarity, of a different turn from the hard-hearted saint
whose name it bears. Saint Kevin-street is endeared
to us by many tender recollections, and here it was that
the iron entered our sole as we listened, for the first
time, to the following touching effusion : —

" Oh Jj'mme-a Jim-my 1 10?e you well,
i Love yon betftier nor my tonguE Can tell — •
I love you well but I dar not show it.
1 loVe you well but let no one kNow it."

What a beautiful union of affection and delicacy in the
last line ! — the generous confidence of a devoted heart,
with the tender timidity of the blushing maid, shrinking
at the thought of the discovery of her passion to the
multitude : with the sincerity of a Juliet, she openly
avows her flame —

"I love you well;"

but at the same time wishing to be, as Moore says,

-Curtain' d from the sight

Of the gross world,"

she cautiously adds,

" But let no one know it."

This is, perhaps, an inferior specimen of the amatory

ballad, but as it is one of the early impressions made

on our young imaginations, we hope we may be

pardoned for giving it place even before those of loftier

pretensions : —

" On revient toujours
A ses premiers amours,"

BALLADS AND BALLAD SINGERS. 153

The ballad, though' coming generally under the deno-
mination of lyric poetry, may be classified under various
heads. First, in order due, we class the amatory ; then
there are the political and the polemical; though, indeed,
we should follow, we are inclined to think, the order
adopted in the favourite corporation phrase of " church
and state," and so we shall arrange our ballads more fitly
by giving the polemicals the pas ; the order will then
stand thus : —

AMATORY,

POLEMICAL,

PATRIOTIC,

BACCHANALIAN',

DESCRIPTIVE,

POLITICAL,

and
NON-DESCRIPTIVE.

Sometimes, in the amatory, the bewitching blandish-
ments of the fair are pourtrayed with a force and vivid
simplicity which Catullus might envy ; thus, in depicting
the " taking ways," of Miss Judith O'Eeilly, who had,
it would seem, a penchant for leading soft-hearted youths
" the other way," as Mr. Moore delicately expresses it,
the minstrel describes the progress of the potent spell : —

" Och Judy Kiley you use me viley,
And like a child me do coax and decoy,
Its myself thats thinkin while you do be winkin
So soft upon me, you will my heart destroy."

Again, the poet often revels in the contemplation of
the joint attractions of his mistress's beauties and accom-
plishments; and at the same time that he tells you
she is

" As lovely as Diania,"

he exults in announcing that

" She plays on the piania."

154 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

While in the description of a rurial swain by his inna«
morata, we are informed that

" Apollo's Gooldin hair with his could not compare
Astonished were All the beho«klers."

Sometimes our ballad bards become enamoured of the
simple beauties of nature, and leaving the imagery of the
heathen mythology, of which they are so fond, and -which
they wield with a richness and facility pecular to them-
selves, they give us a touch of the natural, as will be seen
in the following — " The Star of sweet Dundalk ;" and
observe, Dundalk being a seaport, with a very just and
accurate perception of propriety, the poem has been
headed with a ship in full sail.

THE STAR OF SWEET DU-XD-ALK.

*'In beauteous spring when birds do sing,
And cheer each mertle shade,
And shepherd's sWains surnades the Planes,
To find their lambs that stBayed."

This novel application of serenading must strike every
one with admiration.

" nigh Eoden's Grove I chanced to rov
To take a rur/al walk,
when to my sight appeared in "White
the star of siceet dundalk."

The lady having, most luckily for the rhyme, appeared
in white, the perambulating lover addresses her ; and
after having " struggled for to talk " to this most resplen-
dent " Star of sweet Dundalk," he assures her he is

BALLADS AND BALLAD SINGERS. 155

bewildered, and that his heart is bleeding, and thus con-
tinues : —

" Your beauteous face my wounds encrase
And SKin more white than chaLK,
Makes me regret the day i met
The STar of sweet dundalk."

But the lady very prudently replies —

" Now sir if I would but cetmply
And give to you my HanD,
Perhaps that you would prove untrue
Be pleased to understand"

How polite ! ! — Here she divides our admiration ! for
we know not whether most to applaud her discretion or
her good manners. At length he only requests to
become her " slave, poor swain, and friend." This pro-
position is listened to, but still she is intent on " minding
her business, as she ought to do," like the celebrated
O'Rafferty, and insists on first "milking her cow;'' after
which we are favoured with this information :—

" When she had done

Then off we come
and carelessly did walk,

and slowly paced

To her sweet pLace
Convaynient to sweet Dundalk."

She then brings him into her father's house, which is
" as white as chalk, " and (of course) " nigh hand to
sweet Dundalk ;" and we discover at last, that he has a
warm shebeen -house, and a drop of comfort for the
traveller : so our hero calls for a glass to drink the health
of this " Star of sweet Dundalk," and enable him, doubt-
less, to see her charms double ; but she, still " minding
her business," O'Rafferty-like, hands him a glass ; and
very dutifully to her father, though, we regret to say,
very unsentimentally to her lover, the aforesaid glass

" She mark'd it up in chalk ;"

156 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

and as this must at once destroy all romantic interest in
the "Star of sweet Dundalk," Ave shall say no more
about a heroine that so unworthily degenerates into
an avaricious bar-maid. But, by wTay of counterpoise,
we shall give an example of a " holier flame" — and
after the money-loving Dundalker, it is really " re-
freshing " to meet an instance proving the utter
devotedness of the female heart, when once imbued
with the tender passion. Can there be a more disinte-
rested love than this ?

" Oh Thady Brady you are my darlin,
You are my looking-glass from night till morning,
I love you hetther without one farrfin
Than Brian Gallagher wid house and garden."

What fitness, too, there is in the simile, "you are my
looking-glass ; " — the dearest thing under the sun to a
woman.

In the polemical line, the ballad in Ireland is per-
fectly national ; and no other country, we believe, sings
polemics; but religion, like love, is nourished by op-
pression ; and hence a cause may be assigned why the
Eoman Catholic population of Ireland enjoyed, with
peculiar zest, the ballads that praised their persecuted
faith. But of the many fatal results of the relief
bill, not the least deplorable is the "dark oblivion"
into which this exalted class of composition is fast
passing away. We rejoice to rescue from the cor-
roding fangs of time a specimen in praise of the Virgin
Mary, and hitting hard at such ultra Protestants as
busied themselves " in the convartin' line," for the good
of their brethren :

" The hlessed Virgin that we prize
The fairest fair above the skies
On her the Heretics tells lies
When they would make convArsions."

But of the polemical, we candidly confess that we are

BALLADS AND BALLAD SINGERS. 157

but ill prepared to speak at large ; whether it be that,
unlike the gentle Desdemona, we do not "seriously
incline," or our early polemico-ballad hunting essays
were not successful, we shall not venture to decide.
But one evening, at the corner of Ma,ry's-abbey — an
appropriate place for religious strains — we heard a
female ballad-hawker (the men, by-the-bye, do not deal
in this line ; the Frenchman was right when he said a
woman's life was taken up between love and religion) —
and whether it was that we could not fairly hear the
lady, in consequence of the windows of Ladly's Tavern
being open, and letting out, along with a stream of very
foul air, some very queer air also, that was let out of a
fiddle ; or that we chanced to fall upon an infelicitous
passage in her chant, we cannot say, but the first audi-
ble couplet was

"Tran-a-suh-a-stan-a-si-a-ey-a-shin
Is de fait in which we do Diffind,"

and this fairly bothered vis. Such a jaw-breaker and
peace-breaker as transubstantiation — quod versu dicere

non est — actually done into verse ! ! We took to our

heels, and this polysyllabic polemical gave us a distaste
for any more controversial cantatas.

In the political line, no land abounds in ballads
like our own sweet Emerald Isle. In truth, every
Irishman is, we verily believe, by birth, a politician.
There are many causes assigned for this ; and your
long-headed philosopher could, no doubt, write a very
lengthy article on that head. But it is not our affair at
present ; suffice it, therefore, to say, politicians they are,
and the virus breaks out in divers and sundry ballads,
varying in style and subject, according to the strength
of the disease in the sufferer. Some abound in laments
for Ireland's forlorn condition, but many more are
triumphant effusions to the honour and glory of the
" men of the people." We remember one owld dowager
»n particular, rather thick in the wind, who wheezed out

158 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

many a week's work in asthmatic praises of Eichard
Sheil and Daniel O'Connell, Esquires ; but, after the
exertion of puffing out one line, she was obliged to pause
for breath before giving the following one ; and a
comical effect was sometimes produced by the lapses, as
in the well-known instance of the Scotch precentor.
At last, when she did come to the burthen of her song,
she threatened with a significant shake of her head,
which one eye, and a bonnet, — both black and fiercely
cocked — rendered particularly impressive, that

" They {the parliament) had hetter take care about what they are at,
For Shiel is the lad that will give them the chat !
With a Ballynamona, eroo ! — Ballynamona, eroo !
Ballynamona, eroo ! — Brave Shiel and O'Connell for me ! "

There was a Patagonian fair one of the craft, who
patronised Mr. O'Connell in particular, always got
drunk on the strength of his success, and generally
contrived to have a long chorus or burthen to her song,
and when, with some difficulty, she picked her way
through the difficulties of articulation in each verse, it
was very diverting to observe the complacency with
which she dropt into the chorus, and seemed to repose
herself, as it were, upon its easy monotony, which ran
thus : —

" Consill«r oeh hone ! och hone ! och hone !
consillnr ocli hone ! and och hone-i-o !
ConSillnr och hone ! och hone ! och hone !
And its yon that can stand alone-i-o !"

But the " Shan Van Vogh ! " — was the grand popular
effusion in the great agitator's praise, when he threatened
to take the House of Commons by storm at the first
election. Of this we may venture to give two verses : — ■

" Into parliament you'll go, says the Shan Van Vogh,
To extricate our woe, says the Shan Van Vogh ,
Our foes you will amaze
And all Europe you will Plaze,
And owld Ireland's now at Aise.

Says the Shan Van Vogh.

BALLADS AND BALLAD SINGERS. 159

" Our -worthy brave O'Connell, says the Shan Van. Vogh,
To have you in we're longing, says the Shan Van Vogh :
Sure you we well have tried,
And you're always at our side,
And you never tuk a bribe,

Says the Shan Van Vogh."

But the following is one which we cannot resist giving
in full, we vouch for its being a true attested copy ; and
those who do not like to read it, may adopt the practice
of the country schoolmaster when he meets a word
that proves a jaw-breaker, id est, to " schkip and
go on."

O'CONNELL'S FAREWELL MEETING EST THE
CORN-EXCHANGE.

" As O'Connell and Shiels wor convarsin about the rent,

Jack lawless stepp'd in and asked him what news.

Saying are you preparing to So into Parliamint.

Where a loi/al Catqolie he can 7 be re/used,

The time is fast approaching whan Catholias will taZ;e their seats ;

No Laws can prevant tham Bruns-wieAers are deranged

In tAe Def ince of Britain their loyalty and aid was lent

TAis conversation passed in the Corn Exchange.

" Brave O'Gorman Mahon spoke as the Association did begin,

Saying Ge»tlemEn i Pray don't think me rude,

In This month of February how the bigots the will grinn

Like Paul Pry jDanie^ he drops in you think wiM he intvud.

The Lawyers of the Miwstry they cant prevent his entry,

We know a war -with, him They'll wage,

In spite of tAeir Dexterity we'll have religious liberty

This conversation passed in the Corn Exchange.

" Farewell Dearest Danyel Hibernias confidential frind
Our blessin Go along wid you wnto the british shore,
Nobility and Gintery to Parliamint will you attind,
ZU-ewise be accompanied wit/t The blessings of the Poo?,
Our foes within the house as mute as any mouse,
To see the Agitator Triumphantly arranged,
No. . or factious clara shall daunt the people's man ;
This conversation passed in the Corn Exchange.

160 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

" TAe worthys, of Hiiernia's He may fortune On those heroes

smile,
AnA every frind in Parliamint That does support the claims,
Brave Grattan Plunket and Burdet Brave ^inglissy.
We'll never forget this hero's memory in our brcst Shall ever

rEi«.
Here's to maTehless iShecl' and gallant Sieall, and Noble Dawson

of Dundalk
The./bes 0/ religious liberty tho will assail
For the rites of millions The contind, may God protect dear Dan

our FrinD.
Pray /or his Sa/e return to ould Ireland agin."

These are no contemptible specimens of the political,
but they only bear on our " internal resources," as the
parliamentary- phrase is, and evidently were the work of
the " secretary for the home department," in ballad
affairs. But be it known unto all men by these presents,
that we have had our " secretary for foreign affairs "
also, and the political chances and changes of Europe
have been descanted upon by the Thomas-street muses
of our Balladian Parnassus ; Bonaparte was the " God
of their idolatry," and his victories have been the theme
of their hope and triumph, ingeniously conveyed in
drollery or sarcasm, as his downfal was of their most
doleful ditties, of which we well remember the mournful
burthen of one,

" From his throne, och, hoch, hone,
Like a spalpeen he was hurled."

Yet even in their ' flat despair,' they

" Cast one longing, lingering look behind,"

and each verse of another cantata, we have often listened
to with pensive delight, recording his by-gone glories,
although it was wailingly wound uj> with this dismal
though euphonious couplet,

" But he's gone over saes and the high mount-i-ayn-ya,
He is gone far away to the Isle of St. Helenis."

BALLADS AND BALLAD SINGERS. 161

We hope our readers properly appreciate the fertility
of invention and boldness of execution, that produced
for the occasion so novel and so able an example of the
callida junctura of Horace, upon which Bishop Hurdhas
written so much, as is evinced in this truly musical
variety of the common-place word mountain.

Subsequently, however, a strain of jubilee for the re-
establishment of Napoleon's dynasty, was long and
loudly, though perhaps somewhat prematurely, indulged
in ; and we well remember hearing the detail of anti-
cipated glories, " many a time and oft," in a certain song,
whose exultant chorus, " piercing the night's dull ear,"
promised great things to the drooping Bonapartists :

" When the young King of loome from the court of Yianna
Will bring his father back from the Isle of St. Helanna ! "

As an example of the patriotic, we picked up a morgeau
in the " west end," one evening while we stood amongst
admiring and apostrophising auditors, which is quite too
rich to give en masse to our readers ; we would surfeit
them with the good things of the ballad world, and they
must be content, therefore, with some extracts from
" the bran new ballad," called, by way of title, " The
Wild Irishman," which an herculean Hibernian, with a
voice like thunder, was pouring from his patriotic throat ;
he commenced by informing his audience

" When God made the sowl of a wild Irishman
He filled him with love and creatious wide spao

And gev him perflations that never is seen
In statue he's matchless — an angel in face.
(Our friend certainly was an exception.)
The invy of mankind in iligance and grace

At football and hurlin' agility's sons
^And her daughters so fair, all as spotless as nuns)
"When victorious— all mercy— Oh, Erin the green."

And the green's forlorn condition was very feelingly
conveyed in the two succeeding stanzas ; and fearing

11

162 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

there was no human probability of her situation being
bettered, the saints were thus characteristically invoked.

•« Oh St. Patrick, aoushla ! St. Bridget asthore !
Collum cuil 0 rnavourneen your mastAer implore,
To look down with compassion on Erin the green."

This appeal to " the masther " is quite irresistible.

But in this it will be perceived there is a mixture of
the political mingled with the patriotic ; a tint of devo-
tion to party tinged the love of country. The poem
having its birth in the Liberty, it is possible that the
poet, influenced by the localities, wrought his verses as
the weaver works his stuff, and so his production is shot,
as the technical phrase is, with two materials, and reminds
us of the alternate flickering of green and red that we
see in the national tabinet dresses of our fair country-
women.

Of the bacchanalian, some falsely imagine " Patrick's
Day " to be an example ; English people, in particular,
suppose "Patrick's Day," in words and music, must be
the beau ideal of an Irish song — whereas, in neither is
it a happy specimen ; as for the words, there is amongst
them a couplet that pronounces, at once, damning sen-
tence against the whole composition.

" And we will "be merry
And drinking of sherry"

Bah ! sherry indeed ; no Irish ballad laureat ever
wrote two such lines, it is the production of a bungler,
especially when we consider that any but a thorough
blockhead could have so easily rhymed it thus : —

" And we will be frisky
A drinking of whiskey
On Patrick's day in the morning."

" Garryowen," that much superior air, which, in our
opinion, ought to be the national one instead, is dis-

BALLADS AND BALLAD SINGERS. 163

figured, in like manner, by a word which grates harshly
upon the ear of the connoisseur : —

" Then come my boys we'll drink brown ale
We'll pay the reck'ning on the nail
And devil a man shall go to jail
Prom Garryowen my glory."

We confess we connot bear this ale; it disturbs our
association of ideas ; ale, at once, refers us to England ;
and portly John Bulls and Bonifaces, instead of muscu-
lar Paddies, present themselves to our " mind's eye ; " it
is a pity, for the other lines are good, particularly the
third, which displays that noble contempt of the laws so
truly characteristic of our heroes of the south. But here
follows a touch of the true Bacchanalian, in which our
national beverage is victoriously vindicated : —

" The ould ladies love coniac
The sailors all brag of their mm
It's a folly to talk, Paddy whack
Knows there's nothing like whiskey for fun
They may talk of two birds in a bush,
But I'd rather have one in the hand,
Por if rum is the pride of the Sae
'Tis whiskey's the pride of the land.''

What a logical deduction is here drawn from a proverb
that is " somewhat musty," as our friend Hamlet says — .
"A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush." Argal,
whiskey is much better drinking than rum. The infer-
ence is as clear as ditch water.

The bard next proceeds to exult in our superiority
over other nations in the native tipple, which he thus
felicitously illustrates : —

" The Dutchman he has a big but
Pull of gin, and the munseers drinks port
To the divil I pitch such rot-gut,
Por to drink it wouldn't be any sport
'Tis the juice of the shamrock at home
That is brew'd in brave Bacchus' s still,
Bates the world, and its of sweet Innishowen
I wish that I now had my fill."

164 LEGENDS AXD STORIES.

Here is a happy adaptation of classical knowledge to
the subject in hand ; Bacchus's still is a great hit.

Burns himself indulges in a similar liberty, when
he uses his national dialect to name the fount of
Castaly : — ■

" Castalia's burn, an' a' that."

But, as the Bacchanalian must be an uninteresting
theme to our fair readers, we shall content ourselves
with the specimens already given in that line, and
hurry on to the next in order of succession, viz.,

DESCRIPTIVE.

"Wo Irish are fond of dilating on whatsoever subject
we treat, (perchance, indeed, at this moment we are
giving a practical example,) and in the descriptive line
of ballad, there is "ample verge" for indulging in this
natural propensity, whether it concern places or persons,
men or manners, town or country, morning, noon, or
night. As a specimen in the local line, a brilliant one
exists in that far-famed ditty that so pathetically sets
forth how

"A Sailor coorted a Farmer's daughter
That lived conwyuient to the Isle of Man."

Here, though with that native delicacy which always
characterises true genius, the name of the false fair
one is withheld, her " local habitation " is considered
matter of importance ; and with admirable precision
it is laid down, as seamen say, in the most chart-like
fashion,

" Convayrdent to the Isle of Man."

An additional interest is thus excited for the heroine,
who must have been (as far as we could gather from
our visit to Douglas, at the late regatta) either a mer-
maid or some amphibious charmer, whom, with much
critical judgment, the poet has selected as the "desaver
of a naval hero.

BALLADS AND BALLAD SINGERS. 165

Another felicitous specimen exists in a very old and
favourite ballad, giving "the whole, full, thrue, and
particular account " of how a certain highway hero fulfils
his criewel fate. The description of the entire trial,
including the examination of witnesses, is very graphi-
cally given ; and when sentence of death is at length
pronounced against him, you are thus most affectingly
informed, in the first person: —

" When they did s/ntence me to Die,
The Judge andthe jury they riz a Murnful cry ;
My TindAer Wife she did roar and Bawl
While the bittAer Tears from her Eyes did fall,
Oh ! the curse o' Jasus light an yez all ! "

When he comes to the gallows he gives a very ex-
emplary exhortation to "the throng;" and with a sort
of a predictive consciousness that he shall live in verse,
though he must die in fact, he addresses to the multitude,
viva, voce, this posthumous appeal : —

"And now I'm dead, and let my disgrace
Be never threw in my Childher's face,
.For they are Young and desarves no blame
Altho' their Eather is come to shame."

This sudden adoption of the first person is, however,
by no means a singular species of metabasis ; on the
contrary, we find it a favourite figure of speech in
such compositions; for example, in" Thamama Hullar'

" I have heerd the town clock give its usual warning
I am asleej), and don't waken me."

And again, in the far-famed " Fanny Blair." The victim
of Fanny's false-swearing, after giving this admonitory
couplet to all " sportin' young blades " —

"Beware of young women that follys [follows] bad rules
For that's why I'm cut off in the iiower of my bl«me,"

concludes by very piously ejaculating,

166 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

"And now it's your blessin dear parents I crave
Likewise my dear mother that did me consave."

(He had, it would seem, a supernumerary parent on this occasion.)

" And now I am dead and laid in the mould
The Lord may have mercy on my poor sinful Sowl! "

The renowned " Brian O'Lynn " has been the hero
of description to a great extent ; his apparel even has
been deemed worthy of note. Few of our readers, we
trust, have had their education so utterly neglected as
to be still in ignorance of the first stanza of this in-
comparable effusion : —

"Brian O'Lynn had no breeches to wear,
So he bought him a sheepskin to make him a pair ;
With the skinny side out and the woolly side in,
They are pleasant and cool, says Brian O'Lynn !"

But Brian is anxious to cut a figure in the world, and
laments the want of that most necessary appendage to
" ginteel clothin ' " — a watch : but how to come by it is
the question. At last Brian hits upon an expagement,
(as a literary friend of ours says,) which, for originality
of invention, leaves rail-roads and steam carriages fat-
behind. It is with satisfaction that we claim the modest
merit of first introducing to public regard and admira-
tion the following inimitable stanza : —

Brian O'Lynn had no wotch to put on,
So he scooped out a turnip to make him a one;
He next put a cricket ciane und^er the s^kin,
' Whoo ! they'll think it is lic/cin',' says Brian O'Lynn."

Barissimus Briney ! What can surpass this ?

But the personal attractions of the fair form the
most inexhaustible theme for the poet's fancy, and give
a wider scope to his invention in the discovery 'of apt
images : par exemple —

" Her waist is taper,
None is completer
Like the tuneful nine or the lambs at play ;

And her two eyes shinin

Like rowlin diamonds,
And her breath as sweet as the flowers in May."

BALLADS AND BALLAD SINGERS. 167

We cannot too much admire the richness and
perspicuity of this description : rich in the display
of the lady's charms, which combine the united beauties
of the " tuneful nine " with the innocent frolicsomeness
of the " lambs at play ;" and perspicuous even to the
agreeable fact that she has two eyes, and both are bright.

But we must not venture to trespass too far on thy
patience, gentle reader. On this subject we could
never tire of writing, nor shouldst thou of reading,
hadst thou but the felicity of being tinctured, like
ourselves, with the true ballad passion. But we
must

" Lure the tassel-gentle back agin,"

and therefore shall hasten to & conclusion for the
present.

The non-descript last claims our exemplifying
notice, and indeed our memory abounds with illustra-
tions in point ; we shall, however, content ourselves
with one which we look upon as choice, and deserving
to be marked with three R's, as Dominie Sampson says,
denoting the rarest excellence : —

"The Rhyme for the Ram:"

which rhyme is declared to be a mystery far beyond the
poet's comprehension, hitherto undiscovered, and to be
classed only with the philosopher o stone, or such arcana
of nature. We have all heard of the difficulty of
finding a rhyme for silver, which our countryman over-
came at once by adducing childher as a satisfactory
solution ; but the bard on this occasion soars to sublimer
flights :

" No one could discover

Prom Calais to Dover
The house of Hanover and the town of Dunleer.

Nor they who belie us,

And freedom deny us,
Ould Mr. M 'a could never come near;

168 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

For no Methodist preacher,

Nor nate linen blacher,
The keenest of teachers, nor the wisdom of man ;

Nor Joanna Southcoat,

Nor FitzGarild the pote [poet]
Nor iver yit wrote a fit rhyme for the Rani."

What a wide range the muse has taken here in search
of this rhymatical treasure ! In the depths of the sea,
between Calais and Dover, she is too straitened ; next
she throws herself, with as little success, upon the
munificence of the house of Brunswick, which, by the
most perfect association of ideas in the world, reminds
her of the town of Dunleer, the new light is next ap-
pealed to unavailingly ; and the ivisdom of man very
naturally reminds her of Joanna Southcote, who is sur-
passed in the climax by that still greater humbug, Fitz-
gerald the pote.

This we fearlessly put forward as the most brilliant
specimen of the non-descript in the world.

BARNY O'KEIBDON,

THE NAVIGATOR.

CHAP. I. — Outward-bound.

" Well, he went farther and farther than I can tell."

.Nursery Tale,

A very striking characteristic of an Irishman is his
unwillingness to be outdone. Some have asserted that
tl is arises from vanity, but I have ever been unwilling
to attribute an unamiable motive to my countrymen

170 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

where a better may be found, and one equally tending
to produce a similar result, and I consider a deep-seated
spirit of emulation to originate this peculiarity. Phreno-
logists might resolve it by supposing the organ of the
love of approbation to predominate in our Irish craniums,
and it may be so ; but as I am not in the least a meta-
physician, and very little of a phrenologist, I leave those
who choose, to settle the point in question, quite content
with the knowledge of the fact with which I started,
viz., the unwillingness of an Irishman to be outdone.
This spirit, it is likely, may sometimes lead men into
ridiculous positions ; but it is equally probable, that
the desire of surpassing one another has given birth
to many of the noblest actions, and some of the
most valuable inventions ; let us, therefore, not fall
out with it.

JN"ow, having vindicated the motive of my country-
men, I Avill prove the total absence of national pre-
judice in so doing, by giving an illustration of the
ridiculous consequences attendant upon this Hibernian
peculiarity.

Barny O'Eeirdon was a fisherman of Kinsale, and a
heartier fellow never hauled a net or cast a line into
deep water : indeed Barny, independently of being a
merry boy among his companions, a lover of good fun
and good whiskey, was rather looked up to, by his
brother fishermen, as an intelligent fellow, and few boats
brought more fish to market than Barny O'Beirdon's ;
his opinion on certain points in the craft was considered
law, and in short, in his OAvn little community, Barny
was what is commonly called a leading man. Now,
your leading man is always jealous in an inverse
ratio to the sphere of his influence, and the leader
of a nation is less incensed at a rival's triumph than
the great man of a village. If we pursue this descend-
ing scale, what a desperately jealous person the oracle of
oyster-dredgers and cockle-women must be ! Such was
Barny O'Eeirdon,

BARNY O'REIRDON. 171

Seated one night in a public house, the common re-
sort of Barny and other marine curiosities, our hero got
entangled in debate with what he called a strange sail
■ — that is to say, a man he had never met before, and
whom he was inclined to treat rather magisterially
upon nautical subjects ; at the same time that the
stranger was equally inclined to assume the high hand
over him, till at last the new-comer made a regular
out-break by exclaiming, " Ah tare-an-ouns, lave off
your balderdash, Mr. O'Keirdon, by the powdhers o'
war its enough, so it is, to make a dog bate his father,
to hear you goin' an as if you wor Curlumberus or
Sir Crustyphiz "Wran, when ivery one knows the divil
a farther you ivir wor, nor ketchin' crabs or drudgin'
oysters."

" Who towld you that, my Watherford Worldlier ?"
rejoined Barny : " what the dickins do you know about
sayfarin,' farther nor fislvin' for sprats in a bowl wid your
grandmother ?"

" Oh, baithershin," says the stranger.

" And who made you so bowld with my name ?" de-
manded O'Beirdon.

" No matther for that," said the stranger ; " but if
you'd like for to know, shure its your cousin Molly
Mullins knows me well, and maybe I don't know
you and your's as well as the mother that bore you, aye, in
throth ; and shure I know the very thoughts o' you as well
as if I was inside o' you, Barny O'Beirdon."

" By my sowl thin you know betther thoughts than
your own, Mr. Whippersnapper, if that's the name you
go by."

" No, it's not the name I go by ; I've as good a name
as your own, Mr. O'Keirdon, for want of a betther, and
that's O'Sullivan."

" Throth there's more than there's good o' them,"
said Barny.

" Good or bad, I'm a cousin o' your own twice re-
moved by the mother's side."

172 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

"And is it the Widda O'Sullivan's boy you'd bo that
left this come Candlemas four years ?"

" The same."

" Throth thin you might know betther manners to your
eldhers, though I'm glad to see you, any how, agin ;
but a little thravellin' puts us beyant ourselves some-
times," said Earny, rather contemptuously.

" Throth, I nivir bragged out o' myself yit, and it's
•what I say, that a man that's only a fishin' aff the land
all his life has no business to compare in the regard o'
thracthericks wid a man that has sailed to Fingal."

This silenced any further argument on Barny's part.
Where Fingal lay was all Greek to him ; but, unwilling
to admit his ignorance, he covered his retreat with the
usual address to his countrymen, and turned the bitter-
ness of debate into the cordial flow of congratulation at
seeing his cousin again.

The liquor was freely circulated, and the conversation
began to take a different turn, in order to lead from that
■which had nearly ended in a quarrel between O'Eeirdon
and his relation.

The state of the crops, county cess, road jobs, &c,
became topics, and various strictures as to the utility of
the latter were indulged in, Avhile the merits of the neigh-
bouring farmers were canvassed.

" Why, thin,"said one, " that field o' whate o' Michael
Coghlan, is the finest field o' whate mortial eyes was
ever set upon — divil the likes iv it myself ever seen far
or near."

" Throth thin sure enough," said another, " it promises
to be a fine crap anyhow, and myself can't help thmkin'
it quare that Mickee Coghlan, that's a plain spoken, quite
(quiet) man, and simple like, should have finer craps than
Pether Kelly o' the big farm beyant, that knows all
about the great sayerets o' the airth, and is knowledge-
able to a degree, and has all the hard words that iver
was coined at his fingers' ends."

" Faith, he has a power o' Wastlwgue about him sure

BARNY O'REIRDON. 173

enough," said the former speaker, " if that could do him
any good, but he isn't fit to hould a candle to Michael
Coghlan in the regard o' farmin' "

" Why, blur an angers," rejoined the upholder of
science, " sure he met the Scotch steward that the Lord
beyant has, one day, that I hear is a wondherful edicated
man, and was brought over here to show us alia patthern
■ — well, Pether Kelly met him one day, and, by gor, he
discoorsed him to that degree that the Scotch cha]/
had'nt a word left in his jaw."

" Well, and what was he the betther o' having more
prate than a Scothman ?" asked the other.

" Why," answerd Kelly's friend, " I think it stands to
rayson that the man that done out the Scotch steward
ought to know somethin' more about farmin' than Mickee
Coghlan."

" Augh ! don't talk to me about knowing," said the
other, rather contemptuously. " Sure I gev in to you
that he has the power o' prate, and the gift o' the
gab, and all to that. I own to you that he has
ihe-o-ry and the clie-mis-thery, but he hasn't the craps.
Now, the man that has the craps, is the man for my
money."

" You're right, my boy," said O'Keirdon, with an
approving thump of his brawny fist on the table, " it's a
little talk goes far — doin is the thing."

"Ah, yiz may run down larnin' if yiz like," said the
undismayed stickler for theory versus practice ; " but
larnin' is a fine thing, and sure where would the world
be at all only for it, sure where would the staymers
(steam boats) be, only for larnin' 1"

"Well," said O'Keirdon, " and the divil may care il
we never seen them ; I'd rather dipind an wind and
canvass any day then the likes o' them. What are they
good for, but to turn good sailors into kitchen-maids, all
as one, bilin' a big pot o' wather and oilin' their fire-
irons, and throwin' coals an the fire ? Augh ! thim
staymers is a disgrace to the say; they're for all the

&

174 LEGENDS ANT) STORIES.

w orld like owld fogies, smokin' frommoniin' till night,
and doin' no good."

" Do you call it doin' no good to go fasther nor ships
ivir wint before?"

"Pooh; sure Solomon, queen o' Sheba, said there
was time enough for all things."

" Thrue for you," said 0' Sullivan, "fair and aisy goes
far in a day, is a good owld sayin' "

" Well, maybe you'll own to the improvemint they're
makm in the harbour o' Howth, beyant in Dublin, is
some good."

" We'll see whether it 'ill be an improvemint first,"
said the obdurate O'Eeirdon.

" Why, man alive, sure you'll own it's the greatest o'
good it is, takin up the big rocks out o' the bottom o'
the harbour."

" Well, an' where's the wondher of that ? sure we done
the same here."

" Oh yis, but it was whin the tide was out and the
rocks was bare ; but up in Howth, they cut away the big
rocks from under the say intirely.

" Oh, be aisy ; why, how could they do that ? "

" Aye, there's the matther, that's what larnin' can do ;
and wondherful it is intirely ! and the way it is, is this,
as I hear it, for I never seen it, but hard it described by
the lord to some gintlemin and ladies one day in his
garden where I was helpin' the gardener to land some
salary (celery). You see the ingineer goes down undber
the wather intirely, and can stay there as long as he
plazes."

: " Whoo ! and what o' that ? Sure I heerd the long
sailor say, that come from the Aysthern Ingees, that the
Ingineers there can a-most live undher wather ; and
eoes down lookin' for dimonds, and has a sledge-
hammer in their hand, brakein' the dimonds when they're
too big to take them up whole, all as one as men
brakein' stones an the road."

" Well, I don't want to go beyant that ; but the way

BARNY O'REIRDCW. 175

the I ord's ingineer goes down is, he has a little bell wid
him, and while he has that little bell to ring, hurt nor
harm can't come to him."

" Arrah be aisy."

" Divil a lie in it."

" Maybe it's a blessed bell," said O'Eeirdon, crossing
himself.*

"No, it is not a blessed bell."

" Why thin now do you think me sitch a born
nath'ral as to give in to that ; as if the ringin' iv a bell,
barrin' it was a blessed bell, could do the like. I tell
you it's impossible."

"Ah, nothin's impossible to God."

" Sure I wasn't denyin' that ; but I say the bell is
impossible."

" Why," said O'Sullivan, " you see he's not alto-
gether complate in the demonstheration o' the mashine ;
it is not by the ringin' o' the bell it is done, but ' '

"But what?" broke in O'Eeirdon impatiently.
" Do you mane for to say there is a bell in it at all at
all?"

"Yes, I do," said O'Sullivan.

" I towld you so," said the promulgator of the story.

"Aye," said O'Sullivan, "but it is not by the ringin'"
iv the bell, it is done."

" Well, how is it done, then ? " said the other, with a
half offended, half supercilious air,"

" It is done," said O'Sullivan, as he returned the look
with interest, " it is done intirely be jommethry."

" Oh ! I undherstan' it now," said O'Eeirdon, with
an inimitable affectation of comprehension in the Oh ! —
" but to talk of the ringin' iv a bell doin' the like is

• There is a relic in the possession of the Macnamara family, in the
county Clare, called the "blessed bell of the Macnamara's " sometimes
used to swear upon in cases of extreme urgency, in preference to the
Testament : for a violation of truth, when sworn upon the blessed bell, is
looked upon by the peasantry as a sacrilege, placing the offender beyond
the pale of salvation.

176 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

beyant the beyants intirely, barrin', as I said before, it
was a blessed bell, glory be to God ! "

" And so you tell me, sir, it is jommethry," said the
twice discomfited man of science.

" Yes, sir, said O'Sullivan, with an air of triumph,
which rose in proportion as he saw he carried the
listeners along with him-— "jommethry."

" ' Well, have it your own way. There's them that
won't hear rayson sometimes, nor have belief in larnin' ;
and you may say it's jommethry if you plaze ; but I
heerd them that knows betther than iver you knew

say "

" Whisht, whisht ! and bad cess to you both," said
O'Eeirdon ; " what the dickens are yiz goin' to fight
about now, and sitch good liquor before yiz ? E illo !
there, Mrs. Quigley, bring uz another quart i' you plaze;
aye, that's the chat, another quart. Axigh ! yiz may
talk till you're black in the face about your invintions,
and your staymers, and bell ringin', and gash, and rail-
roads ; but here's long life and success to the man that
invinted the impairil (imperial) quart;* that was the
rail beautiful invintion," — and he took a long pull at
the replenished vessel, which strongly indicated that the
increase of its dimensions was a very agreeable measure
to such as Barny.

After the introduction of this and other quarts, it
would not be an easy matter to pursue the conversation
that followed. Let us, therefore, transfer our story to
the succeeding morning, when Barny O'Eeirdon strolled
forth from his cottage, rather later than usual, with his
eyes bearing eye-witness to the carouse of the preceding
night. He had not a head-ache, however; whether it
was that Barny was too experienced a campaigner under
the banners of Bacchus, or that Mrs. Quigley's boast

* Until the assimilation of currency, weights and measures between
England and Ireland, the Irish quart was a much smaller measure than
the English. This part of the assimilation pleased Pat exceedingly, and
he has no anxiely to have that repealed.

BARNY O'REIRDON. 177

was a just one, namely, " that of all the drink in her
house, there wasn't a head-ache in a hogshead of it," is
hard to determine, but I rather incline to the strength
of Barny's head.

The above-quoted declaration of Mrs. Quigley is the
favourite inducement held out by every boon companion
in Ireland at the head of his own table. " Don't be
ifraid of it, my boys ! it's the right sort. There's not
% head-ache in a hogshead of it."

This sentiment has been very seductively rendered
by Moore, with the most perfect unconsciousness on his
part of the likeness he was instituting. Who does not
remember —

" Friend of my soul, this goblet sip,
'Twill chase the pensive tear ;
"Tis not so sweet as woman's lip,

But, oh, 'tis more sincere :
Like her delusive beam,

'Twill steal away the mind;
But, like affection's dream,
It leaves no sting behind."

Is not this very elegantly saying, " There's not a head-
ache in a hogshead of it?" But I am forgetting my
story all this time.

Barny sauntered about in the sun, at which he often
looked up, under the shelter of compressed bushy brows
and long-lashed eyelids, and a shadowing hand across
his forehead, to see " what time o' day" it was ; and,
from the frequency of this action, it was evident the
day was hanging heavily with Barny. He retired at
last to a sunny nook in a neighbouring field, and
stretching himself at full length, basked in the sun, an'
began "to chew the cud of sweet and bitter thought."
He first reflected on his own undoubted weight in his
little community, but still he could not get over the
annoyance of the preceding night, arising from hi,"}
being silenced by O'Sullivan; "a chap," as he said
himself, " that lift the place four years agon a brat iv a

12

178 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

boy, and to think of his cornin' back and outdoin' his
elders, that saw him runnin' about the place, a gassoon,
that one could tache a few months before ; " 'twas too
bad. Barny saw his reputation was in a ticklish posi-
tion, and began to consider how his disgrace could be
retrieved. The very name of Fingal was hateful to
him ; it was a plague spot on his peace that festered
there incurably. He first thought of leaving Kinsale
altogether ; but flight implied so much of defeat, that
he did not long indulge in that notion. No ; he would
stay, "in spite of all the O'Sullivans, kith and kin,
breed, seed, and generation." But at the same time he
knew he should never hear the end of that hateful
place, Fingal; and if Barny had had the power, he
would have enacted a penal statute, making it death to
name the accursed spot, wherever it was ; but not
being gifted with such legislative authority, he felt
Kinsale was no place for him, if he would not submit
to be flouted every hour out of the four-and-twenty, by
man, woman, and child, that wished to annoy him.
What was to be done ? He was in the perplexing situa-
tion, to use his own words, " of the cat in the thripe
shop," he didn't know which way to choose. At last,
after turning himself over in the sun several times, a
new idea struck him. Couldn't he go to Fingal
himself? and then he'd be equal to that upstart,
O'Sullivan. No sooner was the thought engendered,
than Barny sprang to his feet a new man; his eye
brightened, his step became once more elastic, — he
walked erect, and felt himself to be all over Barny
O'Reirdon once more. " Richard was himself again."

But where was Fingal ? — there was the rub. That
was a profound mystery to Barny, which, until disco-
vered, must hold him in the vile bondage of inferiority.
The plain-dealing reader will say, " couldn't he ask ? ' '
No, no; that would never do for Barny, — that would
be an open admission of ignorance his soul was above,
and, consequently, Barny set his brains to work to

BARNY O'REIRDON. 179

devise measures of coming at the hidden knowledge by
some circuitous route, that would not betray the end he
was working for. To this purpose, fifty stratagems
were raised and demolished in half as many minutes, in
the fertile brain of Barny, as he strided along the
shore, and as he was working hard at the fifty-first, it
was knocked all to pieces by his jostling against some
one whom he never perceived he was approaching, so
immersed was he in speculations, and on looking up,
who should it prove to be but his friend "the long
sailor from the Aysthern Injees." This was quite a
godsend to Barny, and much beyond what he could
have hoped for. Of all the men under the sun, the
long sailor was the man in a million for Barny's net at
that minute, and accordingly he made a haul of him,
and thought it the greatest catch he ever made in
his life.

Barny and the long sailor were in close companion-
ship for the remainder of the day, which was closed, as
the preceding one, in a carouse ; but on this occasion,
there was only a duet performance in honour of the
jolly god, and the treat was at Barny's expense. What
the nature of their conversation during the period was,
I will not dilate on, but keep it as profound a secret as
Barny himself did, and content myself with saying, that
Barny looked a much happier man the next day.
Instead of wearing his hat slouched, and casting his
eyes on the ground, he walked about with his usual
unconcern, and gave his nod and passing word of
" civilitude " to every friend he met ; he rolled his quid
of tobacco about in his jaw with an air of superior
enjoyment, and if disturbed in his narcotic amusement
by a question, he took his own good time to eject " the
leperous distilment" before he answered the querist,
with a happy composure, that bespoke a man quite at
ease with himself. It was in this agreeable spirit that
Barny bent his course to the home of Peter Kelly, the
owner of the " big farm beyant," before alluded to, in

180 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

order to put into practice a plan he had formed for the
fulfilment of his determination of rivalling O'Sullivan.

He thought it probable that Peter Kelly, being one
of the " snuggest " men in the neighbourhood, would
be a likely person to join him in a " spec," as he called
it, (a favourite abbreviation of his for the word specu-
lation,) and, accordingly, when he reached the " big
farm-house," he accosted its owner with the usual
"God save you." "God save you kindly, Barny,"
returned Peter Kelly, " an' what is it brings you here,
Barny," asked Peter, " this fine day, instead o' beiu'
out in the boat ? " — " Oh, I'll be in the boat soon
enough, and its far enough too I'll be out in her ; an'
indeed it's partly that same is bring-in' me here to
yourself."

" Why, do you want me to go along wid you
Barny ? "

" Troth, an' I don't, Mr. Kelly. You are a know-
ledgeable man an' land, but I'm afeard its a bad
bargain you'd be at say."

" And what wor you talking about me and your
boat for 1 "

" Why, you see, sir, it Avas in the regard of a little
bit o' business, an' if you'd come wid me and take a
turn in the praty field, I'll be behoukliir to you, and
may be you'll hear somethin' that ■yon't be displazin'
to you."

" An' welkim, Barny," said Peter Kelly.

When Barny and Peter were in the " praty field,"
Barny opened the trenches, (I don't mean the potato
trenches,) but, in military parlance, he opened the
trenches and laid siege to Peter Kelly, setting forth the
extensive profits that had been realized by various " specs'
that had been made by his neighbours in exporting
potatoes. "And sure," said Barny, "why shouldn't
you do the same, and they here ready to your hand ? as
much as to say, why don't you profit by me, Peter Kelly ?
A.nd the boat is below there in the harbour, and; I'll say

BARNY o'REIRDON. 181

this much, the divil a betther boat is botune this and
lierself."

" Indeed, I b'lieve s<f, Barny," said Peter ; " for con-
sidhering where we stand, at this present, there's no
boat at all at all betune us," and Peter laughed with
infinite pleasure at his own hit.

" Oh ! well, you know what I mane, any how, an',
as I said before, the boat is a darlint boat, and as for
him that commands her — I b'lieve I need say nothin'
about that," and Barny gave a toss of his head and a
sweep of his open hand, more than doubling the
laudatory nature of his comment on himself.

But, as the Irish saying is, " to make a long story
short," Barny prevailed on Peter Kelly to make an
export ; but in the nature of the venture they did not
agree. Barny had proposed potatoes ; Peter said there
were enough of them already where he was going ; and
rejoined, that " praties were so good in themselves there
never could be too much o' thim any where." But
Peter being a knowledgeable man, and up to all the
u saycrets o' the airth, and understanding the the-o-ry
and the che-mis-thery," overruled Barny's proposition,
and determined upon a cargo of scalpeens (which name
they give to pickled mackerel) as a preferable mer-
chandise, quite forgetting that Dublin Bay herrings
were a much better and as cheap a commodity, at the
command of the Fingalians. But in many similar
mistakes the ingenious Mr. Kelly has been paralleled by
other speculators. But that is neither here nor there,
and it was all one to Barny whether his boat was
freighted with potatoes or scalpeens, so long as he had
the honour and glory of becoming a navigator, and
being as good as 0' Sullivan.

Accordingly the boat was laden and all got in
readiness for putting to sea, and nothing was now
wanting but Barny's orders to haul up the gaff and
shake out the gib of his hooker.

But this order Barny refrained to give, and for the

182 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

first time in his life exhibited a disinclination to leave
the shore. One of his fellow-b/>atmen, at last, said to
him, " Why thin, Barny O'Reirdon, what the divil is
come over you, at all at all ? What's the maynin' of
your loitherin' about here, and the boat ready and a
lovely line breeze affo' the land?"

" Oh ! never you mind ; I b'lieve I know my own
business any how, an' it's hard, so it is, if a man can't
ordher his own boat to sail when he plazes."

" Oh ! I was only thinkin' it quare — and a pity more
betoken, as I said before, to lose the beautiful breeze,
and "

" Well, just keep your thoughts to yourself, i' you
plaze, and stay in the boat as I bid you, and don't be
out of her on your apperl, by no manner o' manes, for
one minit, for you see I don't know when it may be
plazin' to me to go aboord an' set sail."

" Well, all I can say is, I never seen you afeard to go
to say before."

" Who says I'm afeard ? " said O'Reirdon ; " you'd
betther not say that agin, or in throth I'll give you a
leatherin' that won't be for the good o' your health —
throth, for three sthraws this minit I'd lave you that
your own mother wouldn't know you with the lickin'
I'd give you ; but I scorn your dirty insinuation ; no
man ever seen Barny O'Reirdon afeard yet, any how.
Howld your prate, I tell you, and look up to your
betthers. What do you know iv navigation ? may be
you think it's as easy for to sail an a voyage as to go a
start fishin' ; " and Barny turned on his heel and left
the shore.

The next day passed without the hooker sailing, and
Barny gave a most sufficient reason for the delay, by
declaring that he had a warnin' given him in a dhrame,
(Glory be to God,) and that it was given him to under-
stand (under Heaven) that it wouldn't be looky that
day.

T"YelL the next day was Friday, and Barny, of course,

BARNY O'REIRDON. 183

would not sail any more than any other sailor who could
help it, on this unpropitious day. On Saturday, how-
ever, he came, running in a great hurry down to the
shore, and, jumping aboard, he gave orders to make all
sail, and taking the helm of the hooker, he turned her
head to the sea, and soon the boat was cleaving the blue
waters with a velocity seldom witnessed in so small a
craft, and scarcely conceivable to those who have not
seen the speed of a Kinsale hooker.

"Why, thin, you tuk the notion mighty suddint,
Barny," said the fisherman next in authority to O'Keir-
don, as soon as the bustle of getting the boat under way
had subsided.

" Well, I hope it's plazin' to you at last," said Barny,
"throth one 'ud think you were never at say before,
you wor in such a hurry to be off; as new-fangled
a'most as a child with a play-toy."

" Well," said the other of Barny' s companions, for
there were but two with him in the boat, " I was thinkin'
myself as well as Jimmy, that we lost two fine days for
nothin', and we'd be there a'most, may be, now, if we
sail'd three days agon."

" Don't b'lieve it," said Barny, emphatically. " Now,
don't you know yourself that there is some days that
the fish won't come near the lines at all, and that we
might as well be castin' our nets an the dhry land as in
the say, for all we'll catch if we start an an unlooky
day ; and sure I towld you I was waitin' only till I had
it given to me to undherstan' that it was looky to sail,
and I go bail we'll be there sooner than if we started
three days agon, for if you don't start, with good look
before you, faix maybe it's never at all to the end o'
your thrip you'll come."

" Well, there's no use in talkin' about it now any
how ; but when do you expec' to be there ? "

" Why, you see we must wait antil I can tell you how
the wind is like to hould on, before I can make up my
mind to that."

184 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

" But you're sure now, Barny, that you're up to the
coorse you have to rim ? "

" See now, lay me alone and don't be crass-questionin'
me — tare-an-ouns, do you think me sitch a bladdherang
as for to go to shuperinscri.be a thing I wasn't aiquil to ? "

" J^o ; I was only goin' to ax you what coorse you
wor goin' to steer ? "

"You'll find out soon enough when we get there —
and so I bid you agin' lay me alone, — just keep your
toe in your pump. Shure I'm here at the helm, and a
woight on my mind, and it's fitther for you, Jim, to
mind your own business and lay me to mind mine;
away wid you there and be handy, haul taught that
foresheet there, we must run close an the wind ; be
handy, boys ; make everything dhraw."

These orders were obeyed, and the hooker soon
passed to wdndward of a ship that left the harbour before
her, but could not hold on a wind with the same tenacity
as the hooker, whose qualities in this particular render it
peculiarly suitable for the purposes to which it is applied,
namely, pilot and fishing boats.

We have said a ship left the harbour before the hooker
had set sail, and it is now fitting to inform the reader
that Barny had contrived, in the course of his last
meeting with the " long sailor," to ascertain that this
ship, then lying in the harbour, was going to the very
place Barny wanted to reach. Barny's plan of action
was decided upon in a moment ; he had now nothing to
do but to watch the sailing of the ship and follow in her
course. Here was, at once, a new mode of navigation
discovered.

The stars, twinkling in mysterious brightness through
the silent gloom of night, were the first encouraging,
because visible guides to the adventurous mariners of
antiquity. Since then, the sailor, encouraged by a
bolder science, relies on the unseen agency of nature,
depending on the fidelity of an atom of iron to the
mystic law that claims its homage in the north. This

BARNY O'REIRBOIT. 185

is one refinement of science upon another. But the
beautiful simplicity of Barny O'Reirdon's philosophy
cannot be too much admired. To follow the ship that
is going to the same place. Is not this navigation
made easy ?

But Barny, like many a great man before him, seemed
not to be aware of how much credit he was entitled to
for hi3 invention, for he did not divulge to his com-
panions the originality of his proceeding ; he wished
them to believe he was only proceeding in the common-
place manner, and had no ambition to be distinguished
as the happy projector of so simple a practice.

For this purpose he went to windward of the ship
and then fell off again, allowing her to pass him, as he
did not wish even those on board the ship to suppose he
was following in their wake ; for Barny, like all people
that are quite full of one scheme, and fancy everybody
is watching them, dreaded lest any one should fathom
his motives. All that day Barny held on the same
course as his leader, keeping at a respectful distance,
however, " for fear 'twould look like dodging her," as
he said to himself; but as night closed in, so closed in
Barny with the ship, and kept a sharp look-out that she
should not give him the slip in the dark. The next
morning dawned, and found the hooker and ship com-
panions still ; and thus matters proceeded for four days,
during the entire of which time they had not seen land
jince their first losing sight of it, although the weather
was clear.

" By my sowl," thought Barny, " the channel must
be mighty wide in these parts, and for the last day or
so we've been goin' purty free with a flowin' sheet, and
I wondher we aren't closin' in wid the shore by this
time ; or maybe it's farther off than I thought it was."
His companions, too, began to question Barny on the
subject, but to their queries he presented an impene-
trable front of composure, and said, " it was always the
best plan to keep a good bowld offin'." In two days

186 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

more, however, the weather began to be sensibly warmer,
and Barny and his companions remarked that it was
" goin' to be the finest sayson — God bless it — that ever
kem out o' the skies for many a long year, and maybe
it's the whate wouldn't be beautiful, and a great plenty
of it." It was at the end of a week that the ship which
Barny had hitherto kept a-head of him, showed symptoms
of bearing down upon him, as he thought, and, sure
enough, she did ; and Barny began to conjecture what
the deuce the ship could want with him, and commenced
inventing answers to the questions he thought it possible
might be put to him in case the ship spoke to him. He
was soon put out of suspense by being hailed and
ordered to run under her lee, and the captain, looking
over the quarter, asked Barny where he was going.

" Faith then, I'm goin' an my business," said Barny.

"But where?" said the captain.

"Why, sure, an it's no matther where a poor man
like me id be goin'," said Barny.

" Only I'm curious to know what the deuce you've
been following my ship for, for the last week ?"

" Follyin' your ship ! — Why thin, blur an agers, do
you think it's follyin' yiz I am ? "

"It's very like it," said the captain.

" Why, did two people niver thravel the same road
before?"

"I don't say they didn't; but there's a great
difference between a ship of seven hundred tons and a
hooker."

" Oh, as for that matther," said Barny, " the same
high road sarves a coach and four, and a low-back car ;
the thravellm' tinker an" a lord a' horseback."

" That's very true," said the captain, " but the cases
are not the same, Paddy, and I can't conceive what the
devil brings you here."

" And who ax'd you to consayve any thing about it? "
asked Barny, somewhat sturdily.

" D — n me, if I can imagine what you're about, my

BARNT O'REIEDON. 187

fine fellow," said the captain, " and my own notion
is, that you don't know where the d — 1 you're going
yourself."

" 0 baithershin!" said Barny, with a laugh of derision.

"Why then do you object to tell !" said the captain.

"Arrah sure, captain, an' don't you know that
sometimes vessels is bound to sail saycret ordher .'" said
Barny, endeavouriug to foil the question by badinage.

There was a universal laugh from the deck of the ship>
at the idea of a fishing-boat sailing under secret orders :
for, by this time, the whole broadside of the vessel was
crowded with grinning mouths and wondering eyes
at Barny and his boat.

" Oh, it's a thrifle makes fools langh," said Barny.

" Take care, my fine fellow, that you don't be
laughing at the wrong side of your mouth before long,
for I've a notion that you're cursedly in the wrong box,

as cunning a fellow as you think yourself. D n

your stupid head, can't you tell what brings you here ?"

"Why thin, by gor, one id think the whole say
belonged to you, you're so mighty bold in axin'
questions an it. Why tare-an-ouns, sure I've as much
right here as you, though I haven't as big a ship nor so
fine a coat — but maybe I can take as good sailin' out o'
the one, and has as bowld a heart under th' other."

" Very well," said the captain, " I see there's no use
in talking to you, so go to the d — 1 your own way."
And away bore the ship, leaving Barny in indignatiok
and his companions in wonder.

" An' why wouldn't you tell him ?" said they to
Barny.

" Why don't you see," said Barny, whose object was
now to blind them, " don't you see, how do I know but
maybe he might be goin' to the same place himself, and
maybe he has a cargo of scalpeens as well as us, and
wants to get before us there."

" Thrue for you, Barny," said they. " By clad you're
right." And their inquiries being satisfied, the day

188 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

passed as former ones had done in pursuing the course of
the ship.

In four days more, however, the provisions in the
hooker hegan to fail, and they were obliged to have re-
course to the scalpeens for sustenance, and Barny then
got seriously uneasy at the length of the voyage, and
the likely greater length, for any thing he could see
to the contrary, and, urged at last by his own alarms
and those of his companions, he was enabled, as the
wind was light, to gain on the ship, and when he found
himself alongside he demanded a parley with the
captain.

The captain, on hearing that the " hardy hooker," as
she got christened, was under his lee, came on deck, and
as soon as he appeared Barny cried out —

"Why, thin, blur an agers, captain clear, do you
expec' to be there soon 1"

" Where ?" said the captain.

" Oh, you know yourself," said Barny.

" It's well for me I do, said the captain."

" Thrue for you, indeed, your honor," said Barny in
his most insinuating tone ; " but whin will you be at the
ind o' your voyage, captain jewel ?"

"I dare say in about three months," said the captain.

"Oh, Holy Mother?" ejaculated Barny; "three
months! — arrah, it's jokin' you are, captain dear, and
only want to freken me."

" How should I frighten you ?" asked the captain.

" Why, thin, your honor, to tell God's thruth, I heerd
you were goin' there, an' as I wanted to go there too, I
thought I couldn't do better nor to folly a knowledgeable
gintleman like yourself, and save myself the throuble iv
nndin' it out."

"And where do you think I am going?" said the captain.

"Why, thin," said Barny, "isn't it to Fingal ?''

" No," said the captain, " 'tis to Bengal."

« Oh ! Gog's blakey !" said Barny, " what'll I do now
at all at all ?"

BARNY O'KETRDON. 189

CHAP. n. '

HOMEWARD BOUND.

" 'Tis an ill wind that blows nobody good."

Old Satiso.

The captain ordered Barny on deck, as he wished to
have some conversation with him on what he, very
naturally, considered a most extraordinary adventure.
Heaven help the captain ! he knew little of Irish-
men, or he would not have been so astonished. Barny
made his appearance. Puzzling question, and more
puzzling answer, followed in quick succession between
the commander and Barny, who in the midst of his
dilemma, stamped about, thumped his head, squeezed
his caubeen into all manner of shapes, and vented his
despair anathematically —

" Oh, my heavy hathred to you, you tarnal thief iv a
long sailor, it's a purty scrape yiv led me into. By gor,
I thought it was Fingal he said, and now I hear it is
Bingal. Oh ! the divil sweep you for navigation, why
did I meddle or make with you at all at all ! And my
curse light on you, Teddy O'Sullivan, why did I iver
come acrass you, you onlooky vagabone, to put sitch
thoughts in my head ! An' so its Bingal, and not
Fingal, you're goin' to, captain.

" Yes, indeed, Paddy."

" An' might I be bowld to ax, captain, is Bingal
much farther nor Fingal?"

" A trifle or so, Paddy."

" Och, thin, millia murther, weirasthru, how '11 1 iver
get there, at all at all ?" roared out poor Barny.

" By turning about, and getting back the road
you've come, as fast as you can."

190 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

" Is it back ? Oh ! Queen iv heaven ! an' hew will 1
iver get back ?" said the bewildered Barny.

" Then you don't know your course it appears ?"

" Oh faix I knew it, iligant, as long as your honor
was before me."

" But you don't know your course back?"

" Why, indeed, not to say rightly all out, your honor."

" Can't you steer ?" said the Captain.

" The divil a betther hand at the tiller in all Kinsale,"
said Barny, with his usual brag.

"Well, so far so good," said the captain. " And you
know the points of the compass — you have a compass, I
suppose?''

"A compass ! by my sowl an' it's not let alone a com-
pass, but a pair a compasses I have, that my brother the
carpinthir, left me for a keepsake whin he wint abroad ;
but, indeed, as for the points o' thim I can't say much,
for the childhren spylt thim intirely, rootin' holes in the
flure."

" What the plague are you talking about ?"

"Wasn't your honor discoorsin' me about the points
0' the compasses ?"

" Confound your thick head !'' said the captain.
" Why what an ignoramus you must be, not to know
what a compass is, and yon at sea all your life ? Do you
even know the cardinal points ?"

" The cardinal ! faix an' its a great respect I have for
them, your honor. Sure, ar'n't they belongin' to the
Pope?"

" Confound you, you blockhead !" roared the captain
in a rage — " 'twould take the patience of the Pope and
the cardinals, and the cardinal virtues into the bargain,
to keep one's temper with you. Do you know the four
points of the wind ?"

" By my sowl I do, and more."

"Well, never mind more, but let us stick to four.
You're sure you know the four points of the wind ?"

" By dad it would be a quare thing if a sayfarin' man

BARNY O'REIRDON. 191

didn't know somethin' about the wind any how. Why,
captain dear, you must take me for a nath'ral intirely to
suspect me o' the like o' not knowin' all about the
wind. By gor, I know as much o' the wind a'most as
a pig."

" Indeed I believe so," laughed out the captain.

" Oh, you may laugh if you plaze, and I see by the
same that you don't know about the pig, with all your
edication, captain."

" Well, what about the pig ?"

"Why, sir, did you never hear a pig can see the
wind ?"

" I can't say that I did."

" Oh thin he does, and for that rayson who has a right
to know more about it ?"

" You don't for one, I dare say, Paddy ; and maybe
you have a pig aboard to give you information."

" Sorra taste your honor, not as much as a rasher o'
bacon ; but it's maybe your honor never seen a pig tossin'
up his snout, consaited like, and running like mad afore
a storm."

" Well, what if I have ?"

"Well, sir, that is when they see the wind a comin'."

" Maybe so, Paddy, but all this knowledge in piggery
won't find you your way home ; and, if you take my
advice, you will give up all thoughts of endeavouring to
find your way back, and come on board. You and your
messmates, I dare say, will be useful hands, with
some teaching ; but, at all events, I cannot leave you
here on the open sea, with every chance of being
lost."

"Why thin, indeed, and I'm behowlden to your
honor ; and its the hoighth o' kindness, so it is, your
offer ; and its nothin' else but a gentleman you are,
every inch o' you ; but I hope it's not so bad wid us yet,
as to do the likes o' that."

" I think it's bad enough," said the captain, " when
you are without a compass, and knowing nothing of

192 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

your course, and nearly a hundred and eighty leagues
from land."

" An' how many miles would that be, captain 1"

" Three times as many."

" I never larned the rule o' three, captain, and maybe
your honor id tell me yourself."

" That is rather more than five hundred miles."

" Five hundred miles !" shouted Barny. " Oh !
the Lord look down on us ! how 'ill we iver get
back ! !"

" That's what I say," said the captain ; " and, there-
fore, I recommend you come aboard with me."

" And where 'ud the hooker be all the time ?" said
Barny.

" Let her go adrift," was the answer.

" Is it the darlint boat ? Oh, by dad, I'll never hear
o' that at all."

" Well, then, stay in her and be lost. Decide upon
the matter at once, either come on board or cast off:"
and the captain was turning away as he spoke, when
Barny called after him, " Arrah, thin, your honor,
don't go jist for one minit antil I ax you one word
more. If I wint wid you, whin would I be home
agin?"

" In about seven months."

" Oh, thin, that puts the wig an it at wanst. I
dar'n't go at all."

" Why, seven months are not long passing."

" Thrue for you, in throth," said Barny with a
shrug of his shoulders. " Faix it's myself knows,
to my sorrow, the half-year comes round mighty
suddint, and the Lord's agint comes for the thrifle o'
rint ; and faix I know, by Molly, that nine months
is not long in goin' over either," added Barny with a
grin.

"Then what's your objection, as to the time?" asked
the captain.

" Arrah, sure, sir, what would the woman that owns

BARNY O'REIRDON'. 193

me do while I was away ? and maybe its break her
heart the craythur would, thinkin' I was lost intirely ;
and who'd be at home to take care o' the childher, and
aim thim the bit and the sup, whin I'd be away ? and
who knows but it's all dead they'd be afore I got back ?
Och hone ! sure the heart id fairly break in my body, if
hurt or harm kem to them, through me. So, say no more,
captain dear, only give me a thrifle o' directions how
I'm to make an offer at gettin' home, and its myself that
will pray for you night, noon, and mornin' for that same.

" Well, Paddy," said the captain, " as you are deter-
mined to go back, in spite of all I can say, you must
attend to me well while I give you as simple instructions
as I can. You say you know the four points of the
wind, north, south, east, and west."

" Yis, sir."

" How do you know them ? for I must see that you
are not likely to make a mistake. How do you know
the points ? "

" Why, you see, sir, the sun, God bless it, rises in the
aist, and sets in the west, which stands to raison ; and
when you stand bechuxt the aist and the west, the north
is forninst you."

" And when the north is foreninst you, as you say, i3
the east on your right or your left hand ? "

" On the right hand, your honour."

" Well, I see you know that much however. Now,"
said the captain, " the moment you leave the ship, you
must steer a north-east course, and you will make some
land near home in about a week, if the wind holds as it
is now, and it is likely to do so ; but mind me, if you
turn out of your course in the smallest degree, you are
a lost man."

" Many thanks to your honour ! "

" And how are you off for provisions ? "

« Why thin indeed in the regard o' that same we are
in the hoighth o' distress, for exceptin' the scalpeens,
sorra taste passed our lips for these four days."

13

194 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

" Oh ! you poor devils ! " said the commander, in a
tone of sincere commiseration ; " I'll order you some
provisions on board before you start."

" Long life to your honour ! and I'd like to drink the
health of so noble a jintleman."

" I understand you, Paddy, you shall have grog too."

" Musha, the heavens shower blessins an you, I pray
the Virgin Mary and the twelve apostles, Matthew,
Mark, Luke, and John, not forgettin' Saint Pathrick."

" Thank yon, Paddy ; but keep all your prayers for
yourself, for you need them all to help you home
again."

" Oh ! never fear, whin the thing is to be done, I'll
do it by dad, with a heart and a half. And sure, your
honour, God is good, an' will mind dissolute craythurs
like uz, on the wild oceant as well as ashore."

While some of the ship's crew were putting the
captain's benevolent intentions to Barny and his com-
panions into practice, by transferring some provisions to
the hooker, the commander entertained himself by
further conversation with Barny, who was the greatest
original he had ever met. In the course of their
colloquy, Barny drove many hard queries at the captain,
respecting the wonders of the nautical profession, and at
last put the question to him plump.

" Oh ! thin, captain dear, and how is it at all at all,
that you make your way over the wide says intirely to
them furrin parts ?"

" You would not understand, Paddy, if I attempted to
explain to you,"

" Sure enough indeed, your honour, and I ask your
pardon, only I was curious to know, and sure no
wonder."

" It requires various branches of knowledge to make
a navigator."

" Branches," said Barny, "by gor I think it id take
the ivhole three o' knowledge to make it out. And that
place you are going to, sir, that Bmgal, (oh bad luck

BARNY o'REIRDON. 195

to it for a Bingal, it's the sore Bingal to me,) is it so
far off as you say ?"

" Yes, Paddy, half round the world."

" Is it round in airnest, captain dear ? Bound
about ?"

" Aye indeed."

" Oh thin ar'nt you afeard that whin you come to the
top and that you're obleeged to go down, that you'd go
sliddherin away intirely, and never be able to stop
maybe. It's bad enough, so it is, goiiV downhill by
land, but it must be the dickens all out by wather."

" But there is no hill, Paddy ; don't you know that
water is always level ?"

" By dad it's very flat any how, and by the same
token it's seldom I throuble it ; but sure, your honour, if
the wather is level, how do you make out that it is
round you go ?"

" That is part of the knowledge I was speaking to
you about," said the captain.

"Musha, bad luck to you, knowledge, but you're a
quare thing ! and where is it Bingal, bad cess to it,
would be at all at all ?"

" In the East Indies."

" O that is where they make tne tay, isn't it, sir ?"

" No, where he tea grows is farther still."

" Farther ! why that must be the ind of the world
intirely. And they don't make it, then, sir, but it
grows, you tell me."

" Yes, Paddy."

" Is it like hay, your honour ?"

"Not exactly, Paddy; what puts hay in your head 1

" Oh ! only bekase I here them call it Bo/toy."

" A most logical deduction, Paddy."

" And is it a great deal farther, your honor, the tay
country is ?"

" Yes, Paddy, China it is called."

" That's, I suppose, what we call Chaynee, sir |"

«' Exactly, Paddy."

196 EGENDS AND STORIES.

" By clad, I never could come at it rightly before, -why
it was natlvral to dhrink tay out o' chaynee. I ax your
honour's pardon for bein' throublesome, but I hard tell
from the long sailor, iv a place they call Japan, in thim
(ar: in parts, and is it there, your honour ?"

" Quite true, Paddy."

" And I suppose it's there the blackin' comes from."

" No, Paddy, you're out there."

" Oh well, I thought it stood to rayson, as I heerd of
japan blackin', sir, that it would be there it kem from,
besides as the blacks themselves — the naygurs I mane, is
in thim parts.''

" The negroes are in Africa, Paddy, much nearer to
us."

" God betune uz and harm. I hope I would not be
too near them," said Barny.

" Why, what s your objection ?"

"Arrah sure, sir, they're hardly mortials at all, but
has the mark o' the bastes an thim."

" How do you make out that, Paddy ?''

" Why sure, sir, and didn't Nathur make thim wid wool
on their heads, plainly makin' it undherstood to chrish-
thans, that they wur little more nor cattle."

" I think your head is a wool-gathering now, Paddy,''
said the captain, laughing.

" Paix maybe so, indeed/.' answered Barny, good-hu-
mouredly, " but it's seldom I ever went out to look for
wool and kem home shorn, any how," said he, with a
look of triumph.

"Well, you won't have that to say for the future,
Paddy," said the captain, laughing again.

" My name's not Paddy, your honour," said Barny
returning the laugh, but seizing the opportunity to turn
the joke aside, that was going against him ; " my name
isn't Paddy, sir, but Barny."

" Oh, if it was Solomon, you'll be bare enough when
you go home this time ; you have not gathered much
this trip, Barny."

BARNY O'REIRDON. 197

'"' Sure I've been gathering knowledge, any how, your
honour," said Barny, with a significant look at the captain,
and a complimentary tip of his hand to his caubeen, " and
God bless you for being so good to me."

" And what's your name besides Barny 1" asked the
captain.

" O'Reirdon, you honour — Barny O'Reirdon's my
name."

" Well, Barny O'Reirdon, I won't forget your name
nor yourself in a hurry, for you are certainly the most
original navigator I ever had the honour of being ac-
quainted with."

" Well,'' said Barny, with a triumphant toss of his head,
"I have done out Terry Q' Sullivan, at any rate, the
divil a half so far he ever was, and that's a comfort. I
have muzzled his clack for the rest iv his life, and he
won't be comin' over us wid the pride iv his .Fmgal,
while I'm to the fore, that was a'most at Umgal."

" Terry O'Sullivan — who is he pray ?" said the
captain.

" Oh, he's a scut iv a chap that's not worth your
axin for — he's not worth your honour's notice — a
braggin' poor craythur. Oh wait till I get home,
and the devil a more braggin' they'll hear out of hi
jaw."

"Indeed, then, Barny, the sooner you turn your
face towards home the better," said the captain ;
" since you will go, there is no need in losing more
time."

| " Thrue for you, your honour — and sure it's well for
me had the luck to meet with the likes o' your honour,
that explained the ins and outs iv it, to me, and laid it
all down as plain as prent."

1 " Are you sure you remember my directions ?" said
the captain.

" Throth an I'll niver forget them to the day o' my
death, and is bound to pray, more betoken, for you and
yours."

198 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

" Don't mind praying for me till you get home,
Barny ; but answer me, how are you to steer when you
shall leave me ?"

" The Nor-Aist coorse, your honour, that's the coorse
agin the world."

" Remember that ! never alter that course till you see
land — let nothing make you turn out of a North-East
course."

" Throth an that id be the dirty turn, seein' that it
was yourself that ordered it. Oh no, I'll depend my
life an the Nor-Aist course, and God help any one that
comes betune me an' it — I'd run him down if he was my
father."

" Well, good bye, Barny."

" Good bye, and God bless you, your honour, and send
you safe."

" That's a wish you want more for yourself, Barny —
never fear for me, but mind yourself well."

" Oh sure, I'm as good as at home wanst I know the
way, barrin the wind is conthrary ; sure the Nor-Aist
coorse 'ill do the business complate. Good bye, your
honour, and long life to you, and more power to your
elbow, and a light heart and a heavy purse to you
evermore, I pray the blessed Virgin and all the saints,
amin !" and so saying, Barny descended the ship's
side, and once more assumed the helm of the " hardy
hooker."

The two vessels now separated on their opposite
courses. What a contrast their relative situations
afforded ! Proudly the ship bore away under her
lofty and spreading canvass, cleaving the billows before
her, manned by an able crew, and under the guidance
of experienced officers. The finger of science to point
the course of her progress, the faithful chart to warn oi
the hidden rock and the shoal, the log line and the
quadrant to measure her march and prove her position.
The poor little hooker cleft not the billows, each wave
lifted her on its crest like a seabird ; but three inex-

BAKNT O'REIEDON. 199

perienced fishermen to manage her ; no certain means
to guide them over the vast ocean they had to traverse,
and the holding of the " fickle wind" the only chance
of their escape from perishing in the wilderness of
waters. By the one, the feeling excited is supremely
that of man's power. By the other, of his utter help-
lessness. To the one, the expanse of ocean could
scarcely be considered " trackless." To the other, it
was a waste indeed.

Yet the cheer that burst from the ship, at parting, was
answered as gaily from the hooker as though the odds
had not been so fearfully against her, and no blither heart
beat on board the ship than that of Barny O'Reirdon.

Happy light-heartedness of my poor countrymen ! they
have often need of all their buoyant spirits ! How kindly
have they been fortified by Xature against the assaults
of adversity ; and if they blindly rush into dangers, they
cannot be denied the possesion of gallant hearts to fight
their way out of them.

But each hurra became less audible ; by degrees the
cheers dwindled into faintness, and finally were lost in
the eddies of the breeze.

The first feeling of loneliness that poor barny experi-
enced was when he could no longer hear the exhilarating
.sound. The plash of the surge, as it broke on the bows
of his little boat, was uninterupted by the kindred sound
of human voice ; and, as it fell upon his ear, it smote
upon his heart. But he rallied, waved his hat, and the
silent signal was answered from the ship.

" Well, Barny," said Jemmy, " what was the captain
sayin' to you all the time you wor wid him ?"

" Lay me alone," said Barny, " I'll talk to you when
I see her out o' sight, but not a word till thin. Ill look
afther him, the rale gintleman that he is, while there's a
topsail o' his ship to be seen, and thin I'll send my
blessin' afther him, aad pray for his good fortune wher_
ever he goes, for he's the right sort and nothin' else."
And Barny kept his word, and when his straining eye

200 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

could no longer trace a line of the ship, the captain cer-
tainly had the benefit of " a poor mans blessing. '

The sense of utter loneliness and desolation had not
come upon Barny until now ; but he put his trust in the
goodness of Providence, and in a fervent mental outpour-
ing of prayer, resigned himself to the care of his Creator.
With an admirable fortitude, too, he assumed a compo-
sure to his companions that was a stranger to his heart :
and we all know how the burden of anxiety is increased
when we have none with whom to sympathise. And this
was not all. Hehad to affect ease and confidence, for Barny
not only had no dependence on the firmness of his com-
panions to go through the undertaking before them, but
dreaded to betray to them how he had imposed on them
in the affair. Barny was equal to all this. He had a
stout heart, and was an admirable actor ; yet, for the
first hour after the ship was out of sight, he could not
cpiite recover himself, and every now and then, unconsci-
ously, he would look back with a wistful eye to the point
where last he saw her. Poor Barny had lost his leader.

The night fell, and Barny stuck to the helm as long
as nature could sustain want of rest, and then left it in
charge of one of his companions, with particular directions
how to steer, and ordered, if any change in the wind
occurred, that they should instantly awake him. He
could not sleep long, however, the fever of anxiety was
upon him, and the morning had not long dawned when
he awoke. He had not well rubbed his eyes and looked
about him, when he thought he saw a ship in the
distance approaching them. As the haze cleared away,
she showed distinctly bearing down towards the hooker.
On board the ship, the hooker, in such a sea, caused sur-
prise as before, and in about an hour she was so close
as to hail, and order the hooker to run under her lee.

" The divil a taste, said Barny, " I'll not cpiit my
27or-Aist coorse for the king of Ingland, nor Bony-
party into the bargain. Bad cess to you, do you think
I've nothin' to do but to plaze you V'

BARNT O'REIRDON. 201

Again lie was hailed.

'• Oh ! bad luck to the toe I'll go to you.

Another hail.

" Spake loudher you'd betther, said Barny, jeor-
ingly, still holding on his course.

A gun was fired ahead of him.

"By my sowl you spoke loudher that time, sure
enough," said Barny.

" Take care, Barny," cried Jemmy and Peter
together. " Blur an agers man, we'll be kilt if you
don't go to them."

" Well, and we'll be lost if we turn out iv our Nor-
Aist coorse, and that's as broad as it's long. Let them
hit iz if they like ; sure it 'ud be a pleasanther death
nor starvin' at say. I tell you agin I'll turn out o' my
nor-aist coorse for no man."

A shotted gun was fired. The shot hopped on the
water as it passed before the hooker.

" Phew ! you missed it, like your mammy's blessin',"
said Barny.

" Oh murther!" said Jemmy, " didn't you see the ball
hop aff the wather forninst you. Oh murther, what ud
we ha done if we wor there at all at all ?"

"Why, we'd have taken the ball at the hop," said
Barny, laughing, " accordin' to the owld savin'."

Another shot was ineffectually fired.

" I'm thinking that's a Connaughtman that's shootin',"
said Barny, with a sneer.* The allusion was so relished
by Jemmy and Peter, that it excited a smile in the midst
of their fears from the cannonade.

Again the report of the gun was followed by no damage.

"Augh! never heed them!" said Barny, contemp-
tuously. "It's a barkin dog that never bites, as the

* This is an allusion of Barny' s to a prevalent saying in Ireland, ad-
dressed to a sportsman who returns home, unsuccessful, " So you've killed
what the Connaughtman shot at." Besides, Barny herein indulges a
provincial pique ; for the people of Mimster have a profound contempt-foi
Connaught men.

202 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

owld sayin' says/' and the hooker was soon out of reach
of further annoyance.

" Now, what a pity it was, to be sure," said Barny,
" that I wouldn't go aboord to plaze them. Now, who's
right ? All, lave me alone always, Jimmy ; did you ivir
know me wrong yet ?"

" Oh, you may hillow now that you're out o' the wood,"
said Jemmy, " but, accordin' to my idays, it was runnin'
a grate rishk to be contrary wid them at all, and they
shootin' balls afther us."

" Well, what matther ?" said Barny, " since they woi
only blind gunners, an' I hieio it ; besides, as I said
afore, I won't turn out o' my nor-aist coorse for no
man."

" That's a new turn you tuk lately," said Peter.
"What's theraison you're runnin a nor-aist coorse now,
an' we never hear'd iv it afore at all, till afther you
quitted the big ship ?"

" Why, then, are you sitch an ignoramus all out," said
Barny, " as not for to know that in navigation you must
lie an a great many different tacks before you can make
the port you steer for ?"

" Only I think," said Jemmy, " that it's back intirely
we're goin' now, and I can't make out the rights o' that
at all."

" Why," said Barny, who saw the necessity of mysti-
fying his companions a little, " you see, the captain towld
me that I kum a round, an' rekimminded me to go
th' other way."

" Faix, it's the first I ever heard o' goin' a round by
say," said Jemmy.

" Arrah, sure, that's part o' the saycrets o' navigation,
and the various branches o' knowledge that is requizit
for a navigathor ; an' that's what the captain, God bless
him, and myself was discoorsin'' an aboord ; and, like a
rale gintleman as he is, Barny, says he ; Sir, says I ;
you're come the round, says he. I know that, says I,
bekase I like to keep a good bowld offin', says I. in con-

BARNY O'REIRDON. 203

trairy places. Spoke like a good sayman, says he.
That's my prenciples, says I. They're the right sort,
says he. But, says he (no offince), I think you wor
wrong, says he, to pass the short turn in the ladieshoes,*
says he. I know, says I, you mane beside the threespike
headlan' That's the spot, says he, I see you know it.
As well as T know my father, says I."

"Why, Barny," said Jemmy, interrupting him, " we
seen no headlan' at all."

" Whisht, whisht !" said Barny, " bad cess to you,
don't thwart me. We passed it in the night, and you
couldn't see it. Well, as I was saying, I knew it as
well as I know my father, says I, but I gev the prefer-
ence to go the round, says I. You're a good sayman
for that same, says he, an' it would be right at any other
time than this present, says he, but it's onpossible now,
tee-totally, on account o' the war, says he. Tare alive,
says I, what war ? An' didn't you hear o' the war ?
says he. Divil a word, says I. Why, says he, the
Naygurs has made war on the king o' Chaynee, says he,
bekase he refused them any more tay ; an' with that,
what did they do, says he, but they put a lumbaago on
all the vessels that sails the round, an' that's the rayson,
says he, I carry guns, as you may see ; and I'd rekim-
mind you, says he, to go back, for you're not able for
thim, an' that's jist the way iv it. An' now, wasn't it
looky that I kem acrass him at all, or maybe we might
be cotch by the Naygurs, and ate up alive."

" 0, thin, indeed, and that's thrue," said Jemmy
and Peter, " and when will we come to the short
turn ?"

"Oh, never mind," said Barny, " you'll see it when
you get there ; but wait till I tell you more about the
captain and the big ship. He said, you know, that he
carried guns afeard o' the Naygurs, and in throth it's
the hoight o' care he takes o' them same guns ; and

9 Some attempt Barny is making at latitudes.

204 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

small blame to him, sure they might be the salvation of
him. 'Pon my conscience, they're taken betther care of
than any poor man's child. I heer'd him cautionin' the
sailors about them, and given them ordhers about their
clothes."

" Their clothes !" said his two companions at once in
much surprise ; " is it clothes upon cannons ?"

" It's truth, I'm tellin' you," said Barny. " Bad luck
to the lie in it, he was talkin' about their aprons and
their breeches."

" Oh, think o' that !" said Jemmy and Peter in
surprise.

" An' 'twas all iv a piece," said Barny, " that an' the
rest o' the ship all out. She was as nate as a new pin.
Throth I was a'most ashamed to put my fut an the
deck, it was so elane, and she painted every colour in the
rainbow ; and all sorts o' curosities about her ; and
instead iv a tiller to steer her, like this darlin' craythur
iv ours, she goes wid a wheel, like a coach all as one ;
and there's the quarest thing you iver seen, to show the
way, as the captain gev me to undhcrstan', a little
round rowly-powly thing in a bowl, that goes waddlin'
about as if it didn't know its own way, much more
nor show any body their's. Throth myself thought
that if that's the way they're obliged to go, that
it's with a great deal of fear and thrimblin' they find
it out."

Thus it was that Barny continued most marvellous
accounts of the ship and the captain to his com-
panions, and by keepting their attention so engaged,
prevented their being too inquisitive as to their own
immediate concerns, and for two days more Barny
and the hooker held on their respective course un-
deviatingly.

The third day, Barny's fears for the continuity of his
nor-aist coorse were excited, as a large brig hove in sight,
and the nearer she approached, the more directly she
came athwart Barny's course.

BARNY O'REIRDON. 205

" May the divil sweep you," said Barny, " and will
nothin' else sarve you than comin' forninst me that
away ? Brig-a-hoy there ! !" shouted Barny, giving the
tiller to one of his messmates, and standing at the bow
of his boat. " Brig-a-hoy there ! — bad luck to you, go
'long out o' my nor-aist coorse." The brig, instead of
obeying his mandate, hove to, and lay right ahead of
the hooker. "Oh look at this!" shouted Barny, and
he stamped on the deck with rage — " look at the black-
guards where they're stayin', just a purpose to ruin an
unfort'nate man like me. My heavy hathred to you,
quit this minit, or I'll run down an yes, and if we go to
the bottom, we'll hant you for evermore — go 'long out
o' that, I tell you. The curse o' Crummil an you, you
stupid vagabones that won't go out iv a man's nor-aist

coorse

! t»

From cursing Barny went to praying as he came
closer. " For the tendher marcy o' heavin and lave
my way. May the Lord reward you, and get out o'
my nor-aist coorse ! May angels make your bed in
heavin and don't ruinate me this-a-way." The brig
was immoveable, and Barny gave up in despair, having
cursed and prayed himself hoarse, and finished with a
duet volley of prayers and curses together, apostro-
phising the hard case of a man being " done out of his
nor-aist coorse. ,"

" A-hoy there !" shouted a voice from the brig, " put
down your helm, or you'll be aboard of us. I say, let
go your jib and foresheet — what are you about, you
lubbers?"

'Twas true that the brig lay so fair in Barny's course,
that he would have been aboard, but that instantly the
manoeuvre above alluded to was put in practice on
board the hooker, as she swept to destruction towards
the heavy hull of the brig, and she luffed up into
the wind alongside her. A very pale and somewhat
emaciated face appeared at the side, and addressed
Barnv : —

206 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

" What brings you here ?" was the question.

" Throth thin, and I think I might betther ax what
brings you here, right in the way o' my nor-aht
worse."

" Where do you come from ?"

" From Kinsale ; and you didn't come from a betther
place, I go bail."

" Where are you bound to ?"

« To Fingal."

" Fingal— where's Fingal ?"

" Why then ain't you ashiamed o' yourself an' not to
know where Fingal is ?"

" It is not in these seas."

" Oh, that's all you know about it," says Barny.

" You're a small craft to be so far at sea. I suppose
you have provisions on board V

" To be sure we have ; throth if we hadn't, this id be
a bad place to go a beggin' "

" What have you eatable ?"

" The finest o' scalpeens."

" What are scalpeens?"

" Why you're mighty ignorant intirely," said Barny,
" why scalpeens is pickled mackerel."

" Then you must give us some, for we have been out
of every thing eatable these three days ; and even
pickled fish is better than nothing."

It chanced that the brig was a West India trader,
which unfavourable winds had delayed much beyond
the expected period of time on her voyage, and though
her water had not failed, every thing eatable had been
consumed, and the crew reduced almost to helplessness.
In such a strait the arrival of Barny O'Keirdon and his
scalpeens was a most providential succour to them, and
a lucky chance for Barny, for he got in exchange for
his pickled fish a handsome return of rum and sugar,
much more than equivalent to their value. Barnv
lamented much, however, that the brig was not bound
for Ireland, that he might practice his own peculiar

BARNY O'REIRDON. 207

system of navigation ; but as staying with the brig
could do no good, he got himself put into his nor-aist
coorse once more, and ploughed away towards home.

The disposal of his cargo was a great godsend to
Barny in more ways than one. In the first place he
found the most profitable market he could have had ;
and, secondly, it enabled him to cover his retreat from
the difficulty which still was before him of not getting
to Fingal after all his dangers, and consequently being
open to discovery and disgrace. All these beneficial
results were not thrown away upon one of Barny's
readiness to avail himself of every point in his favour ;
and, accordingly, when they left the brig, Barny said
to his companions, " Why thin, boys, 'pon my con-
science but I'm as proud as a horse wid a wooden leg
this minit, that we met them poor unfort'nate craythers
this blessed day, and was enabled to extind our charity
to them. Sure an' it's lost they'd be only for our
comin' acrass them, and we, through the blessin' o'
God, enabled to do an act of marcy, that is, feedin' the
hungry; and sure every good work we do here is
before uz in heaven — and that's a comfort any how.
To be sure, now that the scalpeens is swold, there's no
use in goin' to Fingal, and we may jist as well go
home."

" Faix, I'm sorry myself," said Jemmy, " for Terry
O'Sullivan said it was an iligant place intirely, an' I
wanted to see it."

" To the divil wid Terry O'Sullivan," said Barny,
" how does he know what's an iligant place ? What
knowledge has he of iligance? I'll go bail he never
was half as far a navigatin' as we — he wint the short cut
I go bail, and never daar'd for to vinture the round, as
I did,"

" By dad we wor a great dale longer any how than he
to wid me he was."

To be sure we wor," said Barny, " he wint skulkin'
by the short cut, I tell you, and was afeard to keep a

203 LEGENDS AND STORIED.

bowld oflni' like me. But come, l>oys, let uz take a
dhrop o' that bottle o' sper'ts wo got out o' tlio brig. By
gov it's well we got some bottles iv it : for I wouldn't
much like to meddle wid that darlint little kag iv it
antil we got home." The rum was put on its trial by
Barny and his companions, and in their criticaljudgment
was pronounced quite as good as the captain of the ship
had bestowed upon them, but that neither of those
specimens of spirit was to be compared to whiskey.
•• Ey dad," says Barny, '•' they may rack their brains a
long time before they'll make out a purtier invintion
than pottcen — that rum may do very well for thim that
lias the misforthin not to know betther; but the whiskey
is a more nath'ral spor't accordin' to my idays." In
this, as in most other of Barny's opinions, Peter and
Jemmy coincided.

Xothing particular occurred for the two succeeding
days, during which time Barny most religiously pursued
his nor-aist coorso, but the third day produced a new
and important event. A sail was discovered on the
horizon, and in the direction Barny was steering, and a
couple of hours made him tolerable certain that the
vessel in sight was and American, for though it is needless
to say that he was not very conversant in such matters,
yet from the frequency of his seeing Americans trading
to Ireland, his eye had become sufficiently accustomed
to their lofty and tapering spars, and peculiar smartness
of rig. to satisfy him that the ship before him was of
transatlantic build: nor was he wrong in his conjecture.

Barny now determined on a manoeuvre, classing him
amongst the first tacticians at securing a good retreat.

Moreau's highest fame rests upon his celebrated re-
trograde movement through the Black-forest.

Xenophon's greatest glory is derived from the de-
liverance of his ten thousand Greeks from impending
rain by his renowned retreat.

Let the ancient and the modern hero " repose under
the shadow of their laurels," as the French have it,

BARNY O'REIRDON. 209

while Barny O'Reirdon's historian, with a pardonable
jealousy for the honour of his country, cuts down a
goodly bough of the classic tree, beneath which our
Hibernian hero may enjoy his " otium cum dignitate."

Barny caluclated the American was bound for Ireland,
md as she lay, almost as directly in the way of his
"nor-aist coorse," as the West Indian brig, he bore up
to and spoke to her.

He was answered by a shrewd Yankee Captain.

"Faix an' it's glad I am to see your honour again,"
jaid Barny.

The Yankee had never been to Ireland, and told
Barny so.

'• O throth I couldn't forget a gintleman so aisy as
that," said Barny.

" You're pretty considerably mistaken now, I guess,"
said the American.

" Divil a taste," said Barny, with inimitable composure
Mid pertinacity.

" Well, if you know me so tarnation well, tell me what's
my name." The Yankee nattered himself he had naikV
Barny now.

" Your name is it 1" said Barny, gaining time by
repeating the question, " Why what a fool you are not
to know your own name."

The oddity of the answer posed the American, and
Barny took advantage of the diversion in his favour, and
changed the conversation.

" By dad I've been waitin' here these four or five day*
expoctin' some of you would be wantin' me."

" Some of us ! — how do you mean 1"

" Sure an' arn't you from Amerikay ?"

" Yes ; and what then ?"

" Well, I say I was waitin' for some ship or other froir.
Amerikay, that ud be wantin' me. It's to Ireland you're
goin' I dar' say."

" Yes."

"Well, I suppose you'll be wantin' a pilot,'' said Barny.

11

210 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

" Yes, when we get in shore, but not yet.*'

" Oli, I don't want to hurry you," said Barny.

" What port are you a pilot of 1 "

" Why indeed, as for the matther o' that," said Barny,
" they're all aiqual to me a'most."

" All ? " said the American. " Why I calculate you
couldn't pilot a ship into all the ports of Ireland."

" Not all at wanst (once)," said Barny, with a laugh,
in which the American could not help joining.

" Well, I say, what ports do you know best ?"

"Why thin, indeed," said Barny, " it would be hard
for me to tell ; but wherever you want to go, I'm the
man that'll do the job for you complate. Where is your
honour goin' ?"

" I won't tell you that — but do you tell me what ports
you know best ?''

" Why there's Watherford, and there's Youghall, an'
Fingal."

"Fingal! Where's that ?"

" So you don't know where Fingal is. Oh, I see
you're a sthranger, sir, — an' then there's Cork."

" You know Cove, then ?"

"Is it the Cove o- Cork, why?"

" Yes."

" I was bred an' born there, and pilots as many ships
into Cove as any other two min out of it."

Barny thus sheltered his falsehood under the idiom of
his language.

" But what brought you so far out to sea ? asked the
captain.

" We wor lyin' out lookin' for ships that wanted pilots,
and there kem an the terriblest gale o' wind off the land,
an' blew us to say out intirely, an' that's the way iv it,
your honour."

" I calculate we got a share of the same gale ; 'twas
from the nor-east."

" Oh, directly !" said Barny, " faith you're right
enough, 'twas the nor-aist coorse we wor an sure

BARNY o'REIRDON. 211

enough ; but no matther now that we've met wid you
— sure we'll have a job home any how."

" Well, get aboard then/' said the American.

" I will in a minit, your honour, whin I jist spake a
word to my comrades here."

" Why sure it's not goin' to turn pilot you are ?" said
Jemmy, in his simplicity of heart.

"Whisht, you omadhaun!" said Barny, "or I'll cut
the tongue out o' you. Now mind me, Pether. You
don't undherstan' navigashin and the various branches
o' knowledge, an1 so all you have to do is to folly the
ship when I get into her, an' I'll show you the way
home."

Barny then got aboard the American vessel, and begged
of the captain, that as he had been out at sea so long
and had gone through a "power o' hardship intirely,"
that he would be permitted to go below and turn in to
take a sleep, "for in troth it's myself and sleep that is
sthrayngers for some time," said Barny, "an' if your
honour 'ill be plazed I'll bethankful if you won't let them
disturb me antil I'm wanted, for sure till you see the land
there's no use for me in life, an' throth I want a sleep
sorely."

Barny's request was granted, and it will not be won-
dered at, that after so much fatigue of mind and body,
he slept profoundly for four-and-twenty hours. He then
Avas called, for land was in sight, and when he came on
deck the captain rallied him upon the potency of his
somniferous qualities, and " calculated " he had never
met any one who could sleep " four-and-twenty hours
on a stretch, before."

" Oh, sir," said Barny, rubbing his eyes, which were
still a little hazy, " whiniver I go to sleep I pay attinticm
to it."

The land was soon neared, and Barny put in charge
of the ship, when he ascertained the first land mark he
was acquainted with ; but as soon as the Head of Kinsale
hove in sight, Barny gave a " avIioo," and cut a caper

212 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

that astonished the Yankees, and was quite inexplicable
to them, though, I natter myself, it is not to those who do
Barny the favour of reading his adventures.

" Oh ! there you are, my darlint owld head ! an*
where' s the head like you ? throth its little I thought I'd
ever set eyes an your good-looking faytures agin. But
God's good !"

In such half muttered exclamations did Barny apos-
trophise each well-known point of his native shore, and
when opposite the harbour of Kinsale, he spoke the
hooker that was somewhat astern, and ordered Jemmj
and Peter to put in there, and tell Molly immediately
that he was come back, and would be with her as soon
as he could, afther piloting the ship into Cove. '• But
an your apperl don't tell Pether Kelly o' the big farm,
nor indeed don't mintion to man nor mortial about the
navigation wo done antil I come home myself and make
them sensible of it, bekase Jemmy and Pether, neither o'
viz is aqual to it, and doesn't undherstan' the branches o'
knowledge requizit for discoorsin' o' navigation."

The hooker put into Kinsale, and Barny sailed the
ship into Cove. It was the first ship he had acted the
I ilot for, and his old luck attended him ; no accident
befel his charge, and what was still more extraordinary,
he made the American believe he was absolutely the
most skilful pilot on the station. So Barny pocketed his
pilot's fee, swore the Yankee was a gentleman, for which
the republican did not thank him, wished him good bye,
and then pushed his way home with what Barny swore
was the easiest made money he ever had in his life. So
Barny got himself paid for piloting the ship that showed
him the ivcaj home.

All the fishermen in the world may throw their cap?
at this feat — none but an Irishman, I fearlessly assert,,
could have executed so splendid a coup de finesse.

And now, sweet readers, (the ladies I mean,) did vou
ever think Barny would get home ? I would give a
hundred of pens to hear all the guesses that have been

BARNY o'rEIRDON. 213

made as to the probable termination of Barny's adven-
ture. They would furnish good material, I doubt not,
for another voyage. But Barny did make other voyages
I can assure you, and perhaps he may appear in his
character of navigator once more, if his daring exploits
be not held valueless by an ungrateful world, as in the
case of his great predecessor, Columbus.

As some curious persons (I don't mean the ladies) may
wish to know what became of some of the characters who
have figured in this tale, I beg to inform them that Molly
continued a faithful wife and time-keeper, as already
alluded to, for many years. That Peter Kelly was so
pleased with his share in the profits arising from the trip,
in the ample return of rum and sugar, that he freighted
a large brig with scalpeens to the "West Indies, and went
supercargo himself.

All he got in return was the yellow fever.

Barny profited better by his share ; he was enabled to
open a public-house, which had more custom than any
ten within miles of it. Molly managed the bar very
efficiently, and Barny " discoorsed " the customers most
seductively ; in short, Barny, at all times given to the
marvellous, became a greater romancer than ever, and,
for years, attracted even the gentlemen of the neighbour-
hood, who loved fun, to his house, for the sake of hia
magnanimous mendacity.

As for the hitherto triumphant Terry O' Sullivan, from
the moment Barny's Bingal adventure became known,
he was obliged to fly the country, and was never heard
of more, while the hero of the hooker became a greater
man than before, and never was addressed by any other
title afterwards than that of The Commodore.

THE BUEIAL OF THE TITHE.

With the help of a surgeon he might yet recover.

Shakspeahe,

It was a fine morning in the autumn of 1832, and the
sun had not yet robbed the grass of its dew, as a stout-
built peasant was moving briskly along a small by-road
in the county of Tipperary. The elasticity of his step
bespoke the lightness of his heart, and the rapidity of his
walk did not seem sufficient even for the exuberance of
his glee, for every now and then the walk was exchanged
for a sort of dancing shuffle, which terminated with a
short capering kick that threw up the dust about him,
and all the while he whistled one of those whimsical jig
tunes with which Ireland abounds, and twirled his stick
over his head in a triumphal nourish. Then ofrhe started
flgain in his original pace, and hummed a rolicking song,
and occasionally broke out into soliloquy — " Why then,

THE BURIAL OF THE TITHE. 215

an' isn't it the grate day intirely for Ireland, that is in it
this blessed day ? Wlioo ! your sowl to glory but we'll
do the job complate — " and here he cut a caper. — " Divil
ji more they'll ever get, and it's only a pity they ever got
any — but there's an ind o' them now — they're cut down
from this out," and here he made an appropriate down
stroke of his shillelah through a bunch of thistles that
skirted the road. " V/here will be their grand doin's
now ? — eh ? — I'd like to know that. Where'U be their
lazy livery servants 1 — ow ! o\v ! !" — and he sprang lightly
over a stile. " And what will they do for their coaches
and four?" Here, a lark sprang up at his feet and
darted into the air, with its thrilling rush of exquisite
melody. — "Faith, you've given me my answer sure
enough, my purty lark — that's as much as to say, they
may go whistle for them — oh, my poor fellows, how I
pity yiz ;" — and here he broke into a " too ra la loo " and
danced along the path : — then suddenly dropping into
silence he resumed his walk, and applying his hand
behind his head, cocked up his caubeen* and began to
rub behind his ear, according to the most approved pea-
sant practice of assisting the powers of reflection. —
" Faix, an' it's mysef that's puzzled to know what'll the
procthers, and the process sarvers, and 'praisersf do at
all. By gorra they must go rob an the road, since they
won't be let to rob any more in the fields ; robbin' is all
that is left for them, for sure they couldn't turn to any
honest thrade afther the coorses they have been used to.
Oh what a power of miscrayants will be out of bread for
the want of their owld thrade of false swearin' Why
the vagabones will be lost, barrin' they're sent to Bot\
—and indeed if a bridge could be built of false oaths, by
my sowkins, they could sware themselves there without

* The cabhein was an ancient head-dress of gorgeous material, and the
name is applied in derision to a shabby hat.

f The crop being often valued in a green state in reland, the appraiser
becomes a very obnoxious person.

% Botany Bay.

216 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

wettin' their feet." — Here he overtook another peasant,
■whom he accosted with the universal salutation of " God
save you!" — "God save you kindly," was returned for
answer. — " And is it yourself that's there, Mikee
Noonan ? " said the one first introduced to the reader.

" Indeed it's mysef and nobody else," said Noonan ;
" an' where is it you're goin' this fine mornin'? "

" An' is it yourself that's axin' that same, Mikee 1 —
whv where is it I would be 2'oin' but to the berrin' ? "

" I thought so in thro th. It's yoursef that is always
v\\)Q and ready for fun."

" And small blame to me."

" Why then it was a mighty eomplate thing, whoever
it was that thought of makin' a berrin out of it."

"And don't you know ? "

" Not to my knowledge."

" Why then who 'ud you think now laid it all out."

" Faix I dunna — maybe 'twas Pether Conolly."

" No it wasn't, though Pether's a cute chap — guess
again."

" Well, was it Phil Mulligan ? "

" No it wasn't, though you made a good offer at it sure
Enough, for if it wasn't Phil, it was his sisther — "

"'Tare alive, is it Biddy, it was 1 "

" 'Scure to the one else. — Oh she's the quarest cray-
thur in life. — There's not a thrick out, that one's not up
to and more besides. By the powdhers o' war, she'd
bate a field full o' lawyers at schkamin'- -she's the divil's
Biddy."

" Why thin but it was a grate iday intirely."

" You may say that in throth — maybe it's we wont
have the fun — but see who's before us there. Isn't it
that owld Coogan ?"

" Sure enough by dad."

" Why thin isn't he the rale fine owld cock to come
so far to see the rights o' the tiling."

" Paix he was always the right sort — sure in Nointy-
eight, as I hear he was malthrated a power, and his

THE BUKIAL OF THE TITHE. 217

place rummaged, and himself a'most kilt, bekase he
wouldn't inform an his neighbours."

" God's blessin' be an him an the likes av him that
wouldn't prove thraitor to a friend in disthress."

Here they came up with the old man to whom they
alluded — he was the remains of a stately figure, and his
white hair hung at some length round the back of his
head and his temples, while a black and well marked
eyebrow overshadowed his keen grey eye — the contrast
of the dark eyebrow to the white hair rendered the
intelligent cast of his features more striking, and he
was, altogether, a figure that one would not be likely to
pass without notice. He was riding a small horse at an
easy pace, and he answered the rather respectful
salutation of the two foot passengers with kindness and
freedom. They addressed him as " Mr. Coogan," while
to them he returned the familiar term " boys."

" And av coorse its goin' to the berrin you are, Mr.
Coogan, and long life to you."

" Aye, boys. — It's hard for an owld horse to leave off
his thricks."

"Owld is it? — faix and it's yourself that has more
heart in you this blessed mornin' than many a man that's
not half your age."

" By dad I'm not a cowlt, boys, though I kick up my
heels sometimes."

" Well, you'll never do it younger, sir, — but sure why
wouldn't you be there when all the counthry is goin' I
hear, and no wondher sure. — By the hole in my hat it's
enough, so it is, to make a sick man lave his bed to see
the fun that'll be in it, and sure its right and proper,
and shows the sperit that's in the counthry, when a
man like yourself, Mr. Coogan, joins the poor people in
doin' it."

" I like to stand up for the right," answered the old
man.

" And always was a good warrant to do that same,"
said Larry, in his most laudatory tone.

218 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

" Will you tell us who's that fornint us an the road
there?" asked the old man, as he pointed to a person
that seemed to make his way with some difficulty, for
he laboured under an infirmity of limb that caused a
grotesque jerking action in his walk, if walk it might be
called.

" Why, thin, don't you know him, Mr. Coogan ? by
dad I thought there wasn't a parish in the country that
didirt know poor Hoppy Houligan."

It has been often observed before, the love of soubri-
quet that the Irish possess ; but let it not be suppossed
that their nicknames are given in a spirit of unkindness
-—far from it. A sense of the ridiculous is so closely
interwoven in an Irishman's nature, that he will even
jest upon his own misfortunes ; and while he indulges
in a joke, (one of the few indulgences he can command,)
the person that excites it may as frequently be the object
of his openheartedness as his mirth.

': And is that Hoppy Houligan ? " said old Coogan;
" I often heerd of him, to be sure, but I never seen him
before."

" Oh, then, you may see him before and behind now,"
said Larry ; " and, indeed, if he had a match for that
odd skirt of his coat, he wouldn't be the worse iv it ;
and in throth the cordheroys themselves arn't a bit too
good, and there's the laste taste in life of his — "

" Whisht," said the old man, " he is looking back,
and maybe he hears you."

" Not he in throth. Sure he's partly bothered."

" How can he play the fiddle then, and he bothered ? "
said Coogan.

"Faix an that's the very raison he is bothered; sure
he moidhers the ears off of him intirciy with the noL^e
of his own fiddle. Oh he's a powerful fiddler."

" So I often heerd, indeed," said the old man.

" He bangs all the fiddlers in the counthry."

"And is in the greatest request," added Isoonan.

" Yet he looks tatthered enoiurh," said old Coogan.

THE BURIAL OP THE TITHE. 219

" Sure you never seen a well dlirest fiddler yet," said
Larry.

" Indeed, and now you remind me, I believe not,"
said the old man. " I suppose they all get more kicks
than ha'pence, as the saying is."

" Divil a many kicks Houligan gets ; he's a great
favourite intirely."

" Why is he in such distress then? " asked Coogan.

" Faith he's not in disthress at all : he's welkim every
where he goes, and has the best of atin' and dhrinkin'
the place affords, wherever he is, and picks up the
coppers fast at the fairs, and is no way necessiated in
life ; though indeed it can't be denied as he limps
ilong there, that he has a great many ups and downs in
the world."

This person, of whom the preceding dialogue treats,
was a celebrated fiddler in "these parts," and his
familiar name of Hoppy Houligan was acquired, as the
reader may already have perceived, from his limping
o'ait. This limp was the consequence of a broken leg,
which was one of the consequences of an affray, which
is the certain consequence of a fair in Tipperary.
Eouligan was a highly characteristic specimen of an
[rish fiddler. As Larry Lanigan said, " You never seen
i well dressed fiddler yet ; " but Houligan was a par-
ticularly ill fledged bird of the musical tribe. His
corduroys have already been hinted at by Larry, as
tvell as his coat, which had lost half the skirt, thereby
partially revealing the aforesaid corduroys; or if one
might be permitted to indulge in an image, the half
skirt that remained served to produce a partial eclipse
of the disc of the corduroy. This was what we painters
sail picturesque. By the way, the vulgar are always
amazed that some tattered remains of any thing is more
prized by the painter than the freshest production in all
its gloss of novelty. The fiddler's stockings, too, in the
neglected falling of their folds round his leg, and the
wisp of straw that fringed the opening of his gaping

220 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

brogues, were valuable additions to the picture ; and

his hat But stop, — lot me not presume ; his. hat it

would be a vain attempt to describe. There are two
things not to be described, which, to know what they
are you must see.

Those two things are Taglioni's dancing, and an Irish
fiddler's hat. The one is a wonder in action;— the
other, an enigma in form.

Houligan's riddle was as great a curiosity as himself,
and like its master, somewhat the worse for wear. It
had been broken some scores of times, and yet, by dint
of glue, was continued in what an antiquary would call
" a fine state of preservation ; " that is to say, there
was rather more of glue than wood in the article. The
stringing of the instrument was as great a piece of
patchwork as itself, and exhibited great ingenuity on
the part of its owner. Many was the knot above the
finger-board and below the bridge ; that is, when the
fiddle was in its best order ; but in case of fractures on
the field of action, that is to say, at wake, patron,* or
fair, where the fiddler, unlike the girl he was playing
for, had not two strings to his bow; in such case, I say,
the old string should be knotted, wherever it might
require to be, and I have heard it insinuated that the
music was not a bit the worse of it. Indeed, the only
economy that poor Houligan ever practised was in the
strings of his fiddle, and those were an admirable ex-
emplification of the proverb of " making both ends
meet." Houligan's waistcoat, too, was a curiosity, or
rather, a cabinet of curiosities ; for he appropriated its
pockets to various purposes ; — snuff, resin, tobacco, a
claspknife with half a blade, a piece of flint, a doodeen,\
and some bits of twine and ends of fiddle-strings were
all huddled together promiscuously. Houligan himself
called his waistcoat Noah's ark ; for, as he said himself,
there was a little of every thing in it, barringf money,

* A festival held on asaint'sday ; and is by the Irish peasant pronounced
pattern or patthem.

f The stump of a pipe. % Excepting.

THE BURIAL OP THE TITHE. 221

and tliat would never stay in his company. His fiddle,
partly enfolded in a scanty bit of old baize, was tucked
under his left arm, and his right was employed in help-
ing him to hobble along by means of a black-thorn
stick, when he was overtaken by the three travellers
already named, and saluted by all, with the addition of
a query as to where he was going.

"An where would I be goin' but to the berrin,"
said Houligan.

" Throth, it's the same answer I expected," said
Lanigan. " It would be nothing at all without you."

" I've played at many a weddin','' said Houligan,
" but I'm thinkin' there will be more fun at this berrin'
than any ten weddin's."

" Indeed you may say that, Hoppy, aghra," said
Noonan.

" Why thin, Hoppy jewel," said Lanigan, " what did
the skirt o' your coat do to you that you left it behind
you, and wouldn't let it see the fun ? "

" 'Deed then I'll tell you, Larry, my boy. I was
goin' last night by the by-road that runs up at the back
o' the owld house, nigh hand the Widdy Casey's, and
I heerd that people was livin' in it since I thravelled
the road last, and so I opened the owld iron gate that
was as stiff in the hinge as a miser's fist, and the road
ladin' up to the house lookin' as lonely as a churchyard,
and the grass growin' out through it, and says I to
myself, I'm thinkin' it's few darkens your doors, says I;
God be with the time the owld squire was here, that
staid at home and didn't go abroad out of his own
counthry, lettin' the fine stately owld place go to rack
and ruin ; and faix I was turnin' back, and I wish I
did, whin I seen a man comin' down the road, and so I
waited till he kem near to me, and I axed if any one
was up at the house ; Yis, says he, and with that I heera
terrible barkin' intirely, and a great big lump of a dog
turned the corner of the house and stud growlin' at me ;
I'm afeard there's dogs in it, says I to the man; Yis,

222 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

says he, but they're quite (quiet) ; so, with that, I wint
my way, and he wint his way ; but my jew'l, the minit
I got into the yard, nine great vagabones of dogs fell
an me, and I thought they'd ate me alive ; and so they
would I b'lieve, only I had a cowld bone o' mate and
some praties that Mrs. Magrane, God bless her, made
me put in my pocket whin I was goin' the road as I
was lavin' her house that mornin' afther the christenin'
that was in it, and sure enough lashings and lavings
was there ; O that's the woman has a heart as big as a
king's, and her husband too, in throth ; he's a dacent
man and keeps mighty fine dhrink in his house. Well,
as I was sayin', the cold mate and praties was in my
pocket, and by gor the thievin' morodin' vidians o' dogs
made a dart at the pocket and dragged it clane aft;
and thin, my dear, with fightin' among themselves,
sthrivin' to come at the mate, the skirt o' my coat was
in smidhereens in one minit — divil a lie in it — not a
tatther iv it was left together ; and it's only a wondher
I came off with my life."

" Faith I think so," said Lanigan ; " and wasn't it
mighty providintial they didn't get at the fiddle ; sure
what would the counthry do then ? "

"Sure enough you may say that," said Houligan ;
'* and then my bread would be gone as well as my mate.
But think o' the unnathural vagabone that towld me
the dogs was quite ; sure he came back while I was
there, and I ups and towld him what a shame it was to
tell me the dogs was quite. So they are quite, says he ;
sure there's nine o' them, and only seven o' them bites.
Thank you, says I."

There was something irresistibly comic in the quiet
manner that Houligan said, " Thank you, says I ;" and
the account of his canine adventure altogether excited
much mirth amongst his auditors. As they pursued
their journey, many a joke was passed and repartee
returned, and the laugh rang loudly and often from the
merry little group as they trudged along. In the course

THE BURIAL OF THE TITHE. 223

of the next mile's march their numbers were increased by-
some half dozen, that, one by one, suddenly appeared, by-
leaping over the hedge on the road, or crossing a stile
from some neighbouring path. All these new comers
pursued the same route, and each gave the same answer
when asked where he was going. It was universally
this —

"Why, then, where would I be goin' but to the
berrin' ?"

At a neighbouring confluence of roads straggling
parties of from four to five were seen in advance, and
approaching in the rear, and the highway soon began to
wear the appearance it is wont to do on the occasion of
a patron, a fair, or a market day. Larry Lanigan was
in evident enjoyment at this increase of numbers ; and
as the crowd thickened his exultation increased, and he
often repeated his ejaculation, already noticed in Larry's
opening solilocpiy, " Why then, an' isn't it a grate day
intirely for Ireland ! ! ! "

And now, horsemen were more frequently appearing,
and their numbers soon amounted to almost a cavalcade ;
and sometimes a car, that is to say, the car common to
the country for agricultural purposes, might be seen,
bearing a cargo of women; videlicet, " the good woman"
herself, and her rosy-cheeked daughters, and maybe a
cousin or two, with an aide-de-camp aunt to assist in
looking after the young ladies. The roughness of the
motion of this primitive vehicle was rendered as accomo-
dating as possible to the gentler sex, by a plentiful
shake down of clean straw on the car, over which a
feather bed was laid, and the best quilt in the house
over that, to make all smart, possibly a piece of hexagon
patch-work of "the misthriss" herself, in which the
tawdriest calico patterns served to display the taste of
the rural sempstress, and stimulated the rising generation
to feats of needlework. The car was always provided
with a driver, who took such a care upon himself " for
a rayson he had : " he was almost universally what is

224 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

called in Ireland, "a clane boy," that is to say, a well
made, good-looking young fellow, whose eyes were not
put into his head for nothing ; and these same eyes
might be seen wandering backwards occasionally from
his immediate charge, the dumb baste, to " take a squint"
at some, or maybe one, of his passengers. This explains
the "rayson he had " for becoming driver. Sometimes
he sat on the crupper of the horse, resting his feet on
the shafts of the car, and bending down his head to say
something tlndher to the colleen that sat next him.,
totally negligent of his duty as guide. Sometimes
when the girl he wanted to be sweet on was seated at
the back of the car, this relieved the horse from the
additional burthen of his driver, and the clane boy
would leave the horse's head and fall in the rear to
deludher the craythur, depending on an occasional
'•hup" or "wo" for the guidance of the haste, when
a too near proximity to the dyke by the road side
warned him of the necessity of his interference. Some-
times he was called to his duty by the open remonstrance
of either the mother or aunt, or maybe a mischievous
cousin, as thus : " Why then, Dinny, what are you about
at all at all ? God betune me and harm, if you warn't
within an inch o' puttin' uz all in the gripe o' the ditch ,
— arrah, lave off your gostherin' there, and mind the
horse, will you ; a purty thing it 'ud be if my bones was
bruk ; Avhat are you doin' there at all at the back o
the car, when it's at thebaste's head you ought to bo?"
" Arrah sure, the baste knows the way herself."
" Faix, I b'lieve so, for it's little behowlden to you
she is for showin' her. Augh ! ! — murther ! ! ! — there
we are in the gripe a'most."

"Lave off your screeching, can't you, and be quiet
Sure the poor craythur only just wint over to get a
mouthful o' the grass by the side o' the ditch."
"What business has she to be atin' now?"
"Bekase she's hungry, I suppose; — and why isn't she
fed betther ?"

THK BURIAL OP THE TITIIK. 225

<c Eekase rogues stales her oats, Dinny. I seen you
in the stable by the same token yistherday."

" Sure enough, ma'ma, for I whit there to look for
my cowlt that was missin' "

"I thought it was the filly you wor afther, Dinny,'''
said a cousin with a wink ; and Dinny grinned, and his
sweatheart blushed, while the rest of the girls tittered,
the mother pretending not to hear the joke, and bidding
Dinny go mind his business by attending to the horse.

But lest I should tire my reader by keeping him so
long on the road, I will let him find the rest of his
way as well as he can to a certain romantic little valley,
where a comfortable farm-house was situated beside a
small mountain stream that tumbled along noisily over
its rocky bed, and in which some ducks, noisier than
the stream, were enjoying their morning bath. The
geese were indulging in dignified rest and silence upon
the bank ; a cock was crowing and strutting with his
usual swagger amongst his hens ; a pig was endea-
vouring to save his ears, not from this rural tumult, but
from the teeth of a half-terrier dog, who was chasing
him away from an iron pot full of potatoes with which
the pig had dared to attempt some impertinent liberties ;
and a girl was bearing into the house a pail of milk
which she had just taken from the cow that stood
placidly looking on, an admirable contrast to the ge-
neral bustle of the scene.

Every thing about the cottage gave evidence of
comfort on the part of its owner, and, to judge from
the numbers without and within the house, you would
say he did not want for friends ; for all, as they arrived
at its door, greeted Phelim O'Hara kindly, and Phelim
welcomed each new comer with a heartiness that did
honour to his grey hairs. Frequently passing to and
fro, busily engaged in arranging an ample breakfast in
the barn, appeared his daughter, a pretty round-faced
girl, with black hair and the long and silky-lashed dark
grey eyes oC her country, where merriment loves to

id

226 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

dwell, and a rosy mouth whose smiles served at once to
display her good temper and her fine teeth ; her colour
gets fresher for a moment, and a look of affectionate
recognition brightens her eye, as a lithe young fellow
springs briskly over the stepping-stones that lead across
the stream, and trips lightly up to the girl, who offers
her hand in welcome. Who is the happy dog that is so
well received by Honor O'Hara, the prettiest girl in
that parish or the next, and the daughter of a '" snug
man" into the bargain? — It is the reader's old ac-
quaintance, Larry Lanigan ; — and maybe Larry did not
give a squeeze extraordinary to the hand that was
presented to him. The father received him well also ;
indeed, for that matter, the difficulty would have been
to find a house in the whole district that Larry would
not have been welcome in,

" So here you are at last, Larry," said old O'Hara ;
" I was wondering you were not here long ago."

" An' so I would, I thank you kindly," said Larry,
" only I overtook owld Hoppy here, on the road, and
sure I thought I might as well take my time, and wait
for poor Hoppy, and bring my welkim along with
me ;" and here he shoved the fiddler into the house
before him.

" The girls will be glad to see the pair o' yiz," said
the old man, following.

The interior of the house was crowded with guests,
and the usual laughing and courting so often described,
as common to such assemblages, were going forward
amongst the young people. At the farther end of the
largest room in the cottage, a knot of the older men of
the party were engaged in the discussion of some sub'
ject that seemed to carry deep interest along with it,
and at the opposite extremity of the same room, a coffin
of very rude construction lay on a small table, and
around this coffin stood all the junior part of the com-
pany, male and female, and the wildness of their mirth,
and the fertility of their jests, over this tenement of

THE BURIAL OF THE TITHE. 227

mortality and its contents, might have well startled a
stranger for a moment, until he saw the nature of the
deposit the coffin contained.

Enshrouded in a sheaf of wheat lay a pig, between
whose open jaws a large potato was placed, and the
coffin was otherwise grotesquely decorated.

The reader will wonder, no doubt, at such an exhibi-
tion, for certainly never was cofKn so applied before ;
and it is therefore necessary to explain the meaning of
all this, and I believe Ireland is the only country in the
world where the facts I am about to relate could have
occurred.

It may be remembered that some time previously to
the date at which my story commences, his majesty's
ministers declared that there should be a " total extinc-
tion of tithes."

This declaration was received in Ireland by the great
mass of the people with the utmost delight, as they
fancied they should never have tithes to pay again.
The peasantry in the neighbourhood of Templemore
formed the very original idea of burying the tithe.
It is only amongst an imaginative people tint such a
notion could have originated ; and indeed there is some-
thing highly poetical in the conception. The tithe-
that which the poor felt the keenest ; that which they
considered a tax on their industry ; that which they
looked upon as an hereditary oppression ; that hateful
thing, they were told, was to be extinct, and, in joyous
anticipation of the blessing, they determined to enact
an emblematical interment of this terrible enemy. — I
think it rs not too much to call this idea a fine one ;
and yet, in the execution of it, they invested it with
the broadest marking of the grotesque. Such is tho
strange compound of an Irish peasant, whose anger h
often vented in a jest, and whose mirth is sometimes
terrible.

I must here pause for a moment, and request it to be
distinctly understood, that, in relating this story, in

228 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

giving the facts connected with it, and in stating what
the Irish peasant's feelings are respecting tithe. I have
not the most distant notion of putting forward any
opinions of my own on the subject. In the pursuit of
my own quiet art, I am happily far removed from the
fierce encounter of politics, and in my little volume
I do not wish to offend against the feelings or opinions of
any one ; and I trust, therefore, that I may be permitted
to give a sketch of a characteristic incident, as it came
to my knowledge, without being mistaken for a partisan.

" I tell the tale as 'twas told to me.

I have said a group of seniors were collected at one
end of the room, and, as it is meet to give precedence to
age, I will endeavour to give some idea of what was
going forward amongst them.

There was one old man of the party whose farrowed
forehead, compressed eyebrows, piqued nose, and mouth
depressed at the corners, at once indicated to a physiog-
nomist a querulous temper. He was one of your
doubters upon all occasions, one of the unfailing ele-
ments of an argument ; — as he said himself he was
" dubersome " about everything, and he had hence
earned the name of Daddy Dubersome amongst his
neighbours. Well Daddy began to doubt the proba-
bility that any such boon as the extinction of tithes
was to take place, and said he was '; sartin sure 'twas too
good news to be thrue."

" Tare anounty," said another, who was the very
antithesis of Daddy in his credulous nature, "sure didn't
I see it myself in. pi-ent."

" I was towld often that things was in prcnt," returned
Daddy, drily, " that comes out lies afther, to my own
knowledge."

"But sure," added a third, "sure, didn't the Prime
Ear himself lay it all out before the Parleymint ?"

" What Prime Ear are you talking about man, dear ?"
said Daddy, rather testily.

" Why the Prime Ear of his Majesty, and no less. Is
that satisfaction for you, eh?"

" Well, and who is the Prime Ear?"

" Why, the Prime Ear of his Majesty, I towld you
before. You see, he is one that hears of everything
that is to be done for the whole impire in parties' lar ;
and bekase he hears of everything, that's the rayson he
is called the Prime Ear — and a good rayson it is."

" Well, but what has that to do with the tithes ? I
ask you again," said Daddy with his usual pertinacity.

Hero he was about to be answered by the former
speaker, whose definition of " The Premier" had woa
him golden opinions amongst the by-standers, — when
lie was prevented by a fourth orator, who rushed into
the debate with this very elegant opening —

" Arrah ! tare-an-ouns, yiz are settin' me mad, so viz
are. Why, I wondher any one id' be sitch a fool as to
go arguefy with that crooked owld disciple there."

'' Meanin' me ?" said Daddy.

"I'd be sorry to contheradict you, sir," said the
other with an admirable mockery of politeness.

" Thank you, sir," said Daddy, with a dignity more
comical than the other's buffoonery.

" You're kindly welkim, Daddy," returned the
aggressor. " Sure, you never b'lieved any thing yit ;
and I wondher any one would throw away their time
sthrivin' to rightify you."

" Come, boys," said O'Hara, interrupting the dis-
course, with a view to prevent further bickering, " there's
no use talking about the thing now, for whatever way it
is, sure we are met to bury the Tithe, and it's proud I
am to see you all here to make merry upon the stringth
of it, and I think I heerd Honor say this minit that
every thing is ready in the barn without, so you'll have
no difference of opinion about tackling to the breakfast,
or I'm mistaken. Come, my hearties, the mate and the
praties is crying ' Who'll ate me V — away wid you, that's
four sort ;" — and he enforced his summons to the feast

230 LEGENDS AXD STORIES.

by pushing his guests before him towards the scene of
action.

This was an ample barn, where tables of all sorts and
sizes were spread, loaded with viands of the most sub-
stantial character : wooden forms, three-legged stool?,
broken-backed chairs, &c. &c, were in requisition for
the accommodation of the female portion of the company,
and the men attended first to their wants with a
politeness which, though deficient in the external graces
of polished life, did credit to their natures. The eating
part of the business was accompanied with all the
clatter that might be expected to attend such an affair ;
and when the eatables had been tolerably well demolished,
O'Hara stood up in the midst of his guests and said
he should propose to them a toast, which he knew
all the boys would fill their glasses for, and that was,
to drink the health of the king, and long life to him,
for seeing into the rights of the thing, and doing " such
a power" for them, and "more power to his elbow." —
This toast was prefaced by a speech to his friends and
neighbours upon the hardships of tithe in particular,
spiced with the laste taste in life of polititics in general :
wherein the Repeal of the Union and Daniel O'Connell
cut no inconsiderable figure ; yet in the midst of the
rambling address, certain glimpses of good sense and
shrewd observation might be caught ; and the many and
powerful objections he advanced against the impost that
was to be '' extinct" so soon, were put forward with a
force and distinctness that were worthy of a better
speaker, and might have been found difficult to reply
to by a more accustomed hand. He protested that he
thought he had lived long enough when he had
witnessed in his own life-time two such national benefits
as the Catholic Emancipation Bill and the Abolition of
Tithes. O'Hara further declared, he was the happiest
man alive that day only in the regard " of one thing,
End that was, that his reverence, Father Hely (the priest)
was not there amongst them ;" and, certainly, the

THE BURIAL OF THE TITHE. 231

absence of the pastor on an occasion of festivity in the
house of a snug farmer, is of rare occurrence in Ireland.
"But you see," said O'Hara, "whin his rivirince heerd
what it was we wor goin' to do, he thought it would be
puriier on his part for to have nothin' whatsomivir to
do with it, in hand, act, or part ; and, indeed, boys, that
shews a great deal of good breedin' in Father Hely."

This was quite agreed to by the company ; and, after
many cheers for O'Hara' s speech, and some other toasts
pertinent to the occasion, the health of O'Hara, as the
founder of the feast, with the usual addenda of long
life, prosperity, &c, to him and his was drunk, and then
preparations were entered into for proceeding with the
ceremony of the funeral.

" I believe we have nothing to wait for now," said
O'Hara, " since you won't have any more to drink, boys ;
so let us set about it at once, and make a clane day's
work of it."

" Oh, we're not quite ready yit," said Larry Lanigan
who seemed to be a sort of master of the ceremonies on
the occasion.

" What's the delay ? " asked O'Hara.

"Why, the chief murners is not arrived yit."

" What murners are you talkin' about man ? " said
the other.

" Why, you know, at a grand berrin they have always
chief murners, and there's a pair that I ordhered to be
brought here for that same."

" Myself doesn't know any thing about murners," said
O'Hara, "for I never seen any thing finer than the
keeners* at a berrin ; but Larry's up to the ways of the
quolity, as well as of his own sort."

" But you wouldn't have keeners for the Tithe, would
you ? Sure, the keeners is to say all the good they can
of the departed, and more if they can invint it ; but,

* Keeners are persons who sing the TJlican, or death wail round the
coffin of the deceased, and repeat the good deeds of the departed.

232 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

sure, the devil a good thing at all they could say of thu
Tithe, barrin' it was lies they wor tcllin', and so it
■would only be throwin' away throuble."

" Thrue for you, Lanigan."

'''Besides, it is like a grand berrin belongin' to the
quol'ty to have chief murners, and you know the Tithe
vrn aiqual to a lord or a king a'niost for power."

In a short time the "murners," as Larry called them,
arrived in custody of half a dozen of Larry's chosen
companions, to whom he had entrusted the execution of
the mission. These chief mourners were two tithe
proctors, who had been taken forcibly from their homes
by the Lanigan party, and threatened with death unless
they attended the summons of Larry to be present at
"The Berrin."

Their presence was hailed with a great shout, and the
poor devils looked excessively frightened ; but they were
assured by O'Hara that they had nothing to fear.

"I depend an yon, Mr. O'Hara, for seeing us safe out
;f their hands," said one of them, for the other was
dumb from terror.

" So you may," was the answer O'Hara returned.
'•'Hurt nor harm shall not be put an you; I give you
my word o' that."

'• Divil a harm," said Larry. " We'll only put you
into a shoot o' clothes that is ready for you, and you may
look as melancholy as you plaze, for it is murners you
are to be. Well, Honor," said he, addressing O'Hara's
daughter, '; have you got the mithres and vestments
ready, as I towld you ? "

" Yes," said Honor ; '• here comes Biddy Mulligan
with them from the house, for Biddy herself helped me
to make them."

" And who had a betther right ? " said Larry, " when
it was herself that laid it all out complate, the whole
thing from the beginnin', and sure enough but it was a
bright thought of her. Faix, he'll be the looky man
that gets Biddy, vet."

THE BURIAL OF THE TITHE. 233

"You bad betther have her yourself, I think," said
Honor, with an arch look at Larry, full of meaning.

" An it's that same I've been thinking of for some
time," said Larry, laughing and returning Honor's look
with one that repaid it with interest. " But where is
she at all? Oh, here she comes with the duds, and
Mike Noonan afther her; throth, he's following her
about all this mornin' like a, sucking calf. I'm afeard
Mikee is going to sarcumvint me wid Biddy ; but he'd
betther mind what he's at."

Here the conversation was interrupted by the advance
of Biddy Mulligan, "and Mikee Noonan afther her,"
bearing some grotesque imitation of clerical vestments
made of coarse sacking, and two enormous head-dresses
made of straw, in the fashion of mitres ; these were
decorated with black rags hung fantastically about them
while the vestments were smeared over with black stripes
in no very regular order.

"Come here," said Larry to the tithe proctors;
" come here, antil we put you into your regimentals."

" What are you goin' to do with us, Mr. Lanigan V
said the frightened poor wretch, while his knees knocked
together with terror.

"We are just goin' to make a pair o' bishops of you,"
said Lanigan ; " and sure that's promotion for you."

"Oh, Mr. O'Hara," said the proctor, "sure you won't
let them tie us up in them sacks."

"Do you hear what he calls the iligant vestments we
made a' purpose for him ? They are sackcloth, to be sure,
and why not — seeing as how that you are to be the chief
murners ? and sackcloth and ashes is what you must be
dhressed in, accordin' to rayson. Here, my buck,," said
the rolicking Larry, "I'll be your vally de sham myself,"
and he proceeded to put the dress on the terrified tithe
proctor. " Oh, Mr, Lanigan, dear !" said he, "don't mur-
ther me, if you plaze."

" Murthur you !— arrah, who's going to murthur you ?
Do you think I'd dirty my hands with killin' a snakin'
tithe procthor?"

234 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

" Indeed, that's thrue, Mr. Lanigan ; it would not be
worth your while."

'•' Here now," said Larry, howld your head till I put
the mithre an you, and make you a bishop complate.

But wait a bit ; throth, I was nigh forgetful' the ashes,
and that would have been a great loss to both o' you,
bekase you wouldn't be right murncrs at all without
them, and the people would think you wor only pur
tcndin'." This last bit of Larry's waggery produced
great merriment amongst the bystanders, for the unfor-
tunate tithe proctors were looking at that moment most
doleful examples of wretchedness. A large shovelful of
turf ashes was now shaken over their heads, and then
they were decorated with their mitres. " Tut, man,"
said Larry to one of them, " don't thrimble like a dog in
a wet sack. Oh, thin, look at him how pale he's turned,
the dirty coward that he is. I tell you, we're not goin'
to do you any hurt, so you needn't be lookin' in siteh
mortial clhread. By gor, you're as white as a pen'orth
o' curds in a sweep's fist.

With many such jokes at the expense of the tithe
proctors, they were attired in their caricature robes
and mitres, and presented with a pair of pitchforks by
way of crosiers, and were recommended at the same
time to make hay while the sun shone, " bekase the fine
weather would be lavin' them soon ; " with many other
bitter sarcasms, conveyed in the language of ridicule.

The procession was now soon arranged, and as they
had chief mourners, it was thought a good point 01
contrast to have their chief rejoicers as well. To this
end, in a large cart they put a sow and her litter ol
pigs, decorated with ribands, a sheaf of wheat standing
proudly erect, a bowl of large potatoes, which at Honoi
O'Hara's suggestions, were boiled, that they might be
htughing% On the occasion, and over these was hung a

• To English readers it is necessary to .explain that, in Ireland, pota-
toes are not peeled before being boiled, and when the outside skin is
broken by expansion in boiling, it produces a fanciful likeness to parted
lips, audthepotatoeissaid to be " laughing."

THE BURIAL OP THE TITHE. 235

rude banner, on which was written " We may stay at
home now."

In this cart, Hoppy Houligan, the fiddler, with a piper
as a coadjutor, rasped and squeaked their best to the
tune of " Gro to the devil and shake yourself," which was
meant to convey a delicate hint to the tithes for the future.

The whole assemblage of people, and it was immense,
then proceeded to the spot where it was decided the
tithe was to be interred, as the most fitting place to
receive such a deposit, and this place was called by what
they considered the very appropriate name of " The
Devil's Bit."*

In a range of hills, in the neighbourhood, where this
singular occurrence took place, there is a sudden gap
occurs in the outline of the ridge, which is stated to
have been formed by his sable majesty taking a bite out
of the mountain ; whether it was spite or hunger that
had made him do so, is not ascertained, but he evidently
did not consider it a very savoury morsel ; for it is
said, he spat it out again, and the rejected morgeau
forms the rock of Cashel. Such is the wild legend of
this wild spot, and here was the interment of the tithe
to be achieved, as an appropriate addition to the "Devil's
Bit."

The procession now moved onward, and, as it pro-
ceeded, its numbers were considerably augmented. Its
approach was looked for by a scout on every successive
hill it came within sight of, and a wild halloo, or the
winding of a cow's horn immediately succeeded, which
called forth scores of fresh attendants upon "the berrin."
Thus, their numbers were increased every quarter of a
mile they went, until, on their arriving at the foot of
the hill which they were to ascend, to reach their final
destination, the multitude assembled presented a most
imposing appearance. In the course of their march,

* I think Ware mentions an ancient crown being dug up at " The
Deril's Bit."

?36 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

Kl

the great point of attraction for the young men
women was the cart that bore the piper and tiddler, and
the road was rather danced than walked over in this
quarter. The other distinguished portion of the train
was where the two tithe proctors played their parts of
chief mourners. They were the delight of all the little
ragged urchins in the couutry ; the half-naked young
vagabonds hung on their flanks, plucked at their vest-
ments, made wry faces at them, called them by many
ridiculous names, and an occasional lump of clay was
slily flung at their mitres, which were too tempting a
'• cock shot" to be resisted. The multitude now wouik.
up the hill, and the mingling of laughter, singing, and
shouting, produced a wild compound of sound that rang
far and wide. As they doubled an angle in the road
which opened the Devil's Bit full upon their view, they
saw another crowd assembled there, which consisted o.
persons from the other side of the hills, who could noi
be present at the breakfast, nor join the procession, bin
who attended upon the spot where the interment was tc
take place. As soon as the approach of the funera
train was perceived from the top of the hill, the mass o
people there sent forth a shout of welcome, wdiich wa;
returned by those from below.

Short space now served to bring both partie:
together, and the digging of a grave did not takt
long with such a plenty of able hands for the purpose
" Come, boys," said Larry Lanigan to two or three
of his companions, " while they are digging the grav*
here, we'll go cut some sods to put over it when tin
thievin' tithe is buried ; not for any respect I have foi
it in partie'lar, but that we may have the place smooti
and clane to dance over aftherwards ; and may I nevei
shuffle the brogue again, if myself and Honor O'Han
won't be the first pair that'll set 3*011 a patthern."

All was soon ready for the interment ; the titln
coffin was lowered into the pit, arc! the shouting tha1
rent the air was terrific.

THE BURIAL OP THE TITHE. 237

As they were about to fill up the grave with earth,
their wild hurra, that had rung out so loudlv, was
answered by a fierce shout at some distance, and all eyes
were turned towards the quarter whence it arose, to see
from whom it proceeded, for it was, evidently, a
solitary voice that had thus arrested their attention.

Toiling up the bill, supporting himself with a staff,
and bearing a heavy load in a wallet slung over his
shoulders, appeared an elderly man whose dress
proclaimed him at once to be a person who depended
on eleemosynary contributions for his subsistence ? and
many, when they caught the first glimpse of him, pro-
claimed, at once, that it was " Tatther the Eoad"
was coming.

" Tatther the Eoad" was the very descriptive name
that had been applied to this poor creature, for he was
always travelling about the highways; he never rested
even at nights in any of the houses of the peasants, who
would have afforded him shelter, but seemed to be
possessed by a restless spirit, that urged him to constant
motion. Of course the poor creature sometimes slept, but
it must have been under such shelter as a hedge, or cave,
or gravel pit might afford, for in the habitation of man he
was never seen to sleep ; and indeed, no one was ever
known to discover this strange being in the act of sleep.
This fact attached a sort of mysterious character to the
wanderer, and many would tell you that "he wasn't
right," and firmly believed that he never slept at all.
His mind was unsettled, and though he never became
offensive in any degree from his mental aberration, yet
the nature of his distemper often induced him to do very
extraordinary things, and whenever the gift of speech
was upon him (for he was habitully taciturn), he would
make an outpouring of rhapsody, in which occasional
bursts of very powerful language and striking imagery
would occur. Indeed the peasant said that "sometimes
'twould make your hair stand an end to hear Tatther the
Koad make a no ration."

238 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

This poor man's history, as far as I could learn, was a
very melancholy one. In the rebellion of 98 his cabin
had been burned over his head by the yeomanry, after
every violation that could disgrace his hearth had been
committed. He and his son, then little more than a
1 : y, had attemped to defend their hut, and they were
both left for dead. His wife, and his daughter, a girl
of sixteen, were murdered. The wretched father, unfor-
tunately, recoved his life, but his reason was gone for
ever. Even in the midst of his poverty and madness,
there was a sort of respect attached to this singular man.
Though depending on charity for his meat and drink, he
could not well be called a beggar, for he never asked for
any thing — even on the road, when some passenger,
ignorant of his wild history, saw the poor wanderer, a
piece of money was often bestowed to the silent appeal
of his rags, his haggard features, and his grizly hair and
beard.

Thus eternally up and down the country was he
moving about, and hence his name of " Tatther the Eoad."

It was not long until the old man gained the summit
of the hill, but while he was approaching, many were the
"wonders" what in the name of fortune could have
brought Tatther the Eoad there. — "And by dad," said
one, " he's pullin' fufc* at a great rate, and its wondher-
ful how an owld cock like him can clamber up the hill so
fast."

" Aye," said another, " and with the woighthe's carry-
ing too."

" Sure enough," said a third. " Faix he's got a fine
lob in his wallet to-day."

" Whisht!" said O'Hara. — "Here he comes, and his
ears are as sharp as needles."

" And his eyes too," said a woman. " Lord be good
to me, did you ever see poor Tatther's eyes look so ter-
rible bright afore ? "

* Pull fut is a figurative expression signifying to make haste.

THE BURIAL OF THE TITHE. 23d

And indeed this remark was not uncalled for, for the
eyes of the old man almost gleamed from under the
shaggy brows that were darkly bent over them, as, with
long strides, he approached the crowd which opened
before him, and he stalked up to the side of the grave
and threw down the ponderous wallet, which fell to the
ground with a heavy crash.

" You were going to close the grave too soon," were
the first words he uttered.

" Sure, when the tithe is wanst buried, what more
have we to do ?" said one of the by-standers.

" Aye, you have put the tithe in the grave — but will
it stay there?"

" Why indeed," said Larry Lanigan, " I think he'd be
a bowld resurrection man that would come to rise it."

" I have brought you something here to lie heavy on
it, and 'twill never rise more," said the maniac, striking
forth his arm fiercely, and clenching his hand firmly.

"And what have you brought us, Agrah?" said
O'Hara kindly to him.

" Look here," said the other, unfolding his wallet and
displaying five or six large stones.

Some were tempted to laugh, but a mysterious dread
of the wild being before them, prevented any outbreak
of mirth.

" God help the craythur !" said a woman, so loud as
to be heard. " He has brought a bag full o' stones to
throw a top o' the tithes to keep them down — 0 wisha !
wisha ! poor craythur !"

" Aye — stones !" — said the maniac ; " but do you
know what stones these are ! Look woman — " and his
manner became intensely impressive from the excite-
ment even of madness, under which he was acting.
— " Look, I say — there's not a stone there that's not a
curse — aye a curse so heavy that nothing can ever rise
that falls under it."

" Oh I don't want to say against it, dear," said the
woman.

240 LEGENDS AXD STORIES.

The maniac did not seem to notice her submissive
answer, but pursuing his train of madness, continued
his address in his native tongue, whose figurative and
poetical construction was heightened in its effect, by a
manner and action almost theatrically descriptive.

'■ You all remember the Widow Dempsy. The firs;,
choice of her bosom was long gone, but the son she
loved was left to her, and her heart was not quite lonely.
And at the widow's hearth there was still a welcome for
the stranger — and the son of her heart made his choice.
like the father before him, and the joy of the widow's
house was increased, for the son of her heart was happy
— And in due time the widow welcomed the fair-haired
child of her son to the world, and a dream of her youtl
came over her, as she saw the joy of her son and hei
daughter, when they kissed the fair-haired child. — But
the hand of Grod was heavy in the land, and the fevei
fell hard upon the poor — and the widow was agaii:
bereft, — for the son of her heart was taken, and the wift
of his bosom also — and the fair-haired child was left ar
orphan. And the widow would have laid down hei
bones and died, but for the fair-haired child that had
none to look to but her. And the widow blessed God'4
name and bent her head to the blow — and the orphan
that was left to her was the pulse of her heart anc
often she looked on his pale face with a fearful eye, foi
health was not on the cheek of the boy — but she
cherished him tenderly.

" But the ways of the world grew crooked to the lout
woman, when the son, that was the staff of iter age, wa:
gone, and one trouble followed another, but still the
widow was not quite desitute. — And what was it broughi
the heavy stroke of distress and disgrace to the widow' ■
door ? — The tithe ! The Avidow's cow was driven anJ
sold to pay a few shillings ; the drop of milk was nc
longer in the widow's house, and the tender child thai
needed the nourishment, vested away before the widow''
eyes, like snow from the ditch, and died ; and fast the

THE BURIAL OP THE TITHE. 241

widow followed the son of her heart and his fair-haired
hoy.

" And now the home of an honest race is a heap of
rubbish, and the bleak wind whistles over the hearth
where the warm welcome was ever found ; and the cold
frog crouches under the ruins.

" These stones are from that desolate place, and the
curse of God that follows oppression is on them. —
And let them be cast into the grave, and they will lie
with the weight of a mountain on the monster that is
buried for ever."

So saying, he lifted stone after stone, and flung them
fiercely into the pit ; then, after a moment's pause upon
its verge, he suddenly strode away with the same noise-
less step with which he had approached, and left the
scene in silence.

THE WHITE HOUSE OF THE PEPPEES.

A LEGEND OP THE Z50IXE.

CHAP. I.

A horse ! a horse ! jvjv kingdom for a horse!

It was the night of the 2nd of July, in the year 1690,
that a small remnant of a discomfited army was forming-
its position, in no very good order, on the slope of a wild
hill on the borders of the county of Dublin. In front of
a small square tower, a sentinel was pacing up and down,
darkly brooding over the disastrous fight of the preced-

THE WHITE HORSE OP THE PEPPERS. 243

ing day, and his measured tread was sometimes broken
by the fierce stamp of his foot upon the earth, as some
bitter thought and muttered curse arose, when the feel-
ings of the man overcame the habit of the soldier. The
hum of the arrival of a small squadron of horse came from
the vale below, borne up the hill on the faint breeze that
sometimes freshens a summer's night, but neither the
laugh, nor the song, which so often enlivens a military
post, mingled with the sound. The very trumpet seemed
to have lost the inspiring tingle of its tone, and its blast
sounded heavily on the ear of the sentinel.

" There come more of our retreating comrades,"
thought he, as he stalked before the low portal it was his
duty to guard. — " Eetr eating, — curse the word ! — shall
we never do any thing but fall back and back before this
d — d Dutchman and his followers ? And yesterday too,
with so fine an opportunity of cutting the rascals to
pieces,— and all thrown away, and so much hard fighting
to go for nothing. Oh, if Sarsefield had led us ! we'd
have another tale to tell." And here he struck the
heavy heel of his war boot into the ground, and hurried
up and down. But he was roused from his angry musing
by the sound of a horse's tramp which indicated a rapid
approach to the tower, and he soon preceived through the
gloom, a horseman approaching, at a gallop.. The sen-
tinel challenged the cavalier, who returned the counter-
sign, and was then premitted to ride up to the door of the
tower. He was mounted on a superb charger, whose
silky coat of milk-white was much travel-stained, and the
heaviness of whose breathinsr told of recent hard ridin»-.
The horseman alighted : his dress was of a mixed charac-
ter, implying that war was not his profession, though the
troubled nature of the times had engaged him in it.
His head had no defensive covering, he wore the slouched
hat of a civilian common to the time, but his body was
defended by the cuirass of a trooper, and a heavy sword,
suspended by a broad cross belt, was at his side — these
alone bespoke the soldier, for the large and massively

244 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

mounted pistols that protruded from the holsters at his
saddle-bow, were no more than any gentleman, at the
time, might have been provided with.

"Will you hold the rein of my horse," said he to the
sentry, t; while I remain in the castle '?"

" I am a sentinel, sir," answered the soldier, " and
cannot."

" I will not remain more than a few minutes."

" I dare not, sir, while I'm on duty — but I suppose
you will find some one in the castle who will take charge
of your horse."

The stranger now knocked at the door of the tower
and after some questions and answers in token of amity
had passed between him and those inside, it was
opened.

" Let some one take charge of my horse," said he; '•' I
do not want him to be stabled, as I shall not remain
here long, but I have ridden him hard, and he is warm,
so let him be walked up and down until I am ready to
get into the saddle again." He then entered the tower,
and was ushered into a small and rude apartment, where
a man of between fifty and sixty years of age, seated on
a broken chair, though habited in a rich role de chamhrc,
was engaged in conversation with a general officer, a
man of fewer years, whose finger was indicating certain
points upon a map, which, with many other papers, lay
on a rude table before them. Extreme dejection was
the prevailing expression that overspread the coun-
tenance of the elder, while there mingled with the sad-
ness that marked the noble features of the other, a
tinge of subdued anger, as certain suggestions he
offered, when he laid his finger, from time to time, on
the map, were received with coldness, if not with refusal.

" Here at least we can make a bold stand," said the
general, and his eye flashed, and his brow knit as he
spoke.

" I fear not, Sarsefield," said the king, for it was the
unfortunate James the Second who spoke.

THE WHITE HORSE OP THE PEPPERS. 2i~)

Sarsefield withdrew his hand suddenly from the map,
and folding his arms, became silent.

" May it please you, my liege," said the horseman,
whose entry had not been noticed by either Sarsefield
or his sovereign. " I hope I have not intruded on your
majesty."

" Who speaks ?" said the king, as he shaded his eyes
from the light that burned on the table, and looked into
the gloom where the other was standing.

"Your enemies, my liege," said Sarsefield, with
some bitterness, " would not be so slow to discover
a tried friend of your majesty — 'tis the White
Horseman ;" and Sarsefield, as he spoke, gave a
look full of welcome and joyous recognition towards
him.

The horseman felt, with the pride of a gallant
spirit, all that the general's look and manner con-
veyed, and he bowed his head, respectfully, to the
leader, Avhose boldness and judgment he so often had
admired.

" Ha ! my faithful White Horseman," said the king.

" Your majesty's poor and faithful subject, Gerald
Pepper," was the answer.

" You have won the name of the White Horse-
man," said Sarsefield, " and you deserve to wear it."

The Horseman bowed.

"The general is right," said the king. "I shall
never choose to remember you by any other name.
You and your white horse have done good service."

" Would that they could have done more, my liege,"
was the laconic and modest reply.

" Would that every one," laying some stress on the
word, " had been as true to the cause yesterday !" said
Sarsefield.

" And what has brought you here ?" said the king,
anxious perhaps to escape from the thought which his
general's last words had suggested.

" I came, my liege, to ask permission to bid your ma-

246 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

jesty farewell, and beg the privilege to kiss your royal
hand."

" Farewell ?" echoed the king, startled at the word.
"Are you, too, going? — every one deserts me!"
There was intense anguish in the tone of his voice, for,
as he spoke, his eye fell upon a ring he wore, -which en-
circled the portrait of his favourite daughter, Anne, and
the remembrance that she, his own child, had excited
the same remark from the lips of her father — that bitter
rememberance came across his soul and smote him to the
heart. He was suddenly silent — his brow contracted —
he closed his eyes in anguish, and one bitter tear sprang
from under either lid at the thought. He passed his
hand across his face, and wiped away the womanish
evidence of his weakness.

" Do not say I desert you, my liege," said Gerald
Pepper. " I leave you, 'tis true, for the present, but I
do not leave you until I see no way in which I can be
longer useful. While in my own immediate district,
there were many ways in which my poor services
might be made available ; my knowledge of the
county, of its people and its resources, its passes and
its weak points, were of service. But here, or farther
southward, where your majesty is going, I can no
longer do any thing that might win the distinction with
which your majesty and General Sarsefield are pleased
to honour me."

" You have still a stout heart, a clear head, a bold arm,
and a noble horse," said Sarsefield.

" I have also, a weak woman and helpless children,
general," said Gerald Pepper.

The appeal was irresistible — Sarsefield was silent.

" But though I cannot longer aid with my arm — my
wishes and my prayers shall follow your majesty — ■
and whenever I may be thought an agent to be made
useful, my king has but to command the willing services
of his subject."

" Faithfully promised," said the king.

THE WHITE HORSE OP THE PEPPERS. 247

" The promise shall be faithfully kept," said Lis
follower ; " but before I leave, may I beg the favour of
a moment's conversation with your majesty."

" Speak anything you have to communicate before
Sarsefield," said the king.

Gerald Pepper hesitated for a moment; he was
struggling between his sovereign's command and his
own delicacy of feeling ; but overcoming the latter, in
deference to the former, he said:

" Your majesty's difficulties with respect to money
supplies, — "

" I know, I know," said the king somewhat im-
patiently, " I owe you five hundred pieces."

" Oh ! my liege," said the devoted subject dropping
on his knee before him, " deem me not so unworthy as
to seek to remind your majesty of the trifle you did
me the honour to allow me to lay at your disposal ;
I only regret I had not the means of contributing
more. It is not that ; but I have brought here another
hundred pieces, it is all I can raise at present, and if
your majesty will furthur honour me by the acceptance
of so poor a pittance, when the immediate necessities
of your army may render every trifle a matter of im-
portance, I shall leave you with a more contented spirit,
conscious that I have done all within my power for my
king." And, as he spoke, he laid on the table a purse
containing the gold.

" I cannot deny that we are sorely straitened,'
said the king, " but I do not like, — "

"Pray do not refuse it my liege," said Gerald still
kneeling — " do not refuse the last poor service your sub-
ject may ever have it in his power to do in your cause."

" Well," said the king, "I accept it — but I would not
do so if I were not sure of having, one day, the means
of rewarding your loyalty and generosity." And thus
allowing himself to be the dupe of his own fallacious
hopes, he took from poor Gerald Pepper the last hun-
dred guineas he had in his possession, with that happy

248 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

facility kings have always exhibited, in accepting sacri-
fices from enthusiastic and self-devoted followers.

" My mission here is ended now," said Gerald. '" May
I be permitted to kiss my sovereign's hand ?"

'• Would that all my subjects were as faithful," said
James, as he held out his hand to Gerald Pepper, who
kissed it respectfully, and then arose.

" What do you propose doing when you leave me ? "
said the king.

'' To return to my home as soon as I may, my liege.'

" If it be my fate to be driven from my kingdom by
my unnatural son-in-law, I hope he may be merciful to
my people, and that none may suffer from their adhe-
rence to the cause of their riohtful sovereign."

"I wish, my liege," said Gerald, "that he may have
half the consideration for his Irish subjects which your
majesty had for your English ones ;" and he shook his
head doubtfully as he spoke, and his countenance sud-
denly fell.*

A hard-drawn sigh escaped from Sarsefield, and then,
biting his lip, and with knitted brow, he exchanged a
look of bitter meaning with Gerald Pepper.

" Adieu then," said the king, " since you will go.
See our good friend to his saddle, Sarsefield. Once
more, good night ; King James will not forget the White
Horseman." So saying, he waved his hand in adieu.
Gerald Pepper bowed low to his sovereign, and Sarse-
field followed him? rom the chamber. They were both
silent till they arrived at the portal of the tower, and
when the door was opened, Sarsefield crossed the
threshold with the visitor, and stepped into the fresh
air, which he inhaled audibly three or four times, as if
it were a relief to him.

" Good night, General Sarsefield," said Gerald.

* At the battle of the Boyne, when the Irish were driving the en™?
with great slaughter before them, James was heard often to exclaim, " Uli '
.pare my English subjects."

THE WHITE HORSE OP THE PEPPER3. 249

" Good nightj my gallant friend," said Sarsefield, in a
voice that expressed much vexation of spirit.

" Be not so much cast down, general," said Gerald,
"better days may come, and fairer fields be fought."

" Never, never !" said Sarsefield. " Never was a fairer
field than that of yesterday, never was a surer game if it
had been rightly played. But there is a fate, my friend,
hangs over our cause, and I fear that destiny throws
against us."

" Speak not thus, general, — think not thus."

" Would that I could think otherwise — but I fear I
speak prophetically."

" Do you then give up the cause ? " said Gerald in
surprise.

" No ; " said Sarsefield, firmly, almost fiercely.
" Never — I may die in the cause, but I will never desert
it, as long as I have a troop to follow me — but I must
not loiter here. Farewell ! Where is your horse ? "

" I left him in the care of one of the attendants."

" I hope you are well mounted."

" Yes ; here comes my charger.'

" What ! " said Sarsefield, " the white horse ! "

" Yes, surely," said Gerald ; " you never saw me back
any other."

" But after the tremendous fatigue of yesterday," said
Sarsefield, in surprise, " is it possible he is still fresh ? "

" Fresh enough to serve my turn for to-night," said
Gerald, as he mounted into the saddle. The white
horse gave a low neigh of seeming satisfaction as his
master resumed his seat.

" Noble brute ! " said Sarsefield, as he patted the
horse on the neck, which was arched into the proud
bend of a bold steed who knows a bold rider is on his
back.

" And now farewell, general," said Gerald, extending
his hand.

" Farewell, my friend. Fate is unkind to deny the
charm of a victorious cause to so gallant a spirit."

250 LEGENDS AND STOEIES.

" There is more gallantry in remaining unshaken
under defeat ; and you, general, are a bright example of
the fact."

" Good night, good night," said Sarsefield, anxious
to escape from hearing his own praise, and wringing the
hand that was presented to him with much warmth : he
turned towards the portal of the tower, but before he
entered, Gerald again addressed him.

" Pray tell me general, is your regiment here ? Before
I go, I would wish to take leave of the officers of that
gallant corps, in whose ranks I have had the honour to
draw a sword."

" They are not yet arrived. They are on the road,
perhaps, by this time ; but I ordered they should be
the last to leave Dublin, for as, yesterday, they suffered
the disgrace of being led the first out of the battle,* I
took care they should have the honour of being the last
in the rear to-night, to cover our retreat."

" Then remember me to them," said Gerald.

" They can never forget the White Horseman," said
Sarsefield ; " and they shall hear you left the kind
word of remembrance for them. Once more, good
night,"

"Good night, general; God's blessing be upon you!"

"Amen!" said Sarsefield ; " and with you.3'

They then wrung each other's hand in silence.
Sarsefield re-entered the tower, and Gerald Pepper
giving the rein to his steed, the white horse left the
spot as rapidly as he had approached it.

For some days, Gerald Pepper remained in Dublin,
where he had ridden the night after his interview with
the king. The house of a friend afforded him shelter,
for he did not deem it prudent to be seen in public, as
his person was too well known, and his services to King

* Sarsefield's regiment, after having repeatedly repulsed the enemy,
was obliged to leave the field in order to protect the person of the fcir»,
who chose to fly unnecessarily soon.

THE WHITE HORSE OF THE PEPPERS. 251

James too notorious, not to render such a course dan-
gerous. He, therefore, was obliged to submit to being
cooped up in an attic in his friend's house, while he
stayed in the city. His sojourn in Dublin originated
in his anxiety to hear what was going forward at head-
quarters ; for there was but too much reason to fear,
from all former examples in Ireland, that forfeitures to
a great extent would take place, and to ascertain
whether his name should be amongst the proscribed was
the object that detained him from his home. His
patience, however, became exhausted, and one morning,
when his friend came to speak with him previously to
going forth into the city to see and hear what was
stirring, Gerald said he could bear the restraint of
his situation and the separation from his family no
lunger. " My poor Magdalene," said he, " can but ill
endure the suspense attendant upon my protracted
absence, and I fear her gentle nature will sink under
so severe a trial ; therefore, my excellent, my kind friend,
to-morrow morning I will leave you."

" Perhaps a day or two more may set your mind at
rest ; or, at least, will end your suspense respecting the
course about to be pursued with the adherents of the
king."

"I wait no longer than to-day," said Gerald, "I am
resolved."

His friend sallied forth, with this parting assurance
from his guest, and had not been absent more than an
hour or two, when he returned ; a low tap at the door
of Gerald's apartment announced his presence ; the bolt
was drawn, and he entered.

'•Gerald!" said his friend, grasping his hand, and
remaining silent.

" I understand," said Gerald ; " I am a ruined man."

How deeply expressive of meaning mere voice and
action become under the influence of feeling ! Here the
uttering of a name, and the grasping of a hand, wero
more potent than language ; for words could not so soon

252 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

Lave expressed the fatal truth, as the electric sympathy
that conveyed to Gerald's mind the meaning of his friend.
How mysterious the influence between thought and
action! I do not mean the action that is the result
of mere habit, but the action which we cannot
avoid, being a law of nature, and which every one
indulges in, under the influence of strong affection of the
mind. Grief and joy, hope and despair, fear and courage,
have each an action to distinguish them, as strongly
marked as the distinctions which separate different
species.

His friend made no other answer to Gerald's ejacula-
tion, than a suppressed groan, and then another fierce
grasp of the hand and a melancholy look into each other's
eyes passed between them. They then parted palms,
and each took a seat, and sat opposite each other, for
some minutes, in perfect silence. In that interval the
minds of both Avere busily engaged. Gerald's thoughts
flew back, at once, to his home, his dear home ; he
thought of his sweet Magdalene and his darling children.
He saw Magdalene deprived of the comforts of life,
without a roof to shelter her, and heard his babes cry for
food, as they shivered in the cold ; the thought overcame
him, and he hid his face in his hands. The mind of his
friend had been engaged, at the moment, as to what was
the best course Gerald could pursue under existing cir-
cumstances, and his case, though hard, seemed not hope-
less. Therefore, when he saw Gerald sink as he had
done, unconscious of the bitter thought that overcame
him, he rose from his seat, and laying his hand kindly on
the shoulder of his friend, he said :

" Cheer up, cheer up, man ! matters are not so des-
perate as to reduce you to despair at once. You are not
the man I take you for, if such a blow as this, heavy
though it be, overcome you."

Gerald looked up ; his eye was bright and his coun-
tenance serene, as he met the compassionating look that
was cast upon him ; he had recovered all his self-posses-

THE WHITE HORSE OF THE PEPPERS. 253

sion. The voice of his friend had dispelled the terrible
vision that fancy had presented him with, and recalled
his ideas from home, where his affectionate nature first
prompted them to fly.

" I do not despair," he said. " But there was a dread-
ful thought arose, which quite unmanned me for the
moment, but you see I am calm again."

" Yes, you look like yourself now."

" And will not relapse, I promise you. When once I
know the worst, I am equal to meet my destiny, whatever
it may be : and having said so much, tell me what that
fate is. Ruined, I know I am ; but tell me in what
degree. Is my person denounced, as well as my patri-
mony plundered from me?"

" No. Your life and freedom are not menaced, but
your property is forfeited, and, in all probability, many
days will not elapse until you may be dispossessed by
some new master."

" Days !" said Gerald, "hours you mean; these gentry
make quick work of such matters. I must hasten home
directly."

"Will not to-morrow answer?" asked his friend ; "to
day may be profitably spent here, in consulting as to
your best mode of proceeding, regarding the future."

" The lapse of one day might produce a loss of some
consequence to a man who is robbed of every acre ho
has in the world."

" How ?" asked his friend.

" I would like to be beforehand with the plunderers,
that I might secure any small articles of value such as
jewels or plate, from their clutches."

" Surely, these are not included in the forfeiture of a
man's lands."

" The troopers of the Prince of Orange will not be
very nice in making such legal distinctions ; therefore I
will hasten home, and save all I can from the wreck."

"Before you go, one word more," said his friend.
" If your property happen to fall to the lot of a trooper,

254 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

as you say; one of these fellows would rather have a
round sum of hard cash, than be encumbered with lands ;
and if you manage matters well, a few hundred pieces
may buy off the invader. I have heard of thousands of
broad acres being so saved, in Cromwell's time."

': That hope of rescue is debarred me," said Gerald ;
"all the disposable cash I had, I gave to the king."

" What ! not a rouleau left ?"

" The last hundred I could command I gave him."

" That's unfortunate;" said his friend ; "the more so,
as it is beyond my power to supply the want."

" I know it — I knoAV it," said Gerald, impatiently,
" don't name it. If Heaven be pleased to spare me life
and health, I shall be able to weather the storm. I have
as much plate and other valuables as, when converted
into cash, will enable me to carry my family to France,
and still leave something in my purse. At the French
court, I hope I can reckon on a good reception, and I
have my sword to offer to the service of the French King,
and I doubt not, from the interest I think I can com-
mand, that I should find employment in the ranks of the
gallant Louis."

" You have decided soon on your course of proceeding,
Gerald," said his friend, somewhat surprised at the cool-
ness and consideration he exhibited.

" Yes ; and you wondel at it," said Gerald, " because
you saw me cast down for a moment ; but the bitter
thought that overcame me is past. I see distinctly the
path before me which will save my wife and children
from want, and that once secured, I repine not, nor
shall cast one regret after the property I have lost in so
noble a cause. Farewell, my friend ! Thanks and
blessings be your's, from me and mine, for all your care
for me. Before I leave Ireland you shall see me again,
but for the present, farewell !"

In ten minutes more, Gerald Pepper was in his saddle,
and his trusty steed was bearing him to the home which
cost him so much anxiety.

THE WHITE HORSE OF THE PEPPERS. 255

As he pushed his way rapidly along the road, his
thoughts were so wholly engrossed by his present
calamitous circumstances, that he heeded no outward
object, nor even uttered one cheering word, or sound of
encouragement, to his favourite horse ; and it was not
until the noble round tower of Swords rose upon his
view, that he became conscious of how far he had pro-
gressed homewards, and of the speed with which he had
been going ; he drew the bridle when he had arrived at
the summit of the hill that commands the extensive
plain which lies at the foot of the mountain range that
skirts the counties of Dublin and Kildare, and stretches
onward into Meath and Lowtli, and the more northern
counties. The mountains of Carlingford and Mourne
spired upwards in their beautiful forms, where the ex-
treme distance melted into blue haze, and the sea could
scarcely be distinguished from the horizon : but nearer,
on his right, its level line of blue was distinctly defined,
as glimpses of it appeared over the woods of Feltrum and
Mai abide, occasionally broken by the promontory of
Howth, the grotesque pinnacles of Ireland's Eye, and
the bold island of Lambay.

As he was leisurely descending the hill into the village
beneath him, a figure suddenly appeared on a bank that
overhung the road, and leaped into the highway ; he ran
over towards Gerald, and clasping his knee with both
hands, said, with fervour —

" God save you, Masther Gerald, dear ! oh then is
that yourself safe and sound again ?"

" What !" said Gerald in surprise, " Rory Oge ! — by
what chance are you here ?"

" You may say chance, sure enough — wait a minif,
and I'll tell you, for it's out o' breath I am with the
race I made across the fields, without, when I seen yon
powdherin' down the road at the rate of a hunt, and
afear'd I was you would be gone past and out o' call
before I could get to the ditch."

" Is my family well?" said Gerald, " can you tell me?"

2-3G LEGENDS AND ST0IU£5.

"Tl
« ti-

They're all hearty."

Thanks be to God," said Gerald, devoutly.

" Amen," responded Eory.

" My poor wife I suppose has been fretting ?"

" Throth to be sure, an' no wondher ; the poor rais-
thriss ; but she keeps up wondherful, and I was goiu' to
Dublin myself to look for you."

" You, Eory ?"

" Yis, me, and why not ? and very nigh missin' you I
was, and would, only for Tareaway here," putting his
hand on the neck of the horse ; " for you wor so far off
when I first got a sight o' you, that 1 think I wouldn't
have minded you, but I knew the proud toss of Tare-
away's head, more betoken the white coat of him makes
him so noticeable."

" But who sent you to Dublin, to look for me 1"

" Myself, and nobody else — it was my own notion ;
for I seen the misthriss was onaisy, and I had a misgivin'
somehow that I'd come upon you, and sure enough I
did, for here you are."

" But not in Dublin, Eory," said Gerald, who could
not forbear a smile even in his sadness.

" Well, it's all one, sure," said Eory, " for here you
are, and I found you, as I said before; and now, Masther
Gerald, dear, that I see you're safe yourself, will you
tell me how matthers goes on wid the king and his
cause ?"

'■ Badly enough, I fear, Eory, and worse with hi3
friends," said Gerald, with a heavy sigh.

Eory caught at his meaning with native intelligence,
and looking up into his face with the most touching ex-
pression of affection and anxiety, said, " God keep us
from harm, Masther Gerald, dear, and sure it's not your-
self that is come to throuble, I hope."

" Yes, Eory," said Gerald, " I am a ruined man."

" Oh Masther Gerald dear, don't say that," said Eory.
with much emotion. " Who dar' ruinate you ?" said he,,
indignantly ; and then, his voice dropping into a tone ot

THE WHITE HORSE OF THE PEPPERS. 257

tenderness, he added, " Who'd have the heart to ruinata
you r

" Those who have nothing to fear nor love me for,
Rory," answered Gerald.

" Is it them vagabone Williamites — them thraitors to
their king and their God and their counthry — them
outlandish villians ! The Peppers o' Ballygarth ruin-
ated ! Oh what will the counthry come to at all at
all ! ! But how is it they can ruinate you, Masther
Gerald."

" By leaving me without house or land."

" You don't want to make me believe they'll dhrive
you out o' Ballygarth ?"

"Ballygarth is no longer mine, Rory. I shall not
have an acre left me."

" Why, who dar for to take it from you ? "

" Those who have the power to do so now, Bory ; the
conquerors at the Boyne."

" Why, bad cess to them, sure they won the day there,
and more's the pity," said Rory, "and what do they
want more ? Sure, when they won the day, that's
enough ; — we don't deny it ; and sorry I am to say that
same ; — but sure that should contint any raisonable
faction, without robbin' the people afther. Why, sup-
pose a chap was impident to me, and that I gev him a
wallopin' for it, sure that 'ud be no raison why I should
take the clothes aff his back, or rob him iv any thrifle
he might have about him ; and isn't it all one ? Sure,
instid of havin' a crow over him for being the best man,
I'd only be a common robber, knockin' a man down for
what I could get. And what differ is there betune the
cases ? "

" That you are only an humble man, Bory, and that
the other person is a king."

" Well, and sure if he is a king, shouldn't he behave
as sitch, and give a good example instead of doin' a dirty
turn like that ? Why should a king do what a poor man,
like me, would be ashamed of? "

17

258 LEGENDS A>TD STORIES.

Here, Rory broke out into a mingled strain of
indignation against the oppressor, and lament for the
oppressed, and wound up by this very argumentative and
convincing peroration —

"And so that furrin moroder, they call a king, is
goin' to rob and plundher and murdher you intirely, —
and for what, I'd like to know ? Is it bekase you stud
up for the rale king, your own king, and your counthry,
it is ? Bad fortune to him, sure, if he had any honour
at all, he'd only like you the betther iv it ; and, instead
of pursuin' you with his blackguard four-futted laws,*
it's plazed he ought to be that you didn't come acrass
him yourself when your swoord was in your hand, and
the white horse undher you. Oh, the yellow-faced
thief ! he has no gratitude ! ! "

A good deal more of equally good reasoning and abuse
was indulged in by Rory, as he walked beside the white
horse and his rider. Gerald remained silent until they
arrived at the foot of the hill, and were about to enter
the village, when he asked his companion what he
intended doing, now he had found the object of his
search.

" Why, I'll go back to be sure," said Rory, " and be
of any use I can to you ; but you had betther make no
delay in life, Masther Gerald, but make off to the
misthriss as fast as you can, for it's the heart of her will
leap for joy when she claps her two good looking eyes
on you."

" I intend doing so, Rory; and I will expect to see
you to-morrow."

" It may be a thrine later nor that, Masther Gerald,
for I intend stoppin' in Swoords to-night ; but you'll see
me afore long, any how."

" Then, good bye, Rory, for the present," said Gerald,
as he put spurs to his horse, and sweeping at a rapid
pace round one of the angles of the picturesque castle

* Some mystification of Bory's about "forfeited"

THE WHITE HORSE OF THE PEPPERS. 259

that formerly commanded the entrance to the village,
he was soon lost to the sight of Kory Oge, who sent
many an affectionate look and blessing after him.

The appearance of Kory Oge was too sudden to
permit any explanation to be given to the reader of who
he was, when first introduced into the story ; but now
that the horseman's absence gives a little breathing
time, a word or two on the subject may not be
inapposite.

Kory Oge was foster-brother to Gerald Pepper, and
hence the affection and familiarity of address which
existed and was permitted between them. In Ireland,
as in Scotland, the ties thus originating between two
persons who have been nurtured at the same breast, are
held very dear, and were even more so formerly than
now. Kory Oge might thus, as foster-brother to Gerald,
have had many advantages, in the way of worldly com-
fort, which he not only did not seek for, but had even
shunned. Making use of such advantages must have
involved, at the same time, a certain degree of depen-
dence, and this, the tone of his character would have
rendered unpleasing to him. There was a restlessness
in his nature, with which a monotonous state of being
would have been incompatible; an independence of
mind also, and a touch of romance, which prompted
him to be a free agent. To all these influences was
added a passionate love of music ; and it will not
therefore be wondered at, that Rory Oge had determined
on becoming an erratic musician. The harp and the
bagpipes he had contrived, even in his boyhood, to
become tolerably familiar with ; and when he had taken
up the resolution of becoming a professed musician, his
proficiency upon both instruments increased rapidly,
until at length he arrived at a degree of excellence, as
a performer, seldom exceeded. Ultimately, however, the
pipes was the instrument he principally practised upon :
his intuitive love of sweet sounds would have prompted
fcim to the use of the harp, but the wandering life he

260 LEGENDS A>*D STORIES.

led rendered the former instrument so much more
convenient, from its portability, that it became his
favourite, from fitness, rather than choice.

In the cool of the evening, Eory Oge was seated at
the back of a cottage on the skirts of a village, and in
the rear of it a group of young people of both sexes
were dancing on the green sod. to the inspiring music
of his pipes. More than an hour had been thus employed,
and the twilight vras advancing, when a fresh couple
stood up to dance, and Eory, after inflating his bag and
giving forth the deep hum of his drone, let forth his
chaunter into one of his best jigs, and was lilting away
in his merriest style ; but the couple, instead of com-
mencing the dance, joined a group of the bystanders,
who seemed to have got their heads together upon some
subject of importance, and listened to the conversation,
instead of making good use of their own time, the day's
declining light, and Eory's incomparable music.

At length they turned from the knot of talkers, and
were going to dance, when the girl told her partner she
would rather have another jig than the one Eory was
playing. The youth begged of Eory to stop.

" For what ?'' said Eory.

'■ Aggy would rather have another jig," said her beau,
"for she doesn't like the one you're playin"

'• Throth, it's time for her to think iv it," said Eory,
'■ and I playin' away here all this time for nothin', and
obleeged now to put bach the tune. Bad cess to me,
but it's too provokin', so it is ; — and why couldn't you
tell me so at wanst '?"

*' Now don't be angry, Eory," said Aggy, coming
forward herself to appease his anger; — " I ax your
pardon, but I was just listenin' to the news that they
wor tellin."

"What news ?" said the piper. "I suppose they
havn't fought another battle ?"'

+ one would think you wor a witch, Eory ;
tie, there's a sojer in it."

THE WHITE HOUSE OF THE PEPPERS. 261

" What sojer ?" said Rory, with earnestness.

" Why, a sojer a' horseback rode into the town awhile
agon, jist come down from Dublin, and is stoppin'
down below at the Public."

A thought at once flashed across Eory's mind that
the visit of a soldier at such a time might have some
connexion with the events he had become acquainted
with in the morning, and, suddenly rising from his
seat, he said, " Paix, and I don't see why I shouldn't
see the sojer as well as every body else, and so I'll
go down to the Public myself."

" Sure, you won't go, Rory, until you give us the
tune, and we finish our dance ?"

" Finish, indeed," said Rory ; " why, you didn't
begin it yet."

" No, but we will, Rory."

" By my sowl, you won't," said Rory, very sturdily
unyoking his pipes at the same time.

" Oh, Rory," said Aggy, in great dismay, — " Rory —
if you plaze — "

"Well, I don't plaze; and there's an end iv it. I
was bellowsing away there for betther nor ten minutes,
and the divil a toe you'd dance, but talking all the
time, and then you come and want to put back the
tune. Now, the next time you won't let good music
be wasted ; throth, it's not so plenty."

" Not such as your's, in throth, Rory," said Aggy, in
her own little coaxing way. — Ah, now Rory !"

" 'Twont do, Aggy ; you think to come over me now
with the blarney ; but you're late, says Boyce : "* aiid
so saying, off he trudged, leaving the dancers in
dudgeon.

* "Wlien the Lord Thomas Fitzgerald discovered that treason wa»
within his castle of Maynooth, the traitor (Parese, I believe) was
ordered for immediate execution in the Bass Court of the fortress ; there
he endeavoured to save his life by committing a double treason, and
offered to betray the secret of the English besiegers, but a looker-on ex-
claimed, "You're late!" His name was Boyce; and hence the saying
which exists to this day.

262 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

He went directly to the Public, where he found an
English officer of King William's cavalry had not only
arrived, but intended remaining, and to that end was
superintending the grooming of his horse, before he was
put up for the night in a shabby little shed, which the
landlady of the Public chose to call stable. Here Eory
Oge proceeded, and entered into conversation with the
hostler, as a preliminary to doing the same with the
soldier : this he contrived with the address so peculiar
to his country and his class, and finding that the
stranger intended going northward in the morning,
the suspicion which had induced him to leave the dance
and visit the Public ripened into uneasiness as to the
object of the stranger, and, desirous to arrive closer to
the truth, he thought he might test the intention of the
trooper in a way which would not betray his own anxiety
on the subject, at the same time that it would sufficiently
satisfy him as to the other's proceedings. To this end,
in the course of the desultory conversation which may
be supposed to take place between three such persons
as I have named, Eory ingeniously contrived to
introduce the name of "Ballygarth," watching the
Englishman closely at the moment, whose attention
became at once awakened at the name, and, turning
quickly to Eory, he said —

" Ballygarth, did you say ?"

" Yis, your honour," said Eory, with the most perfect
composure and seeming indifference, though at the same
time, the success of his experiment convinced him, that
the man who stood before him was he who was selected
to expel his beloved fosterbrother from his home.

" How far is the place you name from this village 1"
asked the soldier.

" Indeed, it's not to say very convaynient," answered
Eory.

" How many miles do you reckon it ? "

" Indeed an' that same would be hard to say."

" I think," said the hostler, " it would be about — "

THE WHITE HOESE OE THE PEPPERS, 263

" Twenty-four or twenty-five," interrupted Rory,
giving the hostler a telegraphic kick on the shin, at the
same time, by way of a hint not to contradict him.

" Aye, something thereaway," said the other, assenting
and rubbing the intelligent spot.

" Why, Drokhe-da is not more than that from Dublin,"
said the trooper, in some surprise.

" It's Drogheda you mane, I suppose, sir," said Rory,
noticing the Englishman's false pronunciation, rather
than his remark of the intentional mistake as to the dis-
tance named.

" Aye, Droketty, or whatever you call it."

" Oh, that's no rule in life your honour ; for Bally-
garth, you see does not lie convaynient, and you have
to go by so many cruked roads and little boreens to
come at it, that it is farther off, when you get there, than
a body would think. Faix, I know, I wish I was at
the ind o' my journey there to-morrow, for it's a long
step to go."

" Are, you going there, to-morrow ? " said the trooper.

" Nigh hand it, sir," said Rory, with great composure ;
and turning to the hostler he said, " That's a fine baste
you're clainin' Pether."

" My reason for asking," said the soldier, " is that I
am going in the same direction myself, and, as you say
the road is intricate, perhaps you will show me the way."

" To be sure I will, your honour," said Rory,
endeavouring to conceal his delight at the stranger's
falling into his designs so readily. "At all events, as
far as I can go your road, you're heartily welkim to any
sarvice I can do your honour, only I'm afeard I'll delay
you an your journey, for indeed the baste I have is not
the fastest."

" Shank's mare,* I suppose," said Peter with a wink.

" No ; Teddy Ryan's horse," said Rory. " An' I sup«
pose your honour will be for startin' in the mornin' 2 "

• One's own legs.

264: LEGENDS AXD STORIES.

" Yes," said the soldier ; and he thereupon arranged
with his intended guide as to the hour of their com-
mencing their journey on the morrow ; after which, the
piper wished him good night, and retired.

The conjecture of Rory Oge was right a3 to the
identity of the English soldier. He was one of those
English adherents to King William, for whose gratifi-
cation and emolument, an immediate commission had
been issued for the enriching a greedy army, inflamed
as well by religious animosity as cupidity, at the expense
of the community at large. So indecent was the haste
displayed to secure this almost indiscriminate plunder,
that " no courts of judicature were opened for proceed-
ing regularly and legally."* But a commission was
issued, under which extensive forfeitures were made,
and there was no delay in making what seizures they
could : but this rapacious spirit defeated its own ends
in some instances, for the unsettled state of the country
rendered it difficult, if not impossible, to secure the ill-
gotten good, from the headlong haste it was necessary to
proceed with.f

It was in the gray of the succeeding morning that
Rory Oge stole softly from the back-door of the house
of entertainment where he, as well as the English soldier,
slept, and proceeded cautiously across the enclosure, in
the rear of the house, to the shed where the horse of the
stranger was stabled. Noiselessly he unhasped the door

• Leland's Ireland, book vi. chap. 7.

f The sweeping forfeitures made at this period were such, that many
were driven by the severity, rather than inclination, to take part with
the adherents of King James, their very existence depending on the
overthrow of William's power. This protracted the contest so much,
that it was lamented even by many of King William's own party. In a
letter from the Secretary of the Lords Justices to Ginckle, there occurs
this passage: "But I see our civil officers regard more adding fifty
pounds a-year to the English interest in this kingdom, than saving
England the expense of fifty thousand. I promise myself it is for the
King's, the allies', and England's interest, to remit most or all of the
forfeitures, so that we could immediately bring the kingdom under their
majesties obedience. — Zeland's Ireland, book vi. chap. 7.

THE WHITE HORSE OP THE PEPPERS. 265

of rough boards, that swung on one leather hinge, and
entering the shed, he shook from his hat some corn into
the beast's manger ; and while the animal was engaged
in despatching his breakfast, Kory lifted his fore-foot
in a very workmanlike manner into his lap and com-
menced, with a rasp, which he had finessed from a
smith's forge the evening before for the purpose, to
loosen the nails of the shoe. As soon as he had
accomplished this to his satisfaction, he retired to his
sleeping place, and remained there until summoned to
arise when the soldier was ready to take the road.

At the skirts of the village, some delay occurred
while Eory stopped at the house of one of his friends,
who had promised him the loan of a horse for his
journey, which arrangement he had contrived to make
over night. It was not long, however, before Eory
appeared, leading from behind the low hut of the
peasant, by whom he was followed, a very sorry piece
of horseflesh ; after mounting he held out his hand,
first having passed it across his mouth and uttered a
sharp sound, something resembling " thp." * The
offered palm was met by that of his friend, after a
similar observance on his part, and they shook hands
while exchanging some words in their native tongue.
Eory then signified to the Englishman that he was
ready to conduct him.

The soldier cast a very discontented eye at the animal
on which his guide was mounted, and Eory interpreted
the look at once —

" Oh, indeed, he's not the best, sure enough. I towld
your honour, last night, I was afeard I might delay you
a little for that same ; but don't be onaisy, he's like a
singed cat, better nor he looks, and, if we can't go in a
hand gallop, sure there's the old sayin' to comfort us,
that ' fair and aisy goes far in a day.' "

* This practice is continued to this day, and is supposed to propitiate
good fortune. — —

266 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

" We have a long ride before us, though," said the
soldier, " and your horse I'm afraid, will founder before
he goes half way."

" Oh, don't be afeard av him in the laste," said Eory ;
"he's owld, to be sure, but an owld friend is preferable
to a new inimy."

Thus, every objection on the part of the Englishman
was met by Eory with some old saying, or piece of
ingenuity of his own in answer ; and after some few
minutes of conversation, they dropped into silence and
jogged along.

In some time, the notice of the stranger was attracted
by the singular and picturesque tower of Lusk that arose
on their sight, and he questioned Eory as to its history
and use.

" It's a church it is," said his guide.

" It looks more like a place of defence," said the
soldier ; " it is a square tower with circular flankers."

" To be sure, it is a place of difince," said Eory. " Isn't
it a place of difince agin the devil (God bless us) and
all his works ; and mighty great people is proud to be
berrid in it for that same. There is the Barnewells,
(the lords of Kingsland, I mane,) and they are berrid in
it time beyant tellin', and has an iligant monument in
it, the lord himself and his lady beside him, an the broad
o' their backs, lyin' dead, done to the life."*

There was scarcely any tower or house which came
within view of the road they pursued, that did not pre-
sent Eory with an occasion for giving some account of
it, or recounting some tale connected with it, and thus
many a mile was passed over. It must be confessed, to
be sure, that Eory had most of the conversation to
himself, a3 the soldier helped him very little ; but as
Eory's object was to keep his attention engaged and

* This very fine monument of the Barnewalls (of the period of Elizabeth,
I believe) has been lamentably abused, by having some iron bars inserted
into the recumbent effigies upon it, for the purpose of supporting a pulpit
It is a pity that piety and propriety are sometimes at variance.

THE WHITE HOESE OP THE PEPPERS. 267

while away the time, and delay him on the road as long
as he could, he did not relax in his efforts to entertain,
however little reciprocity there was on that score, between
him and his companion. At last, he led him from the
high road into every small by-way that could facilitate
his purpose of delaying, as well as of tiring the trooper,
and his horse too, to say nothing of his plan of having a
shoe lost by the charger in a remote spot. Many a
wistful glance was thrown on the fore shoe, and, at last,
he had the pleasure to see it cast unnoticed by the rider.
This, Eory said nothing about, until they had advanced
a mile or two, and then, looking down for some time as
if in anxious observation, he exclaimed, " By dad, I'm
afread your horse's fore shoe is gone.'

The dragoon pulled up immediately and looked down,
" I believe it is the off foot," said he.

" It's the off shoe, any how," said Eory ; " and that's
worse."

The dragoon alighted and examined the foot thus
deprived of its defence, and exhibited a good deal of
silent vexation; — " It is but a few days since I had him
shod," said he.

" Throth, then, it was a shame for whoever done it,
not to make a betther job iv it," said Eory.

The Englishman then inspected the remaining shoes
of his horse, and finding them fast, he noticed the singu-
larity of the loss of one shoe under such circumstances.

" Oh, that's no rule in life," said Eory, " for you may
remark that a horse never throws two shoes at a time,
but only one, by way of a warnin', as a body may say,
to jog your memory that he wants a new set ; and,
indeed, that same is very cute of a dumb baste ; — and I
could tell your honour a mighty quare story of a horse
I knew wanst, and as reg'lar as the day o' the month kem
round

" I don't want to hear any of your stories," said the
Englishman, rather sullenly ; " but can you tell me how
I may have this loss speedily repaired ?"

268 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

" Faix, an' I could tell your honour tico stories easier
nor that, for not a forge I know nigher hand to this than
one that is in Duleek."

" And how far is Duleek ?"

" 'Deed, an it's a good step."

" What do you call a good step ?"

" "Why it 'ill take a piece of a day to go there."

" Curse you," said the dragoon, at last, provoked
beyond his constitutional phlegm at such evasive replies ;
" can't you say how many miles ?"

" I ax your honour's pardon," replied his guide, who
now saw that trifling would not answer : " to the best
o' my knowledge, we are aff o' Duleek about five miles,
or thereaway."

"Confound it!" said the soldier — "Five miles,
and this barbarous road, and your long miles into the
bargain."

" Sure, I don't deny the road is not the best,' said
Eory ; " but if it's not good, sure we give you good
measure at all events."

It was in vain that the Englishman grumbled ;
Eory had so ready and so queer an answer to every
objection raised by the soldier, that, at last, he re-
mounted, and was fain to content himself with pro-
ceeding at a very slow pace along the vile by-road
they travelled, lest he might injure the hoof of his
charger.

And now, Eory having effected the first part of his
object, set all his wits to work how he could make the
rest of the road as little tiresome as possible to the
stranger ; and he not only succeeded in effecting this,
but he managed, in the course of the day, to possess
himself of the soldier's secret, touching the object of his
present journey.

In doing this, the scene would have been an amusing
one to a third person ; it was an encounter between
phlegm and wit — a trial between English reserve and
Irish ingenuity.

THE WHITE HORSE OP THE PEPPERS. 269

By the way, it is not unworthy of observation, that
a common spring of action influences the higher and the
lower animals, under the circumstances of oppression
and pursuit. The oppressed and the pursued have only
stratagem to encounter force, or escape destruction.
The fox and other animals of the chase are proverbial
for their cunning, and every conquered people have
been reduced to the expedient of finesse, as their last
resource.

The slave-driver tells you that every negro is a liar.
It is the violation of charity on the one hand that in-
duces the violation of truth on the other ; and weakness,
in all cases, is thus driven to deceit, as its last defence
against power.

The soldier, in the course of his conversation with his
guide, thought himself very knowing when he said, in a
careless way, that he believed there was some one of the
name of Pepper lived at Ballygarth.

"Some one, is it?" said Rory, looking astonished;
" Oh ! is that all you know about it ? Some one, indeed !
By my conscience an' it's plenty of them there is. The
counthry is overrun with them."

" But I speak of Pepper of Ballygarth," said the
other.

" The Peppers o' Ballygarth you mane ; for they are
livin' all over it as thick as rabbits in the back of an
owld ditch."

" I mean he who is called Gerald Pepper ?"

" Why then, indeed, I never heerd him called that-a-
way before, and I dunna which o' them at all you mane ;
for you see there is so many o' them, as I said before,
that we are obleeged to make a differ betune them by
invintin' names for them; and so we call a smooth
skinned chap that is among them, White Pepper ; and a
dark fellow, (another o' the family,) Black Pepper ; and
there's a great long sthreel that is christened Lon£
Pepper ; and there is another o' them that is tindher an
one of his feet, and we call him Pepper-corn ; and there

270 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

is a fine dashin' well-grown blade, the full of a door he
is, long .life to hiin, and he is known by the name of
Whole Pepper ; and it's quare enough, that he is mar-
ried to a poor little starved hound of a wife, that has
the bittherest tongue ever was in a woman's head, and
so they call her Ginger ; and I think that is a highly
saisoned family for you. Now, which o' them is it you
mane ? Is it White Pepper, or Black Pepper, or Long
Pepper, or Whole Pepper, or Pepper-corn ?"

" I don't know any of them," said the soldier ;
" Gerald Pepper is the man I want."

" Oh, you do want him then," said Eory, with a very
peculiar intonation of voice. " Well, av coorse, if you
want him, you'll find him ; but look forenint you there ;
there you may see the owld abbey of Duleek ;" — and he
pointed to the object as he spoke.

This was yet a mile, or so distant, and the day was
pretty well advanced by the time the travellers entered
the village. Eory asked the soldier where it was his
honour's pleasure to stop, while he got his horse shod,
and recommended him to go to the abbey, where, of
course, the monks would be proud to give " any accom-
modation in life " to a gentleman like him. But this
proposal the soldier did not much relish; for though
stout of heart, as most of his countrymen, he was loath
to be tempted into any situation where he would have
considered himself, to a certain degree, at the mercy of
a parcel of Popish monks ; — and poisoned viands and
drugged wine were amongst some of the objections
which his Protestant imagination started at the proposal.
He inquired if there was not any Public in the village,
and being answered in the affirmative, Ms resolution
was taken at once, of sheltering and getting some re-
freshment there, while his horse should be under the
hands of the blacksmith.

Here again, Kory's roguery came into practice ; the
blacksmith of the village was his relative, and after de-
positing the fatigued and annoyed soldier at the little

THE WHITE HORSE OF THE PEPPERS. 271

auberge, Eory went for the avowed purpose of get-
ting the smith to "do the job," but, in reality, to
send him out of the way; and this was easily done,
when the motive for doing so was communicated. On
his return to the Public, there was a great deal of well-
affected disappointment on Eory's part at the absence
of his near relative, the smith, as he told the betrayed
trooper how " provoking it was that he wasn't in the
forge at that present, — but was expected at every hand's
turn, and that the very first instant minit he kern home,
Ally (that was his wife) would run up and tell his
honour, and the horse would be shod in no time."

"In no time?" said the soldier with a disappointed
look. " You know I want to have him shod in time."

" Well, sure, that's what I mane," said Eory ; " that
is, it will be jist no time at all until he is shod."

" Indeed, an' you may believe him, your honour,"
said mine host of the Public, coming to the rescue,
" for there's no one he would do a sthroke o' work
sooner for, than Eory Oge here, seein' that he is of his
own flesh and blood, his own cousin wance removed."

" Faith, he is farther removed than that," replied
Eory, unable to contain a joke; "he is a more distant
relation than you think ; but he'll do the work with
a heart and a half, for all that, as soon as he comes
back ; and, indeed, I think your honour might as well
make yourself comfortable here antil that same time,
and the sorra betther enthertainmint you'll meet betune
this and the world's end, than the same man will
give you ; Lanty Lalor I mane, and there he is stan'in'
forninst you ; and it's not to his face I'd say it, but
behind his back too, and often did, and will agin, I
hope."

" Thank you kindly, Eory," said Lanty, with a bow
and scrape.

Some refreshment was accordingly prepared for the
soldier, who after his fatigue, was nothing loath to com-
fort the inward man ; the more particularly, as it was

272 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

not merely the best, but the only thing he could do,
under existing circumstances ; and after gorging pro-
fusely on the solids, the fluids were next put under
contribution, and, acting on the adage that " good
eating requires good drinking," he entered into the
feeling of the axiom ■with an earnestness that Sancho
Panza himself could not have outdone, either in the
spirit or the letter.

Eory was in attendance all the time, and still played
his game of engaging the stranger's attention as much
as possible, with a view to divert him from his prime
object, and make him forget the delays which were
accumulated upon him. It was in this spirit that he
asked him if he ever " heerd tell of the remarkable
place that Duleek was."

" We made the place remarkable enough the other
day," said the soldier, with the insolence which the
habit of domination produces in little minds, " when
we drove your flying troops through the pass of Duleek,
and your runaway king at the head of them. I was one
of the fifty who did it."*

Eory, influenced by the dear object he had in view,
smothered the indignation he felt rising to his throat ;
and as he might not exhibit anger, he had recourse to
sarcasm, and said,

" In throth, your honour, I don't wondher at all at the
brave things you done, in the regard that it was at Du-
leek ; and sure Duleek was always remarkable for havin'
the bowldest things done there and about, ever since the
days of the 'Little Waiver.' "

"What Little Weaver ?" said the soldier.

"Why then, an' did you never hear of the Little
Waiver of Duleek Gate ?"

* It was at Schomberg's suggestion that this pass was looked to;
W"iiliam had not attended to it, and, mnch to Schomberg's disappointment,
sent only fifty dragoons to observe it. Leland remarks, that had not
the king (James) been so scandalously intent on flight, the English
dragoons must have been slaughtered to a man, and the pass made good.

THE WHITE HORSE OP THE PEPPERS. 273

" Never."

" Well, that's wondherful ! !" said Eory.

" I don't see how its wonderful," said the trooper ;
" for how could I hear of the Weaver of Duleek when I
have been living in England all my life V

" Oh murther !" said Eory, in seeming amazement ;
" an' don't they know about the Little Waiver o' Duleek
Gate, in England I"

" No," said the trooper ; " how should they ?"

" Oh, then, what a terrible ignorant place England
must be, not for to know about that ! ! !"

" Is it so very wonderful, then ?" asked the man, whose
country was thus aspersed.

" Wondherful !" said Kory. " By my sowl, it is that,
that is wondherful."

" Well, tell it to me, then," said the soldier.

" Now, suppose I was for to tell you, you see, the
divil a one taste you'd believe a word iv it; and it
callin' me a fool you'd be ; and you'd be tired into the
bargain before I was half done, for it's a long story and
if you stopped me I'd be lost."

" I won't stop you."

" But you won't b'lieve it ; and that's worse."

"Perhaps I may," said the other, whose curiosity
began to waken.

" Well, that same is a promise any how, and so here
goes ;" and Kory then related, with appropriate voice
and gesture, the following Legend.

18

CHAPTER II.

&\t 3&gttt& d % Jpffle Wifsbtt d $aM <£-<tf*.

A TALE OF CHIVALRY.

You see, there was a waiver lived, wanst upon a time,
in Duleek here, hard by the gate, and a very honest
industherous man he was, by all accounts. He had a
wife, and av coorse they had childhre, and small blame
to them, and plenty of 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 ; but he didn't
begridge that, for he was an industherous erayther, as I

THE LITTLE WEAVER OF DULEEK GATE. 275

said before, and it was up airly and down late wid him,
and the loom never standin' still. Well, it was one
mornin' that his wife called to him, and he sitting very
busy thro win' the shuttle ; and says she, " Come here,"
says she, "jewel, and ate your brekquest, now that
it's ready." But he never minded her, but wint an
workin'. So in a minit or two more, says she, callin
out to him agin, " Arrah ! lave off slavin' yourself,
my darlin', and ate your bit o' brekquest while it
is hot."

"Lave me alone," says he, and he dhruv the shuttle
fasther nor before.

Well, in a little time more, she goes over to him where
he sot, and says she, coaxin' him like, " Thady, dear,"
says she, " the stirabout* will be stone cowkl if you
don't give over that weary work and come and ate it at
wanst."

" I'm busy with a patthern here that is brakin' my
heart," says the waiver, '' and antil I complate it and
masther it intirely, I won't quit."

" Oh, think o' the iligant stirabout, that 'ill be spylte
intirely."

" To the divil with the stirabout," says he.

" G-od forgive you," says she, " for cursin' your good
brekquest."

"Aye, and you too," says he.

" Throth, 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

• Porridge.

276 LEGENDS AXD STORIES.

but whin he looked at it, it was as black as a crow ; for
V©u see, it was in the hoighth o' summer, and the flies
lit upon it to that degree that the stirabout was fairly
covered with them.

" Why thin bad luck to your impidince," says the
waiver, " would no place sarve you but that ? and is it
spyling my brekquest viz are, you dirty bastes ? " And
with that, bein' altogether cruked tempered at the time,
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. It was three score and tin
exactly, 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 slaughther he done, at one blow, and with
that, he got as consaited as the very dickens, and not a
sthroke more work he'd do that clay, but out he whit,
and was fractious and impidint to every one he met,
and was squarein' up into their faces and sayin', " Look
at that flit ! 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 faith 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, and thrue for her,
for he rowled into a ditch comin' home. " You had
betther wash it, d'arlin'."

" 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
Icom, no thin' but a poor waiver, when it is Saint

• Deranged,

THE LITTLE WEAVER OE DTJLEEK GATE. 277

George or the Dhraggin I ought to be, which is two of
the siven champions o' Christendom."

" 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 — divil a more
waivin' I'll do."

" Oh, Thady, dear, and what'il the children do then ?"

" Let them go play marvels," says he.

" That would be but poor feedin' for them, Thady?"

" They shan't want for 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
dunna 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.

" Oh ! God send we'll all be in glory yet," says the
wife, crassin' herself; " but go to sleep, Thady, for this
present."

" I'll sleep with the brave yit," says he.

" Indeed an' a brave sleep will do you a power <f
good, my darlin'," says she.

" And it's I that will be the knight ! !" says he.

" All night, if you plaze, Thady," says she.

"None o' your coaxin," says he. "I'm detarminecl
on it, and I'll set off immediantly, and be a knight
arriant."

" A what ! ! !" says she.

" A knight arriant, woman."

" Lord be good to rne, what's that ? " says she.

" A knight arriant is a rale gintleman," says he,
" going round the world for sport, with a swoord by his
side, takin' whatever he plazes, — for himself ; and that's a
knight arriant," says he.

" Just a'most like yourself, sir," said Eory, with a sly

278 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

sarcastic look at the trooper, who sat listening to him
with a sort of half stupid, half drunken wonder.

"Well, sure enough he wint about amono- his neio;h-
hours the next day, and he got an owld kittle from one,
and a 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 partic'lar about bekase it was his shield,
and he wmt to a frind o' his, a painther and glaizier,
and made hirn 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 iligant 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 ivoight an his hrain,'"

"But, Thady, clear," 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 looks mighty quare, stickin'
lip," — 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 bitther at last, " all I
can say is, it isn't the first sheep's head was dhrcss'd
in it."

THE LITTLE WEAVER OP DULEEK GATE. 279

" Your sarvint, ma'am," says he ; and off lie 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 idintical horse for me," says the wai-
ver, " he is 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."

But as he was ridin' him out o' the field, who should
see him but the miller. " Is it stalin' my horse you are,
honest man?" says the miller.

" No," says the waiver, " I'm only goin' to a#ercise
him," says he, "in the cool o' the evenin'; it will be
good for his health."

" Thank you kindly," says the miller, " but lave him
where he is, and you'll obleege me."

" I can't afford it," says the waiver, runnin' the horse
at the ditch.

"Bad luck to your impidince," says the miller;
you've as much tin about you as a thravellin' tinker,
but you've more brass. Oome back here, you vagabone,"
says he.

But he was too late ; — 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
Dublin was a grate place thin, and had a king iv it'a
own) — and he thought, may be, the King o' Dublin
would give him work. Well, he was four days goin' to
Dublin, for the baste was not the best, and the roads
worse, not all as one as now ; but there was no turn-
pikes then, glory be to God ! !* Whin he got to Dublin,
he wint sthrait to the palace, and whin he got into the
coort yard he let his horse go and graze about the place,
for the grass was growin' out betune the stones ; every

* I must crave pardon for this little anachronism of Rory's ; for I
believe there were not any turnpike laws enacted in Ireland until #arly iq
Anne's reign.

280 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

thing was flourishin' thin, in Dublin, you see. Well,
the king was lookin' out of his dhrawin' room windy,
for divarshin, whin the waiver kern in ; but the waiver
pretended not to see him, and he wint over to a stone
Bate, 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, obleegin' man :^
well, as I said, the waiver wint over and lay down an
one o' the sates, 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 vaga-
bone like that, comin' undher my very nose to go sleep 1
It is thrue I'm a good king," says he, " and I 'commo-
date the people by havin' sates for them to sit down and
enjoy the ray creation and contimplation of seem' me
here, lookin' out a1 my drawin' room windy, for
divarshin; 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,
"bekase 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, " By
dad," says he, " this is the very man I want."

* .foreigner.

THE LITTLE WEAVER OF DULEEK GATE. 281

"For what, plaze your majesty?" says the lord.

" To kill that vagabone dragghin, 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 any thing."

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, " Grod save you," said he.

" God save you kindly," says the waiver, purtendipJ
he was quite onknowst 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 advan-
tage o' me."

" To be sure I have," says the king, moighty high ;
" sure, ain't I the King o' Dublin ?" says he.

The waiver dhropped down an his two knees forninst
the king, and says he, " I beg God's pardon and your's
for the liberty I tuk ; plaze your holiness, 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 o' 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 j "that was the last thrifle o'

282 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

work I done, and I'm afeard my hand 'ill go out o*
practice if I don't get some job to do, at wanst."

" You shall have a job immediantly," 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

c ounthry and ruinatin' my tinanthry wid aitin' their

p owlthry, and I'm lost for want of eggs," says the king.

" Throth thin, plaze your worship," says the waiver,
" you look as yollow as if you swallowed twelve yolks,
this minit."

" Well, I want this dragghin to be killed," says the
king. " It will be no throuble in life to you ; and I am
only 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 then?" 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, burstin' 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.

" Yery well," says the king ; " but you must have a
fresh horse," says he.

" With all my heart," says the waiver, who thought

THE LITTLE WEAVER OF DULEEK GATE. 283

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 sitch notion ; all he intended was,— to
fob 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 quolity,
you see, is great desaivers ; and so the horse the waiver
was put an, was larned on purpose ; and sure, the minit
he was mounted, away powdhered the horse, and the
divil a toe he'd go but right down to Galway. Well,
for four day3 he was goin' evermore, until at last the
waiver seen a crowd o' people runnin' as if owld N"ick
was at their heels, and they shoutin' a thousand murdhers
and cryin' : " The dragghin, the dragghin ! " 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 he threwn himself off the horse and made
to a three that was 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 dragghin kem up in a powerful
rage, and he devoured the horse body and bones, in less
than no time ; and then he began to sniffle and scent
about for the waiver, and at last he clapt his eye an him,
where he was, up in the three, and says he, " In throth,
you might as well come down out o' that," says he, " for
I'll have you as sure as eggs is mate."

" Divil a fut I'll go down," says the waiver.

" Sorra care, I care," says the dragghin, " 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 the

284 LEGEXDS AND STORIES.

heavy brekquest he made that mornin', (for he ate 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 —

Here the trooper began to exhibit some symptoms of
following the dragon's example, — and perhaps the
critics will say, no wonder, — but Kory, notwithstanding,
pursued the recital of the legend.

The minit, the waiver began to creep down the three,
as cautious as a fox ; and he was very nigh hand the
bottom, when, bad cess to it, a thievin' branch he was
dipindin' an, bruk, 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
baste's ears, and there he kept his grip, for the dhraggin
wakened and endayvoured for to bite him ; but, you
see, by raison the waiver was behind his ears, he could
not come at him, and, with that, he endayvoured for to
shake him off; but the divil 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.

" By the hokey, 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 'ill astonish
your siven small sinses, my boy ;" and, with that, away
he flew like mad ; and where do you think he did fly ?
by dad, he flew sthraight for Dublin — divil a less. But
the waiver bein' an his neck was a great disthress to
him, and he would rather have had him an inside pas-
senger ; but, any way, he flew and he flew till he kern
slap up agin the palace o' the king; for, bein' blind
with the rage, he never seen it, and he knocked his

THE LITTLE WEAVER OF DULEEK. GATE. 285

brains out ; that is, the small thrifle he had, and down
he fell spacheless. An' you see, good luck would have
it, that the King o' Dublin was lookin' out iv his dhrawin'-
room windy, for divarshin, that day also, and whin
he seen the waiver ridin' an the fiery dhraggin, (for ho
was blazin' like a tar-barrel,) he called out to his
coortyers to come and see the show. "By the powdhers
o' war, here comes the knight arriant," says the king,
" ridin' the dhraggin that's all afire, and if he gets into
the palace, yiz must be ready wid the Jire ingines,"* says
he, " for to put him out." But when they seen the
dhraggin fall outside, they all run down stairs and
scampered into the palace-yard for to circumspect the
curosity : 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," says he, "I did
not think myself worthy of killin' 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 liberty 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 baste's neck." And with that, the king,
sure enough, dhrew out his swoord and took the head
aff 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.

" Oh Lord !" says the waiver, thunderstruck, like, at
his own good luck.

" I will," says the king ; " and as you are the first

• Showing the great antiquity of these machines.

286 LEGENDS AND STOEIES.

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?"
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.*

* Not any of this curious property remains, save what is left in the
memory of the chronicler ; and I regret to say, a great many Irish
estates are in the same sorry condition.

One interesting relic, however, has escaped the otherwise universal
decay that has fallen on the nohle house of Mount Dragon. It is the
genealogy and armorial bearings of the family, which will, no doubt,
afford matter of speculation to the antiquary. Perhaps the ingenious
Sir William Betham, Ulster King, could give some further information
on the subject.

" Thady of Thaddeus, Patriarch of this familye, was of Phoenician
descente. There is a tradytione in ye familye that ye arte of waivynge
was firste introduced into Irelonde by themme from Tyre, theye
beinae thence called Tyros, since ye whiche tyme all beginners
so-everre, are so-called. Hence alsoe is it inferred that ye Piedde
Kertle, which prevails amongste ye Irishers is of yc true Tyrian Dye;
which hath soe inoche disturbed y* repose of ye curious, heretofore.

" Thisse noble familye beareth for their achievemente and hathe for
theire Shielde, a potte lidde proppere, quarterlye of three ; Argente,
Azure, and Gules: Ande overre all ayounge chylde displayed proper.*
The same withinne a Horse collarr propperre, charged as an hon-
norrable distinction for valoure and prowesse with ' Drag-onne.'t

" Creste. Onne a waiverrs shuttle Or. a potte, charged with
Stirre-a-bowte and potte-sticke — all propperre. J

" Supporters. Dexterre a Dragonne Gules, winges elevated Or—
Sinisterrea flie Azure.§

"Mottob. I flie. "II

* This allusion to the weaver's large family, by a child, three
quarterly, is very happy.

+ A play on the word Dragon (a practice common in ancient
heraldry), in allusion to the use of the horse collar and the conquered
monster.

J Very proper.

§ A blue bottle evidently.

'] A triple allusion to the weaver's first heroic deed, his masterly
retreat from the dragon, and his homeward flight upon him.

THE XITTXE "WEAVER OE DUXEEK GATE. 287

" Is that all ? " says the waiver.

" All ? " says the king. " Why you ongratefal little
vagabone, was the like ever given to any man before ?"

"I b'lieve 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 daughther too, in marriage," says he.
Now, you see, that was nothin' more than what he pro-
mised the waiver in his first promise ; for, by all ac-
counts, the king's daughther was the greatest dhraggin
ever was seen, and had the divil's own tongue, and a
beard a yard long, which she purtended was put an
her, by way of a penance, by Father Mulcahy, her
confissor ; but it was well known was in the family for
ages, and no wondher it was so long, by rayson of that
same.

Rory paused. — He thought that not only the closed
eyes but the heavy breathing of the soldier, gave sure
evidence of sleep ; and in another minute, an audible
snore gave notice that he might spare himself any
further trouble ; and, forthwith, the chronicler of The
Little Weaver stole softly out of the room.

288 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

CHAPTER III.
CONCLUSION OP THE WHITE HORSE OF THE PEPPERS.

Let the division I have made in my chapters serve, in
the mind of the reader, as an imaginary boundary between
the past day and the ensuing morning. Let him, in his
own fancy, also, settle how the soldier watched, slept,
dreamt, or waked through this interval. Eory did not
make his appearance, however ; he had left the Public
on the preceding evening, having made every necessary
arrangement for carrying on the affair he had taken iu
hand; so that the Englishman, on inqtury, found Eory
had departed, being " obliged to lave the place early on
his own business, but sure his honour could have any
accommodation in life he wanted, in the regard of a
guide, or the like o' that."

Now, for this, Eory had provided also, having arranged
with the peepers of the Public, to whom he confided
every thing connected with the affair, that in case the
trooper should ask for a guide, they should recommend
him a certain young imp, the son of Eory's cousin, the
blacksmith, and one of the most mischievous, knowing,
and daring young vagabonds in the Darish.

To such guidance, therefore, did the Englishman
commit himself on this, the third day of his search after
the lands of the Peppers, which still remained a Terra
Incognita to him ; and the boy, being previously tutored
upon the duties he was to perform in his new capacity,
was not one likely to enlighten him upon the subject.
The system of the preceding day was acted upon,
except the casting of the horse's shoe ; but by-roads and

THE WHITE HORSE OF THE PEPPERS. 289

crooked lanes were put in requisition, and every avenue,
but the one really leading to his object, the trooper was
made to traverse.

The boy affected simplicity or ignorance, as best suited
his purposes, to escape any inconvenient interrogatory
or investigation on the part of the stranger, and, at last,
the young guide turned up a small rugged lane, down
whose gentle slope some water was slowly trickling
among stones and mud. On arriving at its extremity,
he proceeded to throw down some sods, and pull away
some brambles, which seemed to be placed there as an
artificial barrier to an extensive field that lay beyond the
lane.

"What are you doing there ?" said the soldier.

" Makin' a convenience for your honour to get through
the gap," said the boy.

" There is no road there," said the other.

" Oh no, plaze your honour," said the young rascal,
looking up in his face with an affectation of simplicity
that might have deceived Machiavel himself. — " It's not
a road, sir, but a short cut."

" Cut it as short then as you can, my boy," said the
soldier, (the only good thing he ever said in his life,) " for
your short cuts in this country are the longest I ever
knew — I'd rather go a round."

"So we must go round by the bottom o' thi3 field,
sir, and then, over the hill beyant there we come out an
the road."

" Then there is a road beyond the hill ? "

" A fine road, sir," said the boy, who, having cleared
a passage for the horseman, proceeded before him at a
smart pace, and led him down the slope of the hill to a
small valley, intersected by a sluggish stream which ran
at its foot. When the boy arrived at this valley, ha
stepped briskly across it, though the water splashed up
about his feet at every bound he gave, and dashing on
through the stream, he arrived at the other side by the
time the trooper had reached the nearer one. Here, the

19

290 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

latter was obliged to pull up, for his horse at the first
step sank so deep, that the animal instinctively with-
drew his foot from the treacherous morass.

The trooper called after his guide, who was pro-
ceeding up the opposite acclivity, and the boy turned
round.

" I can't pass this, boy," said the soldier.

The boy faced the hill again, without any reply, and
recommenced his ascent at a rapid pace.

" Come back, you young scoundrel, or I'll shoot
you," said the soldier, drawing his pistol from his
holster. The boy still continued his flight, and the
trooper fired — but ineffectually — upon which the boy
stopped, and, after making a contemptuous action at the
Englishman, rushed up the acclivity, and was soon beyond
the reach of small arms, and shortly after out of sight,
having passed the summit of the hill.

The Englishman's vexation was excessive, at finding
himself thus left in such a helpless situation. For a
long time he endeavoured to find a spot in the marsh he
might make his crossing good upon, but in vain — and
after nearly an hour spent in this useless endeavour, he
was forced to turn back and strive to unravel the maze
of twisting and twining through which he had been
led, for the purpose of getting on some highway, where
a chance passenger might direct him in finding his
road.

This he failed to accomplish, and darkness at length
overtook him in a wild country to which he was an
utter stranger. He still continued, however, cautiously
to progress along the road on which he was benighted,
and at length the twinkling of a distant light raised
some hope of succour in his heart.

Keeping this beacon in view, the benighted traveller
made his way, as well as he might, until, by favour of the
glimmer he so opportunely discovered, he at last found
himself in front of the house whence the light proceeded.
He knocked at the door, which, after two or three loud

THE WHITE HORSE Otf THE PEPPERS. 291

summonses, was opened to him, and then, briefly stating
the distressing circumstances in which he was placed, he
requested shelter for the night.

The domestic who opened the door retired to deliver
the stranger's message to the owner of the house, who
immediately afterwards made his appearance, and, with
a reserved courtesy, invited the stranger to enter.

" Allow me first to see my horse stabled," said the
soldier.

" He shall be cared, for," said the other.

"Excuse me, sir," returned the blunt Englishman,
" if I wish to see him in his stall. It has been a hard
day for the poor brute, and I fear one of his hoofs is
mucn injured, how far, I am anxious to see."

" As you please, sir," said the gentleman, who ordered
a menial to conduct the stranger to the stable.

There, by the light of a lantern, the soldier examined
the extent of injury his charger had sustained, and had
good reason to fear that the next day would find him
totally unserviceable. After venting many a hearty
curse on Irish roads and Irish guides, he was retiring
from the stable, when his attention was attracted by a
superb white horse, and much as he was engrossed by
his present annoyance, the noble proportions of the
animal were too striking to be overlooked ; after ad-
miring all his parts, he said to the attendant, " What a
beautiful creature this is — "

" Throth, you may say that," was the answer.

" What a charger he would make !"

" Sure enough."

"He must be very fleet ?"

"As the win',"

" An leaps ?"

" Whoo ! — over the moon, if you axed him."

" That horse must trot at least ten miles the hour."

" Tin ! — faix it wouldn't be convaynient to him to
trot undher fourteen," — and with this assurance on the
part of the groom, he left the stable.

292 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

On being led into the dwelling house, the stranger
found the table spread for supper, and the owner of the
mansion, pointing to a chair, invited him to partake of
the evening meal.

The reader need scarcely be told that the invitation
came from Gerald Pepper, for, I suppose, the white
horse in the stable has already explained whose house
chance had directed the trooper to, though all his en-
deavours to find it had proved unavailing.

Gerald still maintained the bearing which character-
ized his first meeting with the Englishman on his threshold
— it was that of reserved courtsey. Magdalene, his
gentle wife, was seated near the table, with an infant
child sleeping upon her lap ; her sweet features were
strikingly expressive of sadness ; and as the stranger
entered the apartment, her eye was raised in one timor-
ous glance upon the man whose terrible mission she was
too well aware of, and the long lashes sank downwards
again upon the pale cheek, which recent sorrow had
robbed of its bloom.

" Come, sir," said Gerald, " after such a day of fatigue
as yours has been, some refreshment will be welcome :"
and the Englishman presently, by deeds, not words,
commenced giving ample evidence of the truth of the ob-
servation. As the meal proceeded, he recounted some
of the mishaps that had befallen him, all of which Gerald
knew before, through Rory Oge, who was in the house
at that very moment, though, for obvious reasons, he did
not make his appearance, and at last, the stranger put
the question to his host, if he knew any one in the neigh-
bourhood called Gerald Pepper,

Magdalene felt her blood run cold, but Gerald
quietly replied, there was a person of that name there-
abouts.

"Is his property a good one?" said the trooper.

" Yery much reduced of late," replied Gerald.

" Ballygarth they call it." said the soldier, "is that
far from here 1"

THE WHITE HORSE OP THE PEPPERS. 293

" It would puzzle me to tell you how to go to it from
this place," was the answer.

"It is very provoking," said the trooper ; "I have
been looking for it these three days, and cannot find it,
and nobody seems to know where it is."

Magdalene, at these words, felt a momentary relief,
yet still she scarcely dared to breathe.

" The truth is," continued the soldier, " that I am
entitled under the king's last commission to the property,
for all Pepper's possessions have been forfeited."

The baby, as it slept in the mother's lap, smiled as its
legalised despoiler uttered these last words ; and poor
Magdalene, smote to the heart by the incident, melted
into tears ; but by a powerful effort, she repressed any
audible evidence of grief, and shading her eyes with her
hand, her tears dropped in silence over her sleeping
child.

Gerald observed her emotion, and found it difficult to
master his own feelings.

" Now it is rather hard," continued the soldier, " that
I have been hunting up and down the country for this
confounded place, and can't find it. I thought it a fine
thing, but I suppose it's nothing to talk of, or somebody
would know of it ; and more provoking still, we soldiers
have yet our hands so full of work, that I only got four
days' leave, and to-morrow night I am bound to return
to Dublin, or I shall be guilty of a breach of duty ; and
bow I am to return, with my horse in the disabled state
in which this detestable country has left him, I cannot
conceive."

" You will be hard run to accomplish it," said Gerald.

" Now will you make a bargain with me 1 " said the
soldier.

" Of what nature ? " said Gerald.

" There," — said the soldier, throwing down on the
table a piece of folded parchment, — " there is the deben-
ture entitling the holder thereof to the property I have
named. Now, I must give up looking for it for the

294 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

present, and I am tired of hunting after it, into the
bargain ; besides, God knows when I may be able to
come here again. You are on the spot, and may make
use of this instrument, which empowers you to take full
possession of the property whatever it may be ; to you
it may be valuable. At a word then, if I give you this
debenture, will you give me the white horse that is
standing in your stable ? "

Next to his wife and children, Gerald Pepper loved
his white horse ; and the favourite animal being so
suddenly and unexpectedly named startled him, and,
strange as it may appear, he paused for a moment ; but
Magdalene, unseen by the soldier, behind whom she was
seated, clasped her outstretched hands in the action of
supplication to her husband, and met his eye with an
imploring look that, at once, produced his answer.

" Agreed ! " said Gerald.

" 'Tis a bargain," said the soldier ; and he tossed the
debenture across the table as the property of the man
whom it was intended to leave destitute.

Having thus put his host into possession of his own
property, the soldier commenced spending the night
pleasantly, and it need not be added that Gerald Pepper
was in excellent humour to help him.

As for poor Magdalene, when the bargain was com-
pleted, her heart was too full to permit her to remain
longer, and hurrying to the apartment where the elder
children were sleeping, she kissed them passionately,
and throwing herself on her knees between their little
beds, wept profusely, as she offered the fervent out-
pourings of a grateful heart to Heaven, for the ruin so
wonderfully averted from their innocent heads.

Stories must come to an end, like everything else of
this world, and so my story is ended, as all stories
should be, when there is no further vitality left in
them ; for though some post mortem experiments are
occasionally made by those who expect, by a sort
of Galvanic influence, to persuade their readers that

THE WHITE HORSE OF THE PEPPERS. 295

the subject is not quite dead, yet, the practice is so
generally unsuccessful, that I decline becoming an
operator in that line ; — therefore, let me hasten to my
conclusion.

The next morning, the English soldier was in his
saddle at an early hour, and he seemed to entertain all
the satisfaction of an habitual horseman, in feeling the
stately tread of the bold steed beneath him. The white
horse champed his bit, and by his occasional curvettings,
evinced a consciousness that his accustomed rider was
not on his back ; but the firm seat and masterly hand
of the soldier shortly reduced such slight marks of
rebellion into obedience, and he soon bade Gerald
Pepper farewell.

The parting was rather brief and silent ; for to have
been other, would not have accorded with the habits
of the one, nor suited the immediate humour of the
other. In answer to the spur of the soldier, the white
horse galloped down the avenue of his former master's
domain, and left behind him the fields in which he had
been bred. Gerald Pepper looked after his noble
steed, while he remained within sight, and thought no
one was witness to the tear he dashed from his eye when
he turned to re-enter his house. But there were two
who saw and sympathised in the amiable weakness —
his gentle Magdalene and the faithful Eory Oge. The
latter, springing from behind an angle of the house
where he had stood concealed, approached his foster-
brother, and said —

" Thrue, for you. indeed. Masther Gerald, it is a
pity, so it is, and a murther intirely ; but sure there's
no help for it ; and though the white horse is a loss,
there is no denyin' it, yet 'pon my conscience, I'm
mighty proud this blessed minit to see that fellow lavivH
the place !"

Gerald Pepper entertained, throughout his life, an
affectionate remembrance of his gallant horse : even
more. — the stall where he last stood, and the rack and

296 LEGENDS AXD STORIES.

manger, where he had last fed under the roof of his
master, were held sacred, and were ordered to remain
in the state the favourite had left them ; and to per-
petuate to his descendants the remembrance of the
singular event which had preserved to him his estate,
the white horse was introduced into his armorial bearings,
and is, at this day, one of the heraldic distinctions of the
family.

As the reader may have some wish to know what
became of the historical personages that figure in this
story, I refer him to the History of England for King
James ; and for General Sarsefield I am enabled to
account, by getting a sight of a rare old print of that
distinguished officer, underneath which, the following
curious lines record his fate : —

'' Oh, Patrick Sarsefield ! Ireland's •wonder ?
"Who fought in the field like any thunder,
One of King James's great commanders,
2\ow lies the food of crows in Flanders.
Och ! hone !— Och ! hone !— Och ! hone !"

THE SHEEBEEN HOUSE.

A jug of punch, a jug of punch,
The tune he sung was a jug of punch.

Old Ballad.

I had been wandering over a wild district, and thought
myself fortunate, in default of better quarters, to alight
upon a sheebeen house, the auberge of Ireland. It had
been raining heavily, — I was wet, and there was a good
turf fire to dry me. From many hours of exercise, I was
hungry ; and there was a good rasher of bacon and a fresh
egg to satisfy the cravings of nature ; and to secure me
from cold, as a consequence of the soaking I had experi-
enced, there was a glass of pure " mountain dew " at my
service — so pure, that its rustic simplicity had never been
contaminated by such a worldly knowledge as the king's
duty. What more might a reasonable man want, than a
sheebeen house, under such cimcumstances ?

Ah ! — we who are used to the refinements of life, can
never imagine how very little may suffice, upon occasion,
to satisfy our natural wants, until we have been reduced
by circumstances to the knowledge. The earthen floor
of the sheebeen never for an instant suggested the want
of a carpet ; the absence of a steel grate did not render
the genial heat of the blithely blazing fire less agree-
able. There was no vagrant hankering after a
haunch of venison as I dispatched my rasher of
bacon, which hunger rendered so palatable ; and I
believe " poteen," under the immediate circumstances
in which I was placed, was more acceptable than the
best flask of " Chateau Margaux."

298 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

When I arrived at the house, the appearance of a well-
dressed stranger seeking its hospitality created quite a
" sensation ;" the bare-legged girl, who acted in the
capacity of waiter, was sent driving about in all direc-
tions ; and I could overhear the orders issued to her by
'• the misthress" from time to time, while I was drying
myself before the fire.

" Judy — here, — come here, Judy, I tell you. — See !"
. — Then, in an under tone, " Get ready the quol'ty*
room ; — hurry it up soon." Then away trotted Judy ;
but before she had gone many steps there was another
call.

" And Judy !"

"Well, ma'am."

" Put a candle in the tin sconce."

" Sure Terry Regan has the sconce within there" —
pointing to an adjoining apartment where some peasants
were very busy making merry.

" AATell, no matther for that ; scoop out a pratee,f and
that'll do well enough for Terry — sure he knows no
betther — and take the sconce for the gintleman."

I interrupted her here, to beg she would not put her-
self to any inconvenience on my account, for I was very
comfortable where I was, before her good fire.

" Oh, as for the fire, your honour, Judy shall put some
'live! turf an the hearth, and you'll be as snug as you
plaze."

" Yes, but I should be very lonesome, sitting there all
night by myself, and I would much rather stay where I
am ; this fire it so pleasant, you'll hardly make another
as good to-night, and I like to see people about me."

" Indeed, an no wonder, sir, and that's thrue ; but
I'm afeard you'll find them men dhrinkin' within there
throublesome ; they're laughin' like mad."

* Quality. The terra applied to persons of the higher classes,
f A potatoe, with a hole scooped out of it, is often a succedaneum for a
candlestick among the peasantry,
t Lighted turf.

THE SHEEBEEN HOUSE. 299

" So much the better," said I ; " I like to see people
happy."

" Indeed and your honour's mighty agreeable; but
that's always the way with a gintleman — it makes no
differ in life to the real quol'ty."

" Say no more about it," said I, " I beg of you ; I
can enjoy myself here by this good fire, and never mind
the sconce, nor any thing else that might inconvenience
you ; but let me have the rasher as soon as you can,
and some more of that good stuff you have just
given me, to make some punch, and I will be as
happy as a king."

" Throth then you're aisely satisfied, sir ; but sure,
as I said before, a rale gintleman takes every thing as
it comes."

Accordingly, the rasher was dressed on the fire be-
fore which I sat, and it was not long before I did honour
to the simple fare ; and being supplied with the
materials for making punch, I became my own brewer
on the occasion.

In the mean time, the mirth grew louder in the ad-
joining compartment of the house ; and Terry Regan,
before alluded to, seemed to be a capital master of the
revels ; and while I enjoyed my own tipple beside the
lively fire, I had all the advantage of overhearing the
conversation of Terry and his party. This was of a
very motley description : the forthcoming sporting
events on a neighbouring race-course, the last execution
at the county jail, and an approaching fair, were matters
of discussion for some time ; but these gave place, at
last, to the politics of the day.

It was the period when the final downfall of Napoleon
had created such a sensation, and it was a long time be-
fore the peasantry of Ireland could believe that the hero
of France was so utterly discomfited. He had long
been a sort of idol to them, and the brilliancy of hi3
successes for years, had led them into the belief that
he was invincible. There is, perhaps, in the lower

300 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

orders in general, a tendency to admire military heroes,
but this is peculiarly the case amongst the Irish, and
Alexander and Julius Caesar are names more familiar to
them than a stranger could well believe. But their
love of Buonaparte, and their exhultation in his
triumphs, had a deeper motive than mere admiration
as a warrior : — what that motive was, it would be
foreign to my pages to touch upon, therefore let me
resume.

The conversation amongst these peasant politicians
turned upon Buonaparte's imprisonment at St. Helena,
and some of the party, unwilling to believe it, doubted
the affair altogether.

" By the powdhers o' war," said one, " I'll never
b'lieve that he's a presoner. Tut — who could take him
pres'ner ? There's none o' them aiqual to it."

" Oh, I'm afeard it's too thrue it is," said another.

" An' you b'lieve it then ?" said a third.

" Faix I do. Sure Masther* Frank — the captain, I
mane, said he seen him there himself."

" Tare-an-ouns, did he see him in airnest ?"

" Sure enough faith, with his own two eyes."

" And was he in chains, like a rah pres'ner ?"'

" Oh, no, man alive ! sure they wouldn't go for to put
a chain an him, like any other housebraker, or the like
o' that."

" Well, sure I heerd them makin' spaches about it at
the meetin1 was beyant in the town last summer ; and a
gintleman out o' Dublin, that hem down an purpose, had
the hoith o' fine language all about it ; and I remember
well he said these very words : — ' They will never blot
the stain from their annuals ; and when he dies it will
be a livin' disgrace to them : for what can he do but
die, says he, non compossed as he is by the wide oceant,

* The junior male branches of a family are always called "Master " b j
the peasantry, no matter what their age may be. I have seen Masther
Toms and Masther Franks who had counted half a century.

THE SHEEBEEN HOUSE. 301

chained, undher a burnin' climax to that salutary rock ?
Oh ! think o' that ! !' — So you see he was chained, ac-
cordin' to his account."

" But, Masther Frank, I tell yon, says he seen him ;
and there's no chain an him at all ; but he says he is
there for sartin."

" Oh, murther, murther ! — Well, if he's there, sure
he's a pres'ner, and that'll brake his heart."

" Oh, thrue for you — think o' Bonyparty bein' a
pres'ner like any other man, and him that was able to
go over the whole world wherever he plazed, being
obleeged to live an a rock."

" Aye," said the repeater of the spache, " and the
villains to have him undher that burnin' climax. I
wondher what is it."

" I didn't hear Masther Prank say a word about that.
Oh, what will my poor Bony do at all at all ! !"

" By dad, it is hard for to say."

" By gor !" said Terry Began, who had been hitherto
a silent listener, " I dunna what the devil he'll do wid
himself now, barriri he takes to dhrinh."

" Faix, an' there is great comfort in the sup, sure
enough," said one of his companions.

"To be sure there is," said Terry. — " Musha, thin,
Phil," said he to one of the party, "give us ' The Jug
o' Punch,' the sorra betther song you have than that
same, and sure it's just the very thing that will be nate
and opprobrious at this present, as they say in the
spaches at the char'ty dinners."

" Well, I'll do my endeavour, if it's plazin' to the
company," said Phil.

" That's your sort," said Terry. " Bise it ! your
sowl!"

Phil then proceeded to sing, after some preliminary
hums and hahs and coughing to clear his voice, the fol-
lowing old ballad ; the burden of which I have chosen
as the epigraph of this chapter : —

302 LEGENDS AJSTD STORIES.

THE JUG OP PUNCH.

As 1 was sitting in my room,

One pleasant evening in the month of June,

I heard a thrush singing in a hush,

And the tune he sung was a jug o' punch.

Toor a loo ! toor a loo ! toor a loo ! toor a loo
A jug o' punch, a jug o' punch
The tune he sung was a jug o' punch*

What more divarshin might a man desire
Than to he seated by a nate turf fire,
And hy his side a purty wench,
And on the table a jug o' punch ?
Toor a loo, &c.

The Muses twelve and Apollio famed,
In Castittan pride dhrinks pernicious* sthrames,
But I would not grudge them tin times as much
As long as I had a jug o' punch.
Toor a loo, &c.

Then the mortial gods dhrinks their necthar win%
And they tell me claret is very fine :
But I'd give them all, just in a buncfc,
Tor one jolly pull at a jug o' punch.
Toor a loo, &c.

The docthor fails, with all his art,
To cure an imprission an the heart ;
But if life was gone — within an inch—
'What would hring it back hut a jug o' punch ?
Toor a loo, &c.

But when I am dead and in my grave,
No costly tomb- stone will I crave ;
But I'll dig a grave both wide and deep,
With a jug o' puuch at my head and feet.

Toor a loo, toor a loo, toor a loo, fol lol dhe roll ;
A jug o' punch ! a jug o' punch ! !
Oh, more power to your elbow, my jug o' punch !

Most uproarious applause followed this brilliant lyric,
and the thumping of fists and the pewter pots on the
table testified the admiration the company entertained
for their minstrel.

* How beautifully are Castaly and Parnassus treated here.

THE SHEEBEEN HOUSE. 303

" My sowl, Phil !" said Terry Began, " it's betther
and betther you're growing every night I hear you;
the real choice sperit is in you that improves with

" Faith, an' there's no choicer spert than this same
Mrs. Muldoody has in her house," said one of the party,
on whom the liquor had began to operate, and who did
not take Terry Regan's allusion.

"Well, fill your glass again with it," said Terry
doing the honours ; and then, resuming the conversation
and addressing Phil again, he said, " Why then, Phil,
you have a terrible fine voice."

"Troth an' you have, Phil," said another of the
party," " it's a pity your mother hadn't more of yez, —
oh that I may see the woman that deserves you, and
that I may dance at your weddin' !"

" Paix, an' I'd rather sing at my own wake," said
Phil.

" Och that you may be able !" said Terry Regan, " but
I'm afeard there'll be a man hanged the day you die."

"Pray for yourself, Terry, if you plaze," said Phil.

" Well, sing us another song then."

" Not a one more I remimber," said Phil.

" Bemimber ! " said Terry, "bad cess to me, but you
know more songs than would make the fortune of a
ballad singer."

" Throth I can't think of one."

" Ah, don't think at all man, but let the song out of
you, sure it'll come of itself if you're willin' ,"

" Bad cess to me if I remimber one."

" Oh, I'll jog your memory," said Terry, " sing us the
song you deludhered owld Boony's daughter with."

" What's that ? " said Phil.

" Oh, you purtind not to know, you desaiver."

"Throth, an' I don't," said Phil.

" Why, bad fortune to you, you know it well — sure
the poor girl was never the same since she heerd it, you
kem over her so, with the tindherness."

304 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

"Well, what was it, can't you tell me ? "

" It was, ' the Pig that was in Aughrim.' "

" Oh that's a beautiful song, sure enough, and it's too

thrue it is. Oh them vagabone staymers that's goin'

evermore to England, the divil a pig they'll lave in the

counthry at all."

" Faix, I'm afeard so — but that's no rule why you

should not sing the song. Out with it, Phil, my boy."
" Well, here goes," said Phil, and he commenced

singing in a most doleful strain, the following ballad : — .

THE PIG- THAT WAS IN ATJGHRM.

The pig that was in Aughrim was dhruv to foreign parts,
And when he was goin' an the road it bruk the owld sow's heart.
" Oh," says she, " my counthry's min'd and desarted now by all,
And the rise of pigs in England will ensure the counthry's fall.
For the landlords and the pigs are all goin' hand in hand — "

" Oh stop, Phil, jewel," said the fellow who had been
doing so much honour to Mrs. Muldoody's liquor —
" Stop, Phil, my darlin ! " — and here he began to cry
in a fit of drunken tenderness. " Oh ! stop, Phil — that's
too much for me — oh, I can't stand it at all. Murther,
murther, but it's heart breakin', so it is."

After some trouble on the part of his companions,
this tender-hearted youth was reconciled to hearing the
" Pig that was in Aughrim " concluded, though I would
not vouch for so much on the part of my readers, and
therefore I will quote no more of it. But he was not
the only person who began to be influenced by the
potent beverage that had been circulating, and the party
became louder in their mirth and more diffuse in their
conversation, which occasionally was conducted on the
good old plan of a Dutch concert, where every man plays
his own tune. At last, one of the revellers, who had
just sufficient sense left to know it was time to go, yet
not sufficient resolution to put his notion in practice, got
up and said, " Good night, boys."

fHE SKEEBEEN HOUSE. 305

" Who's that sayin' good night ? " called out Terry
Regan, in a tone of indignation.

" Oh it's only me, and it's time for me to go, you
know yourself, Terry," said the deserter — "and the wife
will be as mad as a hatter if I stay out longer."

" By the powers o' Moll Kelly, if you had three wives
you mustn't go yet," said the president.

" By dad I must, Terry."

" Ah then, why ? "

" Bekase I must."

" That's so good a raison, Barny, that I'll say no more
— only mark my words : — You'll be sorry."

" Will be sorry," said Barny. — " Faix, an' it's sorry
enough 1" am — and small blame to me ; for the company's
pleasant and the dhrink's good."

" And why won't you stay then ? "

" Bekase I must go, as I towld you before."

" Well, be off wid you at wanst, and don't be spylin'
good company if you won't stay. Be off wid you, I
tell you, and don't be standin1 there with your hat in
your hand like an ass betune two bundles o' hay, as you
are, but go if you're goin' — and the Curse o' Kishogue
an you ! "

" Well, good night, boys," said the departing reveller.

" Faix, you shall have no good night from uz. You're
a bad fellow, Barny Corrigan — so the curse o' Kishogue
an you ! "

" Oh, tare an ouns," said Barny, pausing at the door,
" don't put the curse an a man that is goin' the road,
and has to pass by the Rath,* more betoken, and no
knowin' where the fairies would be."

"Troth, then, and I will," said Terry Regan, in-
creasing in energy, as he saw Barny was irresolute — .
" and may the Curse o' Kishogue light on you again and
again ! "

* Fairies are supposed to haunt all old mounds of earth, such as Kaths,
Tumuli, &c, &c.

20

306 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

"Oh, do you hear this! ! !" exclaimed Barny in a most
comical state of distress.

" Aye !" shouted the whole party, almost at a breath;
" the Curse o' Kishogue an you — and your health to
wear it!"

" Why, then, what the dickens do you mane by
that curse ? " said Barny. " I thought I knew all the
curses out, but I never heerd of the Curse o' Kishogue
before."

" Oh, you poor ignorant craythur," said Terry ;
" where were you born and bred at all at all ? Oh, signs
on it, you are always in a hurry to brake up good com-
pany, or it's not askin' you'd be for the maynin' of the
Curse o' Kishogue."

" Why then, what does it mane ? " said Barny,
thoroughly posed.

" Pull off your caubeen and sit down forninst me
there, and tackle to the dhrink like a man, and it is I
that will enlighten your benighted undherstandin', and
a beautiful warnin' it will be to you all the days o' your
life, and all snakin' chaps like you, that would be in a
hurry to take to the road and lave a snug house like
this, while there was the froth an the pot or the bead an
the naggin.

So Barny sat down again, amidst the shouts and
laughter of his companions, and after the liquor had
passed merrily round the table for some time, Terry, in
accordance with his promise, commenced his explanation
of the malediction that had brought Barny Corrigan
back to his scat ; but before he began, he filled a fresh
glass, and, profiting by the example, I will open a fresh
c1 uiiter.

THE CUESE OF KISHOGUE.

INTRODUCTION.

I do not mean to say that cursing is either moral or
polite, but I certainly do think, that if a man curse at
all, he has a right to curse after what fashion he
chooses. Now I am not going to curse, nor swear
either, but to write concerning the very superior
curse, as above named, and I have premised the fore-
going conditions, seeing that, entertaining such an
opinion on the subject, no moralist can find fault with
me for the minor offence of introducing a curse to my
own taste. Let not the polite world startle either at
the word "Introduction." I do not intend to force
cursing into their notice or their company ; I mean the
word " introduction " purely in a literary sense ; and
lastly, therefore, to the literary I would say a few words
on the matter.

There has been already known to the literary world,
a celebrated curse, called " The Curse of Kehama,"
and I hope I may not be considered too presumptuous
in the intention of Duttine forward a curse to their
notice, as its " Companion." Something of the sort, I
think, has been wanted, and should I win the distinc-
tion of being considered the person who has supplied
the deficiency, I hope Dr. Soutney will allow me the
further happiness of dedicating the story to him. There
are sufficient points of difference in the two curses to
make a variety for the reader's entertainment, and yet
one point of curious coincidence between them — the
drinking of a cup. — Now, as regards the variety,
Kehama's curse was that he could not die ; while poor
Kishogue's was, that he did. As to the coincidence,
Kehama and Kishogue's have their interest materially

308 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

involved in the drinking of a cup; yet, in the very
coincidence, there is a charming want of similitude, for
Kehama, in not having the cup to drink, and Kishogue
in having it to drink, and refusing it, produce such
different consequences, that it is like the same note
being sounded by two voices, whose qualities are so
unlike, that no one could believe the note to be the
same. But, lest I should anticipate my story, I will
close my observations on the rival merits of the two
epics, and request the reader, in pursuance of my desire
of being permitted to tell my story according to my
own fancy, to step in with me for a few minutes into
the next chapter, which is no genteeler place than a
sheebeen house.

THE CUESE OF KISHOGUE.

* Ireland is the only country in the world where they would make a comei
out of such a d — n — ble tragedy."

REMARK OF A LATE JUDICIOUS AND JUDICIAL FRIEND.

You see there was wanst a mighty dacent boy, calle
Kishogue — and not a complater chap was in the sive
parishes nor himself — and for dhrinkin' or coortin' (an
by the same token he was a darlint among the girls, h

310 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

was so bowld), or cudgellin', or runnin', or wrastlin', or
the like o' that, none could come near him ; and at pat-
thern, or fair, or the dance, or the wake, Kishogue was
the flower o' the flock.

Well, to he sure, the gintlemen iv the counthry did
siot belove him so well as his own sort — that is, the
tlclherly gintlemen ; for as to the young 'squires, by gor
*hey loved him like one of themselves, and betther
a'most, for they knew well, that Kishogue was the boy
to put them up to all sorts and sizes of divilment and
divarshin, and that was all they wanted — but the owld,
studdy (steady) gintlemen — the responsible people like,
didn't give into his ways at all — and, in throth, they
used to be thinkin' that if Kishogue was out of the coun-
thry, body and bones, that the counthry would not be
the worse iv it, in the laste, and that the deer, and the
hares, and the partheridges wouldn't be scarcer in the
laste, and that the throut and the salmon would lade an
aisier life : — but they could get no howlt of him good or
bad, for he was as cute as a fox, and there was no sitch
thing as getting him at an amplush, at all, for he was
like a weasel, a'most — asleep ivid his eyes open.

Well ; that's the way it was for many along day, and
Kishogue was as happy as the day was long, until, as bad
luck id have it, he made a mistake one night, as the
story goes, and by dad how he could make the same
mistake was never cleared up yet, barrin' that the night
was dark, or that Kishogue had a dhrop o' drink in ; but
the mistake was made, and this was the mistake, you see ;
that he consaived he seen his own mare threspassin' an
the man's field, by the road side, and so, with that,
he cotched the mare — that is, the mare, to all appear-
ance, but it was not his own mare, but the squire's horse,
which he tuk for his own mare, — all in a mistake, and he
thought that she had sthrayed away, and not likin' to see
his baste threspassin' an another man's field, what does
he do, but he dhrives home the horse in a mistake, you see,
and how he could do the like is hard to say, excep'n that

THE CURSE OF KISHOGUE. 311

the night was dark, as I said before, or that he had a
dhrop too much in ; but howsomever the mistake was
made, and a sore mistake it was for poor Kishogue, for
he never persaived it at all, antil three days afther, when
the polisman kern to him and towld him he should go
along with him.

"For what?" says Kishogue.

" Oh, you're mighty innocent," says the polisman.

" Thrue for you, sir," says Kishogue, as quite (quiet)
as a child. "And where are you goin' to take me, may
I make bowld to ax, sir ?" says he.

" To jail," says the Peeler.*

" For what ?" says Kishogue.

"For staalin' the 'squire's horse" says the Peeler.

" It's the first I heerd of it," says Kishogue.

" Throth then, 'twon't be the last you'll hear of it,"
says the other.

" Why, tare an ouns, sure it's no housebrakin' for a
man to dhrive home his own mare," says Kishogue.

" No," says the Peeler, " but it is burglaarious to sar-
cumvint another man's horse," says he.

" But supposin' 'twas a mistake," says Kishogue.

" By gor, it '11 be the dear mistake to you," says the
polisman.

"That's a. poor case," says Kishogue.

But there was no use in talkin' — he might as well have
been whistlin' jigs to a milestone as sthrivin' to invaigle
the polisman, and the ind of it was, that he was obleeged
to march off to jail, and there he lay in lavendher, like
Paddy Ward's pig, antil the 'sizes kem an, and Kishogue,
you see, bein' of a high sperrit, did not like the iday at
all of bein' undher a compliment to the King for his
lodgin' Besides, to a chap like him, that was all his
life used to goin' round the world for sport, the thoughts
o' confinement was altogether contagious, though indeed
his friends endayvoured for to make it as agreeable to

* So called from being established by the late Sir Eohert Peel.

312 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

him as they could, for he was mightily beloved in the
counthry, and they wor goin' to see him mornin', noon,
and night — throth, they led the turnkey a busy life
lettin' them in and out, for they wor comin' and goin'
evermore, like Mulligan's blanket.*

Well, at last the 'sizes kem an, and down kem the
sheriffs, and the judge, and the jury, and the witnesses,
all book-sworn to tell nothin' but the born truth : and
with that, Kishogue was the first that was put an his
thrial for not knowin' the differ betune his own mare
and another man's horse, for they wished to give an
example to the counthry, and he was bid to howld up
his hand at the bar (and a fine big fist he had of his
own, by the same token), and up he held it — no ways
danted at all, but as bowld as a ram. Well, then, a chap
in a black coat and a frizzled wig and spectacles gets
up, and he reads and reads, and you'd think he'd never
have clone readin' ; and it was all about Kishogue — as
we heard afther — but could not make out at the time
— and no wondher : and in throth, Kishogue never done
the half of what the dirty little ottomy was readin'
about him — barrin' he knew lies iv him ; and Kishogue
himself, poor fellow, got frekenecl at last, when he heerd
him goin' an at that rate about him, but afther a bit, he
tuk heart and said :

" By this and by that, I never done the half o' that
any how."

" Silence in the coort ! ! ! " says the crier — puttin' him
down that-a-way. Oh, there's no justice for a poor boy
at all!

"Oh, murther!" says Kishogue, "is a man's life to
be sworn away afther this manner, and mustn't spake a
word."

" Howl' your tongue ! " says my lord the judge.
And so afther some more jabberin' and gibberish, the

*The travels of this celebrated blankot never extended further than
between the Pawnbroker and Mulligan.

THE CURSE OF KISHOGUE. 313

little man in the spectacles threw down the paper and
asked Kishogue if he were guilty or not guilty.

" I never done it, my lord," says Kishogue.

" Answer as you are bid, sir," says the spectacle man.

" I'm innocent, my lord ! " says Kishogue.

" Bad cess to you, can't you say what you're bid," says
my lord the judge ; — " Guilty or not guilty."

" JVot guilty," says Kishogue.

" I don't believe you," says the judge.

"Small blame to you," says Kishogue, "you're ped
for hangin' people, and you must do something for your
wages."

" You've too much prate, sir," says my lord.

" Faix then, I'm thinkin" it's yourself and your friend
the hangman will cure me o' that very soon," says
Kishogue.

And thrue for him, faith, he wasn't far out in sayin'
that same, for they murthered him intirely. They
brought a terrible sight o' witnesses agin him, that
swore away his life an the cross examination ; and
indeed sure enough, it was the crossest examination
altogether I ever seen. Oh, they wor the bowld wit-
nessess, that would sware a hole in an iron pot any day
in the year. Not but that Kishogue' s friends done
their duty by him. Oh, they stud to him like men and
swore a power for him, and sthrove to make out a
lullaby for him ; maynin', by that same, that he was
asleep in another place, at the time ; — but it wouldn't
do, they could not make it plaziri1 to the judge and the
jury ; and my poor Kishogue was condimned for to die ;
and the judge put an his black cap, and indeed it's not
becomin', and discoorsed the hoighth of fine language,
and gev Kishogue a power o' good advice, that it was
a mortial pity Kishogue didnt get sooner ; and the last
words the judge said was, " The Lord have marcy an
your sowl!"

" Thank'ee, my lord," says Kishogue ; " though in-
deed it is few has luck or grace afther your prayers."

314 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

And sure enough faith ; for the next Sathurday
Kishogue was ordhered out to be hanged, and the
sthreets through which he was to pass was mighty
throng ; for in them days, you see the people used to
be hanged outside o' the town, not all as one as now,
when we're hanged genteelly out o' the front o' the
jail ; but in them days they did not attind to the com-
forts o' the people at all, but put them into a cart, all as
one as a conthrairy pig goin' to market, and stravaiged
them through the town to the gallows, that was full half
a mile beyant it ; but to be sure, whin they kem to the
corner of the crass streets, where the "Widely Houlaghan's
public-house was then, afore them dirty swadcllers*
knocked it down and built a meetin -house there, bad
cess to them, sure they're spylin' divarshin wherever they
go, — when they kem there, as I was tellin' you, the pur-
cesshin was always stopped, and they had a fiddler and
mulled wine for the divarshin of the pres'ner, for to rise
his heart for what he was to go through ; for, by all
accounts, it is not plasin' to be goin' to be hanged, sup-
posin' you die in a good cause itself, as my uncle Jim
towld me whin he suffered for killin' the ganger. "Well,
you see, they always stopped tin minutes at the public-
house, not to hurry a man with his dhrink, and, besides,
to give the pres'ner an opportunity for savin' an odd word
or so to a frind in the crowd, to say nothin' of its bein'
mighty improvin' to the throng, to see the man lookin'
pale at the thoughts o' death, and maybe an idification
and warnin' to thim that was inclined to sthray. But
however it happened, and the like never happened afore
nor sence ; but, as bad luck would have it, that day, the
divil a fiddler was there whin Kishogue dhruv up in the
cart, no ways danted at all ; but the minit the cart
stopped rowlin', he came out as stout as a ram, '" Sind
me out Tim Riley here," — Tim Riley was the fiddler's
name, — " sind me out Tim Riley here," says he, '; that

• Methodists.

THE CURSE OF KISHOGUE. 315

he may rise my heart wid The Eakes o' Mallow ; "* for
he was a Mallow man, by all accounts, and mighty proud
of his town. Well, av coorse the tune was not to be had,
bekase Tim Riley was not there, but was lyin' dhrunk in
a ditch at the same time comin' home from confission,
and when poor Kishogue heerd that he could not have
his favourite tune, it wint to his heart to that degree, that
he'd hear of no comfort in life, and he bid them dhriye
him an, and put him out o' pain at wanst.

" Oh take the dhrink any now, aroon,*' says the Widdy
Houlaghan, who was mighty tindherhearted, and always
attinded the man that was goin' to be hanged with the
dhrink herself, if he was ever so grate a sthranger ; but
if he was a friend of her own, she'd go every fut to the
gallows wid him and see him suffer : Oh she was a dar-
lint ! Well, — " Take the dhrink, Kishogue my jewel,"
says she, handin' him up a brave big mug o' mulled wine,
fit for a lord : — but he wouldn't touch it : — " Take it out
o' my sight," says he, " for my heart is low bekase Tim
Eiley desaived me, whin I expected to die game, like
one of the Hakes o' Mallow ! Take it out o' my sight,"
says he, puttin' it away wid his hand, and sure 'twas the
first time Kishogue was ever known to refuse the dhrop
o' dhrink, and many remarked that it was the change
before death was comin' over him.

Well, away they rowled to the gallows, where there
was no delay in life for the pres'ner, and the sheriff asked
him if he had any thing to say to him before he suffered ;
but Kishogue hadn't a word to throw to a dog, and av
coorse he said nothin' to the sheriff, and wouldn't say a
word that might be improvin' even to the crowd, by way of
anidification ; and indeed a sore disappointment it was to
the throng, for they thought he could make an iligant
dyin' speech ; and the prenthers there, and the ballad-
singers all ready to take it down complate, and thought
it was a dirty turn of Kishogue to chate them out o' their

* A favourite tune.

316 LEGENDS AND STOKIES.

honest penny, like ; but they owed him no spite, for all
that, for they eonsidhered his heart was low an account
of the disappointment, and he was lookin' mighty pale
while they wor makin' matthers tidy for him ; and
indeed, the last words he said to himself was, " Put me
out o' pain at wanst, for my heart is low bekase Tim
Riley desaived me, whin I thought he would rise it, that
I might die like a rale Kake o' Mallow !" And so, to
make a long story short, myjew'l, they done the business
for him : it was soon over wid him ; it was just one step
wid him, aff o' the laddher into glory ; and to do him
justice, though he was lookin' pale, he died bowld, and
put his best leg foremost.

Well, what would you think, but just as all was over
wid him, there was a shout o' the crowd, and a shilloo
that you'd think would split the sky ; and what should
we see gallopin' up to the gallows, but a man covered
with dust an a white horse, to all appearance, but it
wasn't a white horse but a black horse, only white wid
the foam he was dhruv to that degree, and the man
hadn't a breath to dhraw, and coudn't spake, but dhrew
a piece o' paper out of the breast of his coat and
handed it up to the sheriff; and, my jew'l, the sheriff
grew as white as the paper itself, when he clapt his eyes
an it ; and, says he. " Cut him down — cut him down
this minute!!" says he; and the dhragoons made a
slash at the messenger, but he ducked his head and
sarcumvinted them. And then the sheriff shouted out,
" Stop, you villians, and bad luck to yiz, you murtherin'
vagabones," says he to the sojers ; " is it goin' to
murther the man you wor ? — It isn't him at all I mane,
but the man that's hangin'. Cut him down," says he :
and they cut him down ; but it was no use. It was all
over wid poor Kishogue ; he was dead as small-beer,
and as stiff as a crutch.

" Oh, tare an ouns," says the sheriff, tarin' the hair
aff his head at the same time, with the fair rage, " Isn't
it a poor case that he's dead, and here is a reprieve that

THE CURSE OF KISHOGUE. 317

is come for him ; but, bad oess to him," says he, " it's
his own fault, he wouldn't take it aisy."

" Oh millia murther, millia murther ! " cried out the
Widdy Houlaghan, in the crowd. " Oh, Kishogue.,
my darlint, why did you refuse my mull'd wine ? Oh,
if you stopped wid me to take your dhrop o' dhrink,
you'd be alive and merry now!"

So that is the maynin' of the curse o' Kishogue ; for
you see, Kishogue was hanged for laviri his liquor
behind him.

THE FAIRY FINDER,

He got a halfpenny — hut it was a rap.

Riddle me, riddle me, riddle me right;
Tell me what I dreamt last night.

" Finding a fortune," is a phrase often heard amongst
the peasantry of Ireland. If any man from small begin-
nings arrives at wealth, in a reasonable course of time,
the fact is scarcely ever considered as the result of per-
severance, superior intelligence, or industry ; it passes
as a by-word through the country that " he found a for-
tin' ; " whether by digging up " a crock o' goold " in the
ruins of an old abbey, or by catching a Leprechaun and
forcing him to " deliver or die," or discovering it behind
an old wainscot, is quite immaterial : the when or the
where is equally unimportant, and the thousand are sa-
tisfied with the rumour, " He found a forth*'." Besides,

THE FAIRY FINDER. 319

going into particulars destroys romance, — and the Irish
are essentially romantic — and their love of wonder is
more gratified in considering the change from poverty to
wealth as the result of superhuman aid, than in attribut-
ing it to the mere mortal causes of industry and prudence.

The crone of every village has plenty of stories to
make her hearers wonder how fortunes have been arrived
at by extraordinary short cuts ; and as it has been laid
down as an axiom, " That there never was a fool who
had not a greater fool to admire him," so there never
was an old woman who told such stories without plenty
of listeners.

Now, Darby Kelleher was one of the latter class, and
there was a certain collioch* who was an extensive dealer
in the marvellous, and could supply " wholesale, retail,
and for exportation," any customer such as Darby Kel-
leher, who not only was a devoted listener, but also made
an occasional offering at the cave of the sibyl, in return
for her oracular communications. This tribute generally
was tobacco, as the collioch was partial to chewing the
weed ; and thus, Darby returned a quid pro quo, with-
out having any idea that he was giving a practical
instance of the foregoing well known pun.

Another constant attendant at the hut of the ha:r was
Oonah Lenehan, equally prone to the marvellous as
Darby Kelleher, and quite his equal in idleness. A day
never past without Darby and Oonah paying the old
woman a visit. She was sure to be ': at home," for age
and decrepitude rendered it impossible for her to be other-
wise, the utmost limit of her ramble from her own chim-
ney corner being the seat of sods outside the door of her
hut, where, in the summer time, she was to be found, so
soon as the sunbeams fell on the front of her abode, and
made the seat habitable for one whose accustomed vici-
nity to the fire rendered heat indispensable to comfort.
Here she would sit and rock herself to and fro in the hot

* Old woman.

320 LEOEKOS AXt> f."L'Or»IES.

noons of July and August, her own appearance and tliat
of her wretched cabin being in admirable keeping. To
a fanciful beholder the question might have suggested
itself, whether the hag was made for the hovel, or it for
her ; or whether they had grown into a likeness of one
another, as man and wife are said to do, for there were
many points of resemblance between them. The tat-
tered thatch of the hut was like the straggling hair of
its mistress, and Time, that had grizzled the latter, had
covered the former with gray lichens. To its mud walls,
a strong likeness was to be found in the tint of the old
woman's shrivelled skin ; they were both seriously out
of the perpendicular ; and the rude mud and wicker
chimney of the edifice having toppled over the gable,
stuck out, something in the fashiou of the doodeen or
short pipe that projected from the old woman's upper
story ; and so they both were smoking away from morn-
ing till night ; and to complete the similitude sadly, both
were poor, — both lonely, — both fast falling to decay.

Here were Darby Kelleher and Oonah Lenehan sure
to meet every day. Darby might make his appearance
thus : —

" Good morrow kindly, granny."

" The same to you, avie," mumbled out the crone.

"Here's some 'baccy for you, granny."

"Many thanks to you. Darby. I didn't lay it out
for seeing you so airly, the day."

"No, nor you wouldn't neither, only I waspassin' this
a way, runnin' an arrand for the squire, and I thought I
might as well step in and ax you how you wor."

" Good boy. Darby."

" Throth an' it's a hot day that's in it, this blessed
day, Phew ! Faix it's out o' breath I am, and mighty
hot intirely! for I was runnin' a most half the way,
bekase it's an arrand you see, and the squire towld me to
make haste, and so I did, and wint acrass the fields by
the short cut ; and as I was passin' by the owld castle,
I renumbered what you towld me a while agon, granny,

THE FAIRY FINDER. 321

about the crock o' goold that is there for sartin, if any
one could come upon it."

" An' that's thrue indeed, Darby, avick — and never
heerd any other the longest day I can remember."

" Well well ! think o* that ! ! Oh then it's he that '11
be the lucky fellow that finds it."

" Thrue for you, Darby ; but that won't be antil it is
laid out for some one to rise it."

" Sure that's what I said to myself often ; and why
mightn't it be my chance to be the man that it was laid
out for to find it."

" There's no knowin'," mumbled the crone, myste-
riously, as she shook the ashes out of her tobacco pipe,
and replenished the doodeen with some of the fresh stock
Darby had presented.

" Faix, an' that's thrue, sure enough. Oh but you've
a power o' knowledge, granny ! ! Sure enough indeed,
there's no knowin' ; but they say there's great virtue in
dhrames."

" That's ondeniable, Darby," said the hag, " and by
the same token maybe you'd step into the house and
bring me out a bit o' live turf* to light my pipe."

" To be sure, granny," and away went Darby to
execute the commission.

While he was raking from amongst the embers on the
hearth, a piece of turf sufficiently "alive " for the pur-
pose, Oonah made her appearance outside the hut, and
gave the usual cordial salutation to the old woman ; just
as she had done her civility, out came Darby, holding
the bit of turf between the two extremities of an osier
twig, bent double for the purpose of forming a rustic tongs.

" Musha an' is that you, Darby ? " said Oonah.

" Who else would it be 1 " said Darby.

" Why you towld me over an hour agone, down there
in the big field, that you wor in a hurry."

* In Ireland the tobacco in a pipe is very generally ignited by the
application of a piece of burning turf— or, as it is figuratively called, live
turf.

21

322 LEGENDS &KD STORIES.

" And so I am in a hurry, and wouldn't be here, only
I jist stepped in to say God save you to the mother here,
and to light her pipe for her, the craythur."

" Well, don't be standin' there, lettin' the coal* go
black out, Darby," said the old woman; "but let me
light my pipe at wanst."

" To be sure granny," said Darby, applying the
morsel of lighted ember to the bowl of her pipe, until
the process of ignition had been effected. " And now,
Oonah, my darlint, if you're so sharp an other people,
what the dickens brings you here, when it is mindin'
the geese in the stubbles you ought to be, and not here ?
What would the misthriss say to that, I wondher ? "

" Oh I left them safe enough, and they're able to
take care of themselves for a bit, and I wanted to ax
the granny, about a dhrame I had."

" Sure so do I," said Darby ; " and you know first
come first sarved is a good owld sayin". And so,
granny you own to it that there's a power o' vartue
in dhrames ?"

A long-drawn whiff of the pipe was all the hag
vouchsafed in return.

" Oh then but that's the iligant tabaccy ! musha
but it's fine and sthrong, and takes the breath from one
a'most, it's so good. Long life to you, Darby — paugh! !"

" You're kindly welkim, granny. An' as I was sayin'
about the dhrames — you say there's a power o' vartue
in them."

" Who says agin it ?" said the hag authoritatively,
and looking with severity on Darby.

" Sure an' it's not me you'd suspect o' the like ? I
was only goin' to say that myself had a mighty sharp
dhrame last night, and sure I kem to ax you about the
maynin' av it."

" Well avic, tell us your dhrame," said the hag, suck-
ing her pipe with increased energy.

• The peasantry often say " a coal o' turf."

-523

EWefl

1 of a

I
I

I sees Jg*e- valb; now I ttesk tie fear

««,=

as if

feif

fcri

wdi^vii: i

'■ Go a, J*b%,9 sM ifee ]

•Sdily

324 LEGENDS ANTD STORIES.

heavy, and I said to myself there would be rain soon,
the crows was flyin' so heavy."

'•' I wish you didn't dhrame o' rain. Darby,''

" Why, granny ? "What harm is it ?"

" Oh i:::bin'. only it comes in a crass place there."

"But it doesn't spile the dhrame, I hope V

i: Oh no. Go an."

" Well, with that, I thought I was passin' by Doolins
the miller's, and says he to me, Will you carry home
this sack o' male for me ? Xow you know, male is
monev, every fool knows."

<• Eight, avic."

" And so I tuk the sack o' male an my shouklher,
and I thought the weight iv it was killin' me, just as if
it was a sack o' eoold."

•'< Go an, Darby."

•'•' And with that I thought I met with a cat, and that,
vou know, manes an ill-nathur'd woman."

"Eight, Darby/'

" And says she to me, Darby Kelleher says she,
you're mighty yollow, God bless you ; is it the jandhers
you have ? says she. Xow wasn't that mighty sharp ?
I think the jandhers manes goold ?"

" Yis,_iv it was the yollow jandhers you dhremt iv,
but not the black jandhers."

" Well, it teas the yollow jandhers."

'; Very good, avic ; that's makin a fair offer at it."

" I thought so myself," said Darby, " more by token
when there was a dog in my dhrame next; and that's
a frind, you know.'1

'•' Eight, a\ic.''

" And he had a silver collar an him."

" Oh bad luck to that silver collar, Darby ; what
made you dhrame o' silver at all ?"

" Why what harm ?"

"' Oh I thought you knew better nor to dhrame o'
silver ; why, cushla machree, sure sdver is a disappoint-
ment all the world over."

THE FAIRY FINDER. 325

" Oh murther !" said Darby, in horror, ': and is my
dhrame spylte (spoiled) by that blackguard collar ?''

" Xigh hand indeed, but not all out. It would bo
spylte only for the dog, but the dog is a frind, and so it
will be only a frindly disappointment, or maybe a fallin'
out with an acquaintance."

" Oh what matther," said Darby, " so the dlirame is
to the good still ! !"

" The dhrame is to the good still ; but tell me if you
dhiiemt o' three sprigs o' sparemint at the ind iv it ?"

" Why then, now I could not say for sartin, bekase I
was nigh wakin' at the time, and the dlirame was not so
clear to me."

" I wish you could be sartin o' that."

<; Why, 1 have it an my mind that there was sparemint
in it, bekase I thought there was a garden in part iv it,
and the sparemint was likeh/ to be there."

'• Sure enough, and so you did dhrame o' the three
sprigs o' sparemint."

'• Indeed I could a'most make my book-oath that I
dhremt iv it. I'm partly sartin, if not all out."

'• Well, that's raysonable. It's a good dlirame, Darby."

" Do you tell me so !"

" 'Deed an' it is, Darby. Xow wait till the next
quarther o' the new moon, and dlirame again then, and
you'll see what'll come of it."

'; By dad an' I will, granny. Oh but it's you has
taken the maynin' out of it beyant every thing ; and faix
if I find the crock, it s yourself won't bo the worse iv it ;
but I must be goin', granny, for the squire bid me to
hurry, or else I woidd stay longer wid you. Good
mornin' to you — good mornin', Oonah ! 1 11 see you to-
morrow sometime, granny." And off" went Darby,
leisurely enough.

The foregoing dialogue shows the ready credulity of
poor Darby ; but it was not in his belief of the •'■' vartue
of dhrames " that his weakness only lay. He likewise
had a most extensive creed as regarded fairies of all sorts

326 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

and sizes, and was always on the look-out for a Lepre-
chaun. Now a Leprechaun is a fairy of peculiar tastes,
properties, and powers, which it is necessary to acquaint
the reader with. His taste as to occupation is very
humble, for he employs himself in making shoes, and he
loves retirement, being fond of shady nooks where he
can sit alone, and pursue his avocation undisturbed.
He is quite a hermit in this respect, for there is no
instance on record of two Leprechauns being seen to-
gether. But he is quite a beau in his dress, notwith-
standing, for he wears a red square cut coat, richly laced
with gold, waistcoat and inexpressibles of the same,
cocked hat, shoes, and buckles. He has the property of
deceiving, in so great a degree, those who chance to dis-
cover him, that none have ever yet been known whom
he has not overreached in the " keen encounter of the
wits," which his meeting with mortals always produces.
This is occasioned by his possessing the power of bestow-
ing unbounded wealth on whoever can keep him within
sight until he is weary of the surveillance and gives the
ransom demanded ; and to this end the object of the
mortal who is so fortunate as to surprise one, is to seize
him, and never withdraw his eye from him, until the
threat of destruction forces the Leprechaun to produce
the treasure ; but the sprite is too many for us clumsy
witted earthlings, and is sure, by some device, to make
us avert our eyes, when he vanishes at once.

This Enchanted Cobbler of the meadows, Darby Kel-
leher was always on the look-out for. But though so
constantly on the watch for a Leprechaun, he never had
got even within sight of one, and the name of the Fairy
Finder was bestowed upon him in derision. Many a
trick too was played on him ; sometimes a twig stuck
amongst long grass, with a red rag hanging upon it, has
betrayed Darby into a cautious observance and approach,
until a nearer inspection, and a laugh from behind some
neighbouring hedge, have dispelled the illusion. But
this, though often repeated, did not cure him, and no

THE FAIRY FINDER. 327

turkey-cock had a quicker eye for a bit of red, or flew
at it with greater eagerness, than Darby Kelleher, and
he entertained the belief that one day or other he would
reap the reward of all his watching, by finding a Lepre-
chaun in good earnest.

But that was all in the hands of Fate, and must be
waited for : in the mean time there was the castle and
the " crock o' goold " for a certainty, and under the good
omens of the " sharp dhrame " he had, he determined on
taking that affair in hand at once. For his companion
in the labour of digging, and pulling the ponderous walls
of the castle to pieces, he selected Oonah, who was, in
the parlance of her own class, " a brave two-handed long-
sided jack," and as great a believer in dreams and omens
as Darby himself ; besides she promised profound secrecy,
and agreed to take a small share of the treasure for her
reward in assisting to discover it.

For about two months Darby and Oonah laboured in
vain; but at last, something came of their exertions.
In the course of their work, when they occasionally got
tired, they would sit down to rest themselves and talk
over their past disappointments and future hopes. Now
it was during one of these intervals of repose that Darby,
as he was resting himself on one of the coign-stones of
the ruin, suddenly discovered that he was in love with
Oonah.

Now Oonah happened to be thinking much in the
same sort of way about Darby, at that very moment, and
the end of the affair was, that Darby and Oonah were
married the Sunday following.

The calculating Englishman will ask, did he find the
treasure before he married the girl ? The unsophisti-
cated boys of the sod never calculate on these occasions ;
and the story goes that Oonah Lenehan was the only
treasure Darby discovered in the old castle. Darby's
acquaintances were in high glee on the occasion, and
swore he got a great lob — for Oonah, be it remembered,
was on the grenadier scale, or what in Ireland is called

328 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

" the full of a door," and the news spread over the
country in some such fashion as this —

" Arrah, an' did you hear the news ? "

" What news ? "

" About Darby Kelleher."

"What of him?"

" Sure he found a fairy at last."

" Tare an ounty ! "

" Thruth I'm tellin' you. — He's married to Oonah
Lenehan."

" Ha ! ha ! ha! by the powers it's she that is the rale
fairy ! musha, more power to you, Darby, but you've
cotched it in airnest now ! "

But the fairy he had caught did not satisfy Darby so
far as to make him give up the pursuit for the future.
He was still on the watch for a Leprechaun ; and one
morning as he was going to his work, he stopped sud-
denly on his path, which lay through a field of standing
corn, and his eye became riveted on some object with
the most eager expression. He crouched, and crawled,
and was making his way with great caution towards the
point of his attraction, when he was visited on the back
of the head with a thump that considerably disturbed
his visual powers, and the voice of his mother, a vigorous
old beldame, saluted hi3 ear at the same time, with a
hearty " Bad luck to you, you lazy thief, what are you
slindging there for, when it's minding your work you
ought to be ? "

" Whisht ! whisht ! mother," said Darby, holding up
his hand in token of silence.

" What do you mane, you omadhawn ? "

*' Mother, be quiet, I bid you ! Whisht ! I see it."

" What do you see ? "

" Stoop down here. Straight forninst you, don't you
see it as plain as a pikestaff i "

"See what?"

" That little red thing."

"Well what of it?"

THE FAIRY FINDER. 329

" See there, how it stirs. Oh murther ! it's goin' to
be off afore I can catch it. Oh murther ! why did you
come here at all, makin' a noise and frightenin' it away."

" Frightenin' what you big fool ? "

" The Leprechaun there. Whisht ! it is quiet agin !"

" May the d — 1 run a huntin' wid you for a big omad-
hawn ; why, you born nath'ral, is it that red thing over
there you mane ? "

" Yis to be sure it is ; don't spake so loud I tell you.''

"Why, bad scran to you, you fool, it's a poppy it is,
and nothin' else ;" and the old woman went over to the
spot where it grew, and plucking it up by the roots
threw it at Darby, with a great deal of abuse into the
bargain, and bade him go mind his work, instead of
being a " slindging vagabone, as he was."

It was some time after this occurence, that Darby
Kelleher had a meeting with a certain Doctor Dionysius
Mac Finn, whose name became much more famous than
it had hitherto been, from the wonderful events that
ensued in consequence.

Of the doctor himself it becomes necessary to say
something : his father was one Paddy Finn, and had
been so prosperous in the capacity of a cow doctor,
that his son Denis, seeing the dignity of a professor in
the healing art must increase in proportion to the noble-
ness of the animal he operates upon, determined to
make the human, instead of the brute creation, the
object of his care. To this end he was assisted by his
father, who had scraped some money together in his
humble calling, and having a spice of ambition in him,
as well as his aspiring son, he set him up in the
neighbouring village as an apothecary. Here Denny
enjoyed the reputation of being an " iligant bone-setter,"
and cracked skulls, the result of fair fighting, and
whisky fevers, were treated by him on the most
approved principles. But Denny's father was gathered
unto his fathers, and the son came into the enjoyment
of all the old man's money: this, considering his

330 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

condition, was considerable, and the possession of a
few hundred pounds so inflated the apothecary, that he
determined on becoming a "Doctor" at once. For
this purpose he gave up his apothecary's shop, and set
off — where do you think ? — To Spain. Here he re-
mained for some time, and returned to Ireland,
declaring himself a full physician of one of the Spanish
universities ; his name of Denny Finn transformed into
Doctor Dionysius Mac Finn, or, as his neighbours chose
to call it, Mac Fun, and fun enough the doctor certainly
gave birth to. The little money he once had was spent in
his pursuit of professional honours, and he returned to
his native place with a full title and an empty purse,
and his practice did not tend to fill it. At the same
time there was a struggle to keep up appearances. He
kept a horse or what he intended to be considered as
such, but 'twas only a pony, and if he had but
occassion to go to the end of the village on a visit, the
pony was ordered on service. He was glad to accept
an invitation to dinner whenever he had the luck to get
one, and the offer of a bed even, was sure to be accepted,
because that insured breakfast the next morning. Thus,
poor Doctor Dionysius made out the cause. Often
asked to dinner from mingled motives of kindness and
fun, for while a good dinner was a welcome novelty to
the doctor, the absurdities of his pretension and manner
rendered him a subject of unfailing diversion to his
entertainers. Now he had gone the round of all the
snug farmers and country gentlemen in the district, but
at last, he had the honour to receive an invitation from
the squire himself, and on the appointed day Doctor
Dionysius bestrode his pony, attired in the full dress of
a Spanish physician, which happens to be red from head
to foot, and presented himself at " The Hall."

When a groom appeared to take his " horse" to the
stable, the doctor requested that his steed might be
turned loose into the lawn, declaring it to be more
wholesome for the animal, than being cooped up in a

THE FAIRY FINDER. 331

house ; the sadle and bridle were accordingly removed,
and his desire complied with.

The doctor's appearance in the drawing-room, attired
as he was, caused no small diversion, but attention was
speedily called off from him by the announcement of
dinner, that electric sound that stimulates a company
at the same instant, and supersedes every other con-
sideration whatsoever. Moreover, the squire's dinners
were notoriously good, and the doctor profited largely
by the same that day, and lost no opportunity of filling
his glass with the choice wines that surrounded him.
This he did to so much purpose, that the poor little man
was very far gone when the guest3 were about to
separate.

At the doctor's request the bell was rung, and his
horse ordered, as the last remaining few of the company
were about to separate, but every one of them had
departed, and still there was no announcement of the
steed being at the door. At length a servant made his
appearance, and saffl it was impossible to catch the
doctor's pony.

" What do you mean by ' catch' ?" said the squire.
" Is it not in the stable ?"

"No, sir."

Here an explanation ensued, and the squire ordered
a fresh attempt to be made to take the fugitive ; but,
though many fresh hands were employed in the attempt,
the pony baffled all their efforts ; — every manoeuvre,
usually resorted to on such occassions, was vainly put
in practice. He was screwed up into the corners, but
no sooner was he there than, squeeling and flinging up
his heels, he broke through the blockade ; — again his
flank was turned by nimble runners, but the pony was
nimbler still ; a sieve full of oats was presented as an
inducement, but the pony was above such vulgar tricks,
and defied all attempts at being captured.

This was the mode by which the doctor generally
secured the offer of a bed, and he might have been

332 I/EGENDS AND STORIES.

successful in this instance, but for a knowing old coach-
man who was up to the trick, and out of pure fun chose
to expose it : so, bringing out a huge blunderbuss, he
said, — " Never mind — just let me at him, and I'll
engage I'll make him stand."

" Oh, my good man," said the doctor, "pray don't
take so much trouble ; — just let me go with you ; ' ' and
proceeding to the spot where the pony was still
luxuriating on the rich grass of the squire's lawn, he
gave a low whistle, and the little animal walked up to
his owner with as much tractability as a dog. The
saddling and bridling did not take much time, and the
doctor was obliged to renounce his hopes of a bed and
the morrow's breakfast, and ride home or homewards, I
should say, for it was as little his destiny as his wish to
sleep at home that night, for he was so overpowered
with his potations, that he could not guide the pony,
and the pony's palate was so tickled by the fresh herbage,
that he wished for more of it, and finding a gate, that
led to a meadow, open by the road side, he turned into
the field, where he very soon turned the doctor into a
ditch, so that they had bed and board between them to
their heart's content.

The doctor and his horse slept and ate profoundly all
night, and even the " rosy-fingered morn," as the poets
have it, found them in the continuance of their enjoy-
ment. Now it happened that Darby Kelleher was passing
along the path that lay by the side of the ditch where
the doctor was sleeping, and on perceiving him, Darby
made as dead a set as ever pointer did at game.

The doctor, be it remembered, was dressed in red.
Moreover he was a little man, and his gold-laced hat and
ponderous shoe-buckles completed the resemblance to
the being that Darby took- him for. Darby was at last
certain that he had discovered a Leprechaun, and amaze
so riveted him to the spot, and anxiety made his pulse
beat so fast, that he could not move nor breathe for some
seconds. At last he recovered himself, and stealing

THE FAIRY FINDER. 333

stealthily to the spot where the doctor slept, every inch
of his approach made him more certain of the reality of
his prize ; and when he found himself within reach of it
he made one furious spring, and flung himself on the
unfortunate little man, fastening his tremendous fist on
his throat, at the same time exclaiming in triumph,
'• Hurra ! — by the hoky, I have you at last ! ! "

The poor little doctor, thus rudely and suddenly
aroused from his tipsy sleep, looked excessively be-
wildered when he opened his eyes, and met the glare
of ferocious delight that Darby Kelleher cast upon
him, and he gurgled out, " What's the matter ? " as
well as the grip of Darby's hand upon his throat would
permit him.

" Goold's the matther," shouted Darby—" Goold !
— Goold ! ! !"

" What about Goold ?" says the doctor.

" Goold ! — yallow goold — that's the matther."

" Is it Paddy Goold that's taken ill again ?" said the
doctor, rubbing his eyes. " Don't choke me, my good
man ; I'll go immediately," says he endeavouring to rise.

" By my sowl, you won't," said Darby, tightening
his hold.

"For mercy's sake let me go !" said the doctor.

" Let you go indeed,! — ow ! ow !"

" For the tender mercy"

" Goold ! goold ! you little vagabone !"

" Well I'm going, if you let me."

" Divil a step ;" and here he nearly choked him.

" Oh ! murder ! — for God's sake !"

" Whisht ! ! — you thief — how dar you say God, you
divil's imp ! ! !"

The poor little man, between the suddenness of his
waking, and the roughness of the treatment he was
under, was in such a state of bewilderment, that for the
first time he now perceived he was lying amongst grass and
under bushes, and rolling his eyes about he exclaimed—

" Where am I ?— God bless me!"

334 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

"Whisht! you little cruked ottomy — by the holy
farmer, if you say God agin, I'll cut your throat."

" What do you hold me so tight for ?"

"Just for fear you'd vanish, you see. Oh I know
you well."

" Then, my good man, if you know me so well, treat
me with proper respect, if you please."

" Divil send you respect. Respect indeed ! that's a
good thing. Musha bad luck to your impidence, you
thievin' owld rogue."

" Who taught you to call such names to your betters,
fellow ? — How dare you use a professional gentleman so
rudely ?"

" Oh, do you hear this ! ! — a profissional gintleman !
— Arrah, do you think I don't know you, you little
owld cobbler ?"

" Cobbler ! — Zounds, what do you mean, you ruffian ?
Let me go, sirrah !" and he struggled violently to rise.

" Not a taste, 'scure to the step you'll go out o' this
till you give me what I want."

" What do you want then?"

" Goold— Goold !"

" Ho ! ho ! so you're a robber, sir ; you want to rob
me, do you ?"

" Oh ! what robbery it is ! ! — throth that won't do,
as cunnin' as you think yourself ; you won't frighten me
that way. Come, give it at wanst — you may as well.
I'll never let go my grip o' you antil you hand me out
the goold."

" Ton the honour of a gentleman, gold nor silver is
not in my company. I have fourpence halfpenny in my
breeches pocket, which you are welcome to if you let
go my throat."

" Fourpence hap'ny ! ! ! — Why, then, do you think
me sitch a gom, all out, as to put me off wid fourpence
hap'ny ; throth, for three sthraws, this minit I'd thrash
you within an inch o' your life for your impidence.
Come, no humbuggin' ; out with the goold !"

THE FAIRY FINDER. 335

" I have no gold. Don't choke me : if you murder
me, remember there's law in the land. You'd better let
me go."

" Not a fut. Gri' me the goold, I tell you, you little
vagabone ! !" said Darby, shaking him violently.

" Don't murder me, for Heaven's sake!"

" I will murther you if you don't give me a hatful o'
goold this minit."

"A hatful of gold! — Why, who do you take me
for ?"

" Sure I know you're a Leprechaun, you desaiver o'
the world !"

" A Leprechaun !" said the doctor, in mingled indig-
nation and amazement. " My good man, you mistake."

"Oh, how soft I am! — 'Twon't do, I tell you. I
have you, and I'll howld you ; — long I've been lookin'
for you, and I cotch you at last, and by the 'tarnal o'
war I'll have your life or the goold."

" My good man, be merciful — you mistake — I'm no
Leprechaun 5 — I'm Doctor Mac Finn."

" That won't do either ! you think to desaive me, but
'twont do : — just as if I didn't know a doctbor from a
Leprechaun. Gri' me the goold, you owld chate!"

" I tell you I'm Doctor Dionysius Mac Finn. Take
care v^hat you're about ! — there's law in the land ; — and
I think I begin to know you. Your name is Kelleher !"

" Oh, you cunnin' owld thief ! oh then but you are the
complate owld rogue ; only I'm too able for you. You
want to freken me, do you? — Oh, you little scrap o'
deception, but you are deep !"

" Your name is Kelleher — I remember. My good
fellow, take care ; don't you know I'm Doctor Mac Finn
— don't you see I am ?"

" Why thin but you have the dirty yollow pinched
look iv him, sure enough ; but don't I know you've only
put it an you to desaive me ; besides, the docthor has
dirty owld tatthers o' black clothes an him, and isn't as
red as a sojer like you."

336 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

" That's an accident, my good man."

" Gi' me the goold this minit, and no more prate wid
you."

"I tell you, Kelleher"

" Howld your tongue, and gi' me the goold."

" By all that's"

" Will you give it ?

"How canl?"

< Very well. You'll see what the ind of it 'ill be,"
said Darby, rising, but still keeping his iron grip of the
doctor. " Now, for the last time, I ask you, will you
gi' me the goold ? or by the powers o' wild fire, I'll put
you where you'll never see daylight antil you make me
a rich man."

" I have no gold, I tell you."

" Faix, then I'll keep you till you find it," said
Darby, who tucked the little man under his arm, and
ran home with him as fast as he could.

He kicked at his cabin door for admittance when he
reached home, exclaiming —

" Let me in ! let me in ! — Make haste ; I have him."

"Who have you?" said Oonah, as she opened the
door.

"Look at that!" said Darby in triumph ; "I cotch
him at last!"

" Weira then, is it a Leprechaun, it is ?" said Oonah.

" Divil a less," said Darby, throwing down the doctor
on the bed, and still holding him fast. — " Open the big
chest, Oonah, and we'll lock him up in it, and keep him
antil he gives us the goold."

"Murder! murder I" shouted the doctor. "Lock
me up in a chest!!"

" Gi' me the goold, then, and I won't."

"My good man, you know I have not gold to give."

"Don't believe him, Darby jewel," said Oonah,
" them Leprechauns is the biggest liars in the world.'"

" Sure I know that !" said Darby, "as well as you.
Oh ! all the throuble I've had with him ; throth only

THE FAIRY FINDER. 337

I'm aiqual to a counsellor for knowledge, he'd have
namplushed me long ago."

"Long life to you, Darby dear !"

" Mrs. Kelleher," said the doctor.

"Oh Lord!" said Oonah, in surprise, "did you
ever hear the likes o' that — how he knows my name ! "

" To be sure he does," said Darby, " and why nat ?
sure he's a fairy, you know."

" I'm no fairy, Mrs. Kelleher. I'm a doctor — Doctor
Mac Finn."

"Don't b'lieve him, darlin'," said Darby. "Make
haste and open the chest."

" Darby Kelleher," said the doctor, " let me go, and
I'll cure you whenever you want my assistance."

" Well, I want your assistance now," said Darby,
" for I'm very bad this minit wid poverty ; and if you
cure me o' that, I'll let you go."

"What will become of me?" said the doctor in
despair, as Darby carried him towards the big chest
which Oonah had opened.

"I'll tell you what'll become o' you," said Darby,
seizing a hatchet that lay within his reach ; — " by the
seven blessed candles, if you don't consint before night
to fill me that big chest full o' goold, I'll chop you as
small as aribs (herbs) for the pot." And Darby cram-
med him into the box.

" Oh, Mrs. Kelleher, be merciful to me," said the doe-
tor, " and whenever you're sick I'll attend you."

" God forbid !" said Oonah ; " its not the likes o' you
I want when I'm sick ; — attind me, indeed ! bad luck to
you, you little imp, maybe you'd run away with my
babby, or it's a Banshee you'd turn yourself into, and
sing for my death. Shut him up, Darby; it's not looky
to be howlclin' discoorse wid the likes iv him."

" Oh !" roared the doctor, as his cries were stifled by
the lid of the chest being closed on him. The key was
turned, and to prevent the fairy having any power
upon the lock, Oonah sprinkled over it some holy

22

S38 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

water she had in a bottle that hung in one corner of
the cabin.

Darby and Oonah now sat down in consultation on
their affairs, and began forming their plans on an exten-
sive scale, as to what they were to do "with their money,
for have it they must, now that the Leprechaun was
fairly in their power. Now and then Darby would rise
and go over to the chest, very much as one goes to the
door of a room where a naughty child has been locked
up, to know "if it be good yet," and giving a thump on
the lid would exclaim, " Well, you little vagabone, will
you gi' me the goold yet ?'"'

A groan and a faint answer of denial was all the reply
he received.

" Very well, stay there ; but remimber, if you don't
consint before night. I'll chop you to pieces." He then
got his bill-hook, and began to sharpen it close by the
chest, that the Leprechaun might hear him ; and when
the poor doctor heard this process going forward, he felt
more dead than alive ; the horrid scraping of the iron
against the stone being interspersed with occasional in-
terjectional passages from Darby, such as, " Do you hear
that, you thief? I'm gettin' ready for you." Then away
he'd rasp at the grindstone again, and, as he paused to
feel the edge of the weapon, exclaim, " By the powers,
111 have it as sharp as a razhir."

In the meantime it was well for the prisoner that there
were many large chinks in the chest, or suffocation from
his confinement would have anticipated Darby's pious
intentions upon him ; and when he found matters likely
to go so hard with him, the thought struck him at last, of
affecting to be what Darby mistook him for, and regain-
ing his freedom by stratagem.

To this end, when Darby had done sharpening his bill-
hook, the doctor replied, in answer to one of Darby's sum-
monses for gold, that he saw it was in vain longer to deny
giving it, that Darby was too cunning for him, and that
he was ready to make him the richest man in the country.

THE FAIRY FINDER. 339

° HI take no less than the full o' that chest," said
Darby.

" You'll have ten times the full of it, Darby," said
the doctor, " if you'll only do what I bid you."

" Sure I'll do anything."

" Well, you must first prepare the mystificand-herum-
brandherum."

" Tare an ouns, how do I know what that is ?"

Silence, Darby Kelleher, and attend to me : that's a
magical ointment, which I will show you how to make ;
and whenever you want gold, all you have to do is to
rub a little of it on the point of a pick-axe or your
spade, and dig wherever you please, and you will be
sure to find treasure."

" Oh, think o' that ! faix an I'll make plenty of it
when you show me. How is it made ?"

" You must go into the town, Darby, and get me
three things, and fold them three times in three rags
torn out of the left side of a petticoat that has not
known water for a year."

"Faith, I can do that much any how," said Oonah,
who began tearing the prescribed pieces out of her under
garment —

" And what three things am I to get you ?"

" First bring me a grain of salt from a house that
stands at cross-roads."

" Crass roads !" said Darby, looking significantly
at Oonah ; " By my sowl, but it's my dhrame's comin'
out !"

" Silence, Darby Kelleher," said the doctor, with
solemnity ; " mark me, Darby Kelleher ;" — and then
he proceeded to repeat a parcel of gibberish to Darby,
which he enjoined him to remember, and repeat again ;
but as Darby could not, the doctor said he should only
write it down for him, and tearing a leaf from his
pocket-book, he wrote in pencil a few words, stating
the condition he was in, and requesting assistance.
This slip of paper he desired Darby to deliver to the

340 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

apothecary in the town, -who -would give him a drug
that would complete the making of the ointment.

Darby went to the apothecary's as he was desired,
and it happened to be dinner time when he arrived.
The apothecary had a few friends dining with him, and
Darby was detained until they chose to leave the table,
and go, in a body, to liberate the poor little doctor.
He was pulled out of the chest amidst the laughter of
his liberators and the fury of Darby and Oonab, who
both made considerable fight against being robbed of
there prize. At last the doctor's friends got him out of
the house, and proceeded to the town to supper, where
the whole party kept getting magnificently drunk, until
sleep plunged them into dizzy dreams of Leprechauns
and Fairy Finders.

The doctor for some days swore vengeance against
Darby, and threatened a prosecution ; but his friends
recommended him to let the matter rest, as it would
only tend to make the atlair more public, and get him
nothing but laughter for damages.

As for Darby Kelleher, nothing could ever persuade
him that it was not a real Leprechaun he had caught,
which by some villanous contrivance, on the Fairy's
part, changed itself into the semblance of the doctor;
and he often said the great mistake he made was
" givin' the little vagabone so much time, for that
if he done right he'd have set about cutting his
throat at wanst."

the
SPANISH BOAR AND THE IRISH BULL,

A ZOOLOGICAL PUZZLE.

Hitherto it has been believed, that no animals could
be more distinct, than the two whose names form the
heading of this chapter. But I will show, that in the
case I am about to adduce, the Irish Bull has been pro-
duced in a great state of perfection from the Spanish
Boar. It will be objected, perhaps, by the learned, that
there was a cross in the female line, on one side, and I
do not deny it ; but still, when the facts come to be
developed, as I hope they shall be, in a clear and satis-
factory manner, in the following pages, I am sure there
will not be found any zoologist, either of the Jarclin cles
Plantes, the Begent's Park, the Surrey, or the Dublin
Gardens, that will not acknowledge the case I have to
Jay before them as, at least, very extraordinary.

342 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

I was for a long time undecided as to the mode in
which I should treat this curious affair. To do so,
scientifically, is beyond my power — therefore the next
best way I had of doing it, was to put it somewhat into
the shape of a memoir. And here lay another difficulty,
for the rage has been so great for autobiographies, that
I fancied my memoir must be put before the world in
this shape, and neither of my personages were felicitous
subjects for such a mode of treatment. The Bull would
prove, I fear, as unprofitable a hero in an autobiography,
as in a china shop, where, in the true spirit of an auto-
biographer, he proverbially " has it all his own way."
And as for the Boar, the fact is, that so many bores
have turned autobiographers of late, I did not like
running the risk of surfeiting the public, therefore I
decided, as the safest course, to speak in the third person
of my principals, and the first I shall treat of is the
Boar.

The humblest biographer will scarcely commence with
less than stating that his hero has been descended from
a good family ; now my hero being a Spainard, a merely
good family would not be enough ; lie must, in right of
his national pride, come from a great one, and I can
safely assert that mine was one of a very great family
— there were sixteen of them at a litter. With my
hero, the season of youth, which amongst the swinish
race is proverbially that of beauty also, rapidly passed
away, and he increased in age, ugliness, and devilment,
in more than the usual ratio, until his pranks in the
woods were suddenly put a stop to, by his being taken
in a toil one fine day, and carried a prisoner into the
town of Bilboa.

It chanced, that at the period of his capture, the
captain of a ship bound for Dublin, then lying in the
port, was very anxious to take home with him some
rarity from " foreign parts " as a present to a lady in
the aforesaid city of Dublin, from whom he had received
some civility. It happened, also, that the entry of the

THE SPANISH BOAR AND THE IRISH BULL. 343

Boar into Bilboa had created a prodigious sensation
amongst the worthy townsfolk, and was quite a godsend
to the wonder-mongers. Now the captain heard the
news amongst some gossip, just at the time he was
debating in his own mind whether he should take home
some hanks of onions or a Spanish guitar for his in-
tended present, and the bright thought struck him, that
if he could only procure this wonderful savage of the
woods, of which report spoke so prodigiously, that it
would be the most acceptable offering he could make to
his fair friend, and he accordingly set to work to obtain
the bristly curiosity, and succeeded in his negotiation.
It was agreed that the Boar should remain ashore until
the ship was ready for sea, in the possession of his captor,
who undertook to lodge the curiosity safely on board,
whenever required, but the captain, having occasion to
sail suddenly, was unable to send timely notice to the
Spaniard, who happened not to be at home when the
captain, in person, went to demand his Boar.

This was unfortunate, but as the occasion was urgent,
and the Irishman could not possibly wait, he was obliged
to endeavour to get his pet pig to the ship as well as he
could without the assistance of the Spaniard, who
understood all about " such small deer," and the conse-
quence was, that the Boar was too much for the sailor,
and to use the captain's own words, the headstrong
brute " slipped his cable and bore right away down the
town," to the infinite horror of the worthy townspeople.

" The boar ! the boar ! " was shouted on all sidesv
and according to the established rule in such cases, those
in front of the danger ran before it, and those in the
rear ran after it, until such a prodigious crowd was
screeching at the heels of the Boar, that he was the
most terrified of the party, and in his panic, he turned
down the first open court he saw, off the high street,
and ran for his life.

Now it happened, that of all places in the world, the
spot he selected was the Exchange — and moreover it was

344 LEGENDS AND STOHIES.

'Change hour, and the merchants were very solemnly
engaged in the mysteries of per centago, when the Boar
made his appearance amongst them. The Exchange at
Eilboa happens to be surrounded by fine old trees, and
in that space of time which is vulgarly called " the twink-
ling of an eye," the stately merchants were startled out
of their solemnity, and were seen clambering like so
many monkeys into the trees to get out of the way of
the new comer, and so universal was this arborial ascent,
that in fact, our hero had the honour of producing the
greatest rise on 'Change ever remembered in Bilboa.
His first achievement in this court of commerce was to
make an endorsement on an elderly gentleman who was
not so active as some of his neighbours, and a Jew, who
■was next overthrown, never had such a horror of pork
before. Cloaks and sombreros, dropt in the hurry of
flight, were tossed in horrid sport by the intruder, and
having been hunted into one of the corners of the square,
he kept the assembled multitude at bay, until the arrival
of the regular bull-fighters terminated the adventure, by
retaking the vagrant. He had a narrow escape of his
life, for had it not been for the entreaties of the captain,
the matadors would have made short work with him.
He was got on board at last, and put in a place of
security.

When our hero arrived in the Irish metropolis, he was
handed over to his new owner by the captain, much to
the satisfaction of both. The lady, being one of those
who are delighted at having something that nobody else
has, was charmed, of course, at having obtained such a
rarity, and the captain blessed his stars at having
got rid of the greatest nuisance ever was on board
his ship.

A small enclosure at the rear of the city tenement was
dedicated to the use of the Boar, and for some days,
while the charm of novelty gave a zest to the inspection,

Mrs. used to sit, for hours, eyeing the foreigner

with infinite delight, through a hole cut in a strongly

THE SPANISH BOAR AND THE IRISH BULL. 345

barricaded door that shut in the wonder. In those cases,
as Campbell says,

"'Tis distance lends enchantment tj the view."

And she used to issue cards of invitation to her friends,
to come and see the only wild boar in Ireland. This was
a great triumph, but alas ! for all sublunary enjoyments,
they fade but too fast, and when the first blush of novelty
had faded, and the celebrity attached to being a

boar-owner had become hacknied, Mrs. began to

think this acquisition of a wild pig no such enviable
matter, and she would rather have seen him hanging to
the rafters of her kitchen in ham and flitch, than parad-
ing up and down her premises ; — besides, the yard which
he occupied was rendered useless for any other purpose
than a "parlour for the pig," for the unmannerly gen-
tleman had taken military possession of his domain, and
no one in the establishment dared approach him ; to such
a degree had this terror arrived, that at last the prog
was thrown to him over the wall, and serious thoughts
were entertained by his owner of making " swift con-
veyance of her dear " wild boar, when she was relieved
from further dire intents upon our hero, by the following
occurence : —

A distinguished member of the Dublin Zoological

Society waited upon Mrs. , as she sat at breakfast one

morning, and requested permission to see "her Boar."
It would have been a great delight a fortnight before, to
have a member of the Zoological Society soliciting the
honour of seeing /ierBoar, but the truth was, that Don
Pig had rendered himself so intolerable, that nothing
could compensate for the nuisance, and this additional
offering to her vanity as a wonder-proprietor, came too
late to be valued: still she affected a tone of triumph,
and led the zoological professor to the treat he sought
for, and pointing with dignity to the loophole cut in the
door, she said, " There, sir."

346 LEGENDS AND STOKIES.

After the professor, in silent wonder, had feasted his
eyes for some time on the barbarian through this safety-
valve, he exclaimed, " What a noble specimen ! — The
finest boar I ever saw !"

" Isn't he a lovely creature ?" said Mrs. .

" Charming, madam." —

"And his tail, doctor!"

" Has the true wild curl, madam. — Oh, madam, you
surely do not mean to keep this fine creature all to your-
self; — you really ought to present him to the Society."

" How could you think of asking me to part with my
pet, doctor."

" I'm sure your own public spirit, madam, would sug-
gest the sacrifice ; — and of course a very handsome vote
of thanks from the Society, as well as the gift securing
to you all the privileges of a member — "

Here was something to be gained, so instead of Mrs.
. giving her lodger a dose of prussic acid, or some-
thing of that sort, which she contemplated, she made a
present of him to the Zoological Society, and the pro-
fessor took his leave, in great delight at having secured
so fine an animal, but not half so happy as the lady was
in getting rid of him.

The next day the proper authorites secured the bristly
don, and he was consigned to the cart of the Zoological
Society to be carried forthwith to the Phoenix Park,
where the Gardens of that learned body are situated.
The driver of the cart, who, it happened, was quite
ignorant of the pains it had cost to place his inside pas-
senger in his seat, was passing by Barrack Street, when
he was accosted by a friend on the flags, with, " Why
then blur-an-agers, Mike, is that you ?" — " By gor it's
myself and no one else," says Mike — " and how is your-
self ?'' " Bravely !" says Jim : " and it's myself is glad to
see you lookin' so clane and hearty Mikee dear, and well
off to all appearance." — •' By dad I'm as happy as the
day's long," says Mike, " and has an iligant place, and
divil a thing to do, good, bad, or indifferent, but to

THE SPANISH BOAR AND THE IRISH BULL. 347

dhrive about this cart from morning till night, excep'n
when T may take a turn at feedin' the bastes." — " Why,
have you more horses nor the one you're dhrivin' to
mind ?" says Jim.

" Oh, they're not horses at all," says Mike, " but
tmnathral bastes, you see, that they keep up in the Park
beyant."

" And what would they be at all ? " says Jim.

" Och, the quarest outlandish craythurs ye iver seen,"
says Mike, "and all belongin' to the gintlemin that
employs me ; and indeed a pleasant life I have, dhrivin'
all day ; indeed it's a'most as good as a gintleman's,
only I sit an a cart instead of being sayted in a
Cabrowley."

" And what do you call them at all ? " asked the in-
quisitive Jim.

" They call themselves the Sorrow-logical Sisiety,
and indeed some o' them is black lookin' enough, but
others o' them is as merry as if they worn't belongin' to
a Sorrow-logical Sisiety, at all at all."

" And what is it y'r dhrivin' now ? " asked Jim.

"Indeed an' it's a wild boar," says Mike.

" And is he like a nath'ral boar ? " says Jim.

" Faix myself doesn't know, for I never seen him,
bekase while they wor ketchin' him and putting him in
the cart, the masther sint me for to ordher gingerbread
nuts for the monkeys."

" Oh, queen iv heaven, an' is it gingerbread nuts they
eat ! " says Jim, in amazement.

" Throth, an' it is," says Mike ; — they get ginger-
bread nuts, when the hazels is not in sayson ; and sure
I hear, in their own counthry, the gingerbread grows
nath'ral."

" Tare an' ouns, do you tell me so ! " says Jim.

" Divil a lie in it," says Mike.

" And where would that be at all ? " says Jim.

" Undher the line I hear them say."

" And where's that ? " says Jim.

348 lege>:es and stories.

'•' Oh, thin don't you know that, you poor ignorant
craythur ? " says Mike ; '•' sure that's in the north of
Amerikay, where the Hot-in-pots lives."

•'Ah, you thief," says Jim, "you didn't know that
yourself wanst ; but you're pic-kin' up larnin' in your
new place."

" Indeed and I always knew that," says Mike ; " and
sure you never seen a monkey yet that they hadn't a
line for him to run up and clown, accordin' to the nathur
o' the beast."

" Well I give up to you as for the monkeys, but as I
never seen a wild boar yet, don't be ill nathured to an
owld frind, but let me have a peep at him Mike, agrah ! "

'■ Throth an' I will, and welkim," says Mike; "just
get up behind, and rise the lid of the cart."

Jim did as he was desired ; and the moment the lid
of the cart was raised, so far from the sense of seeing
being gratified in the explorer, according to his own
account, " he thought the sight id lave his eyes when
he seen all as one as two coals o' fire looking at him,
and the unnath'ral brustly divil making a dart at him,
that it was the marcy o' hivin didn't take the life iv
him."

Jim was sent heels over head into the mud by the
Boar brushing past him in plunging out of the cart, and
preferring the "pedestrian to the vehicular mode," as
Dominie Sampson says, the foreigner, again in freedom,
charged down Barrack-street in all the glory of liberty
regained. Xow Barrack-street, as its name implies,
being in the neighbourhood of the garrison, it may be
supposed is much more populous than the street of Bil-
boa, where the Boar made his first appearance in public ;
and in fulfilment of the adage, " The more the merrier."
the consternation was in proportion to the numbers
engaged. Applestands, stalls of gilt gingerbread, baskets
of oysters, and still more unlucky eggs, (for the Boar,
like many, was one of those ignorant people who don't
know the difference between an egg and an oyster,)

THE SPANISH BOAR AND THE IRISH BULL. 349

wore upset with the utmost impartiality ; and ere he
had arrived at Queen's Bridge, full five hundred pur-
suers, with ten times the number of all sorts of the most
elaborate curses upon him, were at his heels. Were I
to give a "full and true account" of the chase, the far-
famed Kilruddery hunt would be nothing to it ; suffice
it to say, he never cried " stop " until he arrived at the
Mcath Hospital, a run of about a mile and a half.
There, his flank being turned he was driven into a court,
where he held his pursuers at bay for some time, as in
the Bilboa affair, until a Paddy, more experienced than
his neighbours in the taming of unruly cattle, flung his
frize coat over the head of the fugitive, and finally, Avith
some help, secured him.

I shall not enter into the particulars of how he was,
at last, installed in the gardens, — of whom the zoologists
triumphed in their new acquisition, — of the vote of

thanks passed to Mrs. for her liberality in getting

rid of a nuisance, — nor of the admiration which he ex-
cited in the visitors of the garden, until his demolition
of three breadths of a silk gown, and his eating a reticule
containing a bunch of keys belonging to a worthy
burgess's wife who approached too near the piggery,
rendered future admirers more cautious. Indeed, at
length, the gentleman became so unruly, that a large
placard, readable a mile and a half off, bearing the one
significant word, danoerous, was put over his domicile.
The intractability of the beast amounted to such a pitch,
that the gallantry universally existing, even in the brute
species, from the male to the female, was not to be found
in our hero ; for a tame female of his kind was intro-
duced into his den, with a view to improving the race of
pigs in Ireland, and, as one of the professors (an amateur
in pigs) declared, for the purpose of enabling the
Hibernian market to compete in some time with West-
phalia, in the article of ham — of which the projector of
this scheme was particularly fond ; but the lady that it
was intended should have the bono

350 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

aristocratic Spanish blood into the race of Paddy pigs,
was so worried by her intended lord and master, that
she was obliged to be withdrawn, and as it has frequently
happened before, to the mortification of match-makers — ■
the affair was broken off.

In the meantime, the Boar became more and more

mischievous. It was then that Mrs. was waited

upon again by the zoologist, who wheedled her out of
her darling, and was requested to take back her gift;

but Mrs. knew a trick worth two of that, and said

she had been so convinced by the professor's former
arguments, that the garden was the only place for him,
she could not think of depriving the public of such an
inestimable benefit.

The professor hinted a second vote of thanks ; but it

would not do, and Mrs. declared she was perfectly

content with the first.

So the Society's bad bargain remained on their hands,
and the Westphalia project failed.

Why it did so, was never cleared up to the satisfaction
of the learned ; but Mike, who sometimes " took a turn
at feedin' the bastes," had his own little solution of the
mystery — very unscientific, I dare say, but appearing
quite natural to such poor ignorant creatures as his con-
fidential friends, to whom he revealed it under the seal
of solemn secrecy, they being all " book-sworn never to
tell it to man or mortyal," for fear of Mike losing his
place. But Mike darkly insinuates to these his com-
panions, with as many queer grimaces as one of his own
monkeys, and a knowing wink, and a tone almost suffi-
ciently soft for a love secret — that " by the powdhers o'
war, accordin' to his simple idays, the divil a bit of the
Boar but's a Sow."

So much, gentle reader, for Spanish boars and Irish
bulls.

LITTLE FAIRLY.

The world was very guilty of such a ballad some three ages since; but
I think, now 'tis not to be found —

I wiil have the subject newly writ o'er, that I may example my digres-
sion by some mighty precedent.

Love's Labour's Lost.

The words great and little are sometimes contradictory
terms to their own meaning. This is stating the case
rather confusedly, but as I am an Irishman, and writing
an Irish story, it is the more in character. I might do,
perhaps, like a very clever and agreeable friend of mine,
who, when he deals in some extravagance which you don't
quite understand, says, " Well, you know what I mean."
But I will not take that for granted, so what I mean

352 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

is this — that your great man, as far as size is concerned,
is often a nobody ; and your little man is often a great
man. Nature, as far as the human race is concerned, is
at variance with Art, which generally couples greatness
with size. The pyramids, the temple of Jupiter Olym-
pius, St. Peter's, and St. Paul's, are vast in their dimen-
sions, and the heroes of Painting and Sculpture are
always on a grand scale. In Language, the diminutive
is indicative of endearment — in Nature, it appears to me,
it is the type of distinction. Alexander, Ccesar, Napoleon,
Wellington, &c. &c, (for I have not room to detail,) are
instances. But do we not hear every day that " such-a-
body is a big booby," while "a clever little fellow " has
almost passed into a proverb. The poets have been
more true to nature than painters, in this particular, and
in her own divine art, her happiest votaries have been living
evidences of her predilection to " packing her choicest
goods in small parcels." Pope was " a crooked little
thing that asked questions," and in our own days, our
own "little Moore " is a elorious testimony to the fact.
The works of fiction abound with instances, that the
author does not consider it necessary his hero shall be an
eligible candidate for the "grenadier corps ;" the earlier
works of fiction in particular : Fairy tales, universally,
dedicate some giant to destruction at the hands of some
" clever little fellow." " Tom Thumb," " Jack and the
Beau Stalk," and fifty other such, for instance, and I am
now going to add another to the list, a brilliant example
I trust, of the unfailing rule, that your little man is
always a great man.

If any gentleman six feet two inches high gets angry
at reading this, I beg him to remember that I am a
little man myself, and if he be a person of sense, (which
is supposing a great deal,) he will pardon, from his own
feeling of indignation at this expose of Patagonian
inferiority, the consequent triumph on my part, of
Lilliputian distinction. If, however, his inches get the
better of him, and he should call me out, I beg of him

LITTLE FAIRLY. 353

to remember again, that I have the advantage of him
there too, in being a little man. There is a proverb
also, that " little said is soon mended," and with all my
preaching, I fear I have been forgetting the wholesome
adage. So I shall conclude this little introduction,
which I only thought a becoming flourish of trumpets
for introducing my hero, by placing Little Fairly before
my readers, and I hope they will not think, in the
words of another adage, that I have given them great
cry and little wool.

You see owld Fairly was a mighty dacent man that
lived, as the story goes, out over the back o' the hills
beyant there, and was a thrivin' man ever afther he
married little Shan Ruadh's* daughter, and she was
little, like her father before her, a dawnshee craythur,
but mighty cute, and industhered a power always, and a
fine wife she was to a sthrivin' man, up early and down
late, and shure if she was doin' nothin' else, the bit iv
a stocking was never out iv her hand, and the knittin'
needles goin' like mad. Well, sure they thruv like a
flag or a bulrush, and the snuggest cabin in the
counthry side was owld Fairly's. And, in due coorse,
she brought him a son, (throth she lost no time about it
either, for she was never given to loitherin',) and he was
thepicthur o' the mother, the little ottomy that he was,
as slim as a ferret and as red as a fox, but a hardy
craythur. Well, owld Fairly didn't like the thoughts
of havin' sitch a bitiv a brat for a son, and besides he
thought he got on so well and prospered in the world
with one wife, that by gor, he detarmined to improve
his luck and get another. So with that, he ups and
goes to one Doody, who had a big daughter — a wopper,
by my sowl, throth she was the full of a door, and was
called by the neighbours garran more,\ for in throth
she was a garran, the dirty dhrop was in her, a nasty

* Eed John. + Big horse.

23

354 LEGENDS AND STOKIES.

stag that never done a good turn for any one but
herself, the long-sided jack that she was; but her
father had a power o money, and above a hundher
head o' cattle, and devil a chick nor child he had but
herself; so that she was a great catch for whoever
could get her, as far as the fortin' went ; but throth
the boys did not like the looks iv her, and let herself
and her fortin' alone. Well, as I was sayin', owld
Fairly ups and goes to Doody and puts his comether an
the girl, and faix she was glad to be ax'd, and so
matthers were soon settled, and the ind of it was they
wor married.

Now may be it's axin' you d be, how he could marry
two wives at wanst ; but I towld you before, it was
long ago, in the good owld ancient times, whin a man
could have plinty of every thing. So home he brought
the dirty garran, and sorra long was she in the place
whin she began to breed, (arrah, lave off and don't be
laughin' now; I don't mane that at all,) whin she
began to breed ructions in the fam'ly and to kick up
antagions from mornin' till night, and put betune owld
Fairly and his first wife. "Well, she had a son of her
own soon, and he was a big boss iv a divil, like his
mother — a great fat lob that had no life in him at all ;
and while the little daunshee craythur would laugh in
your face and play wid you if you cherrup'd to him, or
would amuse himself the craythur, crawlin' about the
flure and playin' wid the sthraws, and atein' the gravel,
the jewel, — the other bosthoon was roarin' from mornin'
till night, barrin' he was crammed wid stirabout and
dhrownded a'most wid milk. Well, up they grew, and
the big chap turned out a gommoch, and the little chap
was as knowin' as a jailor ; and though the big mother
was always puttin' up her lob to malthrate and abuse
little Fairly, the dickins a one but the little chap used
to sarcumvint him, and gev him no pace, and led him the
life iv a dog wid the cunnin' thricks he played an him.
Now, while all the neighbours a'most loved the ground

XITTLE FAIELY. 355

that little Fairly throd on, they cudn't abide the garran
more's foal, good, bad, or indifferent, and many's the
sly mcilavoffuein' he got behind a hedge, from one or
another, when his father or mother wasn't near to
purtect him, for owld Fairly was as great a fool about
him as the mother, and would give him his eyes a'most
to play marvels, while he didn't care three thraneens
for the darlint little chap. And 'twas the one thing as
long as he lived ; and at last he fell sick, and sure
many thought it was a judgment an him for his
unnathrel doin's to his own flesh and blood, and the
sayin' through the parish was from one and all, " There's
owld Fairly is obleeged to take to his bed ivith the iceight
of his sins." And sure enough off o' that same bed he
never riz, but grew weaker and weaker every day, and
sint for the priest to make his sowl, the wicked owld
sinner, God forgive me for sayin' the word, and sure
the priest done whatever he could for him ; but afther
the priest wint away he called his two wives beside his
bed, and the two sons, and says he, " I'm goin' to lave
yiz now," says he, " and sorry I am," says he, " for I'd
rather stay in owld Ireland than go anywhere else,"
says he, " for a raison I have — heigh! heigh! heigh!
■ — Oh, murther, this cough is smotherin' me, so it is.
Oh, wurra ! wurra ! but it's sick and sore I am. Well,
come here yiz both," says he to the women, " you wor
good wives both o' ye ; I have nothin' to say agin
it — (Molly, don't forget the whate is to be winny'd the
first fine day) — and ready you wor to make and to mend
(Judy, there's a hole in the foot of my left stockin'),

and "

" Don'tbe thinkin' o' your footin' here," says little Judy,
the knowledgable craythur, as she was, " but endayvour
to make yourfootin'in heaven" says she, "mavourneen."
" Don't put in your prate 'till you're ax'd," says the
owld savage, no ways obleeged that his trusty little owld
woman was wantin' to give him a helpin' hand tow'rds
puttin' his poor sinful soul in the way o' glory.

856 LEGENDS AND STOBIES.

" Lord look down an you ! " says she.

" Tuck the blanket round my feet," says he, " for I'm
gettin' very eowld."

So the big old hag of a wife tucked the blankets round
him.

" Ah, you were always a comfort to me," says owld
Fairly.

" Well, remember my son for that same," says she,
" for it's time I think you'd be dividin' what you have
bechuxt uz," says she.

" Well, I suppose I must do it at last," says the owld
chap, " though — hegh ! hegh ! hegh ! Oh this thievin'
cough — it's hard to be obleeged to lave one's hard aim-
ins and comforts this a-way," says he, the unfort'nate
owld thief, thinkin' o' this world instead of his own
poor sinful sowl.

"Come here big Fairly," says he, "my own bully
boy, that's not a starved poor ferret, but worth while
lookin' at. I lave you this house," says he.

" Ha!" says the big owld sthrap, makin' a face over
the bed at the poor little woman that was cryin' the
craythur, although the owld villian was usin' her so bad.

" And I lave you all my farms," says he.

" Ha !" says the big owld sthreel again.

" And my farmin' ingraydients" says he.

" Ha !" says she again, taken' a pinch o' snuff.

" And all my cattle," says he.

«' Did you hear that, ma'am r" says the garran more,
stickin' her arms a kimbo, and lookin' as if she was
goin' to bate the woman.

" All my cattle," says the owld fellow, " every head,"
says he, " barrin' one, and that one is for that poor
scaldcrow there," says he, "little Fairly."

" And is it only one you lave my poor boy ?" says the
poor little woman.

" If you say much," says the owld dyin' vagabone,
" the divil recave the taste of any thing I'll lave him or
you," says he.

" Don't say divil, davlin' "

" Howld your prate I tell you, and listen to me. I
say, you little Fairly — "

*" Well, daddy," says the little chap.

" Go over to that corner cupboard," says he, " and in
the top shelf," says he, " in the bottom of a crack' d tay-
pot, you'll find a piece of an owld rag, and bring it here
to me."

With that little Fairly went to do as he was bid,
but he could not reach up so high as the corner
cupboard, and he ran into the next room for a stool
to stand upon to come at the crack' d taypot, and he
got the owld piece iv a rag and brought it to his
father.

" Open it," says the father.

" I have it open now," says little Fairly.

" What's in it," says the owld boy.

" Six shillin's in silver, and three farthin's," says
little Fairly.

" That was your mother's fortune," says the father,
" and I'm going to behave like the hoighth of a gentle-
man, as I am," says he ; " and I hope you won'!
squandher it," says he, " the way that every black-
guard now thinks he has a right to squandher ani
decent man's money he is heir to," says he, " but ba
careful of it," says he, " as I was, for I never touched a
rap iv it, but let it lay gotherin' in that taypot, ever
since the day I got it from Shan Ruadh, the day we
sthruck the bargain about Judy, over beyant at the
' Cat and Bagpipes,' comin' from the fair; and I lave
you that six shillings, and Jive stone o' mouldy oats
that's no use to me, and four broken plates, and that
^/wee-legged stool you stood upon to get at the cup-
board, you poor nharrough that you are, and the two
spoons without handles, and the one cow that's gone
back of her milk."

" What use is the cow, daddy," says little Fairly,
" widout land to feed her an ?"

358 LEGENDS AND STOEIES.

"Maybe it's land you want, you pinkeen," says the
big brother.

" Right, my bully boy," says the mother, " stand up
for your own."

" Well, well," says the owld chap, " I tell you what,
big Fairly," says he, " you may as well do a dacent
turn for the little chap, and give him grass for his cow.
I lave you all the land," says he, " but you'll never miss
grass for one cow," says he, "and you'll have the
satisfaction of bein' bountiful to your little brother, bad
cess to him for a starved hound as he is."

But, to make a long story short, the ould chap soon
had the puff out iv him ; and when the wake M'as over,
and that they put him out to grass — laid him asleep,
snug, with a daisy quilt over him — throth that minit the
poor little woman and her little offsprig was turned out
body and bones, and forced to seek shelter any way
they could.

Well, little Fairly was a cute chap, and so he made a
little snug place out of the back iv a ditch, and wid
moss, and rishes, and laves,, and brambles, made his owld
mother snug enough, until he got a little mud cabin
built for her, and the cow gev them milk, and the cray-
thurs got on purty well, until the big dirty vagabone of
a brother began to grudge the cow the bit o' grass, and
he ups and says he to little Fairly one day, " What's
the raison," says he, "your cow does be threspassin' an
my fields ?" says he.

" Sure and wasn't it the last dyin' words o' my father
to you," says little Fairly, " that you would let me have
grass for my cow?"

" I don't remember it," says tig Fairly — the dirty
naygur, who was put up to all by the garran more, his
mother.

" Yiv a short memory," says little Fairly.

"Yis, but I've a long stick," says the big chap,
shakin' it at him at the same time, " and I'd rekim-
mind you to keep a civil tongue in your head," says he.

1ITTLE FAIELT. 359

" You're mighty ready to bate your little brother ;
but would you fight your match ?" says little Fairly.

" Match or no match," says big Fairly, "I'll brake
your bones if you give me more o' your praie," says he ;
" and I tell you again, don't let your cow be threspassin'
an my land, or I warn you that you'll be sorry," and off
he wint.

Well, little Fairly kept nevermindin' him, and brought
his cow to graze every day on big Fairly's land ; and
the big fellow used to come and hish her off the land,
but the cow was as little and cute as her masther — she
was a Kerry cow, and there's a power o' cuteness comes
out o' Kerry. Well, as I was sayin', the cow used to
go off as quiet as a lamb ; but the minit the big bosthoon
used to turn his back, whoo ! my jewel, she used to leap
the ditch as clever as a hunter, and back wid her again
to graze, and faix good use she made of her time, for
she got brave and hearty, and gev a power o' milk,
though she was goin' back of it shortly before, but there
was a blessin' over Fairly, and all belongin' to him, and
all that he put his hand to thruv with him. Well, now
I must tell you what big Fairly done — and the dirty
turn it was ; but the dirt was in him ever and always,
and kind mother it was for him. Well, what did he do
but he dug big pits all through the field where little
Fairly's cow used to graze, and he covers them up with
branches o' threes and sods, makin' it look fair and even,
and all as one as the rest o' the field, and with that he
goes to little Fairly, and says he, " I tould you before,"
says he, " not to be sendin' your little blackguard cow
to threspass on my fields," says he, " and mind I tell you
now, that it won't be good for her health to let her go
there again, for I tell you she'll come to harm, and it's
dead she'll be before long."

" Well, she may as well die one way as another," says
little Fairly, " for sure if she doesn't get grass she must
die, and I tell you again, divil an off your land I'll take
my cow."

360 LEGENDS AND STOBIES.

" Can't you let your dirty cow graze along the road
side ?" says big Fairly.

" Why then do you think," says little Fairly, answer-
ing him mighty smart, " do you think I have so little
respect for my father's cow as to turn her out a beggar
an the road to get her dinner off the common highway ?
throth I'll do no sitch thing."

" "Well, you'll soon see the end ivit," says big Fairly,
and off he wint in great delight, thinking how poor little
Fairly's cow would be killed. And now wasn't he the
dirty, threacherous, black-hearted villain, to take ad-
vantage of a poor cow, and lay a thrap for the dumb
baste ? — but whin the dirty dhrop is in, it must come
out. Well, poor Fairly sent his cow to graze next
mornin', but the poor little darlin' craythur fell into one
o' the pits and was kilt ; and when little Fairly kem for
her in the evenin' there she was cowld and stiff, and all
he had to do now was to sing drimmin dhu dheelish
over her, dhrag her home as well as he could, wid the
help of some neighbours that pitied the craythur and
cursed the big bosthoon that done such a threacherous
turn.

Well, little Fairly was the fellow to put the best face
upon every thing ; and so, instead of givin' in to fret,
and makin' lamentations that would do him no good, by
dad he began to think how he could make the best of
what happened, and the little craythur sharpened a
knife immediately and began to skin the cow, " and
anyhow," says he, " the cow is good mate, and my owld
mother and me 'ill have beef for the winther."

" Thrue for you, little Fairly," said one of the neigh-
bours was helpin' him, " and besides, the hide 'ill be
good to make soJes for your brogues for many a long
day."

"Oh, I'll do betther with the hide nor that," says
little Fairly.

" Why what better can you do nor that wid it :" says
the neighbour.

LITTLE FAIRLY. 361

" Oh, I know myself," says little Fairly, for he was as
cute as a fox as I said before, and wouldn't tell his say-
crets to a stone wall, let alone a companion. And what
do you think he done with the hide? Guess now —
throth I'd let you guess from this to Christmas, and
you'd never come inside it. Faix it was the complatest
thing ever you heerd. What would you think but he
tuk the hide and cut six little holes in partic'lar places
he knew av himself, and thin he goes and he gets his
mother's fortin, the six shillin's I told you about, and
he hides the six shillin's in the six holes, and away he
wint to a fair was convenient, about three days afther,
where there was a great sight o1 people, and a power o'
sellin' and buyin', and dhrinkin' and fightin', by course,
and lohy nat ?

Well, Fairly ups and he goes right into the very
heart o' the fair, an' he spread out his hide to the greatest
advantage, and he began to cry out (and by the same
token, though he was little he had a mighty sharp voice,
and could be heard farther nor a bigger man), well he
began to cry out, " Who wants to buy a hide ? — the
rale hide — the owld original goolden bull's hide that
kem from furrin parts, — who wants to make their fortin'
now?"

" What do you ax for your hide ? " says a man to bin..

" Oh, I only want a thrifle for it," says Fairly,
" seein' I'm disthressed for money, at this present
writin," says he, " and by fair or foul manes I must rise
the money," says he, " at wanst, for if I could wait, it's
not the thrifle I'm axin now I'd take for the hide."

" By gor you talk," says the man, " as if the hide was
worth the King's ransom, and I'm thinkin'you must have
a great want of a few shillin's," says he, " whin the hide
is all you have to the fore, to dipind an."

" Oh, that's all you know about it," says Faiily,
" shillin's indeed ! by gor it's handfuls o' money the
hide is worth. Who'll buy a hide — the rale goolden
bull's hide ! ! ! "

362 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

" What do you ax for your hide ?'' says another man.

" Only a hundher guineas," says little Fairly.

" A hundher what?" says the man.

" A hundher guineas," says Fairly.

" Is it takin' lave of your siren small sinses you are ?"
says the man.

"Why thin indeed I b'lieve I am takin' lave o' my
sinses sure enough," says Fairly, " to sell my hide so
chape."

"Chape," says the man, " arrah thin listen to the
little mad vagabone," says he to the crowd that was
gother about by this time, " listen to him askin' a hun-
dher guineas for a hide."

" Aye," says Fairly, " and the well laid out money it
'ill be to whoever has the luck to buy it. This is none
o' your common hides — it's the goolden bull's hide, —
the Pope s goolden bull's hide, that kem from furrin
parts, and it's a fortune to whoever 'ill have patience to
bate his money out iv it."

"How do you mane?" says a snug owld chap, that
was always poachin' about for bargains — " Ineverheerd
of batin' money out of a hide," says he.

" Well, then, I'll show you," says Fairly, '■' and only
I'm disthressed for a hundher guineas, that I must have
before Monday next," says he, " I wouldn't part wid
this hide ; for every day in the week you may thrash a
fistful o' shillin's out iv it, if you take pains, as you may
see." And wid that, my jew'l, he ups wid a cudgel he
had in his hand, and he began leatherin' away at the
hide ; and he hits it in the place he knew himself, and
outjump'd one o' the shillin's he hid there. " Hurroo!"
says little Fairly, " darlint you wor, you never desaived
me yet ! !" and away he thrashed agin, and out jumped
another shillin' " That's your sort !" says Fairly, " the
divil a sitch wages any o' yiz ever got for thrashin' as
this " — and then another whack, and away wid another
shillm'

" Stop, stop !" says the owld cravin' chap, " I'll give

LITTLE FAIRLY. 363

you the money for the hide," says he, "if you'll let me see
can I bate money out iv it." And wid that he began to
thrashthehide,and,by course, another shillin 'jumped out.

" Oh ! its yourself has the rale twist in your elbow for
it," says Fairly; " and I see by that same, that you're
above the common, and desarvin' of my favour."

Well, my dear, at the word " desarvin' o' my favour,"
the people that was gother round, (for by this time all
the fair a'most was there), began to look into the rights
o' the thing, and, one and all, they agreed that little
Fairly was one o' the ' good people ;' for if he wasn't a
fairy, how could he do the like ? and, besides he was
sitch a daivnshee craythur they thought what else could
he be ? and says they to themselves, " That owld divil,
Mulligan, it's the likes iv him id have the luck iv it ; and
let alone all his gains in this world, and his scrapin' and
screwin',and it's the fairies themselves must come to help
him, as if he wasn't rich enough before." Well, the
owld chap paid down a hundher guineas in hard goold
to little Fairly, and off he wint wid his bargain.

" The divil do you good wid it," says one, grudgin' it
to him.

" What business has he wid a hide?" says another,
jealous of the old fellow's luck.

"Whynat?" says another, "sure he'd shkin a flint any
day, and why wouldn't he shkin a cow."

Well, the owld codger wint home as plased as Punch
wid his bargain ; and indeed little Fairly had no raison
not to be satisfied, for in throth, he got a good price for
the hide, considherin' the markets wasn't so high then as
they are now, by rayson of the staymers, that makes gin-
tlemin iv the pigs, sendin' them an their thravels to fur-
rin parts, so that a rasher o' bacon in poor Ireland is
gettin' scarce even on a Aisther Sunday.*

* On Easter Sunday, in Ireland, whoever is not proscribed, by the dire
edicts of poverty, from the indulgence, has a morsel of meat on Easter
Sunday, as a bonne bouche after the severe fasting in Lent, enjoined by the
Koman Catholic Church.

364 1EGENDS AND STOEIES.

You may be sure the poor owld mother of little Fairly
was proud enough when she seen him tumble out the
hard goold an the table forninst her, and " my darlint
you wor," says she, " an' how did you come by that sight
'o' goold?"

" I'll tell you another time," says little Fairly, " but
you must set off to my brother's now, and ax him to lind
me the loan iv his scales."

" AVhy, what do you want wid a scales, honey?" sayj
the owld nother.

" Oh ! I'll tell you that another time too," says little.
Fairly; " but be aff now and don't let the grass grow
undher your feet."

Well, off wint the owld woman, and may be you'd
want to know yourself what it was Fairly wanted wid the
scales. Why, thin, he only wanted thim just for to make
big Fairly curious about the matther, that he might play
him a thrick, as you'll see by-an-by.

Well, the little owld woman wasn't long in bringin'
back the scales, and whin she gave them to little Fairly,
"There, now," says he, "sit down beside the fire, and
there's a new pipe for you and a quarthen o' tobaccy,
that I brought home for you from the fair, and do you
make yourself comfortable, "says he, " till I comeback;"
and out he wint and sat down behind a ditch, to watch
if big Fairly was coram' to the house, for he thought the
curiosity o' the big gommoch and the garran more would
make them come down to spy about the place, and see.
what he wanted wid the scales ; and, sure enough, he
wasn't there long when he seen them both crassin'
a stile hard by, and in he jumped into the gripe o'
the ditch, and ran along under the shelter o' the back
av it, and whipped into the house, and spread all his
goold out an the table, and began to weigh it in the
scales.

But he wasn't well in, whin the cord o' the latch was
dhrawn,and in marched big Fairly, and the garran more,
his mother, without " by your lave," or " God save you,"

UTILE FAIELT. 365

for they had no breedin" at all.* Well, my jewel, the
minit they clapped their eyes an the goold, you'd think
the sight id lave their eyes : and indeed not only their
eyes, let alone, but their tongues in their heads was no
use to thim, for the divil a word either o' them could
spake for beyant a good five minutes. So, all that time
little Fairly kept never mindin' them, but wint an a
weighin' the goold, as busy as anailor, and at last, when
the big brute kem to his speech, " Why thin," says he,
" what's that I see you doin' ?" says he.

" Oh, it's only divartin' myself I am," says little Fairly,
" thryin' what woight o' goold I got for my goods at
the fair," says he.

" Your goods indeed," says the big chap, " I suppose
you robbed some honest man an the road, you little
vagabone," says he.

" Oh, I'm too little to rob any one," says little Fairly,
" I'm not a fine big able fellow, like you, to do that
same." " Then how did you come by the goold ?"' says
the big savage. "I towldyou before, by sellin' my goods,"
says the little fellow. " Why, what goods have you,
you poor unsignified little brat ?" says big Fairly, " you
never had anything but your poor beggarly cow, and
she's dead."

" Throth then, she is dead ; and more by token, 'twas
yourself done for her complate, anyhow ; and I'm
behoulden to you that same the longest day I have to
live, for it was the makin' o' me. You wor ever and
always the good brother to me ; and never more than
whin you killed my cow, for it's the makin' o' me. The
divil a rap you see here I'd have had if my cow was
alive, for I went to the fair to sell her hide, brakin' my
heart to think that it was only a poor hide I had to sell,
andwishin' it was a cow was to the fore ; but, my dear,
when I got there, there was no ind to the demand for
hides, and the divil a one, good, bad, or indifferent, was

* Good manners.

866 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

there but my own, and there was any money for hides,
and so I got a hundher guineas for it, and there they
are."

" Why then do you tell me so?" says the big chap.
" Divil a lie in it," says little Fairly — " I got a hundher
guineas for the hide. Oh, I wish I had another cow for
you to kill for me, — throth would I !"

" Come home, mother," says big Fairly, without sayin'
another word, and away he wint home, and what do you
think he done but he killed every individyal cow he had,
and, " By gor," says he, " it's the rich man I'll be when
I get a hundher guineas apiece for all their hides," and
accordingly off he wint to the next fair hardby, and he
brought a car load o' hides, and began to call out in the
fair, " Who wants the hides ? — here's the chape hides
— only a hundher guineas apiece !"

" Oh do you hear thatvagabone that has the assurance
to come chatin' the country again?" says some people
that was convaynient, and that heerd o' the doin's at
the other fair, and how the man was chated by a
sleeveen vagabone — " and think of him to have the
impudence to come here, so nigh the place to take
in uz now! But we'll be even wid him," says they;
and so they went up to him, and says they to the
thievin' rogue, " Honest man," says they, " what's that
you have to sell ?"

" Hides," says he.

" What do you ax for them?" says they.

" A hundher and ten guineas apiece," says he — for
he was a greedy crathur, and thought he never could
have enough.

" Why you i±z the price on them since the last time,"
says they.

" Oh these are better," says big Fairly ; " but I don't
mind if I sell them for a hundher apiece, if you give me
the money down," says he.

" You shall be ped on the spot," says the^r — and with
that they fell on him, and thrashed him like a shafe, till

IITTIE AIRLY. 367

they didn't lave a spark o' sinse in him, and then they
left him sayin', " Are you ped noiv my boy ? — faix you'll
be a warnin' to all rogues for the futhur, how they come
to fairs, chatin' honest min out o' their money, wid cock-
and-bull stories about their hides ; but in throth I think
your own hide isn't much the better of the tannin' it got
to-day — faix and it was the rale oak bark was put to it,
and that's the finest tan stuff in the world, and I think
it 'ill sarve you for the rest of your life." And with
that they left him for dead.

But you may remark its hardher to kill a dirty
noxious craythur than any thing good, and so by big
Fairly — he contrived to get home, and his vagabone
mother sawdhered him up afther a manner, and the
minit he was come to his strength at all, he detarmint to
be revenged on little Fairly for what he had done, and
so off he set to catch him while he'd be at brekquest,
and he bowlted into the cabin wid a murtherin' shillelah
in his fist — and " Oh," says he, " you little mischievious
miscrayant," says he, " what made you ruinate me
by making me kill my cows ?" says he.

" Sure 1 din't bid you kill your cows," says little
Fairly — and that was all thrue, for you see, there was
the cuteness o' the little chap, for he didn't bidhim kill
them sure enough, but he let an in that manner, that
deludhered the big fool, and sure divil mend him.

" Yes, you did bid me," says big Fairly, " or all as
one as bid me, and I haven't a cow left, and my bones
is bruck all along o' your little jackeen manyeivvers, you
onlooky sprat that you are, but by this and that I'll
have my revenge o' you now, and with that he fell an
him and was goin' to murther poor little Fairly, only he
run undher a stool, and kept tiggin' about from one
place to th' other, that the big botch couldn't get a
right offer at him at all at all, and at last the little owld
mother got up to put a stop to the ruction, but if she
did, my jew'l, it was the unlooky minit for her, for by
dad she kem in for a chance tap o' the cudgel that big

368 LEGENDS AND STOKIES.

Fairly was weltin' away with, and you know there's an
owld sayin' " a chance shot may kill the divil," and why
not an owld woman ?

Well, that put an end to the sh-immage, for the
phillilew that little Fairly set up whin he seen his owld
mother kilt, would ha' waked the dead, and the big
chap got frekened himself, and says little Fairly, " By
gor, if there's law to be had," says he, "and I think
/ have a chance o' justice, now that I have money to
spare, and, if there's law in the land, I'll have you in
the body o' the jail afore to-morrow," says he ; and wid
that the big chap got cowed, and wint off like a dog
without his tail, and so poor little Fairly escaped bein'
murthered that offer, and was left to cry over his mother,
an' indeed the craythur was sorry enough, and he
brought in the neighbours and gev the owdd woman a
dacent wake, and there was few pleasanther evenin's
that night in the county than the same wake, for Fairly
was mighty fond of his mother, and faix he done the
thing ginteely by her, and good raison he had, for she
was the good mother to him while she was alive, and by
dad, by his own cuteness, he conthrived she should be
the useful mother to him afther she was dead too. For
what do you think he done ? Oh ! by the Piper o'
Blessintown you'd never guess, if you wor guessin' from
this to Saint Tib's eve, and that falls neither before nor
afther Christmas we all know. Well, there's no use
guessin'. so I must tell you. You see the owld mother
was a nurse to the Squire, that lived hard by, and so,
by coorse, she had a footin' in the house any day in the
week she pleased, and used often to go over and see the
Squire's childhre, for she was as fond o' them a'most as
if she nursed thini too ; and so what does Fairly do but
he carried over the owld mother stiff as she was, and
dhressed in her best, and he stole in, unknownst, into
the Squire's garden, and he propped up the dead owld
woman stan'in hard by a well was in the gardin, wid
her face fominst the gate, and her back to the well, and

XITTLE FAIELY. 369

wid that he wint into the house, and made out the
childhre, and says he, " God save you, Masther
Tommy," says he, " God save you, Masther Jimmy,
Miss Matty, and Miss Molshee," says he, " an' I'm glad
to see you well, and sure there's the owld Mammy nurse
come to see yiz, childhre," says he, " and she's down by
the well in the garden, and she has gingerbread for yiz,"
says he, "and whoever o' yiz runs to her first 'ill get
the most gingerbread ; and I rekimmind yiz to lose no
time but run a race and sthrive who'll win the ginger-
bread." Well, my dear, to be sure off set the young
imps, runnin' and screechin', " Here I am, mammy
nurse, here I am," and they wor brakin' their necks
a'most to see who'd be there first, and wid that they
run with sitch voylence, that the first o' thim run
whack up agin the poor owld woman's corpse, and
threwn it over plump into the middle o' the well. To be
sure the childhre was frekened, as well they might, and
back agin they ran as fast as they kem, roarin' murther,
and they riz the house in no time, and little Fairly was
among the first to go see what was the matther, (by the
way) and he set up a hullagone my jewel that ud split
the heart of a stone ; and out kem the Squire and his
wife, and " What's the matther ?" says they. " Is it
what's the matther ?" says Fairly, " don't yiz see my
lovely owld mother is dhrowned by these devil's imps o'
childhre ?" says he ; " Oh Masther Jemmy, is that the
way you thrated the poor owld mammy nurse, to go
dhrownd her like a rot afther that manner ?" " Oh,
the childhre didn't intind it," said the Squire. "I'm
sorry for your mother, Fairly, but '"

"But what?" says little Fairly, "sorry — in throth
and I'll make you sorry, for I'll rise the counthry, or I'll
get justice for such an unnath'ral murther; and whoever
done it must go to jail, if it was even Miss Molshee
herself."

Well the Squire did not like the matther to go to that,
and so says he, " Oh, I'll make it worth your while to

24

870 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

say nothing about it, Fairly, and here's twenty goolden
guineas for you," says he.

" Why thin do you think me such a poor blooded
craythur as to sell my darlin' owld mother's life for
twenty guineas ? No, in throth, tho' if you w or to make
it fifty I might be talkin' to you."

Well, the Squire thought itwas a dear morning's work,
and that he had very little for his money in a dead owld
woman, but sooner than have the childhre get into
throuble and have the matther made a blowiii1 horn of,
he gev him the fifty guineas, and the owld mother was
dhried and waked over agin, so that she had greather
respect ped to her than a Lord or a Lady. So you see
what cleverness and &janius for cuteness does.

Well, away he wint home afther the owld woman was
buried wid his fifty guineas snug in his pocket, and so
he wint to big Fairly's to ax for the loan of the scales
once more, and the brother ax'd him for what ? " Oh,
it's only a small thrifle more o' goold I have," says the
little chap, " that I want to weigh."

" Is it more goold ?" says big Fairly, " why it's a folly
to talk, but you must be either a robber or a coiner to
come by money so fast."

" Oh, this is only a thrifle I kern by at the death o' my
mother," says little Fairly.

" Why bad luck to the rap she had to lave you, any
way," says the big chap.

" I didn't say she left me a fortin'," says little Fairly.

" You said you kem by the money by your mother's
death," says the big brother.

" Well, an' that's thrue" says the little fellow, " an'
I'll tell you how it was. You see afther you killed her,
I thought I might as well make the most I could of her,
and says I to myself, faix and I had great good luck wid
the cow he killed for me, and why wouldn't I get more
for my mother nor a cow ? and so away I wint to the
town and I offered her to the docthor there, and he was
greatly taken wid her, and by dad he wouldn't let me

IITTIE FAIRLY. 871

lave the house without sellin' her to him, and faix he gev
me fifty guineas for her."

" Is it fifty guineas for a corpse ?"

" It's thruth I'm tellin' you, and was much ohleeged
into the bargain, and the raison is you see, that there's
no sitch thing to be had for love or money, as a dead
owld woman — there's no killin' them at all at all, so that
a dead owld woman is quite a curosity."

"Well, there's the scales for you," says big Fairly, and
away the little chap wint to weigh his goold (as he let
on) as he did before. But what would you think, my
dear — throth you'll hardly b'lieve me when I tell you.
Little Fairly hadn't well turned his back whin the big
savage wint into the house where his owld mother was,
and tuck up a rapin' hook, and kilt her an the spot —
divil a lie in it. Oh, no wondher you look cruked at
the thoughts of it ; but it's morially thrue,— faix he cut
the life out ov her, and he detarmined to turn in his
harvist for that same, as soon as he could, and so away
he wint to the docthor in the town hard by, where little
Fairly towld him he sowld his mother, and he knocked
at the door, and walked into the hall with a sack on his
shouldher, and settin' down the sack, he said he wanted
to spake to the docthor. Well, when the docthor kern,
and heard the vagabone talkin' o' fifty guineas for an old
woman, he began to laugh at him ; but whin he opened
the sack and seen how the poor owld craythur was mur-
dhered, he set up a shout, " Oh, you vagabone," says he
" you sack-im up villain," says he, " you've Burked the
woman," says he, " and now you come to rape the fruits
o' your murdher." Well, the minit big Fairly heerd the
word murdher, and rapin' the reward, he thought the
doctor was up to the way of it, and he got frekened,
and with that the docthor opened the hall-door and
called the watch, but Fairly bruk loose from him, and
ran away home ; and when once he was gone, the docthot
thouyht there would be no use in rising a ruction about it,
and so he shut the door and never minded the police.

372 LEGENDS AND STOEIES.

Big Fairly to be sure was so frekened, he never cried
stop, antil lie got clean outside the town, and with that,
the first place he wint to was little Fairly's house, and,
burstin' in the door, he said, in a tarin' passion, " What
work is this you have been at now, you onlooky mis-
crayant?" says he.

"I haven't been at any work," says little Fairly:
•' See yourself," says he, " my sleeves is new'' says he,
howldin' out the cuffs av his coat to him at the same
time, to show him.

" Don't think to put me affthat-a-way with your little
kimmeens, and your divartin' capers," says the big chap,
" for I tell you I'm in airnest, and it's no jokin' matther
it 'ill be to you, for, by this an' that, I'll have the life o'
you, you little spidhoyue of an abortion as you are, you
made me kill my cows. Don't say a word, for you know
it's thrue."

" I never made you kill your cows," says little Fairly,
no ways daunted by the fierce looks o' the big bosthoon.

" Whist ! you vagabone !" says the big chap. " You
didn't bid me do it out o' the face, in plain words, but
you made me sinsible."

" Faix an thativas chin' a wondher'' says little Fairly,
who couldn't help having the laugh at him though he
was sore afeard.

" Bad luck to you you little sneerin' vagabone," says
the big chap again, " I know what you mane you long-
headed schkamer, that you are ; but by my sowl, your
capers 'ill soon be cut short, as you'll see to your cost.
But before I kill you, I'll show you to your face, the
villian that you are, and it is no use your endayvourin'
to consale your bad manners to me, for if you had a veil
as thick as the shield of A — jax, which was made o' siv'n
bull hides, it would not sarve for to cover the half o'
ycur inni — quitties."--'

• A lady assured me this was the genuine speech of a hedge school-
master.

LITTLE FAIRLY. 373

"Whoo! that's the owld schoolmasther's speechyou're
puttin' an us now," says little Fairly, " and faith it's the
only thing you iver lamed, I b'lieve, from him."

" Yis, I larned how fine a thing it is to bate a little
chap less than myself, and you'll see with a blessin', how
good a scholar I am at that same ; and you desarve it,
for I towld you just now before you intherrupted me,
how you made me kill all my cows, (and that was the
sore loss,) and afther that whin you could do no more,
you made me kill my mother, and divil a good it done
me, but nigh hand got me into the watch-house;
and so now I'm detarmint you won't play me any
more thricks, for I'll hide you snug in the deepest
bog-hole in the Bog of Allen, and if you throuble
me afther that, faix I think it '11 be the wondher;" and
with that he made a grab at the little chap, and while
you'd be sayin' " thrap stick," he cotch him, and put
him body and bones into a sack, and he threwn the sack
over the back of a horse was at the door, and away he
wint in a tairin' rage, straight for the Bog of Allen.
Well, to be sure, he couldn't help stoppin' at a public
house by the road-side, for he was dhry with rage; an
he tuk the sack where little Fairly was tied up, and he
lifted it aff o' the horse, an' put it standin' up beside the
door goin' into the public-house ; an he wasn't well gone
in, whin a farmer was comin' by too, and he was as dhry
wid the dust as ever big Fairly was with the rage, (an'
indeed it's wondherful how aisy it is to make a man
dhry ;) and so, as he was goin' by he sthruck agin the
sack that little Fairly was in, and little Fairly gev a
groan that you'd think kem from the grave ; and says
he (from inside o' the sack) "God forgive y»'i,"
says he.

" Who's there ?" says the farmer startin', and no
wondher.

" It's me," says little Fairly, " and may the Lord
forgive you," says he, "for you have disturbedme, and
I half-way to heaven"

374 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

" Why who are you at all ?" says the farmer. " Are
you a man ?" says he.

"lama man, now, says little Fairly, " though if
you didn't disturb me I'd have been an angel of glory
in less than no time," says he.

" How do you make that out, honest man ?" says the
farmer.

" I can't explain it to you," says little Fairly, "for
it's a mysthery ; but what I tell you is truth," says he,
" and 1 tell you that whoever is in this sack at this pre-
sent," says he, " is as good as half way to heav'n, and
indeed I thought I was there a'most, only you sthruck
agin me, an disturbed me."

" An do you mane for to say," says the farmer, " that
whoiver is in that sack will go to heaven ?"

" Faix they are on their road there at all events,"
says little Fairly, " and if they lose their way, it's their
own fault."

" Oh thin," says the farmer, " may be you'd let me
get into the sack along wid you, for to go to heaven
too."

" Oh, the horse that's to bring us doesn't carry
double" says little Fairly.

" Well, will you let me get into the sack instead of
you ?" says the farmer.

" Why thin, do you think I'd let any one take sitch
a dirty advantage o' me as to go to heaven afore me ?"
says little Fairly.

" Oh, I'll make it worth your while," says the
farmer.

" Why thin, will you ontie the sack," says little
Fairly, " and jist let me see who it is that has the
impidence to ax me to do the like." And with that the
farmer ontied the sack, and little Fairly popped out his
head. " Why thin, do you think," says he, " that a
hangin'-bone lookin' thief like you, has a right to go to
heaven afore me ?"

" Oh," says the farmer, " I've been a wicked sinner

IITTLE FAIRLY. 375

in my time, and I havn't much longer to live ; and to
tell you the thruth, I'd be glad to get to heaven in that
sack, if it's thrue what you tell me."

" Why," says little Fairly, " don't you know it is
by sackcloth and ashes that the faithful see the light o'
glory ?"

" Thrue for you indeed," says the farmer. " Oh
murdher, let me get in there, and I'll make it worth
your while."

" How do you make that out?" says little Fairly.

" Why, I'll give you five hundher guineas," says the
farmer, " and I think that's a power o' money."

" But what's a power o' money compared to heaven ?"
says little Fairly ; " and do you think I'd sell my soul
for five hundher guineas ?"

" Well, there's five hundher more in an owld stockin'
in the oak box, in the cabin by the crass-roads, at
Dhrumsnookie, for I am owld Tims o' Dhrumsnookie,
and you'll inherit all I have, if you consint."

" But what's a thousand guineas compared to hea-
ven ?" says little Fairly.

" Well, do you see all them heads o' cattle there ?"
says the farmer. " I have just dhruv them here from
Ballinasloe," says he, " and every head o' cattle you see
here, shall be your's also, if you let me into that sack
that I may go to heaven instead o' you."

" Oh think o' my poor little sowl!" says Fairly.

" Tut man," says the farmer, " I've twice as big a
sowl as you ; and besides I'm owld, and you're young,
and I have no time to spare, and you may get absolu-
tion aisy, and make your pace in good time."

" Well," says little Fairly, " I feel for you," says he,
" an' I'm half inclined to let you overpersuade me to
have your will o' me."

" That's a jewel," says the farmer.

" But make haste," says little Fairly, " for I don't
know how soon you might get a refusal."

" Let me in at wanst," says the farmer. So, my dear,

S76 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

Fairly got out, and the farmer got in, and the little
chap tied him up ; and says he to the farmer, " There
will be great novations made agin you, all the way
you're go:n' along ; and you'll hear o' your sins over
and over again, and you'll hear o' things you never done
at all," says little Fairly, " but never say a word, or you
wont go where I was goin' Oh ! why did I let you
persuade me ?"

" Lord reward you!" says the poor farmer.

" And your conscience will be sthrekin' you all the
time," says little Fairly ; " and you'll think a'mostit's a
stick is sthrekin' you, but you mustn't let an, nor say a
word, but pray inwardly in the sack."

" I'll not forget," says the farmer.

"Oh! you'll be reminded of it," says Fairly, "for
you've a bad conscience I know; and the seven deadly
sins will be goin' your road, and keepin' you company,
and every now and then they'll be put tin their comether
an you, and callin' you ' brother,' but don't let on to
know them at all, for they'll be misladin' you, and just
do you keep quite (quiet) and yoiCll see the end iv it."
Well, just at that minit little Fairly heerd big Fairly
comin', and away he run and hid inside iv a churn was
dhryin' at the ind o' the house ; and big Fairly lifted
the sack was standin' at the door, and feelin' it more
weighty nor it was before, he said, " Throth, I think
you're growin' heavy with grief; but here goes any
how," and with that he hoist it up on the horse's back,
an' away he wint to the bog iv Allen.

Now you see, big Fairly, like every blackguard that
has the bad blood in him, the minit he had the sup o'
dhrink in, the dirty turn kem out : and so, as he wint
along he began to wollop the poor baste, and the sack
where his little brother was, (as he thought, the big
fool,) and to gibe and jeer him for his divarshin. But
the poor farmer did as little Fairly towld him, an' never
a word he said at all, though he could not help roaring
out every now and thin, whin he felt the soft ind of big

IITT1E FAIRLY. 377

Fairly's shillelah across his backbone ; and sure the poor
fool thought it wa3 his bad conscience and the seven
deadly sins was tazin' him ; but he wouldn't answer a
word for all that, though the big savage was aggravatin'
him every fut o' the road antil they kem to the bog ;
and when he had him there, faix he was'nt long in
choosin' a bog hole for him — and, my jew'l, in he
popped the poor farmer neck and heels, sack and all ;
and as the soft bog-stuff and muddy wather closed over
him, " I wish you a safe journey to the bottom, young
man," says the big brute, grinnin' like a cat at a cheese,
"and as clever a chap as you are, I don't think you'll
come back out o' that in a hurry ; and it's throubled I
was with you long enough, you little go-the-ground
schkamer, but I'll have a quiet life for the futhur." And
wid that he got up an his horse, and away he wint
home ; but he had not gone over a mile, or there-away,
whin who should he see but little Fairly mounted on
the farmer's horse, dhrivin' the biggest dhrove o' black
cattle you ever seen ; and by dad, big Fairly grewn as
white as a sheet whin he clapt his eyes an him, for he
thought it was not himself at all was on it, but his ghost ;
and he was goin' to turn and gallop off, whin little Fairly
called out to him to stay, for that he wanted to speak
to him. So when he seed it was himself, he wondhered
to be sure, and small blame to him — and says he,
" Well, as cute as I know you wor, by gor, this last turn
o' your's bates Bannagher — and how the divil are you
here at all, whin I thought you wor cuttin' turf wid
your sharp little nose, in the bog of Allen ? for I'll take
my affidowndavy, I put you into the deepest hole in it,
head foremost, not half an hour agon."

" Throth you did sure enough," says little Fairly,
" and you wor ever and always the good brother to me,
as I often said before, but by dad you never done
rightly for me antil to-day, but you made me up now
in airnest."

" How do you mane ?" says big Fairly.

878 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

" Why, do you see all these cattle here I'm dhrivin'?"
says little Fairly.

" Yes I do, and whose cattle are they ?"

" They're all my own — every head o' them."

"An' how did yon come by them?"

" Why you see, when you threwn me into the boghole,
I felt it mighty cowld at first, and it was mortial dark,
and I felt myself goin' down and down, that I thought
I'd never stop sinking, and wondhered if there was any
bottom to it at all, and at last I began to feel it growin'
warm, and pleasant, and light, and whin I kem to the
bottom there was the loveliest green field you ever clap-
ped your eyes on, and thousands upon thousands o'
cattle feedin', and the grass so heavy that they wor up
to their ears in it — its thruth I'm tellin' you — O divil
sitch meadows I ever seen, and when I kem to myself,
for indeed I was rather surprised, and thought it was
dhramin' I was — whin I kem to myself, I was welkim'd
by a very ginteel spoken little man, the dawnshiest cray-
thur you ever seen, by dad I'd have made six iv him
myself, and says he, " You're welkim to the undher story
o' the Bog iv Allen, Fairly.' ' Thank you kindly, sir,'
says I. — ' And how is all wid you ?' says he. — ' Hearty
indeed,' says I. ' And what brought you here ?' says he.
— ' My big brother,' says I. ' That was very good iv
him,' says he. — ' Thrue for you, sir,' says I. ' He is
always doin' me a good turn, 'says I. ' Oh then he never
done you half so good a turn as this,' says he ; ' for you'll
be the richest man in Ireland soon.' ' Thank you, sir,'
says I ; ' but I don't see how.' ' Do you see all them
cattle grazin' there ?' says he. ' To be sure I do,' says
I. ' Well,' says he, ' take as many o' them as your heart
desires, and bring them home wid you.' ' Why sure,'
says I, ' how could I get back myself, up out of the bog-
hole, let alone dhraggin' bullocks afther me ? ' Oh,'
says he, ' the way is aisy enough, for you have nothin'
to do but dhrive them out the back way over there,' says
he, pointin' to a gatfe. And sure enough, my darlint, I

LITHE FAIE1T. 379

got all the bastes you see here, and dhruv them out, and
here I'm goin' home wid 'em, and maybe I won't be the
rich man — av coorse I gev the best o' thanks to the little
owld man, and gev him the hoighth o' good language
for his behavor. And with that says he, ' You may
come back again, and take the rest o' them,' says he—
and faix sure enough I'll go back the minit I get these
bastes home, and have another turn out o' the boghole."

" Faix and I'll be beforehand wid you," says big
Fairly.

" Oh but you shan't," says little Fairly ; " it was I
discovered the place, and why shouldn't I have the good
ivit?"

" You greedy little hound," says the big fellow, " I'll
have my share o' them as well as you." And with that
he turned about his horse, and away he galloped to the
boghole, and the little fellow galloped afther him, pur-
tendin' to be in a desperate fright afeard the other would
get there first, and he cried ' Stop the robber,' afther
him, and when he came to the soft place in the bog they
both lit, and little Fairly got before the big fellow, and
purtended to be makin' for the boghole in a powerful
hurry, crying out as he passed him, " I'll win the day !
I'll win the day !" and the big fellow pulled fut afther
him as hard as he could, and hardly a puff left in him he
ran to that degree, and he was afeard that little Fairly
would bate him and get all the cattle, and he was wishin'
for a gun that he might shoot him, when the cute little
divil, just as he kem close to the edge of the boghole, let
an that his fut slipped and he fell down, cryin' out,
" Fair play ! fair play ! — wait till I rise !" but the words
wasn't well out of his mouth when the big fellow kem
up. " Oh, the divil a wait," says he, and he made one
desperate dart at the boghole, and jumped into the mid-
dle of it. " Hurroo ! !" says little Fairly, gettin' an his
legs agin and runnin' over to the edge o' the boghole,
and just as he seen the great splaw feet o' the big savage
sinkin' into the sludge, he called afther him, and says he,

380 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

" I say, big Fairly, don't take all the cattle, but lave a
thrifle for me. ' I'll wait, hoiuever, till you come back'
says the little rogue laughin' at his own cute conthri-
vance, " and I think now I'll lade a quiet life," says he ;
and with that he wint home, and from that day out he
grewn richer and richer every day, and was the greatest
man in the whole counthry side ; and all the neighbours
gev in to him that he was the most knowledgable man
in thim parts, but they all thought it was quare that his
name should be Fairly, for it was agreed, one and all,
that he was the biggest rogue out, — barrin' Balfe, the
robber.

JUDY OF ROUNDWOOD*

Here will be an old abusing of God's patience and the King's
English.

Shakspeaee.

There is a little straggling village in Wicklow, -
named Round wood, which is a sort of outpost to the -
many beauties of that romantic and lovely country, and -
consequently, often made a stopping place by those-
ramblers who can steal a day or two from toil and care,
and have the dust of Dublin blown from them by the
mountain breezes of the alpine country I have named. I,
for one, confess the enormity of having eaten eggs and
bacon in the little inn of Round wood, served to me by
the hand of Judy ; — her surname has never reached me,
for as the Italians called many of their celebrated pain-
ters after the towns or cities that gave them birth, so
Judy has been named, " Judy of Roundwood."

Her principal peculiarity was stinting every word she
could of its fair proportion, whether from any spite she
had against the alphabet, or from wishing to clear her
sex from the charge of overwordiness, I know not ; but
Judy talked shorthand, if an Irishman may be allowed
this phrase. Her merits in this particular cannot be
appreciated in modern times, but Judy would have been
a darling among the Spartans.

At the door of the inn, which owed much of its

* This sketch was originally written for Mr. J. Russol, who gave
it, with an admirable personation of Judy, in his very clever ontcrtuui-
ment of " The Stranded Actor."

382 LEGENDS AND STOEIES.

custom to this original, Judy would salute the weary tra-
veller with a low courtesy, crossing her hands before her
upon her chequered apron, andsay,"Consola to thegent"
— meaning thereby consolation to the gentleman — Judy
considering refreshment the greatest consola — the gents
could have. Whisky she called by the poetical name of
" Temptation" — abbreviated of course to " Timpta.'''' —
Dublin was either familiarly Dub; — or dubbed with the
more highly sounding title of Metrop — and being also
given to rhyming, whenever a tag was to be made, she
jumped at it.

When first I visited Judy in company with a friend
who was equally anxious with myself to draw her out,
we affected not to comprehend the meaning of all her
abbreviations, with a view to force her upon an expla-
nation ; and she said — " You see, sir, Ju deals in abrevia
— because that is the perfec of the English lang, — din
for dinner; breh for breakfast; rel for relish. Ju's
conversa is allegor. I calls the dinner satisfac, and the
drop o' comfort the timpta ; and this little apart where
we give consola to the gents, I call the bower of hap."

After having had some rustic refreshment, we ordered
whisky, and when Judy brought it to us, her look and
manner were highly amusinsr. With a stealthy step and
an air of mock mystery she stole across the room towards
us, and with one hand withdrawing her apron from over
the measure of spirits which she held in the other, she
said, — " Ju was only thro wing an obscu over the opportu."
We then noticed to her some verses that were written
on the walls of the apartment in her praise. " That's
the rayson I call it the bower of hap," said she ; " but
sure I'm not such an ignora as to believe all ihzflat of
the cits. Good bye, dear ; yiz are gay gents goin' round
the world for sport : may you never be wretched, may
you share in the wisdom of Sol; may you never have
to climb the rocks of dif; or be cast on the quicksands
of adver, or stray from the paths of vir."

But perhaps the best thing I can do to put Judy more

JUDY OF HOUND-WOOD. 383

completely en evidence is, to give a conversation in her
own style ; that will serve, as Judy herself would say,
as the best exempli/lea.

Consola to the gents ; happy to see you, dear ! Walk
in — you can sit in the bower of hap. If you want your
brek, it's a good one you may expec ; if you want your
din, this is the place to walk in; and I will give you
the opportu, the consola, and the materia, and the
timpta ; and if you only want a rel, ring the bell.
That's what I said the other day to O'Toole ; the igno-
rant people calls him Mr. O'Toole, but he's not Misther
O'Toole, but O'Toole, bein' descinded from King
O'Toole, of these parts. Good morrow, Judy, says he
— Thank you kindly, sir, says I. Here's a gent that is
come to »ee you, says he (for there was an artless sprisan
along wid him). Kindly welkim, sir, says I. — You'll
do all you can for us, says he. — Sir, says I, Fidel is my
mot — Ju's mot — The furriners call it Judy's mot — that's
French, sir; — but, as I &&!&, Jidel'is my mot:

Submissive to my supayriors,
Condescending to my infayriors,
Faithful to my friends,
Charitable to my inimies.

You had a great party here the other day, as I'm towld,
says he. — Yis, sir, says I. — Who wor they ? says he. —
Indeed, says I, they did not indulge me with much com-
munica ; so I could not come to a conclu ; — but though
I could not be pos, I had my suspish. — And who wor
they ? says he. — They were no less than Sir Wal and
Miss Edge. — Who are they ? says O'Toole's friend, for
be was mighty artless. — Why, then, don't you know
Sir Wal, says I, — and Miss Edge ? I hope you admire
my abrevia, says I. —Certainly, says O'Toole, who was
plased with me about my obscu, for the bothera of the
innocent gent, and he could hardly help laughin' at him'
and to hide his laughin' he took a pinch o' snuff: and
he, bein' a rale gintleman, av coorse, liked the black.

8S-1 LEGENDS A^D STORIEb.

guard ;* and so takin' out his box, he said, like a rale
gintleman, Judy, says he, will you have a pinch .
Thank you, sir, says I, for the condescen, — and with that
his friend, not likin' to be worse nor another, said,
Maybe you'll take a pinch from me, saye he — handm
me a box of the dirty soft wet thrash them furrinners
takes, sure there's no good in any thing or anybody
that isn't always dhry, as I says to the gents from Dub,
when I keeps continually bringin' them the whisky and
the hot wather. — Well, to come back to my story, the
two handed me their boxes — and so O'Toole said, says
he, Which will you have, Judy? — take whatever you
plaze ; — which do you like, the common snuff or the
scented snuff? — Sir, says I — making a low curtshee for
the civil — I gave the com the pre/. — But I was forgettin'
about Sir Wal and Miss Edge. Sure, they kem here to
take the opportu to see Ju, to increase their admira for
the buties of na — in the county Wick in partic — and so
when they arrived in

A post cliay

From " Quin Bray,"

I was ready to give consola to the gents ; and they
asked for bre/c. — What do you expec ? says I.

Coffee, says he,
C Ubhlam ackre e,

says I, there's no sich thing here, at all at all. There
is neither coffee tay, nor chocolaritee tay ; but there is
the best of Bohay, says I. — Have you no green? says
he. — Plenty in the fields, says I. But no where else ;
— but I'll make up for the defish. — How ? says he. — I'll
give you a rel, says I. — What's that? says he. — Arash,
says I. — I don't know what you mane, says he, — so I
was obleeged to explain,: — A relish or a rasher, says I ;

* Lundy Foot's celebrated snuff.

JUDY OF KOUNDWOOD. 385

for the artif of my abbrevia was beyond his conjee. —
Bring it in at wanst, says he. — So, no sooner said than
done — but you see I was obleeged to bring in the
rasher an a cracked plate — and very well I had it — for
Roundwood was mighty throng that mornin' — loads of
gents — barrowfuls o' gents from Dub to see Ju — comin'
into the county Wick with a short stick to enjoy the
aclmira of the beauties of na. — Well, as I said, I brought
in the rash an a cracked plate, and Sir Wal was indig ;
and, says he, How dar you bring the like to a dacent
man ? And what do you think I said ? says I, the
necess is my apol. I thought he'd split himself wid the
laughin'. — So with that he wint to readin' the po'thry
an the walls ; and at last he kem to one that a young
vag — from the Col — the Univer — Trin. Col. Dub, wrote
an me, — and I put my hand over it ; — Don't read that,
sir, says I — for I purtinded not to know who he was,
though I knew very well all the time : — don't read that,
says I. — Why? says he. — -Because, says I, 'twas
written by a vulgar, and 'twonld shock your sensibil,
if anything came under your contempla bordering on
the indel.

Then, says Miss Edge, that's very proper of you, Ju,
says she. — Yis, ma'am, says I. I was always a Dia ;
for I have had a good ecluca.

How could you have a good education? says Sir
Wal.

Bekase the gintlemin o' larnin' comes to see Ju ;
and where would I lam ecluca, says I, if not from
them?

Why what gentlemin o' larnin'' comes here ? says
Sir Wal.

More than owns to it, says I — lookin' mighty signi-
fied at him.

Indeed, says he. — Yis, says I — and one o' the gin-
tlemin was nojjintlemau, he was only a vag ; for he put
me in a mag ;— but in gineral they are the rale quolity,
and I know a power o' them.

25

S86 LEGENDS AND STORIES.

Name one, says he.

T. M. says I.

Who's T. M. ? says he.

You're mighty ignorant, says I to Sir Wal. Wasn't
that a good thing to say to him ? I thought Miss Edye
and he would die with the laughin'

Well, but who is T. M. ? says he.

Tom Moore, says I, the glory of Ireland, says I,
crassin' myself.

Oh, Moore the poet, says Sir Wal.

By dad he's no poet at all, says I ; but a rale gintle-
man ; for he gev me half-a-crown.

Well, I thought the both o' them would die with the
laughin' ; and so when they were goin', says I to the
lady, Good mornin' and many thanks to you, ma'am
says I, for your condescm — long may you reign, says I,
Miss Edge. Well, she looked mightily surprised at me ;
for you see I had a •co/ifcc who they wor from the
servants, by a way o' my own.

You've taken the worth out of my name, Judy, says
she, mighty goodnathured.

Throth then, that's more nor I could do, ma'am,
says I ; for there's more worth in the half o' your name
than in the whole o' mine, though I am Judy 0'E.ound-
wood.

Well, with that Sir IFo/laughed out; and says he,
How did you find the lady out ? says he.

Only by supposish, says I; for I wouldn't be guilty
of infidel to tiie sarvants who let on to me.

Then I suppose you found out who i" am too, savs
Sir Wal.

No indeed, sir, says I, how could I know the
Great Un ?

Oh, I wish you seen the look he gave when I said
that !

THE EKD.
Piiiic-.d ",y W. II. Smith &. Son, 186, Strand, Lcnclci;,

GLOSSARY.

Alpeen — A cudgel.

Bad Scram— Bad food.

Bad Win' \ Maledictions. Bad cess is meant as the

Bad Cess ) contrary of success.

Baithershin* — It may be so.

Ballyrag — To scold.

Catjeeen — An old hat. Strictly a little old hat. Een,

in Irish, is diminutive.
Colleen Dhas — Pretty girl.
Comether — corruption of come hither. " Putting his

comether" means forcing his acquaintance.
Gommoch — A simpleton.
Hard Word — Hint.
Hunkers — Haunches.

* This I have spelled as it is pronounced. The correct spell-
ing of the phrase would be a very puzzling concern indeed — as,
in the original, i-t is equally complex in construction to the
French qu'est ce que c'est que cela. I have pursued the same rule
•with all the other Irish expressions in the Glossary : — First,
because the true spellings are very unlike the sounds — Weira,
for instance, is written in Irish, MJiuira ; and next, because
my object is only to give the reader an explanatory reference to
the " Stories," not to write an Irish vocabulary — which, indeed,
I am not prepared to do.

388 GLOSSARY.

Kimmeens — Sly tricks.

Macheee — My heart.

Mavoueneen — My darling.

Musha !~An exclamation, as " Oh, my !" " Oh, la !"

Noggin — A small wooden drinking vessel.

Phillelew — An outcry.

Spalpeen — A contemptible person.

Steavaig — To ramble.

Ulican — The funeral cry.

"Wake — Watching the body of the departed previously

to interment.
Weieastheu. — Mary have pity.

CHARLES LEVER'S WORKS.

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A DAY'S RIDE : A LIFE'S ROMANCE.

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Agatha's Husband

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Ruth : a Novel

Jack Hinton

Harry Lorreijiier

One of Them

Sorrows of Gentility

Young Heiress

The Constable of the Tower

Cardinal Pole

Hunchback of Notre Dame

Lord Mayor of London

Elsie Venner

Country Gentleman

Beppo the Conscript

Woman's Ransom Author

Deep Waters

Misrepresentation

Tilbury Nogo

Author of "John Halifax/'

Author of " John Halifax."

Author of "John Halifax."

Author of " John Halifax."

Mrs. Gaskell,

Geraldine Jewsbury.

Mrs. Gaskeli.

Charles Lever.

Charles Lever,

Charles Lever.

Geraldine Jewsbury.

Mrs. Troll ope.

W. n. Ainsworth.

W. H. Ainsworlli.

Victor Hugo.

W. H. Ainsvforth,

Oliver W. Holmes.

" Scrutator."

T. Adolphus Trollop:,,

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Anna H. Drury.

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BARRXNGTON. By Chaemcs Lever.

MATTIE: A Stray. By Author of "Owen: A Waif."

ME, STEWART'S INTENTIONS. By Author of

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CHAELIE THORNHILL. By Charles Oj^akkb.
MARRIED BENEAlf HIM, By Author cf " Lost

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BE&gQ, THE CONSCRIPT. By T. A. Trollope.
DEEP WATERS. By Anna H. Prory.
MAINSTONE'S HOUSEKEEPER. A Novel. By

. Mrs. Meteyasd.

LA BEATA. % T. A. .Trou..->pis.

UWMR. THE SPILL," By the AtrtW of " Grand-
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