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J., (David James), (1866-1917) O'Donoghue</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The humour of Ireland</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: D. J., (David James), (1866-1917) O'Donoghue</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Illustrator: Oliver, (a.k.a. William Henry Pike), (1846-1908) Paque</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: August 25, 2022 [eBook #68835]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: MFR, Karin Spence and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HUMOUR OF IRELAND ***</div> - - -<p class="center"><i>HUMOUR SERIES</i></p> - -<p class="smcap center sm">Edited by W. H. DIRCKS</p> - - -<p class="center lg p6">THE HUMOUR OF IRELAND</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center sm p6">ALREADY ISSUED</p> -</div> - - -<p class="left1 sm p-left"><i>FRENCH HUMOUR</i><br /> -<i>GERMAN HUMOUR</i><br /> -<i>ITALIAN HUMOUR</i><br /> -<i>AMERICAN HUMOUR</i><br /> -<i>DUTCH HUMOUR</i><br /> -<i>IRISH HUMOUR</i><br /> -<i>SPANISH HUMOUR</i><br /> -<i>RUSSIAN HUMOUR</i></p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_frontis"> - <img - class="p2" - src="images/i_frontis.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“AND EACH GIRL HE PASSED BID ‘GOD BLESS HIM’ AND -SIGHED.”—P. <a href="#Page_276">276</a>.</p> - </div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h1><span class="smaller">THE</span><br /> -HUMOUR OF IRELAND</h1> -</div> - -<p class="center p4">SELECTED, WITH INTRODUCTION,<br /> -BIOGRAPHICAL INDEX AND NOTES, - BY<br /> -D. J. O’DONOGHUE:<br /> - THE<br /> -ILLUSTRATIONS BY OLIVER PAQUE</p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_title"> - <img - class="p2" - src="images/i_title.jpg" - alt="" /> - </div> - -<p class="center p4">THE WALTER SCOTT PUBLISHING CO., LTD.,<br /> -<span class="sm">PATERNOSTER SQUARE, LONDON, E.C.</span><br /> -CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS,<br /> -<span class="sm">153–157 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK.<br /> -1908.</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_vii">[vii]</span></p> -<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> -</div> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_vii"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_vii.jpg" - alt="" /> - </div> - -<table summary="contents" class="smaller"> - <tr> - <th></th> - <th class="pag">PAGE</th> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Introduction</span></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_xi">xi</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Exorcising the Demon of Voracity</span>—<i>From the Irish</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Roman Earl</span>—<i>From the Irish</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Fellow in the Goat-Skin</span>—<i>Folk-Tale</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Often-who-Came and Seldom-who-Came</span>—<i>From the Irish</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Old Crow and the Young Crow</span>—<i>From the Irish</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Roger and the Grey Mare</span>—<i>Folk-Poem</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Will o’ the Wisp</span>—<i>Folk-Tale</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Epigrams and Riddles</span>—<i>From the Irish</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Donald and his Neighbours</span>—<i>Folk-Tale</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Woman of Three Cows</span>—<i>From the Irish</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">In Praise of Digressions</span>—<i>Jonathan Swift</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">A Rhapsody on Poetry</span>—<i>Jonathan Swift</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_45">45</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Letter from a Liar</span>—<i>Sir Richard Steele</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_50">50</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Epigrams</span>—<i>John Winstanley</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">A Fine Lady</span>—<i>George Farquhar</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Borrower</span>—<i>George Farquhar</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Widow Wadman’s Eye</span>—<i>Laurence Sterne</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Bumpers, Squire Jones</span>—<i>Arthur Dawson</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Jack Lofty</span>—<i>Oliver Goldsmith</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Beau Tibbs</span>—<i>Oliver Goldsmith</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_84">84</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Friar of Orders Grey</span>—<i>John O’Keeffe</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Tailor and the Undertaker</span>—<i>John O’Keeffe</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Tom Grog</span>—<i>John O’Keeffe</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Bulls</span>—<i>Sir Boyle Roche</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_101">101</a><span class="pagenum" id="Page_viii">[viii]</span></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Monks of the Screw</span>—<i>J. P. Curran</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_102">102</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Ana</span>—<i>J. P. Curran</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Cruiskeen Lawn</span>—<i>Anonymous</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Scandal-Mongers</span>—<i>R. B. Sheridan</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_108">108</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Captain Absolute’s Submission</span>—<i>R. B. Sheridan</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Ana</span>—<i>R. B. Sheridan</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_124">124</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">My Ambition</span>—<i>Edward Lysaght</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">A Warehouse for Wit</span>—<i>George Canning</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_127">127</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Conjugal Affection</span>—<i>Thomas Cannings</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_130">130</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Whisky, Drink Divine!</span>—<i>Joseph O’Leary</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_130">130</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">To a Young Lady Blowing a Turf Fire with her -Petticoat</span>—<i>Anonymous</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Epigrams, etc.</span>—<i>Henry Luttrell</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Letter from Miss Betty Fudge</span>—<i>Thomas Moore</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Montmorenci and Cherubina</span>—<i>E. S. Barrett</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Modern Mediævalism</span>—<i>E. S. Barrett</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Night before Larry was Stretched</span>—<i>William</i> -<i>Maher(?)</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_145">145</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Darby Doyle’s Voyage to Quebec</span>—<i>Thomas Ettingsall</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_148">148</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">St. Patrick of Ireland, my Dear!</span>—<i>Dr. William Maginn</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_160">160</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Last Lamp of the Alley</span>—<i>Dr. William Maginn</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_164">164</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Thoughts and Maxims</span>—<i>Dr. William Maginn</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Gathering of the Mahonys</span>—<i>Dr. William Maginn</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Daniel O’Rourke</span>—<i>Dr. William Maginn</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_175">175</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Humours of Donnybrook Fair</span>—<i>Charles O’Flaherty</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_184">184</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Night-Cap</span>—<i>T. H. Porter</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_187">187</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Kitty of Coleraine</span>—<i>Anonymous</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Giving Credit</span>—<i>William Carleton</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_190">190</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Brian O’Linn</span>—<i>Anonymous</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_198">198</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Turkey and the Goose</span>—<i>J. A. Wade</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_200">200</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Widow Machree</span>—<i>Samuel Lover</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_202">202</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Barney O’Hea</span>—<i>Samuel Lover</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_204">204</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Molly Carew</span>—<i>Samuel Lover</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_206">206</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Handy Andy and the Postmaster</span>—<i>Samuel Lover</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_209">209</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Little Weaver of Duleek Gate</span>—<i>Samuel Lover</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_213">213</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Bellewstown Hill</span>—<i>Anonymous</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_228">228</a><span class="pagenum" id="Page_ix">[ix]</span></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Peeler and the Goat</span>—<i>Jeremiah O’Ryan</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_231">231</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Loquacious Barber</span>—<i>Gerald Griffin</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_234">234</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Nell Flaherty’s Drake</span>—<i>Anonymous</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_239">239</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Elegy on Himself</span>—<i>F. S. Mahony</i> (“<i>Father Prout</i>”)</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_242">242</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Bob Mahon’s Story</span>—<i>Charles Lever</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_243">243</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Widow Malone</span>—<i>Charles Lever</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_253">253</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Girls of the West</span>—<i>Charles Lever</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_255">255</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Man for Galway</span>—<i>Charles Lever</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_256">256</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">How Con Cregan’s Father Left Himself a Bit of -Land</span>—<i>Charles Lever</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_257">257</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Katey’s Letter</span>—<i>Lady Dufferin</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_264">264</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Dance Light, for my Heart it lies under your Feet, -Love</span>—<i>Dr. J. F. Waller</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_266">266</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Father Tom’s Wager with the Pope</span>—<i>Sir Samuel Ferguson</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_267">267</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Ould Irish Jig</span>—<i>James McKowen</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_271">271</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Molly Muldoon</span>—<i>Anonymous</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_273">273</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Quare Gander</span>—<i>J. S. Lefanu</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_279">279</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Table-Talk</span>—<i>Dr. E. V. H. Kenealy</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_288">288</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Advice to a Young Poet</span>—<i>R. D. Williams</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_290">290</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Saint Kevin and King O’Toole</span>—<i>Thomas Shalvey</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_291">291</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Shaughraun</span>—<i>Dion Boucicault</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_294">294</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Rackrenters on the Stump</span>—<i>T. D. Sullivan</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_298">298</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Lanigan’s Ball</span>—<i>Anonymous</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_306">306</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Widow’s Lament</span>—<i>Anonymous</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_308">308</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Whisky and Wather</span>—<i>Anonymous</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_310">310</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Thrush and the Blackbird</span>—<i>C. J. Kickham</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_314">314</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Irish Astronomy</span>—<i>C. G. Halpine</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_320">320</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Paddy Fret, the Priest’s Boy</span>—<i>J. F. O’Donnell</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_322">322</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">O’Shanahan Dhu</span>—<i>J. J. Bourke</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_329">329</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Shane Glas</span>—<i>J. J. Bourke</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_332">332</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">An Irish Story-Teller</span>—<i>Patrick O’Leary</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_333">333</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Haunted Shebeen</span>—<i>C. P. O’Conor</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_337">337</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Fan Fitzgerl</span>—<i>A. P. Graves</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_341">341</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Father O’Flynn</span>—<i>A. P. Graves</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_343">343</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Philandering</span>—<i>William Boyle</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_344">344</a><span class="pagenum" id="Page_x">[x]</span></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Honied Persuasion</span>—<i>J. De Quincey</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_345">345</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The First Lord Liftinant</span>—<i>W. P. French</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_347">347</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The American Wake</span>—<i>F. A. Fahy</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_355">355</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">How to become a Poet</span>—<i>F. A. Fahy</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_358">358</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Donovans</span>—<i>F. A. Fahy</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_368">368</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Petticoats down to my Knees</span>—<i>F. A. Fahy</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_371">371</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Musical Experiences and Impressions</span>—<i>G. B. Shaw</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_373">373</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">From Portlaw to Paradise</span>—<i>Edmund Downey</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_382">382</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Dance at Marley</span>—<i>P. J. McCall</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_393">393</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Fionn MacCumhail and the Princess</span>—<i>P. J. McCall</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_397">397</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Tatther Jack Welsh</span>—<i>P. J. McCall</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_403">403</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Their Last Race</span>—<i>Frank Mathew</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_405">405</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">In Blarney</span>—<i>P. J. Coleman</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_409">409</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Bindin’ the Oats</span>—<i>P. J. Coleman</i></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_411">411</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Selected Irish Proverbs, etc.</span></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_414">414</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Biographical Index</span></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_423">423</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Notes</span></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_433">433</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xi">[xi]</span></p> - -<h2>INTRODUCTION.</h2> -</div> - - -<p>That the Irish people have a wide reputation for wit and humour is a -fact which will not be disputed. Irish humour is no recent growth, as -may be seen by the folk-lore, the proverbs, and the other traditional -matter of the country. It is one of Ireland’s ancient characteristics, -as some of its untranslated early literature would conclusively prove. -The curious twelfth-century story of “The Vision of McConglinne” is a -sample of this early Celtic humour. As the melancholy side of older -Celtic literature has been more often emphasised and referred to, it -is usually thought that the most striking features of that literature -is its sadness. The proverbs, some of which are very ancient, are -characteristic enough to show that the early Irish were of a naturally -joyous turn, as a primitive people should be, for sadness generally -comes with civilisation and knowledge; and the fragments of folk-lore -that have so far been rescued impress us with the idea that its -originators were homely, cheerful, and mirthful. The proverbs are so -numerous and excellent that a good collection of them would be very -valuable—yet to judge by Ray’s large volume, devoted to those of -many nations, Ireland lacks wise sayings of this kind. He only quotes -seven, some of which are wretched local phrases, and not Irish at -all. The early humour of the Irish Celts is amusing in conception -and in expression, and, when it is soured into satire, frequently of -marvellous power and efficacy.</p> - -<p>Those who possessed the gift of saying galling things were much -dreaded, and it is not absolutely surprising that Aengus<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xii">[xii]</span> O’Daly -and other satirists met with a retribution from those whom they had -rendered wild with rage. In the early native literature the Saxon -of course came in for his share of ridicule and scorn; but there is -much less of it than might have been fairly expected, and if the -bards railed at the invader, they quite as often assailed their own -countrymen. One reason for the undoubted existence of a belief that -the old Celts had little or no humour is that the reading of Irish -history suggests it, and people may perhaps be forgiven for presuming -it to be impossible to preserve humour under the doleful circumstances -recorded by historians. And indeed if there was little to laugh at -even before the English invasion, there was assuredly less after it. -Life suddenly became tragic for the bards and the jesters. In place -of the primitive amusements, the elementary pranks of the first ages, -more serious matters were forced upon their attention, but appearances -notwithstanding, the humorist thrived, and probably improved in the -gloom overcasting the country; at any rate the innate good humour of -the Irish refused to be completely stifled or restricted. Personalities -were not the most popular subjects for ridicule, and the most detested -characters, though often attacked in real earnest, were not the -favourite themes with the wits. Cromwell’s name suggested a curse -rather than a joke, and it is only your moderns—your Downeys and -Frenches—who make a jest of him.</p> - -<p>It being impossible to define humour or wit exactly, it is hardly wise -to add another to the many failures attached to the attempt. But Irish -humour, properly speaking, is, one may venture to say, more imaginative -than any other. And it is probably less ill-natured than that of any -other nation, though the Irish have a special aptness in the saying -of things that wound, and the most illiterate of Irish peasants can -put more scorn into a retort than the most highly educated of another -race. There is sometimes a half-pathetic strain in the best Irish -humorous writers, and just as in their saddest moments the people -are inclined to joke, so in many writings where pathos predominates, -the native humour gleams. If true Irish humour is not easily defined -with precision, it is at least easily recognisable, there is so much -buoyancy and movement in it, and usually so much expansion of heart. -An eminent French<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xiii">[xiii]</span> writer described humour as a fusion of smiles and -tears, but clearly that defines only one kind, and there are many -varieties, almost as many, one might say, as there are humorists. The -distinguishing between wit and humour is not so simple a matter as it -looks, but one might hazard the opinion that while the one expresses -indifference and irreverence, the other is redolent of feeling and -sincerity. Humour and satire are extremes—the more barbed and keen -a shaft, the more malicious and likely to hurt, whereas the genuine -quality of humour partakes of tenderness and gentleness. Sheridan is -an admirable example of a wit, while Lover represents humour in its -most confiding aspect. There are intermediate kinds, however, and the -malice of Curran’s repartees is not altogether akin to the rasping -personalities of “Father Prout.” Irish humour is mainly a store of -merriment pure and simple, without much personal taint, and does not -profess to be philosophical. Human follies or deformities are rarely -touched upon, and luckily Irish humorous writers do not attempt the -didactic. In political warfare, however, many bitter taunts are heard, -and it is somewhat regrettable that Irish politics should have absorbed -so great a part of Irish wit, and turned what might have been pleasant -reading into a succession of biting sarcasms. The Irish political -satirists of the last and present centuries have often put themselves -out of court by the ephemeral nature of their gibes no less than by the -extra-ferocious tone they adopted. There is no denying the <i>verve</i> -and point in the writings of Watty Cox, Dr. Brenan, William Norcott, -and so on, but who can read them to-day with pleasure? Eaton Stannard -Barrett’s “All the Talents,” after giving a nickname to a ministry, -destroyed it; it served its purpose, and would be out of place if -resurrected and placed in a popular collection, where the student of -political history—to whom alone it is interesting and amusing—will -hardly meet with it. Consequently political satire finds no place -in this work, and even T. D. Sullivan, who particularly excels in -personal and political squibs in verse, is shown only as the author -of a prose sketch of more general application. Besides what has been -wasted in this way, from a literary point of view, a good deal of the -native element of wit has been dissipated<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xiv">[xiv]</span> as soon as uttered. After -fulfilling its mission in enlivening a journey or in circling the -festive board, it is forgotten and never appears in print. How many of -Lysaght’s and Curran’s best quips are passed beyond recall? It cannot -be that men like these obtained their great fame as wits on the few -sample witticisms that have been preserved for us. Their literary -remains are so scanty and inconsiderable, and their reputation so -universal, that one can only suppose them to have been continuously -coining jokes and squandering them in every direction.</p> - -<p>Irish humour has been and is so prevalent, however, that in spite -of many losses, there is abundant material for many volumes. It is -imported into almost every incident and detail of Irish life—it -overflows in the discussions of the local boards, is bandied about by -carmen (who have gained much undeserved repute among tourists), comes -down from the theatre galleries, is rife in the law courts, and chronic -in the clubs, at the bar-dinners, and wherever there is dulness to be -exorcised. Jokes being really as plentiful as blackberries, no one -cares to hoard so common a product. A proof of the contempt into which -the possession of wit or humour has fallen may be observed in the fact -that no professedly comic paper has been able to survive for long the -indifference of the Irish public. There have been some good ones in -Dublin—notably, <i>Zoz</i>, <i>Zozimus</i>, <i>Pat</i>, and <i>The -Jarvey</i>—but they have pined away in a comparatively short space of -time, the only note of pathos about their brief existence being the -invariable obituary announcement in the library catalogues—“No more -published.” But their lives, if short, were merry ones. It was not -their fault if the people did not require such aids to vivacity, being -in general able to strike wit off the corners of any topic, no matter -how unpromising it might appear. Naturally enough, the chief themes of -the Irish humorist have been courting and drinking, with the occasional -relief of a fight. The amativeness of the poets is little short of -marvellous. Men like Lover (who has never been surpassed perhaps as -a humorous love-poet) usually confined their humour in that groove; -others, like Maginn, kept religiously to the tradition that liquor is -the chief attraction in life, and the only possible theme for a wit -after exhausting his pleasantries about persons.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xv">[xv]</span> Maginn, however, -was very much in earnest and did not respect the tradition simply -because it was one, but solely on account of his belief in its wisdom. -There can be no question, it seems to me, of Ireland’s supremacy in -the literature devoted to Bacchus. It is another affair, of course, -whether any credit attaches to the distinction. All the bards were -not so fierce as Maginn in their likes and dislikes when the liquor -was on the table. It may indeed be said of them in justice that their -enthusiasm for the god of wine was often enough mere boastfulness. It -is difficult to believe Tom Moore in his raptures about the joys of the -bowl. He was no roysterer, and there is wanting in his Bacchanalian -effusions, as in others of his light and graceful school, that reckless -<i>abandon</i> of the more bibulous school. A glance at the lives of -the Irish poets shows that a goodly number of them lived up to their -professions. The glorification of the joys of the bottle by so many of -our poets, their implication that from no other source is genius to -be drawn, suggests that the Irish inclination to wit was induced by -drinking long and deep. Sallies flowed therefrom, and the taciturn man -without an idea developed under the genial influence into a delightful -conversationalist. Yet as the professional humorist is often pictured -as a very gloomy personage, gnawed by care and tortured by remorse, -his pleasantries probably strike more in consequence of their vivid -contrast to his dismal appearance. But to return to the bards’ love of -liquor. One and all declare of the brown jug that “there’s inspiration -in its foaming brim,” and what more natural than that they should -devote the result to eulogy of the source. It may be somewhat consoling -to reflect that often they were less reckless than they would have us -believe. Something else besides poetic inspiration comes from the bowl, -which, after all, only brings out the natural qualities.</p> - -<p>As a rule, Irish poets have not extracted a pessimistic philosophy -from liquor; they are “elevated,” not depressed, and do not deem it -essential to the production of a poem that its author should be a cynic -or an evil prophet. One of the best attributes of Irish poetry is its -constant expression of the natural emotions. Previous to the close of -the seventeenth<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xvi">[xvi]</span> century, it is said, drunkenness was not suggested by -the poets as common in Ireland—the popularity of Bacchanalian songs -since that date seems to prove that the vice soon became a virtue. -Maginn is the noisiest of modern revellers, and easily roars the others -down.</p> - -<p>Not a small portion of the humour of Ireland is the unconscious variety -in the half-educated local poets. Sometimes real wit struggles for -adequate expression in English with ludicrous and unlooked-for results. -A goodly number of the street ballads are very comic in description, -phraseology, or vituperation, and “Nell Flaherty’s Drake” may be -taken as a fair specimen of the latter class. Occasionally there is -coarseness, usually absent from genuine Irish songs; sometimes a -ghastly sort of <i>grotesquerie</i>, as in “The Night before Larry was -Stretched.” Only a few examples of such are necessary to form an idea -of the whole. Maginn’s great service in exposing the true character of -the wretched rubbish often palmed off on the English public as Irish -songs deserves to be noticed here. He proved most conclusively that -the stuff thus styled Irish, with its unutterable refrains of the -“Whack Bubbaboo” kind, was of undoubted English origin, topography, -phraseology, rhymes, and everything else being utterly un-Irish. The -internal evidence alone convicts their authors. No Irishman rhymes -<i>O’Reilly</i> to <i>bailie</i>, for instance, and certainly he -would never introduce a priest named “Father Quipes” into a song, -even if driven to desperation for rhymes to “swipes.” Any compiler -who gives a place in a collection of Irish songs to such trash as -“Looney Mac*-twolter,” “Dennis Bulgruddery,” or any other of the rather -numerous effusions of their kind, with their Gulliverian nomenclature -and their burlesque of Irish manners, is an accomplice in the crime -of their authors. In this connection it may be pointed out that not -only in songs, but in many stories and other writings purporting to -be Irish, the phraseology is anything but Irish. Irishmen do not, and -never did, speak of their spiritual guardian as the <i>praste</i>. The -Irishman never mispronounces the sound of <i>ie</i>, and if he says -<i>tay</i> for tea and <i>mate</i> for meat he is simply conforming to -the old and correct English pronunciation, as may be seen by consulting -the older English poets, who always rhymed <i>sea</i> with <i>day</i>, -etc. To this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xvii">[xvii]</span> hour, the original sound is preserved by English people -in <i>great</i> and <i>break</i>.</p> - -<p>To leave the anonymous, the hybrid, and the spurious, it will be well -to consider the continuity of the humour of Ireland. The long line of -humorous writers who have appeared in our literary history has never -been broken, despite many intervals of tribulation. In Anglo-Irish -literature they commence practically with Farquhar, whose method of -treating the follies of fine ladies and “men of honour” is anticipatory -of that of the <i>Spectator</i>. Swift’s irony, unsurpassable as it -is, is cruel to excess, and has little that is Irish about it. A -contemporary and countryman, Dean Smedley, said he was “always in -jest, but most so in prayer,” but that is an exaggeration, for Swift -was mostly in grim earnest. The charge implies that many of his -contemporaries, like several moderns, had a difficulty in satisfying -themselves as to when he joked and when he did not. Smedley is also -responsible for another poem directed against Swift, which was posted -upon the door of St. Patrick’s, Dublin, when the great writer was -appointed its Dean, and of which the following is the best stanza:—</p> - - <div class="poetry-container1"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="ileft">“This place he got by wit and rhyme,</div> - <div class="i1">And many ways most odd,</div> - <div>And might a bishop be in time,</div> - <div class="i1">Did he believe in God.”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>The impassive and matter-of-fact way in which Swift, using the -deadliest of weapons, ridicule, reformed the abuses of his time, -deceived a good many. He never moved a muscle, and his wit shone by -contrast with his moody exterior as a lightning-flash illuminates a -gloomy sky. It has that element of unexpectedness which goes far to -define the nature of wit.</p> - -<p>Real drollery in Anglo-Irish literature seems to have begun with -Steele. In the case of Steele there is rarely anything to offend -modern taste. His tenderness is akin to Goldsmith’s, and the natural -man is clearly visible in his writings. A direct contrast is seen -in Sterne, who was more malicious and sly, full of unreality and -misplaced sentiment, and depending chiefly upon his constant supply of -<i>doubles entendres</i> and the morbid tastes of his readers. Writers -like Derrick and Bickerstaffe were hardly witty in the modern sense, -but rather in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xviii">[xviii]</span> original literal meaning of the term. There are -many wits, highly popular in their own day, who are no longer readable -with any marked degree of pleasure. Wit depends so largely upon the -manner of its delivery for the effect produced that the dramatists -are not so numerously represented in this collection as might be -expected from the special fecundity and excellence of the Irish in -that branch of literature. To extract the wit or humour from some of -the eighteenth-century plays is no easy task. In men like Sheridan, it -is superabundant, over-luxuriant, and easily detachable; but others, -like Kane O’Hara, Hugh Kelly, William O’Brien, James Kenney, and so on, -whose plays were famous at one time and are not yet forgotten, find no -place in this work on account of the difficulty of bringing the wit of -their plays to a focus.</p> - -<p>There never was a writer, perhaps, concerning whose merits there has -been less dispute than Goldsmith. Sheridan, with all his brilliance, -has not been so fortunate. Lysaght and Millikin were and are both -greatly overrated as poets and wits, if we are to judge by the -fragments they have left. Lysaght, however, must have been considered -a genuine wit, for we find a number of once popular songs wrongly -attributed to him. He most unquestionably did not write “The Sprig -of Shillelagh,” “Donnybrook Fair,” “The Rakes of Mallow,” or “Kitty -of Coleraine,” though they have all been put down as his. The first -two were written by H. B. Code and Charles O’Flaherty respectively. -Millikin’s fame is due to one of those literary accidents which now -and then occur. Henry Luttrell in his verse had something of the -sprightliness and point of Moore.</p> - -<p>Very few specimens of parody have been included in this collection. -Two extracts are here given from Eaton Stannard Barrett’s burlesque -romance, which ridiculed a school of writers whose mannerisms were -once very prevalent. Maginn was a much better parodist. He was a great -humorist in every way, and may be claimed as the earliest writer who -showed genuine rollicking Irish humour. “Daniel O’Rourke” is here -given to him for the first time, probably, in a collection; though it -appeared in Crofton Croker’s “Fairy Legends” it was known to their -contemporaries as Maginn’s. He could be both coarse and refined; his -boisterous praise of the bottle was not a sham, but his occasional -apparent delight in savage personal criticism<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xix">[xix]</span> was really quite foreign -to his character, as he was a most amiable man, much loved by those -who knew him. It was different with “Father Prout,” who was one of the -venomous order of wits, and certainly not a personal favourite with -his colleagues. His frequent and senseless attacks on O’Connell and -other men, dragged into all his essays, are blots on his work. His wit -is too often merely abusive, like that of Dr. Kenealy, who, almost -as learned as “Prout,” was quite as unnecessarily bitter. It is from -Lover that we get the cream, not the curds of Irish humour. He is the -Irish arch-humorist, and it is difficult to exaggerate the excellence -of his lovesongs. Others may be more classical, more polished, more -subtle, but there is no writer more irresistible. Among his earlier -contemporaries Ettingsall was his nearest counterpart in one notable -story. It must not be forgotten, either, that “Darby Doyle’s Voyage -to Quebec” appeared in print before Lover’s “Barney O’Reirdon.” -Carleton and Lever were admirable humorists, but only incidentally so, -whereas Lover was nothing if not a humorist before all. There are many -excellent comic passages in the novels of both, as also in one or two -of Lefanu’s works, and if it should be thought that proportionately -they are under-represented, it need only be pointed out that though a -large volume might easily be made up of examples of their humour alone, -other writers also have a good claim to a considerable amount of space. -It has been thought preferable to restrict the selections from such -famous novelists in order to give a place to no less admirable but much -less familiar work.</p> - -<p>O’Leary and the other Bacchanalians who came after Maginn were worthy -followers of the school which devoted all its lyrical enthusiasm to -the praise of drink, while Marmion Savage showed rather the acid wit -of Moore. Ferguson and Wade are better known by their verse than as -humorous storytellers. We find true Irish humour again in Kickham -and Halpine. The Irish humorists of the present day hardly need any -introduction to the reader.</p> - -<p>The treatment of sacred subjects by Irish wits is similar to that -in most Catholic countries. St. Patrick is hardly regarded as a -conventional saint by Irish humorists, and it is curious that St. Peter -is accepted by the wits of all nationalities as a legitimate<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xx">[xx]</span> object -of pleasantry. If, however, Irish writers occasionally seem to lack -reverence for things which in their eyes are holy, “it is only their -fun,” as Lamb would say. Only those who are in the closest intimacy -with sacred objects venture to treat them familiarly, and the Irish -peasant often speaks in an offhand manner of that which is dearest to -him. Few nations could have produced such a harvest of humour under -such depressing and unfavourable influences as Ireland has experienced. -And it may be asserted with truth that many countries with far more -reason for uninterrupted good-humour, with much less cause for sadness, -would be hard put to it to show an equally valuable contribution to the -world’s lighter literature.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Though it has been sought to make this volume as comprehensive as -possible, some familiar names will be missed; it is believed, however, -that it contains a thoroughly representative collection of humorous -extracts. There are some undoubted humorists whose wit will not bear -transferring or transplanting, and it is as hard to convey their humour -in an extract as it is to bottle a sunbeam. In others, the humour -is beaten out too thin, and spread over too wide an area, to make -selection satisfactory. The absence from this collection of any example -of Mr. Oscar Wilde’s characteristic wit is not the fault of the present -writer or the publishers. I have to thank nearly all the living authors -represented in this collection for permission to use their writings, -the one or two exceptions being those whose writings are uncollected, -and whom I could not reach; and I have also to express my indebtedness -to Mr. Alfred Nutt for allowing me to quote from “The Vision of -McConglinne” and Dr. Hyde’s “Beside the Fire”; to Messrs. Ward & Downey -for the extract from Edmund Downey; to Messrs. James Duffy & Son for -the extract from Kickham; to Messrs. Routledge for poems by Lover; -etc. I am also, deeply obliged to Dr. Douglas Hyde, the eminent Irish -scholar and folk-lorist, for copies of some of the earlier extracts, -and to Messrs. F. A. Fahy and P. J. McCall for some later pieces. For -the proverbs I am chiefly indebted to Dr. Hyde, Mr. Fahy, Mr. T. J. -Flannery, and Mr. Patrick O’Leary.</p> - -<p class="r2 p-min">D. J. O’DONOGHUE.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[1]</span></p> - -<h2>THE HUMOUR OF IRELAND.</h2> -</div> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_001"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_001.jpg" - alt="" /> - </div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="smaller"><i>EXORCISING THE DEMON OF VORACITY.</i></h2> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>[Cathal MacFinguine, King of Munster, is possessed by a demon of -gluttony that “used to devour his rations with him to the ruin of the -men of Munster during three half-years; and it is likely he would -have ruined Ireland during another half-year.” Anier MacConglinne, “a -famous scholar” and satirist, undertakes to banish the demon, whom he -entices out of Cathal by marvellous stories of food and feasting, etc., -meanwhile keeping him fasting.]</p> -</div> - -<p>And he called for juicy old bacon, and tender corned-beef, and -full-fleshed wether, and honey in the comb, and English salt on a -beautiful polished dish of white silver, along with four perfectly -straight white hazel spits to support the joints. The viands which he -enumerated were procured for him, and he fixed unspeakable huge pieces -on the spits. Then putting a linen apron about him below, and placing a -flat linen cap on the crown of his head, he lighted a fair four-ridged, -four-apertured, four-cleft fire of ash-wood, without smoke, without -fume, without sparks. He stuck a spit into each of the portions, and as -quick was he about the spits and fire as a hind about her first fawn, -or as a roe, or a swallow, or a bare spring wind in the flank of March. -He rubbed the honey and the salt into one piece after another. And big -as the pieces were that were before the fire, there<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[2]</span> dropped not to -the ground out of theses four pieces as much as would quench a spark -of a candle; but what there was of relish in them went into their very -centre.</p> - -<p>It had been explained to Pichán that the reason why the scholar had -come was to save Cathal. Now, when the pieces were ready, MacConglinne -cried out, “Ropes and cords here!” “What is wanted with them?” asked -Pichán. Now that was a “question beyond discretion” for him, since -it had been explained to him before; and hence is the old saying, -“a question beyond discretion.” Ropes and cords were given to -MacConglinne, and to those that were strongest of the warriors. They -laid hands upon Cathal, who was tied in this manner to the side of -the palace. Then MacConglinne came, and was a long time securing the -ropes with hooks and staples. And when this was ended, he came into -the house, with his four spits raised high on his back, and his white -wide-spread cloak hanging behind, its two peaks round his neck, to the -place where Cathal was. And he stuck the spits into the bed before -Cathal’s eyes, and sat himself down in his seat, with his two legs -crossed. Then taking his knife out of his girdle, he cut a bit off the -piece that was nearest to him, and dipped it in the honey that was -on the aforesaid dish of white silver. “Here’s the first for a male -beast,” said MacConglinne, putting the bit into his own mouth. (And -from that day to this the old saying has remained.) He cut a morsel -from the next piece, and dipping it in the honey, put it past Cathal’s -mouth into his own. “Carve the food for us, son of learning!” exclaimed -Cathal. “I will do so,” answered MacConglinne and cutting another bit -of the nearest piece, and dipping it as before, he put it past Cathal’s -mouth into his own. “How long wilt thou carry this on, student?” asked -Cathal. “No more henceforth,” answered MacConglinne, “for, indeed, -thou hast consumed such a quantity and variety of agreeable morsels, -that I shall eat<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[3]</span> the little that is there myself, and this will be -‘food from mouth’ for thee.” (And that has been a proverb since.) Then -Cathal roared and bellowed, and commanded the killing of the scholar. -But that was not done for him. “Well, Cathal,” said MacConglinne, “a -vision has appeared to me, and I have heard that thou art good at -interpreting a dream.” “By my God’s doom!” exclaimed Cathal, “though -I should interpret the dreams of the men of the world, I would not -interpret thine.” “I vow,” said MacConglinne, “even though thou dost -not interpret it, it shall be related in thy presence.” He then began -his vision, and the way he related it was, whilst putting two morsels -or three at a time past Cathal’s mouth into his own—</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="ileft">“A vision I beheld last night:</div> - <div>I sallied forth with two or three,</div> - <div>When I saw a fair and well-filled house,</div> - <div>In which there was great store of food.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>A lake of new milk I beheld</div> - <div>In the midst of a fair plain.</div> - <div>I saw a well-appointed house</div> - <div>Thatched with butter.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>As I went all around it</div> - <div>To view its arrangement:</div> - <div>Puddings fresh-boiled,</div> - <div>They were its thatch-rods.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Its two soft door-posts of custard,</div> - <div>Its daïs of curd and butter,</div> - <div>Beds of glorious lard,</div> - <div>Many shields of thin-pressed cheese.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[4]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Under the straps of these shields</div> - <div>Were men of soft sweet-smooth cheese,</div> - <div>Men who knew not to wound a Gael,</div> - <div>Spears of old butter had each of them.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>A huge caldron full of <i>luabin</i>—</div> - <div>(Methought I’d try to tackle it)</div> - <div>Boiled leafy kale, browny-white,</div> - <div>A brimming vessel full of milk.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>A bacon-house of two-score ribs,</div> - <div>A wattling of tripe—support of clans—</div> - <div>Of every food pleasant to man,</div> - <div>Meseemed the whole was gathered there.”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>(<i>MacConglinne then narrates a fable concerning the land of -O’Early-Eating, etc.</i>)</p> - -<p>Then in the harbour of the lake before me I saw a juicy little coracle -of beef-fat, with its coating of tallow, with its thwarts of curds, -with its prow of lard, with its stern of butter, with its thole-pins of -marrow, with its oars of flitches of old boar in it. Indeed she was a -sound craft in which we embarked. Then we rowed across the wide expanse -of New-Milk Lake, through seas of broth, past river-mouths of mead, -over swelling boisterous waves of butter-milk, by perpetual pools of -gravy, past woods dewy with meat-juice, past springs of savoury lard, -by islands of cheeses, by hard rocks of rich tallow, by headlands of -old curds, along strands of dry-cheese, until we reached the firm level -beach between Butter-Mount and Milk-Lake and Curd-Point, at the mouth -of the pass to the country of O’Early-Eating, in front of the hermitage -of the Wizard Doctor. Every oar we plied in New-Milk Lake would<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span> send -its sea-sand of cheese-curds to the surface.... Marvellous, indeed, was -the hermitage in which I then found myself. Around it were seven score -hundred smooth stakes of old bacon, and instead of the thorns above the -top of every long stake was fried juicy lard of choice well-fed boar, -in expectation of a battle against the tribes of Butter-fat and Cheese -that were on New-Milk Lake, warring against the Wizard Doctor. There -was a gate of tallow to it, whereon was a bolt of sausage.</p> - -<p>Let an active, white-handed, sensible, joyous woman wait upon thee, -who must be of good repute.... Let this maiden give thee thy thrice -nine morsels, O MacConglinne, each morsel of which shall be as big as -a heathfowl’s egg. Those morsels then must be put in thy mouth with -a swinging jerk, and thine eyes must whirl about in thy skull whilst -thou art eating them. The eight kinds of grain thou must not spare, O -MacConglinne, wheresoever they are offered thee—viz., rye, wild-oats, -beare, buckwheat, wheat, barley, <i>fidbach</i>, oats. Take eight cakes -of each fair grain of these, and eight condiments with every cake, and -eight sauces with each condiment; and let each morsel thou puttest in -thy mouth be as big as a heron’s egg. Away now to the smooth panikins -of cheese-curds, O MacConglinne:</p> - -<ul> - <li>to fresh pigs,</li> - <li>to loins of fat,</li> - <li>to boiled mutton,</li> - <li class="hangingindent">to the choice easily-discussed thing for which the hosts contend—the gullet of salted beef;</li> - <li>to the dainty of the nobles, to mead;</li> - <li>to the cure of chest-disease—old bacon;</li> - <li>to the appetite of pottage—stale curds;</li> - <li>to the fancy of an unmarried woman—new milk;</li> - <li>to a queen’s mash—carrots;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span></li> - <li>to the danger awaiting a guest—ale;</li> - <li>to a broken head—butter roll;</li> - <li>to hand-upon-all—dry bread;</li> - <li>to the pregnant thing of a hearth—cheese;</li> - <li>to the bubble-burster—new ale;</li> - <li>to the priest’s fancy—juicy kale;</li> - <li class="hangingindent">to the treasure that is smoothest and sweetest of all food—white porridge;</li> - <li>to the anchor—broth;</li> - <li>to the double-looped twins—sheep’s tripe;</li> - <li>to the dues of a wall—sides (of bacon);</li> - <li>to the bird of a cross—salt;</li> - <li>to the entry of a gathering—sweet apples;</li> - <li>to the pearls of a household—hen’s eggs;</li> - <li>to the glance of nakedness—kernels.</li> -</ul> - -<p>When he had reckoned me up those many viands, he ordered me my drop of -drink. “A tiny little measure for thee, MacConglinne, not too large, -only as much as twenty men will drink, on the top of those viands: of -very thick milk, of milk not too thick, of milk of long thickness, -of milk of medium thickness, of yellow bubbling milk, the swallowing -of which needs chewing, of the milk the snoring bleat of a ram as it -rushes down the gorge, so that the first draught says to the last -draught, ‘I vow, thou mangy cur, before the Creator, if thou comest -down I’ll go up, for there is no room for the doghood of the pair of us -in this treasure-house.’ ...”</p> - -<p>At the pleasure of the recital and the recounting of those many -pleasant viands in the king’s presence, the lawless beast that abode in -the inner bowels of Cathal MacFinguine came forth, until it was licking -its lips outside his head. The scholar had a large fire beside him in -the house. Each of the pieces was put in order to the fire, and then -one after the other to the lips of the king.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span> One time, when one of -the pieces was put to the king’s mouth, the son of malediction darted -forth, fixed his two claws in the piece that was in the student’s hand, -and, taking it with him across the hearth to the other side, bore it -below the caldron that was on the other side of the fire. And the -caldron was overturned on him.</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>From an Irish manuscript of the 12th century,</i></p> - -<p class="r4 p-min"><i>translated by Kuno Meyer.</i></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>THE ROMAN EARL.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>No man’s trust let woman claim,</div> - <div class="i1">Not the same as men are they;</div> - <div>Let the wife withdraw her face</div> - <div class="i1">When ye place the man in clay.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Once there was in Rome an earl,</div> - <div class="i1">Cups of pearl held his ale.</div> - <div>Of this wealthy earl’s mate</div> - <div class="i1">Men relate a famous tale.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>For it chanced that of a day,</div> - <div class="i1">As they lay at ease reclined,</div> - <div>He in jest pretends to die,</div> - <div class="i1">Thus to try her secret mind.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“Och, ochone! if you should die,</div> - <div class="i1">Never I should be myself,</div> - <div>To the poor of God I’d give</div> - <div class="i1">All my living, lands and pelf.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“Then in satin stiff with gold</div> - <div class="i1">I should fold thy fair limbs still,</div> - <div>Laying thee in gorgeous tomb”—</div> - <div class="i1">Said the woman bent on ill.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Soon the earl as if in death</div> - <div class="i1">Yielded up his breath to try her;</div> - <div>Not one promise kept his spouse</div> - <div class="i1">Of the vows made glibly by her.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Jerked into a coffin hard</div> - <div class="i1">With a yard of canvas coarse,—</div> - <div>To his hips it did not come—</div> - <div class="i1">To the tomb they drove the corse.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Bravely dressed was she that day,</div> - <div class="i1">On her way to mass and grave—</div> - <div>To God’s church and needy men</div> - <div class="i1">Not one penny piece she gave.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Up he starts, the coffined man,</div> - <div class="i1">Calls upon his wife aloud,</div> - <div>“Why am I thus thrust away</div> - <div class="i1">Almost naked, with no shroud?”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Then as women will when caught</div> - <div class="i1">In a fault, with ready wit,</div> - <div>Answered she upon the wing—</div> - <div class="i1">Not one thing would she admit.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“Winding sheets are out of date,</div> - <div class="i1">All men state it—clad like this,</div> - <div>When the judgment trump shall sound</div> - <div class="i1">You can bound to God and bliss.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“When in shrouds they trip and stumble,</div> - <div class="i1">You’ll be nimble then as erst,</div> - <div>Hence I shaped thee this short vest;</div> - <div class="i1">You’ll run best and come in first.”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Trust not to a woman’s faith,</div> - <div class="i1">’Tis a breath, a broken stem,</div> - <div>Few whom they do not deceive;</div> - <div class="i1">Let him grieve who trusts to them.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Though full her house of linen web,</div> - <div class="i1">And sheets of thread spun full and fair—</div> - <div>A warning let it be to us—</div> - <div class="i1">She left her husband naked there.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Spake the prudent earl: “In sooth,</div> - <div class="i1">Woman’s truth you here behold,</div> - <div>Now let each his coffin buy</div> - <div class="i1">Ere his wife shall get his gold.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“When Death wrestles for his life,</div> - <div class="i1">Let his wife not hear him moan,</div> - <div>Great though be his pain and fear,</div> - <div class="i1">Let her hear nor sigh nor groan.”</div> - <div class="right"><i>Translated by Dr. Douglas Hyde from an<br /> -old Irish manuscript.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>THE FELLOW IN THE GOAT-SKIN.</i></h2> - -<p>There was a poor widow living down there near the Iron Forge when the -country was all covered with forests, and you might walk on the tops -of trees from Carnew to the Lady’s Island, and she had one boy. She -was very poor, as I said before, and was not able to buy clothes for -her son. So when she was going out she fixed him snug and combustible -in the ash-pit, and piled the warm ashes about him. The boy knew no -better, and was as happy as the day was long; and he was happier still -when a neighbour<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span> gave his mother a kid to keep him company when -herself was abroad. The kid and the lad played like two may-boys; and -when she was old enough to give milk, wasn’t it a godsend to the little -family? You won’t prevent the boy from growing up into a young man, but -not a screed of clothes had he then no more than when he was a gorsoon.</p> - -<p>One day as he was sitting comfortably in his pew he heard poor Jin -bleating outside so dismally. It was only one step for him to the door, -another to the middle of the road, and another to the gap going into -the wood; and there he saw a pack of deer hounds tearing the life out -of his poor goat. He snatched a <i>rampike</i> out of the gap, was up -with the dogs while a cat would be licking her ear, and in two shakes -he made <i>smithereens</i> of the whole bilin’ of them. The hunters -spurred their horses to ride him down, but he ran at them with the -terrible club, roaring with rage and grief; and horses and men were out -of sight before he could wink. He then went back, crying, to the poor -goat. Her tongue was hanging out and her legs quivering, and after she -strove to lift her head and lick his hand, she lay down cold and dead. -He lifted the body and carried it into the cabin, and <i>pullilued</i> -over it till he fell asleep out of weariness; and then a butcher, that -came in with other neighbours to pity him, took away the body and -dressed the skin so smooth, so soft, and fastened two thongs to two of -the corners. When the boy’s grief was a little mollified, the neighbour -stepped in and fastened the nice skin round his body. It fell to his -knees, and the head skin was in front like a Highlander’s pocket. He -was so proud of his new dress that he walked out with his head touching -the sky, and up and down the town with him two or three times. “Oh, -dear!” says the people, standing at their doors and admiring the great -big boy, “look at the <i>Gilla na Chreckan Gour</i>” (<i>Giolla na -Chroiceann Gobhair</i>—the fellow in the goat-skin), and that name -remained on him till<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span> he went into his coffin. But pride and fine dress -won’t make the pot boil. So his mother says to him next morning, “Tom,” -says she, for that was his real name, “you’re idle long enough; so now -that you are well clad, and needn’t be ashamed to appear before the -neighbours, take that rope and bring in a special good <i>bresna</i> -(fagot) of rotten boughs from the forest.” “Never say it twice,” says -Gilla, and off he set into the heart of the wood. He broke off and -gathered up a great big fagot, and was tying it, when he heard a roar -that was enough to split an oak, and up walks a giant a foot taller -than himself; and he was a foot taller than the tallest man you’d see -in a fair.</p> - -<p>“What brings you here, you vagabone,” says the giant, says he, -“threspassin’ in my demesne and stealin’ my fire-wood?” “I’m doin’ no -harm,” says Gilla, “but clearin’ your wood, if it is your wood, of -rotten boughs.” “I’ll let you see the harm you’re doin’,” says the -giant, and with that he made a blow at Gilla that would have felled -an ox. “Is that the way you show civility to your neighbours?” says -the other, leaping out of the way of the club; “here’s at you,” and -he leaped in and caught the giant by the body, and gave him such a -heave that his head came within an inch of the ground. But he was as -strong as Goliath, and worked up, and gave Gilla another heave equal -to the one he got himself. So they held at it, tripping, squeezing, -and twisting, and the hard ground became a bog under their feet, and -the bog became like the hard road. At last Gilla gave the giant a -great twist, got his right leg behind <i>his</i> right leg, and flung -him headlong again the root of an oak tree. He caught up the club -from where the giant let it fall at the beginning of the scrimmage, -and said to him, “I am goin’ to knock out your brains; what have you -to say again it?” “Oh, nothin’ at all! But if you spare my life, I’ll -give you a flute that, whenever you play on it, will set your greatest -enemies a-dancing, and they won’t have power<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span> to lay their hands on -you, if they were as mad as march hares to kill you.” “Let us have it,” -says Gilla, “and take yourself out of that.” So the giant handed him -the flute out of his oxter-pocket, and home went Gilla as proud as a -paycock, with his fagot on his back and his flute stuck in it.</p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_012"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_012.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“THE GIANT HANDED HIM THE FLUTE.”</p> - </div> - -<p>In three days’ time he went to get another fagot; and this day he was -attacked by a brother of the same giant; and whatever trouble he had -with the other he had it twice with this one. He levelled him at last, -and only gave him his life on being offered a bottle of soft green wax -of a wonderful nature. If a person only rubbed it on the size of a -crown-piece on his body, fire, nor iron, nor any sharp thing could do -him the least harm for a year and a day after. Home went Gilla with his -bottle, and never stirred out for three days, for he was a little tired -and bruised after his wrestling. The next fagot he went to gather he -met with the third brother, and if they hadn’t the dreadful struggle, -leave it till again! They held at it from noon till night, and then -the giant was forced to give in. What he gave for his life was a club -that he took away once from a hermit, and any one fighting with that -club in a just cause would never be conquered. If Gilla stayed at home -three days after the last struggle, he didn’t stir for a week after -this. It was on a Monday morning he got up, and he heard a blowing of -bugles and a terrible hullabulloo in the street. Himself and his mother -ran to the door, and there was a fine fat man on horseback, with a -jockey’s cap on his head, and a quilt with six times the colours of the -rainbow on it hanging over his shoulders. “Hear, all you good people,” -says he, after another pull at his bugle-horn, “the King of Dublin’s -daughter has not laughed for three years and a half, and her father -promises her in marriage, and his crown after his death, to whoever -makes her laugh three times.” “And here’s the boy,” says Gilla, “will -make her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span> do that, or know the reason why.” If one was to count all the -threads in a coat, it would never come into the tailor’s hands; and -if I was to reckon all that Gilla’s mother and her neighbours said to -him before he set out, and all the steps he took after he set out, I’d -never have him as far as the gates of Dublin; but to Dublin he got at -last, as sure as fate. They were going to stop him at the gates, but he -gave a curl of his club round his shoulder, and said he was coming to -make the princess laugh. So they laughed and let him pass; and maybe -the doors and windows were not crowded with women and children gazing -after the good-natured-looking young giant, with his long black hair -falling on his shoulders, and his goat-skin hanging from his waist to -his knee. There was a great crowd in the palace yard when he reached -there, and ever so many of them playing all sorts of tricks to get -a laugh from the princess; but not a smile, even, could be got from -her. “What is your business?” said the king, “and where do you come -from?” “I come, my liege,” said Gilla, “from the country of the ‘Yellow -Bellies,’<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> and my business is to make the princess, God bless her! -give three hearty laughs.” “God enable you!” said the king. But an -ugly, cantankerous fellow near the king, with a white face and red hair -on him, put in his spoon, and says he to Gilla, “My fine fellow, before -any one is allowed to strive for the princess, he is expected to show -himself a man at all sorts of matches with the champions of the court.” -“Nothing will give me greater pleasure,” says Gilla. So he laid his -club and spit in his fists, and a brave sturdy Galloglach came up and -took him by the shoulder and elbow. If he did, he didn’t keep his hold -long;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span> Gilla levelled him while you’d wink, and then came another and -another till two score were pitched on their heads.</p> - -<p>Well, no one gripped him the second time; but at last all were so mad -that they stopped rubbing their heads and hips and shoulders, and made -at Gilla in a body. The princess was looking very much pleased at -Gilla all the time, but now she cried out to her father to stop the -attack. The white-faced fellow said something in the king’s ear and -not a budge did he make. But Gilla didn’t let himself be flurried. He -took up his <i>kippeen</i> (cudgel or club), and gave this fellow a -tap on his left ear, and that fellow a tap on his right ear, and the -other a crack on the ridge pole of his head; and maybe it wasn’t a -purty spectacle to see every soul of two score of them tumbling over -and hether, their heads in the dust and their heels in the air, and -they roaring “Murdher” at the <i>ling</i> of their life. But the best -of it was that the princess, when she saw the confusion, gave a laugh -like the ring of silver on a stone, so sweet and so loud that all the -court heard it; and Gilla struck his club butt-end on the ground, and -says he, “King of Dublin, I have won half of your daughter.” The face -of Red-head turned from white to yellow, but no one minded him, and -the king invited Gilla to dine with himself and the princess and all -the royal family. So that day passed, and while they were at breakfast -next morning Red-head reminded the king that he had nothing to do now -but to send the new champion to kill the wild beast that was murdering -every one that attempted to go a hen’s race beyond the walls. The king -did not say a word one way or the other; but the princess said it was -not right nor kind to send a stranger out to his certain death, for no -one ever escaped the wild beast if it could get near them. “I’ll make -the trial,” says Gilla; “I’d face twenty wild beasts to do any service -to yourself or your subjects.” So he inquired where the beast was to be -found,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span> and White-face was only too ready to give him his directions. -The princess was sorrowful enough when she saw him setting out, but go -he must and would. After he was gone a mile beyond the gates he heard -a terrible roar in the wood and a great cracking of boughs, and out -pounced a terrible beast on him, with great long claws, and a big mouth -open to swallow him, club and all.</p> - -<p>When he was at the very last spring Gilla gave him a stroke on the -nose; and crack! he was sprawling on his back in two seconds. Well, -that did not daunt him; he was up, and springing again at Gilla, and -this time the blow came on him between the two eyes. Down and up he was -again and again till his right ear, his left ear, his right shoulder, -and left shoulder were black and blue. Then he sat on his hindquarters -and looked very surprised at Gilla and his club. “Now, my tight -fellow,” says Gilla, “follow your nose to Dublin gates. Do no harm to -any one, and I’ll do no harm to you.” “Waw! waw! waw!” says the beast, -with his long teeth all stripped, and sparks flashing from his eyes; -but when he saw the club coming down on him he put his tail between his -legs and walked on. Now and then he’d turn about and give a growl, but -a flourish of the club would soon set him on the straight road again. -Oh! if there wasn’t racing and tearing through the streets, and roaring -and bawling; but Gilla nor the beast ever drew rein till they came to -the palace yard. Well, if the people in the streets were frightened, -the people in the court were terrified. The king and his daughter were -in a balcony, or something that way, and so were out of danger; but -lord and gentleman, and officer, and soldier, as soon as they laid eye -on the beast, began to run into passages and halls; but those that -got in first shut the doors in their fright; and they that were left -out did not know what to do, and the king cried out to Gilla to take -away the frightful thing. Gilla at once took his flute out of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span> his -goat-skin pocket and began to play, and every one in the court—beast -and body—began to dance. There was the unfortunate beast obliged to -stand on his hind legs and play heel and toe, while he shovelled about -after those that were next him, and he growling fearfully all the -time. The people, striving to keep out of his way, were still obliged -to mind their steps, but that didn’t prevent them from roaring out to -Gilla to free them from their tormentor. The beast kept a steady eye on -Red-head, and was always sliding after him as well as the figures of -the dance would let him; and you may be sure the poor fellow’s teeth -were not strong enough to keep his tongue quiet. Well, it was all a -fearful thing to look at, but it was very comical, too; and as soon as -the princess saw that Gilla’s power over the beast was strong enough to -prevent him doing any hurt, and especially when she heard the roars of -Red-head and looked at his dancing, she burst out laughing the second -time. “Now, King of Dublin,” said Gilla, “I have won two halves of the -princess, and I hope it won’t be long till the third half will fall to -me.” “Oh! for goodness’ sake,” said the king, “never mind halves or -quarters—banish this vagabone beast to Bandon, or Halifax, or Lusk, or -the Red Say, and we’ll see what is to come next.” Gilla took his flute -out of his mouth and the dancing stopped like shot The poor beast was -thrown off his balance and fell on his side, and a good many of the -dancers had a tumble at the same moment. Then said Gilla to the beast, -“You see that street leading straight to the mountain; down that street -with you; don’t let a hare catch you; and if you fall, don’t wait to -get up. And if I hear of you coming within a mile of castle or cabin -within the four seas of Ireland I’ll make an example of you; remember -the club.” He had no need to give his orders twice. Before he was done -speaking the beast was half-way down the street like a frightened dog -with a kettle tied to his tail. He was once<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span> after seen in the Devil’s -Glen, in Wicklow, picking a bone, and that’s all was ever heard of him.</p> - -<p>Well, that was work enough for one day, and the potatoes were just done -in the big kitchen of the palace. I don’t know what great people take -instead of stirabout and milk before they go to bed. Indeed, people -do be saying that some of them never leave the table from dinner to -bedtime, but I don’t believe it. Anyhow, they took dinner and supper -and went to bed, everything in its own time, and rose in the morning -when the sun was as high as the trees. So when they were at breakfast, -Red-head, who wasn’t at all agreeable to the match, says to the king, -in Gilla’s hearing: “The Danes, ill-luck be in their road! will be -near the city in a day or two; and it is said in an old prophecy book, -that if you could get the flail that’s hanging on the couple under -the ridge pole of Hell, you could drive every enemy you have into the -sea—Dane or divil. I’m sure, sir, Gilla wouldn’t have too much trouble -in getting that flail; nothing seems too hot or too heavy for him!” -“If he goes,” said the princess, “it is against my wish and will.” -“If he goes,” said the king, “it is not by my order.” “Go I will,” -said Gilla, “if any one shows me the way.” There was an old gentleman -with a red nose on him sitting at the table, and says he, “Oh! I’ll -show you the way; it lies down Cut Purse Row. You will know it by the -sign of the ‘Cat and Bagpipes’ on one side, and the ‘Ace of Spades’ -stuck in the window opposite.” “I’m off,” says Gilla; “pray all of -you for my safe return.” He easily found the “Cat and Bagpipes” and -the “Ace of Spades,” and nothing further is said of him till he was -knocking at Hell’s Gate. It was opened by an old fellow with horns on -him seven feet long, and says he to Gilla, mighty politely, “What is -it you want here, sir?” “I am a great traveller,” said Gilla, “and -wish to see every place worth seeing, inside and outside.” “Oh! if -that’s the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span> case,” says the porter, “walk in. Here, brothers, show -this gentleman-traveller all the curiosities of the place.” With that -they all, big and little, locked and bolted every window and door, and -stuffed every hole, till a midge itself couldn’t find its way out; -and then they surrounded Gilla with their spits, and pitchforks, and -<i>sprongs</i>; and if they didn’t whack and prod him, it’s a wonder. -“Gentlemen,” says Gilla, “these are the tricks of clowns. Fairplay -is bonny play; show yourselves gentlemen, if you have a good drop in -you. Hand me a weapon, and let us fight fair. There’s an old flail on -that couple, it will do as well as another.” “Oh, yes! the flail! the -flail!” cried they all; and some little imps climbed up the rafters, -pulled down the flail and handed it to Gilla, expecting to see his -hands burned through the moment it touched them. They knew nothing of -the giant’s balsam that Gilla rubbed on his hands as he was coming -along, but they soon knew and felt the strength of his arm, when he -was knocking them down like nine-pins, and thrashing them, arms, legs, -and bodies, like so much oaten straw. “Oh! murdher! murdher!” says -the big divil of all at last. “Stop your hand, and we’ll give you -anything in our power.” “Well,” says Gilla, “I’ve seen all I want in -your habitation. I don’t like the welcome I’ve got, and will thank -you to open the gate.” Oh! wasn’t there twenty pair of legs tearing -in a moment to let Gilla out. “You don’t mean, I hope, to carry off -the flail?” says the big fellow; “it’s very useful to us in winter.” -“It was the very thing that brought me here,” says Gilla, “to get it, -and I won’t leave without it; but if you look in the black pool of the -Liffey at noon to-morrow, you’ll find it there.” Well, they were very -down in the mouth for the loss of the flail, but a second rib-roasting -wasn’t to be thought of. When they had him fairly locked out they put -out their tongues at him through the bars, and shouted, “Ah! Gilla na -Chreckan Gour! wait till you’re<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span> let in here so easy again,” but he -only answered, “You’ll let me in when I ask you.” There was both joy -and terror at court when they saw Gilla coming back with the terrible -flail in his hand. “Now,” says every one, “we care little for the Danes -and all kith and kin. But how did you coax the fellows down below to -give up the implement?” So he told them as much as he chose, and was -very glad to see the welcome that was on the princess’s face. Red-head -thought it would be a fine thing to have the flail in his power. So he -crept over to where Gilla laid it aside after charging no one to touch -it; but his hand did not come within a foot of it, when he thought -he was burned to the bone. He danced about, shook his arm, put his -fist to his mouth, and roared out for water. “Couldn’t you mind what -I said?” says Gilla, “and that wouldn’t have happened.” However, he -took Red-head’s hand within his own two that had the ointment, and he -was freed from the burning at once. Well, the poor rogue looked so -relieved, and so ashamed, and so impudent at the same time, that the -princess joined in the laughing of all about. “Three halves at last,” -said Gilla; “now, my liege,” said he, “I hope that after I give a good -throuncing to the Danes, you will fulfil your promise.” “There are no -two ways about that,” said the king; “Danes or no Danes, you may marry -my daughter to-morrow, if she makes no objection herself.” Red-head, -seeing by the princess’s face that she wasn’t a bit vexed at what her -father said, ran up to his room, thrust his head into a cupboard, and -nearly roared his arm off, but the company downstairs did not seem to -miss him.</p> - -<p>Early in the forenoon of next day a soldier came running in all haste -from the bridge that crossed the Liffey, and said the Danes were coming -in thousands from the north, all in brass armour, brass pots on their -heads, and brass pot-lids on their arms, and that the yellow blaze -coming from their<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span> ranks was enough to blind a body. Out marched the -king’s troops with the king at their head, to hinder the Danes from -getting into the town over the bridge. First went Gilla, with his flail -in one hand and his club in the other. He crossed the bridge, and when -the enemy were about ten perch away from him, he shouted out, “This -flail belongs to the divil, and who has a better right to it than his -children?” So saying, he swung it round his head, and flung it with -all his power at the front rank. It mowed down every man it met in its -course, and when it cut through the whole column, and the space was -clear before it, it sunk down, and flame and smoke flew up from the -breach it made in the ground. The soldiers at each side of the lane of -dead men ran forward on Gilla, but as every one came within the sweep -of his club he was dashed down on the bridge or into the river. On they -rushed like a snowstorm, but they melted like the same snow falling -into a furnace. Gilla kept before the pile of the dead soldiers, but at -last his arms began to tire. Then the king and his men came over, and -the rest of the Danes were frightened and fled. Often was Gilla tired -in his past life, but that was the greatest and tiresomest exploit he -ever done. He lay on a settle-bed for three days; but if he did, hadn’t -he the princess and all her maids of honour to wait on him, and pity -him, and give him gruel, and toast, and tay of all the colours under -the sun? Red-head did his best to stop the marriage, but once when he -was speaking to the king, one of the body-guard swore he’d open his -skull with his battle-axe if he dared open his mouth again about it. So -married they were, and as strong as Gilla was, if ever his princess and -himself had a <i>scruting</i> (dispute), I know who got the upper hand.</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>Kennedy’s Fireside Stories of Ireland.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span></p> - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>OFTEN-WHO-CAME.</i></h2> - - -<p>There was once a man, and he had a handsome daughter, and every one was -in love with her. There used to be two youths constantly coming to her, -courting her. One of them pleased her and the other did not. The man -she did not care for used often to come to her father’s house to get -a sight of herself, and to be in her company, while the man she liked -used not come but seldom. The father preferred she should marry the boy -who was constantly coming, and he made one day a big dinner and sent -every one an invitation. When every one was gathered he said to his -daughter, “Drink a drink now,” says he, “on the man you like best in -this company,” for he thought she would drink to the man he liked best -himself. She lifted the glass in her hand and stood up and looked round -her, and then said this <i>rann</i>:—</p> - - <div class="poetry-container1"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="ileft">“I drink the good health of Often-Who-Came,</div> - <div>Who often comes not I also must name,</div> - <div>Who often comes not I often must blame</div> - <div>That he comes not as often as Often-Who-Came!”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p class="p-left">She sat down when she had spoken this quatrain, and said no -other word that evening; but the youth Often-Who-Came did not come as -far as her again, for he understood he was not wanted, and she married -the man of her own choice with her father’s consent.</p> - -<p>I heard no more of them since.</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>Translated by Dr. Douglas Hyde.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span></p> - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>THE OLD CROW AND THE YOUNG CROW.</i></h2> - -<p>There was an old crow teaching a young crow one day, and he said to -him, “Now, my son,” says he, “listen to the advice I’m going to give -you. If you see a person coming near you and stooping, mind yourself, -and be on your keeping; he’s stooping for a stone to throw at you.”</p> - -<p>“But tell me,” says the young crow, “what should I do if he had a stone -already down in his pocket?”</p> - -<p>“Musha, go ’long out of that,” says the old crow, “you’ve learned -enough; the devil another learning I’m able to give you.”</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>Translated by Dr. Douglas Hyde.</i></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>ROGER AND THE GREY MARE.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Roger the miller came coorting of late</div> - <div>A rich farmer’s daughter called Katty by name.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>She has to her fortune goold, dimins, and rings;</div> - <div>She has to her fortune fifty fine things;</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>She has to her fortune a large plot of ground;</div> - <div>She has to her fortune five hundred pounds.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>When dinner was over and all things laid down,</div> - <div>It was a nice sight to see five hundred pounds.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The sight of the money and beauty likewise</div> - <div>Tickled his fancy and dazzled his eyes.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“And now, as your daughter is comely and fair,</div> - <div class="i2">It’s I that won’t take her,</div> - <div class="i2">It’s I that won’t take her,</div> - <div class="i4">Without the grey mare.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Instantly the money was out of his sight,</div> - <div>And so was Miss Katty, his own heart’s delight.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Roger the miller was kicked out the doore,</div> - <div>And Roger was tould not to come there no more.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Roger pulled down his long yalla hair,</div> - <div class="i2">Saying, “wishing I never,”</div> - <div class="i2">And “wishing I never</div> - <div class="i4">Spoke of the grey mare.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>It was in twelve months after, as happened about,</div> - <div>That Roger the miller saw his own true love.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“Good morrow, fair maid, or do you know me?”</div> - <div>“Good morrow, kind sir, I do well,” says she;</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“A man of your complexion with long yalla hair,</div> - <div class="i2">That wance came a-coorting,</div> - <div class="i2">That wance came a-coorting</div> - <div class="i4">Me father’s grey mare.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“It was not to coort the grey mare I came,</div> - <div>But a nice handsome girl called Katty by name.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“I thought that her father would never dispute,</div> - <div>In giving his daughter, the grey mare for boot,</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“Before he would lose such a beautiful son;</div> - <div class="i2">It’s then I was sorry,</div> - <div class="i2">It’s now I am sorry</div> - <div class="i4">For what I have done.”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“As for your sorrow, I do value not,</div> - <div>There is men in this town enough to be got.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“If you had the grey mare you would marry me,</div> - <div>But now you have nayther the grey mare nor me.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“The price of the grey mare was never so great,</div> - <div class="i2">So fare you well, Roger,</div> - <div class="i2">So fare you well, Roger,</div> - <div class="i4">Go murn<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> for Kate.”</div> - <div class="right"><i>Traditional (taken down from a peasant by<br /> -Dr. Douglas Hyde).</i></div> - </div> - - </div> - </div> - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>WILL O’ THE WISP.</i></h2> - -<p>In old times there was one Will Cooper, a blacksmith who lived in the -parish of Loughile; he was a great lover of the bottle, and all that he -could make by his trade went to that use, so that his family was often -in a starving condition. One day as he was musing in his shop alone -after a fit of drunkenness, there came to him a little old man, almost -naked and trembling with cold. “My good fellow,” said he to Will, “put -on some coals and make a fire, that I may get myself warmed.” Will, -pitying the poor creature, did so, and likewise brought him something -to eat, and told him, if he thought proper, he was welcome to stay -all night. The old man thanked him kindly, and said he had farther -to go; “but,” says he, “as you have been so kind to me, it is in my -power to make you a recompense; make three wishes,” says he, “for -anything you desire most, and let it be what it will you shall obtain -it immediately.” “Well,” says Will, “since that is the case, I wish -that any person who takes my sledge into their hand<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span> may never get -free of it till I please to take it from them. Secondly, I have an -armed chair, and I wish that any person sitting down on the same may -never have power to rise until I please to take them off it. I likewise -wish for the last,” says Will, “that whatever money or gold I happen -to put into my purse, no person may have power to take it out again -but myself.” “Ah! unfortunate Will!” cries the old man, “why did not -you wish for Heaven?” With that he went away from the shop, as Will -thought, very pensive and melancholy, and never was heard of more. The -old man’s words opened Will’s eyes; he saw it was in his power to do -well had he made a good use of the opportunity, and when he considered -that the wishes were not of the least use to him, he became worse every -day, both in soul and body, and in a short time he was reduced to great -poverty and distress.</p> - -<p>One idle day as he was walking along through the fields he met the -devil in the appearance of a gentleman, who told him if he would go -along with him at the end of seven years, he should have anything he -desired during that time. Will, thinking that it was as bad with him -as it could be, although he suspected it was the devil, for the love -of rising in the world, made bargain to go with him at the end of the -seven years, and requested that he would supply him with plenty of -money for the present. Accordingly, Will had his desire, and dreading -to be observed by his neighbours to get rich on a sudden, he removed -to a distance from where he was then living. However, there was nobody -in distress or in want of money but Will was always ready to relieve, -insomuch that in a short time he became noted, and went in that country -by the name of Bill Money, in regard of the great sums he could always -command. He then began to build houses, and before the seven years were -expired he had built a town, which, in imitation of the name he then -had, was called Ballymoney,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span> and is to this day. However, to disguise -the business, and that nobody might suspect him having any dealings -with Satan, he still did something now and then at his trade. The seven -years being expired, he was making some article for a friend, when the -devil came into the shop in his former appearance. “Well, Will,” says -he, “are you ready to go with me now?” “I am,” says Will, “if I had the -job finished; take that sledge,” says he, “and give me a blow or two, -for it is a friend that is to get it, and then I will go with you where -you please.” The devil took the sledge, and they soon finished the job. -“Now,” says Will, “stay you here till I run to my friend with this, and -I will not stay a minute.” Will then went out and the devil stopped in -the shop till it was near night, but there was no sign of Will coming -near him, nor could he by any means get the sledge out of his hands. -He thought if he was once in his old abode, perhaps there might be -some of the smith trade in it who would disengage him of the sledge, -but all that were in hell could not get it out of his hand, so he had -to retain the shape he was then in as long as the iron remained in his -hand. The devil, seeing he could get nobody to do anything for him, -went in search of Will once more, but somehow or other he could not -get near him for a month. At length he met him coming out of a tavern, -pretty drunk. “Well, Will,” says he, “that was a pretty trick you put -on me!” “Faith, no,” says Will, “it was you that tricked me, for when -I came back to the shop you were away, and stole my sledge with you, -so that I could not get a job done ever since.” “Well, Will,” says -Satan, “I could not help taking the sledge, for I cannot get it out of -my hand; but if you take it from me I will give you seven years more -before I ask you with me.” Will readily took the sledge, and the devil -parted from him well pleased that he had got rid of it. Will having now -seven years to play upon, roved<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span> about through the town of Ballymoney, -drinking and sporting, and sometimes doing a little at his trade to -blindfold the people; yet there was many suspected he had dealings with -Satan, or he could not do half of what he had done.</p> - -<p>At length the seven years were expired, and the devil came for him -and found him sitting at the fire smoking, in his own house, where he -kept his wonderful chair. “Come, Will,” says he, “are you ready to -go with me now?” “I am,” says Will, “if you sit down a little till I -make my will and settle everything among my family, and then I will go -with you wherever you please.” So, setting the arm-chair to Satan, he -sat down, and Will went into the chamber as if to settle his affairs; -after a little he came up again, bidding the devil come along, for he -had all things completed to his mind, and would ask to stay no longer. -When Will went out the devil made an attempt to rise, but in vain; he -could not stir from the chair, nor even make the least motion one way -or other, so he was as much confounded to think what was the matter, as -when he was first cast into utter darkness. Will, knowing what would -occur to Satan, stayed away a month, during which time he never became -visible in the chair to any of the family, nor do we hear that any one -else ever observed him at any time but Will himself. However, at the -month’s end Will, returning, pretended to be very much surprised that -the devil did not follow him. “What,” says Will, “kept you here all -this time? I believe you are making a fool of me; but if you do not -come immediately I will have the bargain broken, and never go with you -again.” “I cannot help it,” says Satan, “for all I can do I cannot stir -from my seat, but if you could liberate me I will give you seven years -more before I call on you again.” “Well,” says Will, “I will do what -I can.” He then went to Satan and took him by the arm, and with the -greatest ease lifted him out of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span> chair and set him at liberty once -more. No sooner was Satan gone than Will was ready for his old trade -again; he sported and played, and drank of the best, his purse never -failing, although he sunk all the property and income he had in and -about Ballymoney long before; but he did not care, for he knew he could -have recourse to the purse that never would fail, as I told you before. -However, an accident happened the same purse, that a penny would never -stay in it afterwards, and Will became one of the poorest men to be -found. This was at the end of the seven years of his last bargain, when -Satan came in quest of him again, but was so fearful of a new trick -put upon him by Will that he durst not come near the house. At length -he met him in the fields, and would not give him time to bid as much -as farewell to his wife and children, he was so much afraid of being -imposed upon. Will had at last to go, and travelling along the road -he came to an inn, where many a good glass he had taken in his time. -“Here’s a set of the best rogues,” says Will, “in Ireland; they cheated -me many a time, and I will give all I possess could I put a trick upon -them.” ... “Well,” says Satan, “I do not care if we stop.” “But,” says -Will, “I have no money, and I cannot manage my scheme without it; but -I will tell you what you can do-you can change yourself into a piece -of gold; I will put you in my purse, and then you will see what a -hand I will make for you and me both, before we are at our journey’s -end.” Satan, ever willing to promote evil, consented to change himself -into gold, and when he had done so, Will put the piece into his purse -and returned home. Satan, understanding that Will did not do as he -pretended, strove to deliver himself from confinement, but by the power -of the purse he could never change himself from gold, as long as Will -pleased to keep him in it, and no other person, as I have told you -before, had power to take anything out of it but himself. Will would go -to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span> drink from one ale-house to another, and would pretend to be drunk -when he was not, where he would lay down his purse and bid the waiters -take what they pleased for the reckoning. Every person saw he had money -plenty, yet all they could do they could never get one penny out of the -purse, and he would get so drunk when they would give it back to him -that he would not seem to understand anything, and so would sneak away. -In this manner he cheated both town and country round, until Satan, -weary of confinement, had recourse to a stratagem of his own, and -changed himself from pieces of gold into a solid bar or ingot of the -same metal, but could not get out of the purse.</p> - -<p>This, however, put a great damp upon Will’s trade, for when he had no -coin to show he could get nothing from anybody, and how to behave he -did not know. He took a notion that he would perhaps force him into -coin again, and accordingly brought him to an iron forge, where he had -the ingot battered, for the length of an hour, at a fearful rate; but -all they could do they never changed it in the least, neither could -they injure the purse, for the quality of it became miraculous after -his wish, and the people swore the devil was surely in the purse, for -they never saw anything like it. They were compelled at last to give -over, and Will returned home and went to bed, putting the purse under -his head. His wife was asleep, and the devil kept such a hissing, -puffing, and blowing under the bolster that he soon awakened her, and -she, almost frightened out of her wits, awakened Will, telling him that -the devil was under his head. “Well, if he be,” says Will, “I will take -him to the forge, where I assure you he will get a sound battering.” -“Oh, no,” says Satan, “I would rather be in hell than stay here -confined in this manner, and if you let me go I will never trouble you -again.” “With all my heart,” says Will; “on that head you shall have -your freedom,” and opening the purse, gave Satan his liberty.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span></p> - -<p>Will was now free from all dread or fear of anything, and cared not -what he did. But I forgot to mention that at the time Will wished -nobody might take anything out of the purse, he wished he might never -put his hand in it himself but he would find money—but after Satan -being in it he found it empty ever after. By this unlucky accident, -he that had seen so much of the world for such a length of time was -reduced to the most indigent state, and at length forced to beg his -bread. In this miserable condition he spent many years until his glass -was run, and he had to pay that debt to nature which all creatures -have since the fall of Adam. However, his life was so ill-spent and -his actions so bad that it is recorded he could get no entrance to any -place of good after his decease, so that he was destined to follow -his own master. Coming to the gates of hell, he made a horrible noise -to get in; then Satan bid the porter ask who it was that made such a -din, and not to admit him till he would let him know. The porter did -so, and he bade him tell his master that he was his old friend, Will -Cooper, wanting to come to him once more. When Satan had heard who it -was he ordered the gates to be strongly guarded; “for if that villain -gets in,” says he, “we are all undone.” Will pleaded the distress he -was in, that he could not get backward nor forward with the darkness -he was surrounded with, and having lost his guide, if Satan would not -let him in; and being loath to listen to the noise and confusion he -was making at the gate, Satan sent one of his servants to conduct him -back to earth again, and particularly not to quit him until he left -him in Ireland. “Now,” says Satan to Will when he was going away, “you -were a trusty servant to me a long time; now you are going to earth -again, let me see you be busy, and gain all to me that you can; but -remember how you served me when in the purse, and you shall never be -out of darkness. I will give you a light in your hand to allure and -deceive<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span> the weary traveller, so that he may become a prey to us.” So -lighting a wisp, he gave it to Will, and he was conducted to earth, -where he wanders from that day to this, under the title of <i>Will o’ -the Wisp</i>.</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>Hibernian Tales (a chap-book).</i></p> - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>EPIGRAMS.</i></h2> - -<p class="smcap center">The Churl and his Wine.</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>To thirst he’ll never own,</div> - <div>His wife’s a stingy crone,</div> - <div>A little bottle, half-filled, <i>mavrone</i>,</div> - <div>He keeps locked tight in a corner lone!</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p class="smcap center p1">On a Surly Porter.</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>What a pity Hell’s gates are not kept by O’Flinn—</div> - <div>The surly old dog would let nobody in.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>RIDDLES.</i></h2> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>There’s a garden that I ken</div> - <div>Full of little gentlemen,</div> - <div>Little caps of blue they wear,</div> - <div>And green ribbons very fair.</div> - <div class="center">(<i>Flax.</i>)</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I threw it up as white as snow,</div> - <div>Like gold on a flag it fell below.</div> - <div class="center">(<i>Egg.</i>)</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I ran and I got,</div> - <div>I sat and I searched,</div> - <div>If I could get it I would not bring it with me,</div> - <div>As I got it not I brought it.</div> - <div class="center">(<i>A thorn in the foot.</i>)</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>From house to house he goes,</div> - <div>A messenger small and slight,</div> - <div>And whether it rains or snows</div> - <div>He sleeps outside in the night.</div> - <div class="center">(<i>Boreen—lane or path.</i>)</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>On the top of the tree</div> - <div>See the little man red,</div> - <div>A stone in his belly,</div> - <div>A cap on his head.</div> - <div class="center">(<i>Haw.</i>)</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>A bottomless barrel,</div> - <div>It’s shaped like a hive,</div> - <div>It is filled full of flesh,</div> - <div>And the flesh is alive.</div> - <div class="center">(<i>Tailor’s thimble.</i>)</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>As I went through the garden</div> - <div>I met my uncle Thady,</div> - <div>I cut his head from off his neck</div> - <div>And left his body “aisy.”</div> - <div class="center">(<i>A head of cabbage.</i>)</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Out in the field my daddy grows,</div> - <div>Wearing two hundred suits of clothes.</div> - <div class="center">(<i>Ditto.</i>)</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Snug in the corner I saw the lad lie,</div> - <div>Fire in his heart and a cork in his eye.</div> - <div class="center">(<i>Bottle of whisky.</i>)</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>’Tis round as dish was ever known,</div> - <div>And white as snow the look of it,</div> - <div>’Tis food and life of all mankind,</div> - <div>Yet no man e’er partook of it.</div> - <div class="center">(<i>Breast-milk.</i>)</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div><span class="smcap">My</span> daddy on the warm shelf</div> - <div>Talking, talking to himself.</div> - <div class="center">(<i>Pot on the hob, simmering.</i>)</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Up in the loft the round man lies,</div> - <div>Looking through two hundred eyes.</div> - <div class="center">(<i>A sieve.</i>)</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Out she goes and the priest’s dinner with her.</div> - <div class="center">(<i>Hen with an egg.</i>)</div> - <div class="right"><i>Translated by Dr. Hyde and F. A. Fahy.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>DONALD AND HIS NEIGHBOURS.</i></h2> - -<p>Hudden and Dudden and Donald O’Nery were near neighbours in the barony -of Balinconlig, and ploughed with three bullocks; but the two former, -envying the present prosperity of the latter, determined to kill his -bullock, to prevent his farm being properly cultivated and laboured, -that going back in the world he might be induced to sell his lands, -which they meant to get possession of. Poor Donald, finding his bullock -killed, immediately<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span> skinned it, and throwing the skin over his -shoulder, with the fleshy side out, set off to the next town with it, -to dispose of it to the best of his advantage. Going along the road a -magpie flew on the top of the hide and began picking it, chattering -all the time. The bird had been taught to speak and imitate the human -voice, and Donald, thinking he understood some words it was saying, -put round his hand and caught hold of it. Having got possession of it, -he put it under his great-coat, and so went on to the town. Having -sold the hide, he went into an inn to take a dram, and following the -landlady into the cellar, he gave the bird a squeeze which made it -chatter some broken accents that surprised her very much. “What is -that I hear?” said she to Donald; “I think it is talk, and yet I do -not understand.” “Indeed,” said Donald, “it is a bird I have that -tells me everything, and I always carry it with me to know when there -is any danger. Faith,” says he, “it says you have far better liquor -than you are giving me.” “That is strange,” said she, going to another -cask of better quality, and asking him if he would sell the bird. “I -will,” said Donald, “if I get enough for it.” “I will fill your hat -with silver if you leave it with me.” Donald was glad to hear the news, -and taking the silver, set off, rejoicing at his good luck. He had not -been long at home until he met with Hudden and Dudden. “Mr.,” said he, -“you thought you did me a bad turn, but you could not have done me a -better, for look here what I have got for the hide,” showing them the -hatful of silver; “you never saw such a demand for hides in your life -as there is at present.” Hudden and Dudden that very night killed their -bullocks, and set out the next morning to sell their hides. On coming -to the place they went through all the merchants, but could only get -a trifle for them. At last they had to take what they could get, and -came home in a great rage, and vowing revenge on poor Donald. He<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span> had -a pretty good guess how matters would turn out, and he being under the -kitchen window, he was afraid they would rob him, or perhaps kill him -when asleep, and on that account, when he was going to bed he left his -old mother in his place and lay down in her bed, which was on the other -side of the house; and taking the old woman for Donald, they choked her -in her bed, but he making some noise they had to retreat and leave the -money behind them, which grieved them very much. However, by daybreak -Donald got his mother on his back and carried her to town. Stopping at -a well, he fixed his mother with her staff, as if she was stooping for -a drink, and then went into a public-house convenient and called for a -dram. “I wish,” said he to a woman that stood near him, “you would tell -my mother to come in; she is at yon well trying to get a drink, and -she is hard of hearing. If she does not observe you, give her a little -shake and tell her that I want her.” The woman called her several -times, but she seemed to take no notice; at length she went to her and -shook her by the arm, but when she let her go again, she tumbled on her -head into the well, and, as the woman thought, was drowned. She, in -great surprise and fear at the accident, told Donald what had happened. -“Oh, mercy,” said he, “what is this?” He ran and pulled her out of the -well, weeping and lamenting all the time, and acting in such a manner -that you would imagine he had lost his senses. The woman, on the other -hand, was far worse than Donald, for his grief was only feigned, but -she imagined herself to be the cause of the old woman’s death. The -inhabitants of the town, hearing what had happened, agreed to make -Donald up a good sum of money for his loss, as the accident happened -in their place; and Donald brought a greater sum home with him than -he got for the magpie. They buried Donald’s mother, and as soon as he -saw Hudden and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span> Dudden he showed them the last purse of money he had -got. “You thought to kill me last night,” said he, “but it was good for -me it happened on my mother, for I got all that purse for her to make -gunpowder.”</p> - -<p>That very night Hudden and Dudden killed their mothers, and the next -morning set off with them to town. On coming to the town with their -burthen on their backs, they went up and down crying, “Who will buy old -wives for gunpowder?” so that every one laughed at them, and the boys -at last clodded them out of the place. They then saw the cheat, and -vowing revenge on Donald, buried the old women, and set off in pursuit -of him. Coming to his house, they found him sitting at his breakfast, -and seizing him, put him in a sack, and went to drown him in a river -at some distance. As they were going along the highway they raised a -hare, which they saw had but three feet, and throwing off the sack, ran -after her, thinking by appearance she would be easily taken. In their -absence there came a drover that way, and hearing Donald singing in the -sack, wondered greatly what could be the matter. “What is the reason,” -said he, “that you are singing, and you confined?” “Oh, I am going to -heaven,” said Donald, “and in a short time I expect to be free from -trouble.” “Oh, dear,” said the drover, “what will I give you if you let -me to your place?” “Indeed, I do not know,” said he; “it would take a -good sum.” “I have not much money,” said the drover, “but I have twenty -head of fine cattle, which I will give you to exchange places with me.” -“Well,” says Donald, “I do not care if I should; loose the sack, and I -will come out.” In a moment the drover liberated him and went into the -sack himself, and Donald drove home the fine heifers, and left them in -his pasture.</p> - -<p>Hudden and Dudden having caught the hare, returned, and getting the -sack on one of their backs, carried Donald, as they thought, to the -river, and threw him in, where he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span> immediately sank. They then marched -home, intending to take immediate possession of Donald’s property; but -how great was their surprise when they found him safe at home before -them, with such a fine herd of cattle, whereas they knew he had none -before. “Donald,” said they, “what is all this? We thought you were -drowned, and yet you are here before us.” “Ah,” said he, “if I had but -help along with me when you threw me in, it would have been the best -job ever I met with, for of all the sight of cattle and gold that ever -was seen is there, and no one to own them; but I was not able to manage -more than what you see, and I could show you the spot where you might -get hundreds.” They both swore they would be his friend, and Donald -accordingly led them to a very deep part of the river, and lifted up -a stone. “Now,” said he, “watch this,” throwing it into the stream; -“there is the very place, and go in one of you first, and if you want -help you have nothing to do but call.” Hudden, jumping in and sinking -to the bottom, rose up again, and making a bubbling noise, as those do -that are drowning, attempted to speak, but could not. “What is that he -is saying now?” says Dudden. “Faith,” says Donald, “he is calling for -help; don’t you hear him? Stand about,” said he, running back, “till I -leap in. I know how to do better than any of you.” Dudden, to have the -advantage of him, jumped in off the bank, and was drowned along with -Hudden. And this was the end of Hudden and Dudden.</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>Hibernian Tales (a chap-book).</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>THE WOMAN OF THREE COWS.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">O Woman of Three Cows, <i>agragh!</i> don’t let your tongue thus rattle!</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Oh, don’t be saucy, don’t be stiff, because you may have cattle.</div> - <div class="hangingindent">I have seen—and here’s my hand to you, I only say what’s true—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">A many a one with twice your stock not half so proud as you.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Good luck to you, don’t scorn the poor, and don’t be their despiser;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">For worldly wealth soon melts away, and cheats the very miser:</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And death soon strips the proudest wreath from haughty human brows,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Then don’t be stiff, and don’t be proud, good Woman of Three Cows!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">See where Momonia’s heroes lie, proud Owen More’s descendants—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">’Tis they that won the glorious name, and had the grand attendants!</div> - <div class="hangingindent">If <i>they</i> were forced to bow to Fate, as every mortal bows,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Can <i>you</i> be proud, can <i>you</i> be stiff, my Woman of Three Cows?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">The brave sons of the Lord of Clare, they left the land to mourning;</div> - <div class="hangingindent"><i>Mavrone!</i> for they were banished, with no hope of their returning;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span></div> - <div class="hangingindent">Who knows in what abodes of want those youths were driven to house?</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Yet <i>you</i> can give yourself those airs, O Woman of Three Cows!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Oh, think of Donnell of the Ships, the chief whom nothing daunted—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">See how he fell in distant Spain, unchronicled, unchanted!</div> - <div class="hangingindent">He sleeps, the great O’Sullivan, where thunder cannot rouse—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Then ask yourself, should <i>you</i> be proud, good Woman of Three Cows!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">O’Ruark, Maguire, those souls of fire, whose names are shrined in story—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Think how their high achievements once made Erin’s greatest glory;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Yet now their bones lie mouldering under weeds and cypress boughs,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And so, for all your pride, will you, O Woman of Three Cows!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">The O’Carrolls also, famed when fame was only for the boldest,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Rest in forgotten sepulchres with Erin’s best and oldest;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Yet who so great as they of yore in battle or carouse?</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Just think of that, and hide your head, good Woman of Three Cows!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Your neighbour’s poor, and you, it seems, are big with vain ideas,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Because, <i>inagh</i>,<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> you’ve got three cows, one more, I see, than <i>she</i> has;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span></div> - <div class="hangingindent">That tongue of yours wags more at times than charity allows—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">But if you’re strong, be merciful, great Woman of Three Cows!</div> - </div> - -<p class="center p1 sm">THE SUMMING-UP.</p> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Now, there you go! you still, of course, keep up your scornful bearing,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And I’m too poor to hinder you—but, by the cloak I’m wearing,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">If I had but <i>four</i> cows myself, even though you were my spouse,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">I’d thrash you well, to cure your pride, my Woman of Three Cows!</div> - <div class="right"><i>Translated by James Clarence Mangan.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>IN PRAISE OF DIGRESSIONS.</i></h2> - -<p>I have sometimes heard of an Iliad in a nut-shell, but it has been my -fortune to have much oftener seen a nut-shell in an Iliad. There is -no doubt that human life has received most wonderful advantages from -both, but to which of the two the world is chiefly indebted I shall -leave among the curious as a problem worthy of their utmost inquiry. -For the invention of the latter I think the commonwealth of learning -is chiefly obliged to the great modern improvement of digressions: -the late refinements in knowledge running parallel to those of diet -in our nation, which, among men of a judicious taste, are dressed up -in various compounds, consisting in soups and olios, fricassees and -ragouts.</p> - -<p>It is true, there is a sort of morose, detracting, ill-bred people -who pretend utterly to disrelish these polite innovations;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span> and as to -the similitude from diet, they allow the parallel, but are so bold to -pronounce the example itself a corruption and degeneracy of taste. -They tell us that the fashion of jumbling fifty things together in a -dish was at first introduced in compliance to a depraved and debauched -appetite, as well as to a crazy constitution; and to see a man hunting -through an olio after the head and brains of a goose, a widgeon, -or a woodcock, is a sign he wants a stomach and digestion for more -substantial victuals. Further, they affirm that digressions in a book -are like foreign troops in a state, which argue the nation to want a -heart and hands of its own, and often either subdue the natives or -drive them into the most unfruitful corners.</p> - -<p>But after all that can be objected by these supercilious censors, -it is manifest the society of writers would quickly be reduced to a -very inconsiderable number if men were put upon making books with the -fatal confinement of delivering nothing beyond what is to the purpose. -It is acknowledged that were the case the same among us as with the -Greeks and Romans, when learning was in its cradle, to be reared and -fed, and clothed by invention, it would be an easy task to fill up -volumes upon particular occasions, without further expatiating from the -subjects than by moderate excursions, helping to advance or clear the -main design. But with knowledge it has fared as with a numerous army -encamped in a fruitful country, which, for a few days, maintains itself -by the product of the soil it is on; till, provisions being spent, they -are sent to forage many a mile, among friends or enemies, it matters -not. Meanwhile, the neighbouring fields, trampled and beaten down, -become barren and dry, affording no sustenance but clouds of dust.</p> - -<p>The whole course of things being thus entirely changed between us and -the ancients, and the moderns wisely sensible of it, we of this age -have discovered a shorter and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span> more prudent method to become scholars -and wits, without the fatigue of reading or of thinking. The most -accomplished way of using books at present is twofold: either, first, -to serve them as some men do lords, learn their titles exactly, and -then brag of their acquaintance; or, secondly, what is indeed the -choicer, the profounder, and politer method, to get a thorough insight -into the index, by which the whole book is governed, and turned like -fishes by the tail. For to enter the palace of learning at the great -gate requires an expense of time and forms; therefore men of much haste -and little ceremony are content to get in by the back door. For the -arts are all in flying march, and therefore more easily subdued by -attacking them in the rear. Thus physicians discover the state of the -whole body by consulting only what comes from behind. Thus men catch -knowledge by throwing their wit into the posteriors of a book, as boys -do sparrows with flinging salt upon their tails. Thus human life is -best understood by the wise man’s rule of regarding the end. Thus are -the sciences found, like Hercules’ oxen, by tracing them backwards. -Thus are old sciences unravelled, like old stockings, by beginning at -the foot. Beside all this, the army of the sciences has been of late, -with a world of martial discipline, drawn into its close order, so that -a view or a muster may be taken of it with abundance of expedition. For -this great blessing we are wholly indebted to systems and abstracts in -which the modern fathers of learning, like prudent usurers, spent their -sweat for the ease of us their children. For labour is the seed of -idleness, and it is the peculiar happiness of our noble age to gather -the fruit.</p> - -<p>Now, the method of growing wise, learned and sublime, having become so -regular an affair, and so established in all its forms, the number of -writers must needs have increased accordingly, and to a pitch that has -made it absolutely necessary for them to interfere continually with -each other.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span> Besides, it is reckoned that there is not at this present -a sufficient quantity of new matter left in nature to furnish and adorn -any one particular subject to the extent of a volume. This I am told by -a very skilful computer, who has given a full demonstration of it from -rules of arithmetic.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>By these methods, in a few weeks, there starts up many a writer -capable of managing the profoundest and most universal subjects. For -what though his head be empty, provided his commonplace book be full? -and if you will bate him but the circumstances of method, and style, -and grammar, and invention; allow him but the common privileges of -transcribing from others, and digressing from himself, as often as he -shall see occasion; he will desire no more ingredients towards fitting -up a treatise that shall make a very comely figure on a bookseller’s -shelf; there to be preserved neat and clean for a long eternity, -adorned with the heraldry of its title fairly inscribed on a label; -never to be thumbed or greased by students, nor bound to everlasting -chains of darkness in a library; but when the fulness of time is come, -shall happily undergo the trial of purgatory, in order to ascend the -sky.</p> - -<p>Without these allowances, how is it possible we modern wits should -ever have an opportunity to introduce our collections, listed under -so many thousand heads of a different nature; for want of which the -learned world would be deprived of infinite delight, as well as -instruction, and we ourselves buried beyond redress in an inglorious -and undistinguished oblivion.</p> - -<p>From such elements as these I am alive to behold the day wherein the -corporation of authors can outvie all its brethren in the guild. A -happiness derived to us, with a great many others, from our Scythian -ancestors; among whom the number of pens was so infinite, that the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span> -Grecian eloquence had no other way of expressing it than by saying that -in the regions far to the north it was hardly possible for a man to -travel, the very air was so replete with feathers.</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>Jonathan Swift</i> (1667–1745).</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>A RHAPSODY ON POETRY.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>All human race would fain be wits,</div> - <div>And millions miss for one who hits:</div> - <div>Young’s universal passion, Pride,</div> - <div>Was never known to spread so wide.</div> - <div>Say, Britain! could you ever boast,</div> - <div>Three poets in an age at most?</div> - <div>Our chilling climate hardly bears</div> - <div>A sprig of bays in fifty years,</div> - <div>While every fool his claim alleges,</div> - <div>As if it grew in common hedges.</div> - <div>What reason can there be assigned</div> - <div>For this perverseness in the mind?</div> - <div>Brutes find out where their talents lie:</div> - <div>A bear will not attempt to fly:</div> - <div>A foundered horse will oft debate</div> - <div>Before he tries a five-barred gate:</div> - <div>A dog by instinct turns aside,</div> - <div>Who sees the ditch too deep and wide;</div> - <div>But man we find the only creature</div> - <div>Who, led by folly, combats Nature;</div> - <div>Who, where she loudly cries “Forbear,”</div> - <div>With obstinacy fixes there,</div> - <div>And where his genius least inclines,</div> - <div>Absurdly bends his whole designs.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span></div> - <div>Not empire to the rising sun,</div> - <div>By valour, conduct, fortune, won:</div> - <div>Not highest wisdom in debates,</div> - <div>For framing laws to govern states:</div> - <div>Not skill in sciences profound,</div> - <div>So large to grasp the circle round,</div> - <div>Such heavenly influence require</div> - <div>As how to strike the Muse’s lyre.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="spacing">*****</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Poor starveling bard! how small thy gains!</div> - <div>How unproportioned to thy pains!</div> - <div>And here a simile comes pat in:</div> - <div>A chicken takes a month to fatten,</div> - <div>Tho’ guests in less than half-an-hour</div> - <div>Will more than half-a-score devour.</div> - <div>So after toiling twenty days</div> - <div>To earn a stock of pence and praise,</div> - <div>Thy labours, grown the critic’s prey,</div> - <div>Are swallowed o’er a dish of tea;</div> - <div>Gone to be never heard of more,</div> - <div>Gone where the chickens went before.</div> - <div class="i2">How shall a new attempter learn</div> - <div class="i2">Of different spirits to discern?</div> - <div class="i2">And how distinguish which is which,</div> - <div class="i2">The poet’s vein or scribbling itch?</div> - <div class="i2">Then hear an old experienced sinner</div> - <div class="i2">Instructing thus a young beginner.</div> - <div class="i2">Consult yourself, and if you find</div> - <div class="i2">A powerful impulse urge your mind,</div> - <div class="i2">Impartial judge within your breast,</div> - <div class="i2">What subject you can manage best:</div> - <div class="i2">Whether your genius most inclines</div> - <div class="i2">To satire, praise, or hum’rous lines;</div> - <div class="i2">To elegies in mournful tone,</div> - <div class="i2">Or prologue sent from hand unknown;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span></div> - <div>Then rising with Aurora’s light,</div> - <div>The Muse invok’d, sit down to write;</div> - <div>Blot out, correct, insert, refine,</div> - <div>Enlarge, diminish, interline;</div> - <div>Be mindful, when invention fails,</div> - <div>To scratch your head and bite your nails.</div> - <div class="i2">Your poem finished, next your care</div> - <div class="i2">Is needful to transcribe it fair:</div> - <div class="i2">In modern wit all printed trash is</div> - <div class="i2">Set off with num’rous breaks—and dashes—</div> - <div class="i2">To statesmen would you give a wipe</div> - <div class="i2">You print it in <i>Italic</i> type:</div> - <div class="i2">When letters are in vulgar shapes,</div> - <div class="i2">’Tis ten to one the wit escapes;</div> - <div class="i2">But when in <span class="smcap">Capitals</span> exprest,</div> - <div class="i2">The dullest reader smokes the jest;</div> - <div class="i2">Or else perhaps he may invent</div> - <div class="i2">A better than the poet meant,</div> - <div class="i2">As learned commentators view</div> - <div class="i2">In Homer more than Homer knew.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="spacing">*****</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Be sure at Will’s the foll’wing day,</div> - <div>Lie snug and hear what critics say,</div> - <div>And if you find the general vogue</div> - <div>Pronounces you a stupid rogue,</div> - <div>Damns all your thoughts as low and little,</div> - <div>Sit still, and swallow down your spittle:</div> - <div>Be silent as a politician,</div> - <div>For talking may beget suspicion;</div> - <div>Or praise the judgment of the Town,</div> - <div>And help yourself to run it down;—</div> - <div>Give up your fond paternal pride,</div> - <div>Nor argue on the weaker side:</div> - <div>For poems read without a name</div> - <div>We justly praise or justly blame;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span></div> - <div>And critics have no partial views,</div> - <div>Except they know whom they abuse;</div> - <div>And since you ne’er provoked their spite,</div> - <div>Depend upon’t, their judgment’s right.</div> - <div>But if you blab you are undone,</div> - <div>Consider what a risk you run;</div> - <div>You lose your credit all at once,</div> - <div>The Town will mark you for a dunce;</div> - <div>The vilest doggerel Grub Street sends</div> - <div>Will pass for yours with foes and friends,</div> - <div>And you must bear the whole disgrace,</div> - <div>Till some fresh blockhead takes your place.</div> - <div>Your secret kept, your poem sunk,</div> - <div>And sent in quires to line a trunk,</div> - <div>If still you be disposed to rhyme,</div> - <div>Go try your hand a second time.</div> - <div>Again you fail; yet safe’s the word;</div> - <div>Take courage, and attempt a third:</div> - <div>But first with care employ your thoughts</div> - <div>Where critics marked your former fau’ts;</div> - <div>The trivial turns, the borrow’d wit,</div> - <div>The similies that nothing fit;</div> - <div>The cant which every fool repeats,</div> - <div>Town-jests and coffee-house conceits;</div> - <div>Descriptions tedious, flat and dry,</div> - <div>And introduced the Lord knows why;</div> - <div>Or where we find your fury set</div> - <div>Against the harmless alphabet;</div> - <div>On A’s and B’s your malice vent</div> - <div>While readers wonder whom you meant;</div> - <div>A public or a private robber,</div> - <div>A statesman or a South Sea jobber;</div> - <div>A pr-l-te, who no God believes;</div> - <div>A p-m-t or den of thieves;</div> - <div>A pickpurse at the bar or bench,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span></div> - <div>A duchess or a suburb-wench;</div> - <div>“An House of P—rs, a gaming crew,</div> - <div>A griping —— or a Jew.”</div> - <div>Or oft, when epithets you link</div> - <div>In gaping lines to fill a chink,</div> - <div>Like stepping-stones to save a stride</div> - <div>In streets where kennels are too wide;</div> - <div>Or like a heel-piece to support</div> - <div>A cripple, with one leg too short;</div> - <div>Or like a bridge that joins a marish</div> - <div>To moorlands of a different parish.</div> - <div>So have I seen ill-coupled hounds</div> - <div>Drag diff’rent ways in miry grounds;</div> - <div>So geographers in Afric maps</div> - <div>With savage pictures fill their gaps,</div> - <div>And o’er unhabitable downs</div> - <div>Place elephants for want of towns.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="spacing">*****</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Then, poet! if you mean to thrive,</div> - <div>Employ your muse on kings alive,</div> - <div>With prudence gath’ring up a cluster</div> - <div>Of all the virtues you can muster,</div> - <div>Which, formed into a garland sweet,</div> - <div>Lay humbly at your monarch’s feet,</div> - <div>Who, as the odours reach his throne,</div> - <div>Will smile, and think them all his own:</div> - <div>For law and gospel doth determine</div> - <div>All virtues lodge in royal ermine;</div> - <div>(I mean the oracles of both,</div> - <div>Who shall depose it upon oath);</div> - <div>Your garland, in the following reign,</div> - <div>Change but the names, ’twill do again.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="spacing">*****</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Hobbes clearly proves that ev’ry creature</div> - <div>Lives in a state of war by nature;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span></div> - <div>The greater for the smaller watch,</div> - <div>But meddle seldom with their match.</div> - <div>A whale of mod’rate size will draw</div> - <div>A shoal of herrings in his maw;</div> - <div>A fox with geese his belly crams;</div> - <div>A wolf destroys a thousand lambs;</div> - <div>But search among the rhyming race,</div> - <div>The brave are worried by the base.</div> - <div>If on Parnassus’ top you sit,</div> - <div>You rarely bite, are always bit.</div> - <div>Each poet of inferior size</div> - <div>On you shall rail and criticize,</div> - <div>And strive to tear you limb from limb,</div> - <div>While others do as much for him.</div> - <div class="i2">The vermin only tease and pinch</div> - <div class="i2">Their foes superior by an inch,</div> - <div class="i2">So nat’ralists observe a flea</div> - <div class="i2">Have smaller fleas on him that prey,</div> - <div class="i2">And these have smaller still to bite ’em,</div> - <div class="i2">And so proceed <i>ad infinitum</i>.</div> - <div class="right"><i>Jonathan Swift.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>LETTER FROM A LIAR.</i></h2> - -<p>I shall, without any manner of preface or apology, acquaint you that -I am, and ever have been from my youth upward, one of the greatest -liars this island has produced. I have read all the moralists upon -the subject, but could never find any effect their discourses had -upon me but to add to my misfortune by new thoughts and ideas, and -making me more ready in my language, and capable of sometimes mixing -seeming truths with my improbabilities. With this strong passion -towards falsehood in this kind there does not live an honester man or a -sincerer friend; but my imagination<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span> runs away with me, and whatever -is started, I have such a scene of adventures appear in an instant -before me, that I cannot help uttering them, though, to my immediate -confusion, I cannot but know I am liable to be detected by the first -man I meet.</p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_051"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_051.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“MY IMAGINATION RUNS AWAY WITH ME.”</p> - </div> - -<p>Upon occasion of the mention of the battle of Pultowa I could not -forbear giving an account of a kinsman of mine, a young merchant, who -was bred at Moscow, that had too much mettle to attend books of entries -and accounts when there was so active a scene in the country where he -resided, and followed the Czar as a volunteer. This warm youth, born -at the instant the thing was spoken of, was the man who unhorsed the -Swedish general; he was the occasion that the Muscovites kept their -fire in so soldier-like a manner, and brought up those troops which -were covered from the enemy at the beginning of the day; besides -this, he had at last the good fortune to be the man who took Count -Piper. With all this fire I knew my cousin to be the civilest man in -the world. He never made any impertinent show of his valour, and then -he had an excellent genius for the world in every other kind. I had -letters from him—here I felt in my pockets—that exactly spoke the -Czar’s character, which I knew perfectly well, and I could not forbear -concluding that I lay with his imperial majesty twice or thrice a week -all the while he lodged at Deptford. What is worse than all this, it -is impossible to speak to me but you give me some occasion of coming -out with one lie or other that has neither wit, humour, prospect of -interest, nor any other motive that I can think of in nature. The -other day, when one was commending an eminent and learned divine, what -occasion had I to say, “Methinks he would look more venerable if he -were not so fair a man”? I remember the company smiled. I have seen the -gentleman since, and he is coal black. I have intimations every day -in my life that nobody believes me, yet I am never the better. I was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span> -saying something the other day to an old friend at Will’s coffee-house, -and he made me no manner of answer, but told me that an acquaintance -of Tully the orator, having two or three times together said to him, -without receiving an answer, “That upon his honour he was but that -very month forty years of age,” Tully answered, “Surely you think me -the most incredulous man in the world, if I don’t believe what you -have told me every day these ten years.” The mischief of it is, I find -myself wonderfully inclined to have been present at every encounter -that is spoken of before me; this has led me into many inconveniences, -but indeed they have been the fewer because I am no ill-natured man, -and never speak things to any man’s disadvantage. I never directly -defame, but I do what is as bad in the consequence, for I have often -made a man say such and such a lively expression, who was born a mere -elder brother. When one has said in my hearing, “Such a one is no -wiser than he should be,” I immediately have replied, “Now, faith, I -can’t see that; he said a very good thing to my lord such-a-one, upon -such an occasion,” and the like. Such an honest dolt as this has been -watched in every expression he uttered, upon my recommendation of him, -and consequently been subject to the more ridicule. I once endeavoured -to cure myself of this impertinent quality, and resolved to hold my -tongue for seven days together; I did so, but then I had so many winks -and contortions of my face upon what anybody else said that I found I -only forbore the expression, and that I still lied in my heart to every -man I met with. You are to know one thing, which I believe you will -say is a pity, considering the use I should have made of it. I never -travelled in my life; but I do not know whether I could have spoken -of any foreign country with more familiarity than I do at present, in -company who are strangers too ... though I was never out of this town, -and fifty miles about it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span></p> - -<p>It were endless to give you particulars of this kind, but I can assure -you, Mr. Spectator, there are about twenty or thirty of us in this town -(I mean by this town the cities of London and Westminster); I say there -are in town a sufficient number to make a society among ourselves; and -since we cannot be believed any longer, I beg of you to print this -letter that we may meet together, and be under such regulation as there -may be no occasion for belief or confidence among us. If you think fit, -we might be called <span class="smcap">The Historians</span>, for liar is become a very -harsh word.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>But, alas! whither am I running! While I complain, while I remonstrate -to you, even all this is a lie, for there is no such person of quality, -lover, soldier, or merchant, as I have now described, in the whole -world, that I know of. But I will catch myself once in my life, and -in spite of nature speak one truth, to wit, that I am,—Your humble -servant.</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>Sir Richard Steele</i> (1672–1729).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span></p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_055"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_055.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“GOD BLESS YOU, SIR!”</p> - </div> - -<h2 class="smaller">EPIGRAMS.</h2> - - -<p class="smcap center">On a Fat Man.</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>When Fatty walks the street, the paviors cry,</div> - <div>“God bless you, sir!” and lay their rammers by.</div> - </div> - -<p class="smcap center p1">On a Stingy Beau.</p> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Curio’s rich sideboard seldom sees the light;</div> - <div>Clean is his kitchen, his spits are always bright;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span></div> - <div>His knives and spoons, all ranged in even rows,</div> - <div>No hands molest, or fingers discompose.</div> - <div>A curious jack, hung up to please the eye,</div> - <div>For ever still, whose flyers never fly;</div> - <div>His plates unsullied, shining on the shelf,</div> - <div>For Curio dresses nothing,—but himself.</div> - </div> - -<p class="smcap center p1">On Marriage.</p> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Cries Celia to a reverend dean,</div> - <div class="i1">“What reason can be given,</div> - <div>Since marriage is a holy thing,</div> - <div class="i1">That there are none in heaven?”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“There are no women,” he reply’d;</div> - <div class="i1">She quick returns the jest;</div> - <div>“Women there are, but I’m afraid</div> - <div class="i1">They cannot find a priest.”</div> - <div class="right"><i>John Winstanley</i> (1678–1750).</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>A FINE LADY.</i></h2> - - -<p class="center"><i>A Lady’s Apartment. Two Chambermaids enter.</i></p> - - -<p><i>First Chambermaid.</i> Are all things set in order? The toilette -fixed, the bottles and combs put in form, and the chocolate ready?</p> - -<p><i>2nd Cham.</i> ’Tis no greater matter whether they be right or not; -for right or wrong we shall be sure of our lecture. I wish for my part -that my time were out.</p> - -<p><i>1st Cham.</i> Nay, ’tis a hundred to one but we may run away before -our time be half expired, and she’s worse this morning than ever. Here -she comes.</p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Lady Lurewell</span> <i>enters</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span></p> - -<p><i>Lure.</i> Ay, there’s a couple of you indeed! But how, how in the -name of negligence could you two contrive to make a bed as mine was -last night; a wrinkle on one side, and a rumple on t’other; the pillows -awry, and the quilt askew. I did nothing but tumble about and fence -with the sheets all night along. Oh! my bones ache this morning as if -I had lain all night on a pair of Dutch stairs.—Go, bring chocolate. -And, d’ye hear? be sure to stay an hour or two at least.—Well! these -English animals are so unpolished! I wish the persecution would rage a -little harder, that we might have more of these French refugees among -us.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>The Maids enter with chocolate.</i></p> - -<p>These wenches are gone to Smyrna for this chocolate—— And what made -you stay so long?</p> - -<p><i>Cham.</i> I thought we did not stay at all, madam.</p> - -<p><i>Lure.</i> Only an hour and a half by the slowest clock in -Christendom—and such salvers and dishes too! The lard be merciful to -me! what have I committed to be plagued with such animals? Where are my -new japan salvers? Broke, o’ my conscience! all to pieces, I’ll lay my -life on’t.</p> - -<p><i>Cham.</i> No, indeed, madam, but your husband——</p> - -<p><i>Lure.</i> How! husband, impudence! I’ll teach you manners. (<i>Gives -her a box on the ear.</i>) Husband! Is that your Welsh breeding? Ha’n’t -the Colonel a name of his own?</p> - -<p><i>Cham.</i> Well, then, the Colonel. He used them this morning, and we -ha’n’t got them since.</p> - -<p><i>Lure.</i> How! the Colonel use my things! How dare the Colonel -use any thing of mine? But his campaign education must be pardoned. -And I warrant they were fisted about among his dirty <i>levée</i> -of disbanded officers? Faugh! the very thoughts of them fellows, -with their eager<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span> looks, iron swords, tied-up wigs, and tucked in -cravats, make me sick as death. Come, let me see. (<i>Goes to take the -chocolate, and starts back.</i>) Heavens protect me from such a sight! -Lord, girl! when did you wash your hands last? And have you been pawing -me all this morning with them dirty fists of yours? (<i>Runs to the -glass.</i>) I must dress all over again. Go, take it away, I shall -swoon else. Here, Mrs. Monster, call up my tailor; and d’ye hear? you, -Mrs. Hobbyhorse, see if my company be come to cards yet.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>The Tailor enters.</i></p> - -<p>Oh, Mr. Remnant! I don’t know what ails these stays you have made me; -but something is the matter, I don’t like them.</p> - -<p><i>Rem.</i> I am very sorry for that, madam. But what fault does your -ladyship find?</p> - -<p><i>Lure.</i> I don’t know where the fault lies; but, in short, I don’t -like them; I can’t tell how; the things are well enough made, but I -don’t like them.</p> - -<p><i>Rem.</i> Are they too wide, madam?</p> - -<p><i>Lure.</i> No.</p> - -<p><i>Rem.</i> Too straight, perhaps?</p> - -<p><i>Lure.</i> Not at all! they fit me very well; but—lard bless me; -can’t you tell where the fault lies?</p> - -<p><i>Rem.</i> Why, truly, madam, I can’t tell. But your ladyship, I -think, is a little too slender for the fashion.</p> - -<p><i>Lure.</i> How! too slender for the fashion, say you?</p> - -<p><i>Rem.</i> Yes, madam! there’s no such thing as a good shape worn -among the quality; you fine waists are clear out, madam.</p> - -<p><i>Lure.</i> And why did not you plump up my stays to the fashionable -size?</p> - -<p><i>Rem.</i> I made them to fit you, madam.</p> - -<p><i>Lure.</i> Fit me! fit my monkey. What, d’ye think I wear<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span> clothes -to please myself! Fit me! fit the fashion, pray; no matter for me—I -thought something was the matter, I wanted quality-air. Pray, Mr. -Remnant, let me have a bulk of quality, a spreading counter. I do -remember now, the ladies in the apartments, the birth-night, were most -of them two yards about. Indeed, sir, if you contrive my things any -more with your scanty chambermaid’s air, you shall work no more for me.</p> - -<p><i>Rem.</i> I shall take care to please your ladyship for the future. -<span style="float: right">[<i>Exit.</i></span></p> - -<p class="center"><i>A Servant enters.</i></p> - -<p style="clear: both"><i>Serv.</i> Madam, my master desires——</p> - -<p><i>Lure.</i> Hold, hold, fellow; for gad’s sake, hold; if thou touch -my clothes with that tobacco breath of thine, I shall poison the whole -drawing-room. Stand at the door pray, and speak. (<i>Servant goes to -the door and speaks.</i>)</p> - -<p><i>Serv.</i> My master, madam, desires——</p> - -<p><i>Lure.</i> Oh, hideous! Now the rascal bellows so loud that he tears -my head to pieces. Here, awkwardness, go take the booby’s message, and -bring it to me.</p> - -<p class="r2">(<i>Maid goes to the door, whispers, and returns.</i>)</p> - -<p><i>Cham.</i> My master desires to know how your ladyship rested last -night, and if you are pleased to admit of a visit this morning.</p> - -<p><i>Lure.</i> Ay—why this is civil. ’Tis an insupportable toil though -for women of quality to model their husbands to good breeding.</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>George Farquhar</i> (1678–1707).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span></p> - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>THE BORROWER</i>.</h2> - - -<p><i>Richmore.</i> You may keep the letter.</p> - -<p><i>Young Wou’d-be.</i> But why would you trust it with me? You know I -can’t keep a secret that has any scandal in ’t.</p> - -<p><i>Rich.</i> For that reason I communicate it. I know thou art a -perfect Gazette, and will spread the news all over the town; for you -must understand that I am now besieging another, and I would have the -fame of my conquest upon the wing, that the town may surrender the -sooner.</p> - -<p><i>Y. W.</i> But if the report of your cruelty goes along with that of -your valour, you’ll find no garrison of any strength will open their -gates to you.</p> - -<p><i>Rich.</i> No, no; women are cowards, terror prevails upon them -more than clemency; my best pretence to my success with the fair is -my using them ill; ’tis turning their own guns upon them, and I have -always found it the most successful battery to assail one reputation by -sacrificing another.</p> - -<p><i>Y. W.</i> I could love thee for thy mischief, did I not envy thee -for thy success in it.</p> - -<p><i>Rich.</i> You never attempt a woman of figure.</p> - -<p><i>Y. W.</i> How can I? This confounded hump of mine is such a burden -to my back that it presses me down here in the dirt and diseases -of Covent Garden, the low suburbs of pleasure. Curst fortune! I -am a younger brother, and yet cruelly deprived of my birthright, -a handsome person; seven thousand a year, in a direct line, would -have straightened my back to some purpose. But I look, in my present -circumstances, like a branch of another kind, grafted only upon the -stock which makes me look so crooked.</p> - -<p><i>Rich.</i> Come, come, ’tis no misfortune, your father is so as well -as you.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span></p> - -<p><i>Y. W.</i> Then why should not I be a lord as well as he? Had I the -same title to the deformity I could bear it.</p> - -<p><i>Rich.</i> But how does my lord bear the absence of your twin-brother?</p> - -<p><i>Y. W.</i> My twin-brother? Ay, ’twas his crowding me that spoiled my -shape, and his coming half-an-hour before me that ruined my fortune. My -father expelled me from his house some two years ago, because I would -have persuaded him that my twin-brother was a bastard. He gave me my -portion, which was about fifteen hundred pounds, and I have spent two -thousand of it already. As for my brother, he don’t care a farthing for -me.</p> - -<p><i>Rich.</i> Why so, pray?</p> - -<p><i>Y. W.</i> A very odd reason—because I hate him.</p> - -<p><i>Rich.</i> How should he know that?</p> - -<p><i>Y. W.</i> Because he thinks it reasonable it should be so.</p> - -<p><i>Rich.</i> But did your actions ever express any malice to him?</p> - -<p><i>Y. W.</i> Yes; I would fain have kept him company; but being aware -of my kindness, he went abroad. He has travelled these five years, and -I am told is a grave, sober fellow, and in danger of living a great -while; all my hope is, that when he gets into his honour and estate -the nobility will soon kill him by drinking him up to his dignity. But -come, Frank, I have but two eyesores in the world, a brother before me -and a hump behind me, and thou art still laying them in my way; let us -assume an argument of less severity. Can’st thou lend me a brace of -hundred pounds?</p> - -<p><i>Rich.</i> What would you do with them?</p> - -<p><i>Y. W.</i> Do with them? There’s a question indeed. Do you think I -would eat them?</p> - -<p><i>Rich.</i> Yes, o’ my troth would you, and drink them together. Look -’e, Mr. Wou’d-be, whilst you kept well with your father, I could have -ventured to have lent you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span> five guineas. But as the case stands, I can -assure you I have lately paid off my sister’s fortune, and——</p> - -<p><i>Y. W.</i> Sir, this put-off looks like an affront, when you know I -don’t use to take such things.</p> - -<p><i>Rich.</i> Sir, your demand is rather an affront, when you know I -don’t use to give such things.</p> - -<p><i>Y. W.</i> Sir, I’ll pawn my honour.</p> - -<p><i>Rich.</i> That’s mortgaged already for more than it is worth; you -had better pawn your sword there, ’twill bring you forty shillings.</p> - -<p><i>Y. W.</i> ’Sdeath, sir——<span style="float: right">[<i>Takes his sword off the table.</i></span></p> - -<p style="clear: both"><i>Rich.</i> Hold, Mr. Wou’dbe—suppose I put an end to your -misfortunes all at once.</p> - -<p><i>Y. W.</i> How, sir?</p> - -<p><i>Rich.</i> Why, go to a magistrate and swear you would have robbed -me of two hundred pounds. Look ’e, sir, you have been often told that -your extravagance would some time or other be the ruin of you; and it -will go a great way in your indictment to have turned the pad upon your -friend.</p> - -<p><i>Y. W.</i> This usage is the height of ingratitude from you, in whose -company I have spent my fortune.</p> - -<p><i>Rich.</i> I’m therefore a witness that it was very ill spent. Why -would you keep company, be at equal expenses with me, that have fifty -times your estate? What was gallantry in me was prodigality in you; -mine was my health, because I could pay for it; yours a disease, -because you could not.</p> - -<p><i>Y. W.</i> And is this all I must expect from our friendship?</p> - -<p><i>Rich.</i> Friendship! Sir, there can be no such thing without an -equality.</p> - -<p><i>Y. W.</i> That is, there can be no such thing when there is occasion -for ’t.</p> - -<p><i>Rich.</i> Right, sir—our friendship was over a bottle only; and -whilst you can pay your club of friendship, I’m that way your humble -servant; but when once you come borrowing, I’m this way—your humble -servant.<span style="float: right">[<i>Exit.</i></span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span></p> - -<p style="clear: both"><i>Y. W.</i> Rich, big, proud, arrogant villain! I have been twice his -second, thrice sick of the same love, and thrice cured by the same -physic, and now he drops me for a trifle—that an honest fellow in -his cups should be such a rogue when he is sober! The narrow-hearted -rascal has been drinking coffee this morning. Well, thou dear solitary -half-crown, adieu! Here, Jack, take this, pay for a bottle of wine, and -bid Balderdash bring it himself. [<i>Exit Servant.</i>] How melancholy -are my poor breeches; not one chink! Thou art a villainous hand, for -thou hast picked my pocket. This vintner now has all the marks of an -honest fellow, a broad face, a copious look, a strutting belly, and a -jolly mien. I have brought him above three pounds a night for these two -years successively. The rogue has money, I’m sure, if he would but lend -it.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Balderdash</span>, <i>with a bottle and glass</i>.</p> - -<p>Oh, Mr. Balderdash, good-morrow.</p> - -<p><i>Bald.</i> Noble Mr. Wou’dbe, I’m your most humble servant. I have -brought you a whetting-glass, the best Old Hock in Europe; I know ’tis -your drink in a morning.</p> - -<p><i>Y. W.</i> I’ll pledge you, Mr. Balderdash.</p> - -<p><i>Bald.</i> Your health, sir.<span style="float: right">[<i>Drinks.</i></span></p> - -<p style="clear: both"><i>Y. W.</i> Pray, Mr. Balderdash, tell me one thing, but first sit -down; now tell me plainly what you think of me?</p> - -<p><i>Bald.</i> Think of you, sir? I think that you are the honestest, -noblest gentleman that ever drank a glass of wine, and the best -customer that ever came into my house.</p> - -<p><i>Y. W.</i> And do you really think as you speak?</p> - -<p><i>Bald.</i> May this wine be my poison, sir, if I don’t speak from the -bottom of my heart.<span style="float: right">[<i>Drinks.</i></span></p> - -<p><i>Y. W.</i> And how much money do you think I have spent in your house?</p> - -<p><i>Bald.</i> Why, truly, sir, by a moderate computation I do<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span> believe -that I have handled of your money the best part of five hundred pounds -within these two years.</p> - -<p><i>Y. W.</i> Very well! And do you think that you lie under any -obligation for the trade I have promoted to your advantage?</p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_064"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_064.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“I THINK THAT YOU ARE THE HONESTEST, NOBLEST GENTLEMAN -THAT EVER DRANK A GLASS OF WINE.”</p> - </div> - -<p><i>Bald.</i> Yes, sir; and if I can serve you in any respect, pray -command me to the utmost of my ability.</p> - -<p><i>Y. W.</i> Well! thanks to my stars, there is still some honesty in -wine. Mr. Balderdash, I embrace you and your kindness; I am at present -a little low in cash, and must beg you to lend me a hundred pieces.</p> - -<p><i>Bald.</i> Why, truly, Mr. Wou’dbe, I was afraid it would<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span> come to -this; I have had it in my head several times to caution you upon your -expenses, but you were so very genteel in my house, and your liberality -became you so very well, that I was unwilling to say anything that -might check your disposition; but truly, sir, I can forbear no longer -to tell you that you have been a little too extravagant.</p> - -<p><i>Y. W.</i> But since you reaped the benefit of my extravagance, you -will, I hope, consider my necessity.</p> - -<p><i>Bald.</i> Consider your necessity! I do, with all my heart; and must -tell you, moreover, that I will be no longer accessory to it: I desire -you, sir, to frequent my house no more.</p> - -<p><i>Y. W.</i> How, sir?</p> - -<p><i>Bald.</i> I say, sir, that I have an honour for my good lord your -father, and will not suffer his son to run into any inconvenience. Sir, -I shall order my drawers not to serve you with a drop of wine. Would -you have me connive at a gentleman’s destruction?</p> - -<p><i>Y. W.</i> But methinks, sir, that a person of your nice conscience -should have cautioned me before.</p> - -<p><i>Bald.</i> Alas! sir, it was none of my business. Would you have me -be saucy to a gentleman that was my best customer? Lack-a-day, sir, had -you money to hold it out still, I had been hanged rather than be rude -to you. But truly, sir, when a man is ruined, ’tis but the duty of a -Christian to tell him of it.</p> - -<p><i>Y. W.</i> Will you lend me money, sir?</p> - -<p><i>Bald.</i> Will you pay me this bill, sir?</p> - -<p><i>Y. W.</i> Lend me the hundred pound, and I’ll pay the bill.</p> - -<p><i>Bald.</i> Pay me the bill, and I will—not lend you the hundred -pound, sir. But pray consider with yourself, now, sir; would not you -think me an errant coxcomb to trust a person with money that has always -been so extravagant under my eye? whose profuseness I have seen, I have -felt,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span> I have handled? Have not I known you, sir, throw away ten pounds -a-night upon a covey of pit-partridges and a setting-dog? Sir, you have -made my house an ill house; my very chairs will bear you no longer. In -short, sir, I desire you to frequent the “Crown” no more, sir.</p> - -<p><i>Y. W.</i> Thou sophisticated ton of iniquity, have I fattened your -carcass and swelled your bags with my vital blood? Have I made you -my companion to be thus saucy to me? But now I will keep you at your -distance.</p> - -<p class="right">[<i>Kicks him.</i></p> - -<p><i>Ser.</i> Welcome, sir!<span style="float: right">[<i>Kicks him.</i></span></p> - -<p><i>Y. W.</i> Well said, Jack.<span style="float: right">[<i>Kicks him again.</i></span></p> - -<p><i>Ser.</i> Very welcome, sir! I hope we shall have your company -another time. Welcome, sir!<span style="float: right">[<i>He is kicked off.</i></span></p> - -<p><i>Y. W.</i> Pray wait on him downstairs, and give him a welcome at the -door too. (<i>Exit Servant.</i>) This is the punishment of hell; the -very devil that tempted me to sin, now upbraids me with the crime. I -have villainously murdered my fortune, and now its ghost, in the lank -shape of poverty, haunts me. Is there no charm to conjure down the -fiend?</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>George Farquhar.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span></p> - -<h2 class="smaller">WIDOW WADMAN’S EYE.</h2> - -<p>“I am half distracted, Captain Shandy,” said Mrs. Wadman, holding up -her cambric handkerchief to her left eye, as she approached the door of -my uncle Toby’s sentry-box; “a mote—or sand—or something—I know not -what, has got into this eye of mine;—do look into it—it is not in the -white.”</p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_067"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_067.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“‘DO LOOK INTO IT,’ SAID SHE.”</p> - </div> - -<p>In saying which Mrs. Wadman edged herself close in beside my uncle -Toby, and squeezing herself down upon the corner of his bench, she gave -him an opportunity of doing it without rising up. “Do look into it,” -said she.</p> - -<p>Honest soul! thou didst look into it with as much<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span> innocency of heart -as ever child looked into a raree show-box; and ’twere as much a sin to -have hurt thee.</p> - -<p>If a man will be peeping of his own accord into things of that nature, -I’ve nothing to say to it.</p> - -<p>My uncle Toby never did; and I will answer for him that he would have -sat quietly upon a sofa from June to January (which, you know, takes -in both the hot and cold months) with an eye as fine as the Thracian -Rhodope’s beside him, without being able to tell whether it was a black -or a blue one.</p> - -<p>The difficulty was to get my uncle Toby to look at one at all.</p> - -<p>’Tis surmounted. And—</p> - -<p>I see him yonder, with his pipe pendulous in his hand, and the ashes -falling out of it—looking-and looking—then rubbing his eyes—and -looking again, with twice the good nature that ever Galileo looked for -a spot in the sun.</p> - -<p>In vain! for, by all the powers which animate the organ—Widow Wadman’s -left eye shines this moment as lucid as her right;—there is neither -mote, nor sand, nor dust, nor chaff, nor speck, nor particle of opaque -matter floating in it. There is nothing, my dear paternal uncle! but -one lambent delicious fire, furtively shooting out from every part of -it, in all directions into thine.</p> - -<p>If thou lookest, uncle Toby, in search of this mote one moment longer, -thou art undone.</p> - -<p>An eye is, for all the world, exactly like a cannon, in this respect, -that it is not so much the eye or the cannon in themselves, as it is -the carriage of the eye—and the carriage of the cannon; by which both -the one and the other are enabled to do so much execution. I don’t -think the comparison a bad one; however, as ’tis made and placed at -the head of the chapter, as much for use as ornament, all I desire in -return is that whenever I speak of Mrs. Wadman’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span> eyes (except once in -the next period) that you keep it in your fancy.</p> - -<p>“I protest, Madam,” said my uncle Toby, “I can see nothing whatever in -your eye.”</p> - -<p>“It is not in the white,” said Mrs. Wadman. My uncle Toby looked with -might and main into the pupil.</p> - -<p>Now, of all the eyes which ever were created, from your own, Madam, up -to those of Venus herself, which certainly were as venereal a pair of -eyes as ever stood in a head, there never was an eye of them all so -fitted to rob my uncle Toby of his repose as the very eye at which he -was looking;—it was not, Madam, a rolling eye—a romping, or a wanton -one,—nor was it an eye sparkling, petulant, or imperious—of high -claims and terrifying exactions, which would have curdled at once that -milk of human nature of which my uncle Toby was made up; but ’twas an -eye full of gentle salutations—and soft responses—speaking—not like -the trumpet-stop of some ill-made organ, in which many an eye I talk to -holds coarse converse, but whispering soft—like the last low accents -of an expiring saint-“How can you live comfortless, Captain Shandy, and -alone, without a bosom to lean your head on—or trust your cares to?”</p> - -<p>It was an eye——</p> - -<p>But I shall be in love with it myself if I say another word about it.</p> - -<p>It did my uncle Toby’s business.</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>Laurence Sterne</i> (1713–1768).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span></p> - - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>BUMPERS, SQUIRE JONES.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4">Ye good fellows all,</div> - <div>Who love to be told where good claret’s in store,</div> - <div class="i4">Attend to the call</div> - <div class="i4">Of one who’s ne’er frighted,</div> - <div class="i4">But greatly delighted</div> - <div class="i4h">With six bottles more.</div> - <div class="i4">Be sure you don’t pass</div> - <div class="i4">The good house, Moneyglass,</div> - <div>Which the jolly red god so peculiarly owns,</div> - <div>’Twill well suit your humour—</div> - <div>For, pray, what would you more,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Than mirth with good claret, and bumpers, Squire Jones?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4">Ye lovers who pine</div> - <div>For lasses that oft prove as cruel as fair,</div> - <div class="i4">Who whimper and whine</div> - <div class="i4">For lilies and roses,</div> - <div class="i4">With eyes, lips, and noses,</div> - <div>Or tip of an ear!</div> - <div class="i4">Come hither, I’ll show ye</div> - <div class="i4">How Phillis and Chloe</div> - <div class="hangingindent">No more shall occasion such sighs and such groans;</div> - <div>For what mortal’s so stupid</div> - <div>As not to quit Cupid,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">When called to good claret, and bumpers, Squire Jones?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4">Ye poets who write,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And brag of your drinking famed Helicon’s brook,—</div> - <div class="i4">Though all you get by it</div> - <div class="i4">Is a dinner ofttimes,</div> - <div class="i4">In reward for your rhymes,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span></div> - <div class="i4">With Humphry the Duke,—</div> - <div class="i4">Learn Bacchus to follow,</div> - <div class="i4">And quit your Apollo,</div> - <div>Forsake all the Muses, those senseless old crones:</div> - <div class="i4">Our jingling of glasses</div> - <div class="i4">Your rhyming surpasses</div> - <div class="hangingindent">When crowned with good claret, and bumpers, Squire Jones.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4">Ye soldiers so stout,</div> - <div>With plenty of oaths, though no plenty of coin,</div> - <div class="i4">Who make such a rout</div> - <div class="i4">Of all your commanders,</div> - <div class="i4">Who served us in Flanders,</div> - <div class="i4">And eke at the Boyne,—</div> - <div class="i4">Come leave off your rattling</div> - <div class="i4">Of sieging and battling,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And know you’d much better to sleep in whole bones;</div> - <div class="i4">Were you sent to Gibraltar,</div> - <div class="i4">Your notes you’d soon alter,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And wish for good claret, and bumpers, Squire Jones.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4">Ye clergy so wise,</div> - <div>Who mysteries profound can demonstrate so clear,</div> - <div>How worthy to rise!</div> - <div class="i4">You preach once a week,</div> - <div class="i4">But your tithes never seek</div> - <div class="i4h">Above once in a year!</div> - <div class="i4">Come here without failing,</div> - <div class="i4">And leave off your railing</div> - <div>’Gainst bishops providing for dull stupid drones;</div> - <div class="i4">Says the text so divine,</div> - <div class="i4">“What is life without wine?”</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Then away with the claret,—a bumper, Squire Jones!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4">Ye lawyers so just,</div> - <div>Be the cause what it will, who so learnedly plead,</div> - <div class="i4">How worthy of trust!</div> - <div class="i4h">You know black from white,</div> - <div class="i4">You prefer wrong to right,</div> - <div class="i4">As you chance to be fee’d:—</div> - <div class="i4">Leave musty reports</div> - <div class="i4">And forsake the king’s courts,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Where dulness and discord have set up their thrones;</div> - <div class="i4">Burn Salkeld and Ventris,<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></div> - <div class="i4">And all your damned entries,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And away with the claret,—a bumper, Squire Jones!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4">Ye physical tribe</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Whose knowledge consists in hard words and grimace,</div> - <div class="i4">Whene’er you prescribe,</div> - <div class="i4">Have at your devotion,</div> - <div class="i4">Pills, bolus, or potion,</div> - <div class="i4">Be what will the case;</div> - <div class="i4">Pray where is the need</div> - <div class="i4">To purge, blister, and bleed?</div> - <div>When, ailing yourselves, the whole faculty owns</div> - <div class="i4">That the forms of old Galen</div> - <div class="i4">Are not so prevailing</div> - <div class="hangingindent">As mirth with good claret,—and bumpers, Squire Jones!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4">Ye fox-hunters eke,</div> - <div>That follow the call of the horn and the hound,</div> - <div class="i4">Who your ladies forsake</div> - <div class="i4">Before they’re awake,</div> - <div class="i4">To beat up the brake</div> - <div class="i4">Where the vermin is found:—</div> - <div class="i4">Leave Piper and Blueman,</div> - <div class="i4">Shrill Duchess and Trueman,—<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span></div> - <div>No music is found in such dissonant tones!</div> - <div class="i4">Would you ravish your ears</div> - <div class="i4">With the songs of the spheres,</div> - <div>Hark away to the claret,—a bumper, Squire Jones!</div> - <div class="right"><i>Arthur Dawson</i> (1700?–1775).</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>JACK LOFTY.</i></h2> - -<p class="center"><i>Scene</i>—<span class="smcap">Croaker’s House</span>.</p> - -<p class="center p-min"><i>Present</i>—<span class="smcap">Mrs. Croaker</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Lofty</span>.</p> - - -<p class="center"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Lofty</span>, <i>speaking to his servant</i>.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> And if the Venetian ambassador, or that teasing -creature, the marquis, should call, I am not at home. D— me, I’ll be -a pack-horse to none of them. My dear madam, I have just snatched a -moment—and if the expresses to his Grace be ready, let them be sent -off; they’re of importance. Madam, I ask a thousand pardons.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. C.</i> Sir, this honour——</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> And, Dubardieu, if the person calls about the commission, -let him know that it is made out. As for Lord Cumbercout’s stale -request, it can keep cold; you understand me. Madam, I ask ten thousand -pardons. And, Dubardieu, if the man comes from the Cornish borough, -you must do him—you must do him, I say. Madam, I ask you ten thousand -pardons—and if the Russian ambassador calls—but he will scarce call -to-day, I believe. And now, madam, I have just got time to express my -happiness in having the honour of being permitted to profess myself -your most obedient humble servant.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. C.</i> Sir, the happiness and honour are all mine; and yet, I -am only robbing the public while I detain you.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span></p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Sink the public, madam, when the fair are to be attended. -Ah! could all my hours be so charmingly devoted! Thus it is eternally: -solicited for places here; teased for pensions there; and courted -everywhere. I know you pity me.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. C.</i> Excuse me, sir. “Toils of empires, pleasures are,” as -Waller says——</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Waller, Waller! Is he of the house?</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. C.</i> The modern poet of that name, sir.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Oh, a modern! We men of business despise the moderns; and -as for the ancients, we have no time to read them. Poetry is a pretty -thing enough for our wives and daughters; but not for us. Why, now, -here I stand, that know nothing of books; and yet, I believe, upon a -land-carriage fishery, a stamp act, or a jaghire, I can talk my two -hours without feeling the want of them.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. C.</i> The world is no stranger to Mr. Lofty’s eminence in -every capacity.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> I am nothing, nothing, nothing in the world; a mere -obscure gentleman. To be sure, indeed, one or two of the present -ministers are pleased to represent me as a formidable man. I know they -are pleased to bespatter me at all their little dirty levees; yet, upon -my soul, I don’t know what they see in me to treat me so! Measures, not -men, have always been my mark; and I vow, by all that’s honourable, my -resentment has never done the men, as mere men, any manner of harm; -that is, as mere men.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. C.</i> What importance! and yet, what modesty!</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Oh, if you talk of modesty, madam, there, I own, I am -accessible to praise; modesty is my foible. It was so the Duke of -Brentford used to say of me, “I love Jack Lofty,” he used to say; “no -man has a finer knowledge of things, quite a man of information, and -when he speaks upon his legs, by the lord, he’s prodigious! He scouts<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span> -them. And yet all men have their faults,—too much modesty is his,” -says his Grace.</p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_075"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_075.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“I CAN TALK MY TWO HOURS WITHOUT FEELING THE WANT OF THEM.”</p> - </div> - -<p><i>Mrs. C.</i> And yet, I dare say, you don’t want assurance when you -come to solicit for your friends.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Oh, there, indeed, I’m in bronze! Apropos, I have just -been mentioning Miss Richland’s case to a certain personage; we must -name no names. When I ask, I am not to be put off, madam. No, no; I -take my friend by the button: a fine girl, sir; great justice in her -case. A friend of mine. Borough interest. Business must be done, Mr. -Secretary. I say, Mr. Secretary, her business must be done, sir. That’s -my way, madam.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. C.</i> Bless me! You said all this to the Secretary of State, -did you?</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> I did not say the Secretary, did I? Well, curse it! since -you have found me out, I will not deny it. It was to the Secretary.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. C.</i> This was going to the fountain-head at once; not -applying to the understrappers, as Mr. Honeywood would have had us.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Honeywood! he, he! He was, indeed, a fine solicitor. I -suppose you have heard what has just happened to him?</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. C.</i> Poor, dear man! no accident, I hope.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Undone, madam, that’s all. His creditors have taken him -into custody. A prisoner in his own house.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. C.</i> A prisoner in his own house? How! I am quite unhappy for -him.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Why, so am I. This man, to be sure, was immensely -good-natured; but, then, I could never find that he had anything in him.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. C.</i> His manner, to be sure, was excessive harmless; some, -indeed, thought it a little dull. For my part, I always concealed my -opinion.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> It can’t be concealed, madam, the man was dull;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span> dull as -the last new comedy. A poor, impracticable creature! I tried once or -twice to know if he was fit for business; but he had scarce talents to -be groom-porter to an orange-barrow.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. C.</i> How differently does Miss Richland think of him; for, I -believe, with all his faults, she loves him.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Loves him! Does she? You should cure her of that, by -all means. Let me see, what if she were sent to him this instant, in -his present doleful situation? My life for it, that works her cure. -Distress is a perfect antidote to love. Suppose we join her in the -next room? Miss Richland is a fine girl, has a fine fortune, and must -not be thrown away. Upon my honour, madam, I have a regard for Miss -Richland; and rather than she should be thrown away, I should think it -no indignity to marry her myself.</p> - -<p class="right">[<i>Exeunt.</i></p> - - -<p class="center p1"><i>Scene</i>—<span class="smcap">Young Honeywood’s House</span>.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>Present</i>—<span class="smcap">Sir William Honeywood</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Miss -Richland</span>.</p> - -<p><i>Sir W.</i> Do not make any apologies, madam. I only find myself -unable to repay the obligation. And yet, I have been trying my interest -of late to serve you. Having learned, madam, that you had some demands -upon Government, I have, though unasked, been your solicitor there.</p> - -<p><i>Miss R.</i> Sir, I am infinitely obliged to your intentions; but my -guardian has employed another gentleman, who assures of success.</p> - -<p><i>Sir W.</i> Who? The important little man that visits here? Trust me, -madam, he’s quite contemptible among men in power, and utterly unable -to serve you. Mr. Lofty’s promises are much better known to people of -fashion than his person, I assure you.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span></p> - -<p><i>Miss R.</i> How have we been deceived! As sure as can be, here he -comes.</p> - -<p><i>Sir W.</i> Does he? Remember, I am to continue unknown; my return to -England has not as yet been made public. With what impudence he enters!</p> - -<p class="center p1"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Lofty</span>.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Let the chariot—let my chariot drive off; I’ll visit his -Grace’s in a chair. Miss Richland here before me! Punctual, as usual, -to the calls of humanity. I am very sorry, madam, things of this kind -should happen, especially to a man I have shown everywhere, and carried -amongst us as a particular acquaintance.</p> - -<p><i>Miss R.</i> I find, sir, you have the art of making the misfortunes -of others your own.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> My dear madam, what can a private man like me do? One man -can’t do everything—and, then, I do so much in this way every day. Let -me see: something considerable might be done for him by subscription; -it could not fail if I carried the list. I’ll undertake to set down a -brace of dukes, two dozen lords, and half the lower house, at my own -peril.</p> - -<p><i>Sir W.</i> And, after all, it is more than probable, sir, he might -reject the offer of such powerful patronage</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Then, madam, what can we do? You know, I never make -promises. In truth, I once or twice tried to do something with him -in the way of business; but, as I often told his uncle, Sir William -Honeywood, the man was utterly impracticable.</p> - -<p><i>Sir W.</i> His uncle! Then that gentleman, I suppose, is a -particular friend of yours?</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Meaning me, sir? Yes, madam; as I often said, “My dear -Sir William, you are sensible I would do anything, as far as my poor -interest goes, to serve your family;”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span> but what can be done? There’s no -procuring first-rate places for ninth-rate abilities.</p> - -<p><i>Miss R.</i> I have heard of Sir William Honeywood; he’s abroad in -employment; he confided in your judgment, I suppose.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Why, yes, madam; I believe Sir William had some reason to -confide in my judgment; one little reason, perhaps.</p> - -<p><i>Miss R.</i> Pray, sir, what was it?</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Why, madam—but let it go no further; it was I procured -him his place.</p> - -<p><i>Sir W.</i> Did you, sir?</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Either you or I, sir.</p> - -<p><i>Miss R.</i> This, Mr. Lofty, was very kind, indeed.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> I did love him; to be sure, he had some amusing -qualities; no man was fitter to be toast-master to a club, or had a -better head.</p> - -<p><i>Miss R.</i> A better head?</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Ay, at a bottle. To be sure, he was as dull as a choice -spirit; but hang it, he was grateful—very grateful; and gratitude -hides a multitude of faults.</p> - -<p><i>Sir W.</i> He might have reason, perhaps. His place is pretty -considerable, I am told.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> A trifle, a mere trifle among us men of business. The -truth is, he wanted dignity to fill up a greater.</p> - -<p><i>Sir W.</i> Dignity of person, do you mean, sir? I am told he is much -about my size and figure, sir.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Ay; tall enough for a marching regiment, but then he -wanted a something; a consequence of form; a kind of a—I believe the -lady perceives my meaning.</p> - -<p><i>Miss R.</i> Oh, perfectly; you courtiers can do anything, I see.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> My dear madam, all this is but a mere exchange; we do -greater things for one another every day. Why as thus, now, let me -suppose you the First Lord of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span> Treasury, you have an employment in -you that I want; I have a place in me that you want; do me here, do you -there; interest of both sides, few words, flat, done and done, and it’s -over.</p> - -<p><i>Sir W.</i> A thought strikes me. (<i>Aside.</i>) Now you mention -Sir William Honeywood, madam, and as he seems, sir, an acquaintance of -yours, you’ll be glad to hear he’s arrived from Italy; I had it from a -friend who knows him as well as he does me, and you may depend on my -information.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> The devil he is. (<i>Aside.</i>)</p> - -<p><i>Sir W.</i> He is certainly returned; and as this gentleman is a -friend of yours, you can be of signal service to us, by introducing me -to him; there are some papers relative to your affairs that require -despatch and his inspection.</p> - -<p><i>Miss R.</i> This gentleman, Mr. Lofty, is a person employed in my -affairs; I know you will serve us.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> My dear madam, I live but to serve you. Sir William shall -even wait upon him, if you think proper to command it.</p> - -<p><i>Sir W.</i> That would be quite unnecessary.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Well, we must introduce you, then. Call upon me—let me -see—ay, in two days.</p> - -<p><i>Sir W.</i> Now, or the opportunity will be lost for ever.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Well, if it must be now, now let it be. But, d—n it, -that’s unfortunate; my Lord Grig’s cursed Pensacola business comes on -this very hour, and I’m engaged to attend—another time——</p> - -<p><i>Sir W.</i> A short letter to Sir William will do.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> You shall have it; yet, in my opinion, a letter is a very -bad way of going to work; face to face, that’s my way.</p> - -<p><i>Sir W.</i> The letter, sir, will do quite as well.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Zounds, sir! do you pretend to direct me—direct me in -the business of office? Do you know me, sir? Who am I?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span></p> - -<p><i>Miss R.</i> Dear Mr. Lofty, this request is not so much his as mine; -if my commands—but you despise my power.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Sweet creature! your commands could even control a debate -at midnight; to a power so constitutional, I am all obedience and -tranquillity. He shall have a letter; where is my secretary, Dubardieu? -And yet, I protest, I don’t like this way of doing business. I think if -I spoke first to Sir William—— But you will have it so.</p> - -<p class="right">[<i>Exit with Miss R.</i></p> - - -<p class="center p1"><i>Scene</i>—<span class="smcap">An Inn.</span></p> - -<p class="center"><i>Present</i>—<span class="smcap">Sir William Honeywood, his nephew, Croaker, -Lofty</span>, <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Miss Richland.</span></p> - -<p class="center"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Lofty.</span></p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Is the coast clear? None but friends. I have followed you -here with a trifling piece of intelligence; but it goes no further, -things are not yet ripe for a discovery. I have spirits working at a -certain board; your affair at the Treasury will be done in less than—a -thousand years. Mum!</p> - -<p><i>Miss R.</i> Sooner, sir, I should hope.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Why, yes, I believe it may, if it falls into proper -hands, that know where to push and where to parry; that know how the -land lies.</p> - -<p><i>Miss R.</i> It is fallen into yours.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Well, to keep you no longer in suspense, your thing is -done. It is done, I say; that’s all I have just had assurances from -Lord Neverout that the claim has been examined and found admissible. -Quietus is the word, madam.</p> - -<p><i>Miss R.</i> But how? his lordship has been at Newmarket these ten -days.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Indeed! then Sir Gilbert Goose must have been most d—y -mistaken. I had it of him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span></p> - -<p><i>Miss R.</i> He? Why, Sir Gilbert and his family have been in the -country this month.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> This month? It must certainly be so. Sir Gilbert’s letter -did come to me from Newmarket, so that he must have met his lordship -there; and so it came about. I have his letter about me; I’ll read -it to you. (<i>Taking out a large bundle.</i>) That’s from Paoli of -Corsica, that from the Marquis of Squilachi. Have you a mind to see -a letter from Count Poniatowski, now King of Poland? Honest Pon—— -(<i>Searching.</i>) Oh, sir, what, are you here too? I’ll tell you -what, honest friend, if you have not absolutely delivered my letter to -Sir William Honeywood, you may return it. The thing will do without him.</p> - -<p><i>Sir W.</i> Sir, I have delivered it, and must inform you, it was -received with the most mortifying contempt.</p> - -<p><i>Croa.</i> Contempt! Mr. Lofty, what can that mean?</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Let him go on, let him go on, I say. You’ll find it come -to something directly.</p> - -<p><i>Sir W.</i> Yes, sir, I believe you’ll be amazed; after waiting some -time in the ante-chamber, after being surveyed with insolent curiosity -by the passing servants, I was at last assured that Sir William -Honeywood knew no such person, and I must certainly have been imposed -upon.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Good; let me die, very good. Ha, ha, ha!</p> - -<p><i>Croa.</i> Now, for my life, I can’t find out half the goodness of it.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> You can’t? Ha, ha!</p> - -<p><i>Croa.</i> No, for the soul of me; I think it was as confounded a bad -answer as ever was sent from one private gentleman to another.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> And so you can’t find out the force of the message? Why, -I was in the house at that very time. Ha, ha! It was I that sent that -very answer to my own letter. Ha, ha!</p> - -<p><i>Croa.</i> Indeed! How?—why?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span></p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> In one word, things between Sir William and me must be -behind the curtain. A party has many eyes. He sides with Lord Buzzard, -I side with Sir Gilbert Goose. So that unriddles the mystery.</p> - -<p><i>Croa.</i> And so it does, indeed, and all my suspicions are over.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Your suspicions! What, then, you have been suspecting, -you have been suspecting, have you? Mr. Croaker, you and I were -friends, we are friends no longer.</p> - -<p><i>Croa.</i> As I hope for your favour, I did not mean to offend. It -escaped me. Don’t be discomposed.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Zounds, sir! but I am discomposed, and will be -discomposed. To be treated thus! Who am I? Was it for this I have -been dreaded both by ins and outs? Have I been libelled in the -<i>Gazetteer</i> and praised in the <i>St. James’s</i>? Have I been -chaired at Wildman’s, and a speaker at Merchant Tailors’ Hall? Have I -had my hand to addresses, and my head in the print-shops, and talk to -me of suspects!</p> - -<p><i>Croa.</i> My dear sir, be pacified. What can you have but asking -pardon?</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Sis, I will not be pacified! Suspects! Who am I? To be -used thus, have I paid court to men in favour to serve my friends, the -Lords of the Treasury, Sir William Honeywood, and the rest of the gang, -and talk to me of suspects! Who am I, I say—who am I?</p> - -<p><i>Sir W.</i> Since, sir, you’re so pressing for an answer, I’ll tell -you who you are. A gentleman, as well acquainted with politics as -with men in power; as well acquainted with persons of fashion as with -modesty; with the Lords of the Treasury as with truth; and with all, as -you are with Sir William Honeywood. I am Sir William Honeywood.</p> - -<p class="right">[<i>Discovers his ensigns of the Bath.</i></p> - -<p><i>Croa.</i> Sir William Honeywood!</p> - -<p><i>Hon.</i> Astonishment! my uncle!<span style="float: right">[<i>Aside.</i></span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span></p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> So, then, my confounded genius has been all this time -only leading me up to the garret, in order to fling me out of the -window.</p> - -<p><i>Croa.</i> What, Mr. Importance, and are these your works? Suspect -you! You who have been dreaded by the ins and outs. You who have had -your hand to addresses, and your head stuck up in print-shops. If you -were served right, you should have your head stuck up in the pillory.</p> - -<p><i>Lofty.</i> Ay, stick it where you will; for, by the lord, it cuts -but a very poor figure where it sticks at present.</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>Oliver Goldsmith</i> (1728–1774).</p> - - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>BEAU TIBBS.</i></h2> - -<p>Attracted by the serenity of the evening, my friend and I lately went -to gaze upon the company in one of the public walks near the city. Here -we sauntered together for some time, either praising the beauty of -such as were handsome, or the dresses of such as had nothing else to -recommend them. We had gone thus deliberately forward for some time, -when, stopping on a sudden, my friend caught me by the elbow and led me -out of the public walk. I could perceive by the quickness of his pace, -and by his frequently looking behind, that he was attempting to avoid -somebody who followed; we now turned to the right, then to the left; as -we went forward, he still went faster, but in vain; the person whom he -attempted to escape hunted us through every doubling, and gained upon -us each moment, so that at last we fairly stood still, resolving to -face what we could not avoid.</p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_085"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_085.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“‘YOU KNOW I HATE FLATTERY,—ON MY SOUL, I DO.’”</p> - </div> - -<p>Our pursuer soon came up, and joined us with all the familiarity of an -old acquaintance. “My dear Drybone,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span> cries he, shaking my friend’s -hand, “where have you been hiding this half a century? Positively I -had fancied you were gone to cultivate matrimony and your estate in -the country.” During the reply, I had an opportunity of surveying the -appearance of our new companion: his hat was pinched up with peculiar -smartness; his looks were pale, thin, and sharp; round his neck he wore -a broad black riband, and in his bosom a buckle studded with glass; -his coat was trimmed with tarnished twist; he wore by his side a sword -with a black hilt, and his stockings of silk, though newly washed, -were grown yellow by long service. I was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span> so much engaged with the -peculiarity of his dress, that I attended only to the latter part of -my friend’s reply, in which he complimented Mr. Tibbs on the taste of -his clothes and the bloom in his countenance. “Pshaw, pshaw, Will,” -cried the figure, “no more of that, if you love me; you know I hate -flattery,—on my soul, I do; and yet, to be sure, an intimacy with -the great will improve one’s appearance, and a course of venison will -fatten; and yet, faith, I despise the great as much as you do; but -there are a great many damn’d honest fellows among them, and we must -not quarrel with one half because the other wants weeding. If they were -all such as my Lord Mudler, one of the most good-natured creatures that -ever squeezed a lemon, I should myself be among the number of their -admirers. I was yesterday to dine at the Duchess of Piccadilly’s. My -lord was there. ‘Ned,’ says he to me; ‘Ned,’ says he, ‘I’ll hold gold -to silver I can tell where you were poaching last night?’ ‘Poaching, my -lord?’ says I; ‘faith, you have missed already; for I stayed at home, -and let the girls poach for me. That’s my way: I take a fine woman as -some animals do their prey—stand still, and swoop, they fall into my -mouth.’”</p> - -<p>“Ah! Tibbs, thou art a happy fellow,” cried my companion, with looks -of infinite pity; “I hope your fortune is as much improved as your -understanding in such company?” “Improved!” replied the other; “you -shall know,—but let it go no farther—a great secret—five hundred a -year to begin with—my lord’s word of honour for it. His lordship took -me down in his own chariot yesterday, and we had a <i>tête-à-tête</i> -dinner in the country, where we talked of nothing else.” “I fancy you -forget, sir,” cried I, “you told us but this moment of your dining -yesterday in town.” “Did I say so?” replied he, coolly; “to be sure, -if I said so, it was so. Dined in town; egad,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span> now I do remember I did -dine in town; but I dined in the country, too; for you must know, my -boys, I eat two dinners. By-the-bye, I am grown as nice as the devil in -my eating. We were a select party of us to dine at Lady Grogram’s,—an -affected piece, but let it go no farther—a secret. Well, there -happened to be no asafœtida in the sauce to a turkey, upon which says -I, ‘I’ll hold a thousand guineas, and say done first, that—— ’ But, -dear Drybone, you are an honest creature; lend me half-a-crown for a -minute or two, or so, just till—but hearkee, ask me for it the next -time we meet, or it may be twenty to one but I forget to pay you.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>My little Beau yesterday overtook me again in one of the public walks, -and, slapping me on the shoulder, saluted me with an air of the most -perfect familiarity. His dress was the same as usual, except that he -had more powder in his hair, wore a dirtier shirt, a pair of temple -spectacles, and his hat under his arm.</p> - -<p>As I knew him to be a harmless, amusing little thing, I could not -return his smiles with any degree of severity; so we walked forward -on terms of the utmost intimacy, and in a few minutes discussed all -the usual topics preliminary to particular conversation. The oddities -that marked his character, however, soon began to appear; he bowed to -several well-dressed persons, who, by their manner of returning the -compliment, appeared perfect strangers. At intervals he drew out a -pocket-book, seeming to take memorandums before all the company, with -much importance and assiduity. In this manner he led me through the -length of the whole walk, fretting at his absurdities, and fancying -myself laughed at not less than him by every spectator. When we were -got to the end of our procession, “Blast me,” cries he, with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span> an -air of vivacity, “I never saw the Park so thin in my life before! -There’s no company at all to-day; not a single face to be seen.” “No -company!” interrupted I, peevishly; “no company where there is such a -crowd? why, man, there’s too much. What are the thousands that have -been laughing at us but company?” “Lord, my dear,” returned he with -the utmost good-humour, “you seem immensely chagrined; but, blast -me, when the world laughs at me, I laugh at the world, and so we are -even. My Lord Trip, Bill Squash the Creolian, and I, sometimes make -a party at being ridiculous; and so we say and do a thousand things -for the joke’s sake. But I see you are grave, and if you are for a -fine, grave, sentimental companion, you shall dine with me and my wife -to-day; I must insist on’t. I’ll introduce you to Mrs. Tibbs, a lady of -as elegant qualifications as any in nature; she was bred (but that’s -between ourselves) under the inspection of the Countess of All-Night. -A charming body of voice; but no more of that,—she will give us a -song. You shall see my little girl, too, Carolina Wilhelmina Amelia -Tibbs, a sweet, pretty creature! I design her for my Lord Drumstick’s -eldest son; but that’s in friendship—let it go no farther: she’s but -six years old, and yet she walks a minuet, and plays on the guitar -immensely already. I intend she shall be as perfect as possible in -every accomplishment. In the first place, I’ll make her a scholar; I’ll -teach her Greek myself, and learn that language purposely to instruct -her; but let that be a secret.”</p> - -<p>Thus saying, without waiting for a reply, he took me by the arm and -hauled me along. We passed through many dark alleys and winding ways; -for, from some motives to me unknown, he seemed to have a particular -aversion to every frequented street; at last, however, we got to the -door of a dismal-looking house in the outlets<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span> of the town, where he -informed me he chose to reside for the benefit of the air. We entered -the lower door, which ever seemed to lie most hospitably open; and I -began to ascend an old and creaking staircase, when, as he mounted -to show me the way, he demanded whether I delighted in prospects; to -which, answering in the affirmative, “Then,” says he, “I shall show you -one of the most charming in the world out of my window; you shall see -the ships sailing and the whole country for twenty miles round, tip -top, quite high. My Lord Swamp would give ten thousand guineas for such -a one; but, as I sometimes pleasantly tell him, I always love to keep -my prospects at home, that my friends may visit me the oftener.”</p> - -<p>By this time we were arrived as high as the stairs would permit us to -ascend, till we came to what he was facetiously pleased to call the -first floor down the chimney; and knocking at the door, a voice from -within demanded, “Who’s there?” My conductor answered that it was -him. But this not satisfying the querist, the voice again repeated -the demand; to which he answered louder than before; and now the door -was opened by an old woman with cautious reluctance. When we were got -in, he welcomed me to his house with great ceremony, and turning to -the old woman, asked where was her lady. “Good troth,” replied she -in a peculiar dialect, “she’s washing your twa shirts at the next -door, because they have taken an oath against lending out the tub -any longer.” “My two shirts!” cried he in a tone that faltered with -confusion, “what does the idiot mean?” “I ken what I mean weel enough,” -replied the other; “she’s washing your twa shirts at the next door, -because——” “Fire and fury, no more of thy stupid explanations!” -cried he; “go and inform her we have got company. Were that Scotch -hag,” continued he, turning<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span> to me, “to be for ever in my family, she -would never learn politeness, nor forget that absurd poisonous accent -of hers, or testify the smallest specimen of breeding or high life; and -yet it is very surprising, too, as I had her from a parliament man, -a friend of mine from the Highlands, one of the politest men in the -world; but that’s a secret.”</p> - -<p>We waited some time for Mrs. Tibbs’ arrival, during which interval I -had a full opportunity of surveying the chamber and all its furniture, -which consisted of four chairs with old wrought bottoms, that he -assured me were his wife’s embroidery; a square table that had been -once japanned; a cradle in one corner, a lumbering cabinet in the -other; a broken shepherdess, and a mandarine without a head, were stuck -over the chimney; and round the walls several paltry unframed pictures, -which, he observed, were all his own drawing. “What do you think, sir, -of that head in the corner, done in the manner of Grisoni? there’s the -true keeping in it; it is my own face, and though there happens to be -no likeness, a Countess offered me a hundred for its fellow; I refused -her, for, hang it, that would be mechanical, you know.”</p> - -<p>The wife at last made her appearance, at once a slattern and a -coquette; much emaciated, but still carrying the remains of beauty. She -made twenty apologies for being seen in such odious deshabille, but -hoped to be excused, as she had stayed out all night with the Countess, -who was excessively fond of the horns. “And, indeed, my dear,” added -she, turning to her husband, “his lordship drank your health in a -bumper.” “Poor Jack!” cries he, “a dear, good-natured fellow; I know he -loves me. But I hope, my dear, you have given orders for dinner; you -need make no great preparations neither, there are but three of us; -something elegant, and little, will do,—a turbot, an ortolan, a—— -” “Or what do you think, my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span> dear,” interrupts the wife, “of a nice -pretty bit of ox-cheek, piping hot, and dressed with a little of my own -sauce?” “The very thing!” replies he; “it will eat best with some smart -bottled beer; but be sure to let us have the sauce his Grace was so -fond of. I hate your immense loads of meat; that is country all over; -extremely disgusting to those who are in the least acquainted with -high life.” By this time my curiosity began to abate and my appetite -to increase: the company of fools may at first make us smile, but at -last never fails of rendering us melancholy; I therefore pretended -to recollect a prior engagement, and after having shown my respect -to the house, according to the fashion of the English, by giving the -old servant a piece of money at the door, I took my leave; Mrs. Tibbs -assuring me that dinner, if I stayed, would be ready at least in less -than two hours.</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>Oliver Goldsmith.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span></p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_092"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_092.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“A CHIRPING CUP IS MY MATIN SONG.”</p> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GREY.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I am a friar of orders grey:</div> - <div>As down the valley I take my way,</div> - <div class="i2">I pull not blackberry, haw, or hip,</div> - <div class="i2">Good store of venison does fill my scrip:</div> - <div class="i1">My long bead-roll I merrily chaunt,</div> - <div class="i1">Where’er I walk, no money I want;</div> - <div>And why I’m so plump the reason I’ll tell—</div> - <div>Who leads a good life is sure to live well.</div> - <div class="i3">What baron or squire</div> - <div class="i3">Or knight of the shire</div> - <div class="i1">Lives half so well as a holy friar!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>After supper, of heaven I dream,</div> - <div>But that is fat pullet and clouted cream.</div> - <div class="i2">Myself, by denial, I mortify</div> - <div class="i2">With a dainty bit of a warden pie:</div> - <div class="i1">I’m clothed in sackcloth for my sin:</div> - <div class="i1">With old sack wine I’m lined within:</div> - <div>A chirping cup is my matin song,</div> - <div>And the vesper bell is my bowl’s ding dong.</div> - <div class="i3">What baron or squire</div> - <div class="i3">Or knight of the shire</div> - <div class="i1">Lives half so well as a holy friar!</div> - <div class="right"><i>John O’Keeffe</i> (1747–1833).</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span></p> - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>THE TAILOR AND THE UNDERTAKER.</i></h2> - -<p class="center">(<i>The two tradesmen call for orders respecting a supposed corpse.</i>)</p> - - -<p class="center p1"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Shears</span>, <i>a tailor</i>, <i>and</i> -<span class="smcap">Grizley</span>, <i>a servant</i>.</p> - -<p><i>Griz.</i> Mr. Shears, sir,—I’ll tell him, sir.</p> - -<p><i>Shears.</i> Yes, Mr. Shears, to take orders for his mourning. -(<i>Exit</i> <span class="smcap">Grizley</span>.) A bailiff shall carry them home, -tho’—yet no tailor in town so complacently suits his own dress to the -present humour of his employer—to a brisk bridegroom, I’m white as a -swan, and here, to this woful widower, I appear black—black as my own -goose.</p> - -<p class="center p1"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Undertaker</span>.</p> - -<p><i>Under.</i> “Hearse—mourning-coaches—scarfs—pall.” Um—ay—if the -cash was plenty this might turn out a pretty sprightly funeral.</p> - -<p><i>Shears.</i> Servant, sir.</p> - -<p><i>Under.</i> Scarfs—a merry death—coffin—um—ay——</p> - -<p><i>Shears.</i> A sudden affair this, sir.</p> - -<p><i>Under.</i> Sudden—ah! I’m always prepared for death.</p> - -<p><i>Shears.</i> Sign of a good liver.</p> - -<p><i>Under.</i> No tradesman within the bills of mortality lives better.</p> - -<p><i>Shears.</i> You’ve many customers then, sir?</p> - -<p><i>Under.</i> Not one breathing.</p> - -<p><i>Shears.</i> You disoblige them, perhaps?</p> - -<p><i>Under.</i> Why, the truth is, sir, tho’ my friends would die to -serve me, yet I can’t keep one three days without turning up my nose at -him—Od so! I forgot to take measure of the body.</p> - -<p><i>Shears</i> (<i>aside</i>). Oh, oh!—a brother tailor—you measure -nobody here.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span></p> - -<p><i>Under.</i> Yes, I shall—Mr. Sandford’s body.</p> - -<p><i>Shears.</i> For what, pray?</p> - -<p><i>Under.</i> For a wooden surtout lined with white satin.</p> - -<p><i>Shears</i> (<i>aside</i>). Odd sort of mourning!—But, sir, I have -the business of this family.</p> - -<p><i>Under.</i> You! I know I have had it since St. James’s churchyard -was set on fire by old Mattack the grave-digger, twenty years last -influenza business. I have nineteen bodies under lock and key this -moment.</p> - -<p><i>Shears.</i> You may have bodies, skirts, cuffs, and buttons—my -business!—ask my foreman—I don’t set a stitch—I’m merely an -undertaker.</p> - -<p><i>Under.</i> Undertaker! so am I!—and for work——</p> - -<p><i>Shears.</i> Now I do no work—I cut out indeed——</p> - -<p><i>Under.</i> Cut out! oh, you embowel ’em, perhaps—can you make a -mummy in the Egyptian fashion?</p> - -<p><i>Shears.</i> I never made masquerade habits.</p> - -<p><i>Under.</i> What! could you stuff a person of rank, to send him sweet -over sea?</p> - -<p><i>Shears.</i> Stuff! persons of rank—Irish tabinets are in style for -people of rank.</p> - -<p><i>Under.</i> Nothing like sage, thyme, pepper and salt.</p> - -<p><i>Shears.</i> Pepper and salt!—thunder and lightning!—for a colour!</p> - -<p><i>Under.</i> Thunder and lightning! why, you are in the clouds, -man—in one word, could you pickle a Duke?</p> - -<p><i>Shears.</i> I pickle a Duke!</p> - -<p><i>Under.</i> Could you place a lozenge over a window, or make out a -coat for a hatchment, without the help of a herald?</p> - -<p><i>Shears.</i> Mr. Hatchment! never made a coat for a gentleman of that -name.</p> - -<p><i>Under.</i> Mr. Hatchment—you’ve a skull as thick as a tombstone.</p> - -<p><i>Shears.</i> Mayhap so, but I’ll let you know no cross-legg’d<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span> and -bandy button-making, Bedford-bury, shred-seller shall rip a customer -from me.</p> - -<p><i>Under.</i> Friend, depart in peace—or my cane shall make you a -<i>memento mori</i> to all impertinent rascals.</p> - -<p><i>Shears.</i> Here’s a cowardly advantage! to attack a naked man—lay -by your cane, and I’ll talk to you.</p> - -<p class="center">(<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Undertaker</span> <i>throws down his cane, which</i> -<span class="smcap">Shears</span> <i>takes up and beats him with.</i>)</p> - -<p><i>Under.</i> Oh, death and treachery! help! murder!</p> - -<p><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Dennis</span>.</p> - -<p><i>Den.</i> Hey! what’s all this?</p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_096"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_096.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“I PERCEIVE THIS MISTAKE.”</p> - </div> - -<p><i>Under.</i> A villain!—why, here’s another undertaker insists that -he’s to bury your master.</p> - -<p><i>Shears.</i> Oh, thread and needles! I bury a gentleman! but, egad, -you’re a frolicsome tailor.</p> - -<p><i>Under.</i> Tailor! oh, you son of a sexton! call you me tailor? a -more capital undertaker than yourself.</p> - -<p><i>Shears.</i> Zounds, man, I’m no undertaker! I’m a tailor.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span></p> - -<p><i>Under.</i> And, zounds, man—tailor, I mean—I’m an undertaker.</p> - -<p><i>Den.</i> (<i>aside</i>). I perceive this mistake. One word, good -gentlemen mechanics—Mr. Tailor!</p> - -<p><i>Shears.</i> Sir!</p> - -<p><i>Den.</i> My lady is not dead.</p> - -<p><i>Shears.</i> Your lady not dead!</p> - -<p><i>Den.</i> No, nor my master neither.</p> - -<p><i>Under.</i> Your master not dead!</p> - -<p><i>Den.</i> No.</p> - -<p><i>Under.</i> Then perhaps he don’t want to be buried!</p> - -<p><i>Den.</i> Not alive, I believe.</p> - -<p><i>Under.</i> The most good-for-nothing family in the parish.</p> - -<p><i>Shears.</i> By these shears, parchment of mine shall never cross a -shoulder in it.<span style="float: right">[<i>Exit.</i></span></p> - -<p><i>Under.</i> Zounds, I’ll go home and bury myself for the good of my -family.<span style="float: right">[<i>Exit.</i></span></p> - -<p class="r2"><i>John O’Keeffe.</i></p> - - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>TOM GROG.</i></h2> - -<p class="center"><i>Present</i>—<span class="smcap">Tom Grog</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Rupee</span>.</p> - -<p><i>Rupee.</i> I drink tea at Sir Toby Tacit’s this evening. Tom, you’ll -come—I’ll introduce you to the ladies; you’ll see my intended sposa, -Cornelia.</p> - -<p><i>Grog.</i> Ay, give me her little waiting-maid, Nancy. If I can get -her to my berth in the Minories, I shall be as happy as an Admiral.</p> - -<p><i>Rupee.</i> Admiral! <i>apropos</i>—I shall be married -to-morrow—Tom, you’ll dress to honour my wedding?</p> - -<p><i>Grog.</i> Ay, if the tailor brings home my new rigging. But now you -talk of a wife, the first time I ever saw my wife, the pretty Peggy, -was on Portsmouth ramparts, full dress’d,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span> streamers flying, gay as -a commissioner’s yacht at a naval review—What cheer, my heart! says -I—she bore away; love gave signal for chase, so I crowded sail, threw -a salute shot across her fore-foot to make her bring-to; prepared for -an engagement, we came to close quarters, grappled. I threw a volley of -kisses at her round-top, she struck—next day, with a cheer, I took my -prize in tow to Farum Church, and the parson made out my warrant for -command—captain of the Pretty Peggy fifteen years; then she foundered -in Blanket Bay—Death took charge, and left me to swim thro’ life, and -keep my chin above water as long as I cou’d.</p> - -<p><i>Rupee.</i> Tom, you may be chin-deep, but water can never reach your -lips unless mixed with brandy—brandy! <i>apropos</i>, now for the -ladies.</p> - -<p><i>Grog.</i> Well, sheer off; d’ye see, I have business at the -Admiralty, and then I bear away for Tower Hill, to meet some Hearts of -Oak.</p> - -<p><i>Rupee.</i> Adieu, my Man of War; my <i>vis-a-vis</i> is at St. -James’ Gate, so, Tom, farewell; and now, hey for the land of love. -<span style="float: right">[<i>Exit.</i></span></p> - -<p><i>Grog.</i> Now must I cruise in the channel of Charing Cross, to look -out for this lubber that affronted me aboard the <i>Dreadnought</i>. I -heard he put in at the Admiralty—Hold! is Rupee gone? If he thought I -went to fight, mayhap he’d bring the Master-at-Arms upon me, and have -me in the bilboes—Smite my timbers! there goes the enemy.</p> - -<p class="center p1"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Stern</span> (<i>crossing</i>).</p> - -<p class="p-left">I’ll hail him—yo! ho!</p> - -<p><i>Stern.</i> What cheer?</p> - -<p><i>Grog.</i> You’re Sam Stern?</p> - -<p><i>Stern.</i> Yes.</p> - -<p><i>Grog.</i> Do you remember me?</p> - -<p><i>Stern.</i> Remember! Yes, though you’re rich now, you’re still Tom -Grog.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span></p> - -<p><i>Grog.</i> You affronted me aboard the <i>Dreadnought</i>; the -Spaniards were then in view, and I didn’t think it time to resent -private quarrels when it is our duty to thrash the enemies of our -country; but, Sam Stern, you are the man that affronted Tom Grog.</p> - -<p><i>Stern.</i> Mayhap so.</p> - -<p><i>Grog.</i> Mayhap you’ll fight me?</p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_099"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_099.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“WHAT CHEER?”</p> - </div> - -<p><i>Stern.</i> I will—when and where?</p> - -<p><i>Grog.</i> The <i>where</i> is here, and <i>when</i> is now; and -slap’s the word. (<i>Lays his hand on his hanger.</i>) But hold, we -must steer off the open sea into some creek.</p> - -<p><i>Stern.</i> But I’ve neither cutlash nor pistols.</p> - -<p><i>Grog.</i> I saw a handsome cutlash and a pretty pair of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span> -barking-irons in a pawnbroker’s window; come, it lies on our way to the -War Office.</p> - -<p><i>Stern.</i> I should like to touch at the <i>Victualling</i> Office -in our voyage.</p> - -<p><i>Grog.</i> Why, ha’n’t you dined?</p> - -<p><i>Stern.</i> I’ve none to eat.</p> - -<p><i>Grog.</i> A seaman in England without a dinner! that’s hard, d—d -hard! there’s money—pay me when you can. (<i>Gives a handful of -money.</i>)</p> - -<p><i>Stern.</i> How much?</p> - -<p><i>Grog.</i> I don’t know—get your dinner—buy the arms—meet me in -two hours at Deptford, and, shiver me like a biscuit, if I don’t blow -your head off.</p> - -<p><i>Stern.</i> Then I can’t pay you your money.</p> - -<p><i>Grog.</i> True; but mayhap you may take off mine; and if so, I shall -have no occasion for it.</p> - -<p><i>Stern.</i> Right, I forgot that.</p> - -<p class="right">(<i>Wipes his eyes with his sleeve.</i>)</p> - -<p><i>Grog.</i> What do you snivel for?</p> - -<p><i>Stern.</i> What a dog am I to use a man ill, and now be obliged to -him for a meal’s meat.</p> - -<p><i>Grog.</i> Then you own you’ve used me ill! Ask my pardon.</p> - -<p><i>Stern.</i> I’ll be d—d if I do.</p> - -<p><i>Grog.</i> Then take it without asking. You’re cursed saucy, but -you’re a good seaman; and hark ye, Sam, the brave man, though he -scorns the fear of punishment, is always afraid to deserve it. Come, -when you’ve stowed your bread-room, a bowl of punch shall again set -friendship afloat. (<i>Shake hands.</i>)</p> - -<p><i>Stern.</i> Oh, I’m a lubber!</p> - -<p><i>Grog.</i> Avast! Swab the spray from your bows! poor fellow! don’t -heed, my soul! whilst you’ve the heart of a lion, never be ashamed of -the feelings of a man.</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>John O’Keeffe.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span></p> - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>BULLS.</i></h2> - - -<p>In a speech on the threatened French invasion into Ireland, made, like -the rest, in the Irish House of Commons, Sir Boyle Roche said—</p> - -<p>“Mr. Speaker, if we once permitted the villainous French masons to -meddle with the buttresses and walls of our ancient constitution, they -would never stop nor stay, sir, till they brought the foundation-stones -tumbling down about the ears of the nation.... Here, perhaps, sirs, -the murderous Marshellaw men (Marseillais) would break in, cut us to -mincemeat, and throw our bleeding heads upon that table, to stare us in -the face.”</p> - -<p>When a member had committed a breach of privilege, and the -sergeant-at-arms was censured for letting him escape, he said—</p> - -<p>“How could the sergeant-at-arms stop him in the rear, while he was -catching him in the front? Could he, like a bird, be in two places at -once?”</p> - -<p>In opposing a proposed grant for some public works, he said—</p> - -<p>“What, Mr. Speaker, and so we are to beggar ourselves for the fear of -vexing posterity? Now, I would ask the honourable gentleman, and this -still more honourable house, why we should put ourselves out of our -way to do anything for posterity; for what has posterity done for us! -(Laughter.) I apprehend gentlemen have entirely mistaken my words. I -assure the house that by posterity I do not mean my ancestors, but -those who are to come immediately after them.”</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>Sir Boyle Roche</i> (1740?—1807).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span></p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_102"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_102.jpg" - alt="" /> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>THE MONKS OF THE SCREW.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>When St. Patrick this order established,</div> - <div class="i1">He called us the “Monks of the Screw”;</div> - <div>Good rules he revealed to our abbot</div> - <div class="i1">To guide us in what we should do.</div> - <div>But first he replenished our fountain</div> - <div class="i1">With liquor the best from on high;</div> - <div>And he said, on the word of a saint,</div> - <div class="i1">That the fountain should never run dry.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Each year, when your octaves approach,</div> - <div class="i1">In full chapter convened let me find you;</div> - <div>And when to the convent you come,</div> - <div class="i1">Leave your favourite temptation behind you.</div> - <div>And be not a glass in your convent—</div> - <div class="i1">Unless on a festival—found;</div> - <div>And, this rule to enforce, I ordain it</div> - <div class="i1">One festival all the year round.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>My brethren, be chaste—till you’re tempted;</div> - <div class="i1">While sober, be grave and discreet;</div> - <div>And humble your bodies with fasting,</div> - <div class="i1">As oft as you’ve nothing to eat.</div> - <div>Yet, in honour of fasting, one lean face</div> - <div class="i1">Among you I’d always require;</div> - <div>If the abbot should please, he may wear it,</div> - <div class="i1">If not, let it come to the prior.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Come, let each take his chalice, my brethren,</div> - <div class="i1">And with due devotion, prepare,</div> - <div>With hands and with voices uplifted,</div> - <div class="i1">Our hymn to conclude with a prayer.</div> - <div>May this chapter oft joyously meet,</div> - <div class="i1">And this gladsome libation renew,</div> - <div>To the saint, and the founder, and abbot,</div> - <div class="i1">And prior, and Monks of the Screw.</div> - <div class="right"><i>John Philpot Curran</i> (1750–1817).</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>ANA.</i></h2> - -<p>One day, when out riding with Lord Norbury, they came to a gallows, and -pointing to it the judge said, “Where would you be, Curran, if that -scaffold had its due?” “Riding alone, my lord,” was Curran’s prompt -reply.</p> - -<p>The same judge (noted for his merciless severity) was seated opposite -Curran at dinner on another occasion, and asked, “Is that <i>hung</i> -beef before you, Curran?” “Do you try it, my lord,” replied the -advocate, “and it is sure to be.”</p> - -<p>A blustering Irish barrister once told the little man he would put him -in his pocket if he provoked him further.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span> “Egad, if you do, you’ll -have more law in your pocket than ever you had in your head.”</p> - -<p>“Do you see anything ridiculous in my wig, Curran?” asked a vain -barrister, whose displaced head-gear had caused some merriment in -court. “Nothing, <i>except the head</i>, sir,” answered Curran.</p> - -<p>Another judge had the habit of continually shaking his head during -Curran’s addresses to the jury, and the counsel, fearing the jury -might be influenced, assured them that the judge was not expressing -dissent—“when he shakes his head, <i>there’s nothing in it</i>.”</p> - -<p>When he had to meet a notorious duellist named Bully Egan, whose girth -was twice that of Curran’s, Egan complained that the advantages were -all on one side, inasmuch as he could barely see Curran’s diminutive -person, while Curran could hardly fail to hit him. “Oh!” said Curran, -“we can soon arrange that. Let the size of my body be chalked on Mr. -Egan’s, and I am willing all shots outside the marks should not be -counted.”</p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_104"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_104.jpg" - alt="" /> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span></p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_105"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_105.jpg" - alt="" /> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>THE CRUISKEEN LAWN.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Let the farmer praise his grounds,</div> - <div>Let the huntsman praise his hounds,</div> - <div class="i1">The farmer his sweet-scented lawn;</div> - <div>While I, more blest than they,</div> - <div>Spend each happy night and day</div> - <div class="i1">With my smiling little cruiskeen lawn.</div> - <div class="i3"><i>Gra-ma-chree-ma cruiskeen,</i></div> - <div class="i3"><i>Slainte geal ma vourneen,</i></div> - <div class="i3"><i>Gra-ma-chree a coolin bawn, bawn, bawn,</i></div> - <div class="i3"><i>Gra-ma-chree a coolin bawn!</i><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Immortal and divine,</div> - <div>Great Bacchus, god of wine,</div> - <div class="i1">Create me by adoption your son,</div> - <div>In hope that you’ll comply</div> - <div>That my glass shall ne’er run dry,</div> - <div class="i1">Nor my smiling little cruiskeen lawn.</div> - <div class="i3">Gra-ma-chree, etc.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>And when grim Death appears,</div> - <div>After few but happy years,</div> - <div class="i1">And tells me my glass it is run,</div> - <div>I’ll say, “Begone, you slave!</div> - <div>For great Bacchus gave me leave</div> - <div class="i1">Just to fill another cruiskeen lawn.”</div> - <div class="i3">Gra-ma-chree, etc.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Then fill your glasses high,</div> - <div>Let’s not part with lips a-dry,</div> - <div class="i1">Though the lark now proclaims it is dawn;</div> - <div>And since we can’t remain,</div> - <div>May we shortly meet again</div> - <div class="i1">To fill another cruiskeen lawn.</div> - <div class="i3">Gra-ma-chree, etc.</div> - <div class="right"><i>Anonymous.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_106"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_106.jpg" - alt="" /> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span></p> - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>THE SCANDAL-MONGERS.</i></h2> - -<p class="center p1"><i>Scene</i>—<span class="smcap">Lady Sneerwell’s House.</span></p> - -<p class="center"><i>Present</i>—<span class="smcap">Lady Sneerwell</span>, <span class="smcap">Maria</span>, <span class="smcap">Mrs. -Candour</span>, <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Joseph Surface</span>.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. C.</i> My dear Lady Sneerwell, how have you been this century? -Mr. Surface, what news do you hear? though indeed it is no matter, for -I think one hears nothing else but scandal.</p> - -<p><i>Joseph.</i> Just so, indeed, ma’am.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. C.</i> (<i>to Maria</i>). Oh, Maria! child, what! is the whole -affair off between you and Charles? His extravagance, I presume; the -town talks of nothing else.</p> - -<p><i>Maria.</i> I am very sorry, ma’am, the town has so little to do.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. C.</i> True, true, child; but there’s no stopping people’s -tongues. I own I was hurt to hear it, as I indeed was to learn, from -the same quarter, that your guardian, Sir Peter, and Lady Teazle, have -not agreed lately as well as could be wished.</p> - -<p><i>Maria.</i> ’Tis strangely impertinent for people to busy themselves -so.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. C.</i> Very true, child; but what’s to be done? People will -talk, there’s no preventing it. Why, it was but yesterday I was told -that Miss Gadabout had eloped with Sir Filigree Flirt. But, lord! -there’s no minding what one hears; though, to be sure, I had this from -very good authority.</p> - -<p><i>Maria.</i> Such reports are highly scandalous.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. C.</i> So they are, child; shameful, shameful! But the world -is so censorious, no character escapes. Lord, now, who would have -suspected your friend, Miss Prim, of an indiscretion? Yet such is the -ill-nature of people that they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span> say her uncle stopped her last week, -just as she was stepping into the York mail with her dancing-master.</p> - -<p><i>Maria.</i> I’ll answer for’t, there are no grounds for that report.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. C.</i> Ay, no foundation in the world, I dare swear; no more, -probably, than for the story circulated last month of Mrs. Festino’s -affair with Colonel Cassino; though, to be sure, that matter was never -rightly cleared up.</p> - -<p><i>Joseph.</i> The licence of invention some people take is monstrous, -indeed.</p> - -<p><i>Maria.</i> ’Tis so; but, in my opinion, those who report such things -are equally culpable.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. C.</i> To be sure they are; tale-bearers are as bad as -tale-makers; ’tis an old observation, and a very true one; but what’s -to be done, as I said before? how will you prevent people from talking? -To-day, Mrs. Clackit assured me Mr. and Mrs. Honeymoon were at last -become mere man and wife, like the rest of their acquaintance. She -likewise hinted that a certain widow in the next street had got rid of -her dropsy, and recovered her shape in a most surprising manner. And -at the same time Miss Tattle, who was by, affirmed that Lord Buffalo -had discovered his lady at a house of no extraordinary fame; and that -Sir Harry Bouquet and Tom Saunter were to measure swords on a similar -provocation. But, lord! do you think I would report these things? No, -no! tale-bearers, as I said before, are just as bad as tale-makers.</p> - -<p><i>Joseph.</i> Ah! Mrs. Candour, if everybody had your forbearance and -good nature!</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. C.</i> I confess, Mr. Surface, I cannot bear to hear people -attacked behind their backs; and when ugly circumstances come out -against our acquaintance, I own I always love to think the best. -(<span class="smcap">Lady Sneerwell</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Maria</span> <i>retire</i>.) -By-the-bye, I hope ’tis not true that your brother is absolutely -ruined?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span></p> - -<p><i>Joseph.</i> I am afraid his circumstances are very bad, indeed, -ma’am.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. C.</i> Ah! I heard so. But you must tell him to keep up his -spirits; everybody almost is in the same way. Lord Spindle, Sir Thomas -Splint, and Mr. Nickit—all up, I hear, within this week; so if Charles -be undone, he’ll find half his acquaintance ruined, too; and that, you -know, is a consolation.</p> - -<p><i>Joseph.</i> Doubtless, ma’am: a very great one.</p> - -<p class="center p1"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Servant</span>.</p> - -<p><i>Serv.</i> Mr. Crabtree and Sir Benjamin Backbite. [<i>Exit.</i></p> - -<p><i>Lady S.</i> So, Maria, you see your lover pursues you; positively, -you shan’t escape.</p> - -<p class="center p1"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Crabtree</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Benjamin -Backbite</span>.</p> - -<p><i>Crab.</i> Lady Sneerwell, I kiss your hand! Mrs. Candour, I don’t -believe you are acquainted with my nephew, Sir Benjamin Backbite? Egad, -ma’am, he has a pretty wit, and is a pretty poet, too; isn’t he, Lady -Sneerwell?</p> - -<p><i>Sir B.</i> Oh, fie, uncle!</p> - -<p><i>Crab.</i> Nay, egad! it is true; I back him at a rebus or a charade -against the best rhymer in the kingdom. Has your ladyship heard the -epigram he wrote last week on Lady Frizzle’s feather catching fire. -Do, Benjamin, repeat it, or the charade you made last night extempore -at Mrs. Drowzie’s conversazione. Come now; your first is the name of a -fish, your second a great naval commander, and——</p> - -<p><i>Sir B.</i> Uncle, now—pr’ythee——</p> - -<p><i>Crab.</i> I’faith, ma’am, ’twould surprise you to hear how ready he -is at these things.</p> - -<p><i>Lady S.</i> I wonder, Sir Benjamin, you never publish anything.</p> - -<p><i>Sir B.</i> To say the truth, ma’am, ’tis very vulgar to print;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span> and -as my little productions are mostly satires and lampoons on particular -people, I find they circulate more by giving copies in confidence to -the friends of the parties. However, I have some love elegies, which, -when favoured with this lady’s smiles, I mean to give the public.</p> - -<p><i>Crab.</i> ’Fore heaven, ma’am, they’ll immortalise you! you will be -handed down to posterity, like Petrarch’s Laura, or Waller’s Sacharissa.</p> - -<p><i>Sir B.</i> Yes, madam, I think you will like them, when you shall -see them on a beautiful quarto page, where a neat rivulet of text shall -meander through a meadow of margin. ’Fore gad! they will be the most -elegant things of their kind.</p> - -<p><i>Crab.</i> But, ladies, have you heard the news?</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. C.</i> What, sir, do you mean the report of——</p> - -<p><i>Crab.</i> No, ma’am, that’s not it—Miss Nicely is going to be -married to her own footman.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. C.</i> Impossible!</p> - -<p><i>Crab.</i> Ask Sir Benjamin.</p> - -<p><i>Sir B.</i> ’Tis very true, ma’am; everything is fixed, and the -wedding liveries bespoke.</p> - -<p><i>Crab.</i> Yes; and they do say there were very pressing reasons for -it.</p> - -<p><i>Lady S.</i> Why, I have heard something of this before.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. C.</i> It can’t be; and I wonder any one should believe such a -story of so prudent a lady as Miss Nicely.</p> - -<p><i>Sir B.</i> Oh, lud! ma’am, that’s the very reason ’twas believed at -once. She has always been so cautious and so reserved, that everybody -was sure there was some reason for it at bottom.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. C.</i> Why, to be sure, a tale of scandal is as fatal to the -credit of a prudent lady of her stamp, as a fever is generally to -those of the strongest constitutions. But there is a sort of puny -sickly reputation that is always ailing, yet will outlive the robuster -characters of a hundred prudes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span></p> - -<p><i>Sir B.</i> True, madam; there are true valetudinarians in reputation -as well as constitution; who, being conscious of their weak part, avoid -the least breath of air, and supply their want of stamina by care and -circumspection.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. C.</i> Well, but this may be all a mistake. You know, Sir -Benjamin, very trifling circumstances often give rise to the most -injurious tales.</p> - -<p><i>Crab.</i> That they do, I’ll be sworn, ma’am. Did you ever hear how -Miss Piper came to lose her lover and her character last summer at -Tunbridge? Sir Benjamin, you remember it?</p> - -<p><i>Sir B.</i> Oh, to be sure; the most whimsical of circumstances.</p> - -<p><i>Lady S.</i> How was it, pray?</p> - -<p><i>Crab.</i> Why, one evening at Miss Ponto’s assembly, the -conversation happened to turn on the breeding Nova Scotia sheep in this -country. Says a young lady in company, I have known instances of it; -for Miss Letitia Piper, a first cousin of mine, had a Nova Scotia sheep -that produced her twins. What! cries the lady dowager Dundizzy (who you -know is as deaf as a post), has Miss Piper had twins? This mistake, -as you may imagine, threw the whole company into a fit of laughter. -However, ’twas the next day everywhere reported, and in a few days -believed by the whole town, that Miss Letitia Piper had actually been -brought to bed of a fine boy and girl; and in less than a week there -were some people who could name the father, and the farmhouse where the -babies were put to nurse.</p> - -<p><i>Lady S.</i> Strange, indeed!</p> - -<p><i>Crab.</i> Matter of fact, I assure you. Oh, lud! Mr. Surface, pray -is it true that your uncle, Sir Oliver, is coming home?</p> - -<p><i>Joseph.</i> Not that I know of, indeed, sir.</p> - -<p><i>Crab.</i> He has been in the East Indies a long time. You<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span> can -scarcely remember him, I believe? Sad comfort, whenever he returns, to -hear how your brother has gone on.</p> - -<p><i>Joseph.</i> Charles has been imprudent, sir, to be sure; but I hope -no busy people have already prejudiced Sir Oliver against him. He may -reform.</p> - -<p><i>Sir B.</i> To be sure he may; for my part, I never believed him to -be so utterly void of principle as people say; and though he has lost -all his friends, I am told nobody is better spoken of by the Jews.</p> - -<p><i>Crab.</i> That’s true, egad! nephew. If the Old Jewry were a ward, I -believe Charles would be an alderman: no man more popular there, ’fore -gad! I hear he pays as many annuities as the Irish tontine; and that -whenever he is sick, they have prayers for the recovery of his health -in all the synagogues.</p> - -<p><i>Sir B.</i> Yet no man lives in greater splendour. They tell me, -when he entertains his friends, he will sit down to dinner with a -dozen of his own securities; have a score of tradesmen waiting in the -ante-chamber, and an officer behind every guest’s chair.</p> - -<p><i>Joseph.</i> This may be entertainment to you, gentlemen, but you pay -very little regard to the feelings of a brother.</p> - -<p><i>Maria.</i> Their malice is intolerable. Lady Sneerwell, I must wish -you a good morning. I’m not very well. [<i>Exit.</i></p> - -<p><i>Mrs. C.</i> Oh, dear! she changes colour very much.</p> - -<p><i>Lady S.</i> Do, Mrs. Candour, follow her: she may want your -assistance.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. C.</i> That I will, with all my soul, ma’am. Poor dear girl, -who knows what her situation may be? [<i>Exit.</i></p> - -<p><i>Lady S.</i> ’Twas nothing but that she could not bear to hear -Charles reflected on, notwithstanding their difference.</p> - -<p><i>Sir B.</i> The young lady’s <i>penchant</i> is obvious.</p> - -<p><i>Crab.</i> But, Benjamin, you must not give up the pursuit for that; -follow her, and put her into good humour. Repeat her some of your own -verses. Come, I’ll assist you.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span></p> - -<p><i>Sir B.</i> Mr. Surface, I did not mean to hurt you; but depend on’t, -your brother is utterly undone.</p> - -<p><i>Crab.</i> Oh, lud! ay, undone as ever man was. Can’t raise a guinea!</p> - -<p><i>Sir B.</i> And everything sold, I’m told, that was movable.</p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_114"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_114.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“POOR DEAR GIRL, WHO KNOWS WHAT HER SITUATION MAY BE?”</p> - </div> - -<p><i>Crab.</i> I have seen one that was at his house. Not a thing left -but some empty bottles that were overlooked, and the family pictures, -which I believe are framed in the wainscot!</p> - -<p><i>Sir B.</i> And I’m very sorry, also, to hear some bad stories -against him.</p> - -<p><i>Crab.</i> Oh! he has done many mean things, that’s certain.</p> - -<p><i>Sir B.</i> But, however, as he’s your brother——</p> - -<p><i>Crab.</i> We’ll tell you all another opportunity.</p> - -<p class="right">[<i>Exit with</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Benjamin</span>.</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>R. B. Sheridan</i> (1751–1816).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span></p> - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE’S SUBMISSION.</i></h2> - - -<p class="center p1"><i>Scene</i>—<span class="smcap">Captain Absolute’s Lodgings</span>.</p> - -<p class="center p1"><i>Present</i>—<span class="smcap">Captain Absolute and his Father</span>.</p> - - -<p><i>Capt. Absolute.</i> Now for a parental lecture. I hope he has heard -nothing of the business that has brought me here. I wish the gout had -held him fast in Devonshire, with all my soul!</p> - -<p class="center p1"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Anthony</span>.</p> - -<p>Sir, I am glad to see you here, and looking so well!—your sudden -arrival at Bath made me apprehensive for your health.</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> Very apprehensive, I dare say, Jack. What, you are -recruiting here, eh?</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> Yes, sir, I am on duty.</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> Well, Jack, I am glad to see you, though I did not -expect it; for I was going to write to you on a little matter of -business. Jack, I have been considering that I grow old and infirm, and -shall probably not trouble you long.</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> Pardon me, sir, I never saw you look more strong and -hearty, and I pray fervently that you may continue so.</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> I hope your prayers may be heard with all my heart. -Well then, Jack, I have been considering that I am so strong and hearty -I may continue to plague you a long time. Now, Jack, I am sensible that -the income of your commission, and what I have hitherto allowed you, is -but a small pittance for a lad of your spirit.</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> Sir, you are very good.</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> And it is my wish, while yet I live, to have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span> my boy -make some figure in the world. I have resolved, therefore, to fix you -at once in a noble independence.</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> Sir, your kindness overpowers me. Yet, sir, I presume -you would not wish me to quit the army?</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> Oh! that shall be as your wife chooses.</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> My wife, sir!</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> Ay, ay, settle that between you; settle that between -you.</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> A wife, sir, did you say?</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> Ay, a wife; why, did not I mention her before?</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> Not a word of her, sir.</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> Od so! I mustn’t forget her though—Yes, Jack, the -independence I was talking of is by a marriage; the fortune is saddled -with a wife; but I suppose that makes no difference.</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> Sir, sir, you amaze me!</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> Why, what the devil’s the matter with the fool? Just -now you were all gratitude and duty.</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> I was, sir; you talked to me of independence and a -fortune, but not a word of a wife.</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> Why, what difference does that make? Ods life, sir! if -you have the estate, you must take it with the live stock on it, as it -stands.</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> Pray, sir, who is the lady?</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> What’s that to you, sir? Come, give me your promise to -love, and to marry her directly.</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> Sure, sir, this is not very reasonable, to summon my -affections for a lady I know nothing of!</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> I am sure, sir, ’tis more unreasonable in you to -object to a lady you know nothing of.</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> You must excuse me, sir, if I tell you, once for all, -that in this point I cannot obey you.</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> Harkye, Jack! I have heard you for some time with -patience, I have been cool, quite cool; but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span> take care; you know I -am compliance itself,—when I am not thwarted! No one more easily -led,—when I have my own way; but don’t put me in a frenzy.</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> Sir, I must repeat it,—in this I cannot obey you.</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> Now, d—n me! if ever I call you Jack again, while I -live!</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> Nay, sir, but hear me.</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> Sir, I won’t hear a word, not a word; not one word: so -give me your promise by a nod; and I’ll tell you what, Jack (I mean, -you dog!), if you don’t, by——</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> What, sir, promise to link myself to some mass of -ugliness!——</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> Zounds, sirrah! the lady shall be as ugly as I choose: -she shall have a hump on each shoulder; she shall be as crooked as the -crescent; her one eye shall roll like the bull’s in Cox’s museum; she -shall have a skin like a mummy, and the beard of a Jew; she shall be -all this, sirrah! yet, I’ll make you ogle her all day, and sit up all -night to write sonnets on her beauty.</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> This is reason and moderation, indeed!</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> None of your sneering, puppy! no grinning, jackanapes!</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> Indeed, sir, I never was in a worse humour for mirth in -my life.</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> ’Tis false, sir; I know you are laughing in your -sleeve! I know you’ll grin when I am gone, sirrah!</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> Sir, I hope I know my duty better.</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> None of your passion, sir! none of your violence, if -you please; it won’t do with me, I promise you.</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> Indeed, sir, I never was cooler in my life.</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> ’Tis a confounded lie! I know you are in a passion at -your heart; I know you are, you hypocritical young dog; but it won’t -do.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span></p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> Nay, sir, upon my word——</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> So you will fly out! Can’t you be cool, like me? What -the devil good can passion do? passion is of no service, you impudent, -insolent, overbearing reprobate! There, you sneer again! don’t provoke -me! but you rely upon the mildness of my temper; you do, you dog! you -play upon the meekness of my disposition! Yet, take care; the patience -of a saint may be overcome at last. But mark!—I give you six hours and -a half to consider of this: if you then agree, without any condition, -to do every thing on earth that I choose, why—confound you! I may in -time forgive you. If not, zounds! don’t enter into the same hemisphere -with me! don’t dare to breathe the same air, or use the same light with -me; but get an atmosphere and a sun of your own! I’ll strip you of your -commission! I’ll lodge a five-and-threepence in the hands of trustees, -and you shall live on the interest. I’ll disown you, I’ll disinherit -you, I’ll unget you! and d—n me! if ever I call you Jack again! -<span style="float: right">[<i>Exit</i>.]</span></p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> Mild, gentle, considerate father! I kiss your hands.</p> - -<p class="center p1"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Fag</span>.</p> - -<p><i>Fag.</i> Assuredly, sir, your father is wroth to a degree; he comes -downstairs eight or ten steps at a time, muttering, growling, or -thumping the banisters all the way; I and the cook’s dog stand bowing -at the door—rap! he gives me a stroke on the head with his cane; bids -me carry that to my master; then kicking the poor turnspit into the -area, d—ns us all for a puppy triumvirate! Upon my credit, sir, were -I in your place, and found my father such very bad company, I should -certainly drop his acquaintance.</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> Cease your impertinence, sir; did you come in for -nothing more? Stand out of the way.</p> - -<p class="right">[<i>Pushes him aside, and exit.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span></p> - -<p><i>Fag.</i> So! Sir Anthony trims my master; he is afraid to reply to -his father, then vents his spleen on poor Fag! When one is vexed by one -person, to revenge one’s self on another who happens to come in the -way, shows the worst of temper, the basest——</p> - -<p class="center p1"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Errand Boy</span>.</p> - -<p><i>Boy.</i> Mr. Fag! Mr. Fag! your master calls you.</p> - -<p><i>Fag.</i> Well, you little, dirty puppy, you needn’t bawl so: the -meanest disposition, the——</p> - -<p><i>Boy.</i> Quick, quick, Mr. Fag!</p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_119"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_119.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“YOU LITTLE, IMPERTINENT, INSOLENT, KITCHEN-BRED—— ”</p> - </div> - -<p><i>Fag.</i> Quick, quick, you impudent jackanapes! am I to be commanded -by you, too? you little, impertinent, insolent, kitchen-bred—— -<span style="float: right">[<i>Kicks him off, and exit.</i></span></p> - - -<p class="center p1"><i>Scene</i>—<span class="smcap">The North Parade</span>.</p> - -<p class="center p1"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Captain Absolute</span>.</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> ’Tis just as Fag told me, indeed. Whimsical enough, -’faith. My father wants to force me to marry the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span> very girl I am -plotting to run away with. He must not know of my connection with her -yet awhile. He has too summary a method of proceeding in these matters; -however, I’ll read my recantation instantly. My conversion is something -sudden, indeed; but, I can assure him, it is very sincere. So, so, here -he comes; he looks plaguy gruff. (<i>Steps aside.</i>)</p> - -<p class="center p1"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Anthony</span>.</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> No—I’ll sooner die than forgive him! Die, did I say? -I’ll live these fifty years to plague him. At our last meeting, his -impudence had almost put me out of temper; an obstinate, passionate, -self-willed boy! Who can he take after? This is my return for getting -him before all his brothers and sisters! for putting him at twelve -years old into a marching regiment, and allowing him fifty pounds -a year, besides his pay, ever since! But I’ve done with him; he’s -anybody’s son for me: I never will see him more, never, never; never, -never.</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> Now for a penitential face! (<i>Advances.</i>)</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> Fellow, get out of the way!</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> Sir, you see a penitent before you.</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> I see an impudent scoundrel before me.</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> A sincere penitent. I am come, sir, to acknowledge my -error, and to submit entirely to your will.</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> What’s that?</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> I have been revolving, and reflecting, and considering -on your past goodness, and kindness, and condescension to me.</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> Well, sir?</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> I have been likewise weighing and balancing what you -were pleased to mention concerning duty, and obedience, and authority.</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> Well, puppy?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span></p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> Why, then, sir, the result of my reflections is, -a resolution to sacrifice every inclination of my own to your -satisfaction.</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> Why, now you talk sense, absolute sense; I never heard -anything more sensible in my life. Confound you! you shall be Jack -again.</p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_121"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_121.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“SIR, YOU SEE A PENITENT BEFORE YOU.”</p> - </div> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> I am happy in the appellation.</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> Why then, Jack, my dear Jack, I will now inform you -who the lady really is. Nothing but your passion and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span> violence, you -silly fellow, prevented me telling you at first. Prepare, Jack, for -wonder and rapture—prepare. What think you of Miss Lydia Languish?</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> Languish! What, the Languishes of Worcestershire?</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> Worcestershire! no. Did you never meet Mrs. Malaprop -and her niece, Miss Languish, who came into our country just before you -were last ordered to your regiment?</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> Malaprop! Languish! I don’t remember ever to -have heard the names before. Yet stay, I think I do recollect -something—Languish—Languish—She squints, don’t she? A little -red-hair’d girl!</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> Squints! A red-hair’d girl! Zounds! no!</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> Then I must have forgot; it can’t be the same person.</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> Jack! Jack! what think you of blooming love-breathing -seventeen?</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> As to that, sir, I am quite indifferent; if I can -please you in the matter, ’tis all I desire.</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> Nay, but Jack, such eyes! such eyes! so innocently -wild! so bashfully irresolute! Not a glance but speaks and kindles some -thought of love! Then, Jack, her cheeks! her cheeks, Jack! so deeply -blushing at the insinuations of her tell-tale eyes! Then, Jack, her -lips! Oh, Jack, lips, smiling at their own discretion! and, if not -smiling, more sweetly pouting—more lovely in sullenness! Then, Jack, -her neck! Oh, Jack! Jack!</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> And which is to be mine, sir, the niece or her aunt?</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> Why, you unfeeling, insensible puppy, I despise you. -When I was of your age, such a description would have made me fly like -a rocket! The aunt, indeed! Ods life! when I ran away with your mother, -I would not have touched anything old or ugly to gain an empire.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span></p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> Not to please your father, sir?</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> To please my father—Zounds! not to please—Oh, my -father—Odso!—yes, yes; if my father, indeed, had desired—that’s -quite another matter. Though he wasn’t the indulgent father that I am, -Jack.</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> I dare say not, sir.</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> But, Jack, you are not sorry to find your mistress is -so beautiful?</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> Sir, I repeat it, if I please you in this affair, ’tis -all I desire. Not that I think a woman the worse for being handsome; -but, sir, if you please to recollect, you before hinted something -about a hump or two, one eye, and a few more graces of that kind; now, -without being very nice, I own I should rather choose a wife of mine -to have the usual number of limbs, and a limited quantity of back: and -though one eye may be very agreeable, yet, as the prejudice has always -run in favour of two, I should not wish to affect a singularity in that -article.</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> What a phlegmatic sot it is! Why, sirrah, you are an -anchorite! a vile, insensible stock! You a soldier! You’re a walking -block, fit only to dust the company’s regimentals on! Ods life! I’ve a -great mind to marry the girl myself!</p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> I am entirely at your disposal, sir; if you should -think of addressing Miss Languish yourself, I suppose you would have -me marry the aunt; or if you should change your mind, and take the old -lady,—’tis the same to me, I’ll marry the niece.</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> Upon my word, Jack, thou art either a very great -hypocrite, or—but, come, I know your indifference on such a subject -must be all a lie—I’m sure it must—come now, d—n your demure face; -come, confess, Jack, you have been lying—ha’n’t you? You have been -playing the hypocrite, eh?—I’ll never forgive you, if you ha’n’t been -lying and playing the hypocrite.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span></p> - -<p><i>Capt. A.</i> I’m sorry, sir, that the respect and duty which I bear -to you should be so mistaken.</p> - -<p><i>Sir Anth.</i> Hang your respect and duty! But come along with me. -I’ll write a note to Mrs. Malaprop, and you shall visit the lady -directly. Her eyes shall be the Promethean torch to you—come along: -I’ll never forgive you, if you don’t come back stark mad with rapture -and impatience—if you don’t, egad, I’ll marry the girl myself. -<span style="float: right">[<i>Exeunt.</i></span></p> - -<p class="r2"><i>R. B. Sheridan.</i></p> - - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>ANA.</i></h2> - - -<p>When some one proposed to tax milestones, Sheridan protested that -it would not be constitutional or fair, as they could not meet to -remonstrate.</p> - -<p>Lord Lauderdale having declared his intention to circulate some -witticism of Sheridan’s, the latter hastily exclaimed, “Pray don’t, my -dear Lauderdale; a joke in your mouth is no laughing matter!”</p> - -<p>Lord Erskine on one occasion said that “a wife was only a tin canister -tied to one’s tail.” Lady Erskine was justly annoyed at this remark, -and Sheridan dashed off this impromptu:—</p> - - <div class="poetry-container1"> - <h2 class="smaller"></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="ileft">“Lord Erskine, at woman presuming to rail,</div> - <div>Calls a wife a tin canister tied to one’s tail;</div> - <div>And fair Lady Anne, while the subject he carries on,</div> - <div>Seems hurt at his lordship’s degrading comparison.</div> - <div>But wherefore degrading? Considered aright,</div> - <div>A canister’s polished and useful and bright;</div> - <div>And should dirt its original purity hide,</div> - <div>That’s the fault of the puppy to whom it is tied.”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span></p> - -<p>Sheridan met two sprigs of nobility one day in St. James’s Street, and -one of them said to him, “I say, Sherry, we have just been discussing -which you were, a knave or a fool. What is your opinion on the -subject?” Sheridan took each of them by the arm, and replied, “Why, -faith, I believe I am between the two.”</p> - -<p>Of his parliamentary opponent, Mr. Dundas, he once said, “The -honourable gentleman is indebted to his imagination for his facts, and -to his memory for his jests.”</p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_125"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_125.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“‘WHY, FAITH, I BELIEVE I AM BETWEEN THE TWO.’”</p> - </div> - -<p>When he was found intoxicated in the gutter by a night-watchman and was -asked his name, he replied, “Wilberforce,” meaning the eminent teetotal -advocate.</p> - -<p>Once at a parliamentary committee he found every seat occupied, and -looking round, asked, “Will any gentleman <i>move</i> that I may -<i>take the chair</i>?”</p> - -<p>Michael Kelly, the singer and composer, kept a shop at<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span> the bottom of -the Haymarket, where he sold wine and music. He asked Sheridan for a -sign, and Sheridan gave him the following:—“Michael Kelly, composer of -wine and importer of music.”</p> - - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>MY AMBITION.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div><i>Ease</i> often visits shepherd-swains,</div> - <div>Nor in the lowly cot disdains</div> - <div class="i2">To take a bit of dinner;</div> - <div>But would not for a turtle-treat,</div> - <div>Sit with a miser or a cheat,</div> - <div class="i2">Or cankered party sinner.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div><i>Ease</i> makes the sons of labour glad,</div> - <div><i>Ease</i> travels with the merry lad</div> - <div class="i2">Who whistles by his waggon;</div> - <div>With me she prattles all day long,</div> - <div>And choruses my simple song,</div> - <div class="i2">And shares my foaming flagon.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The lamp of life is soon burnt out;</div> - <div>Then who’d for riches make a rout,</div> - <div class="i2">Except a doating blockhead?</div> - <div>When Charon takes ’em both aboard,</div> - <div>Of equal worth’s the miser’s hoard</div> - <div class="i2">And spendthrift’s empty pocket.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>In such a scurvy world as this</div> - <div>We must not hope for perfect bliss,</div> - <div class="i2">And length of life together;</div> - <div>We have no moral liberty</div> - <div>At will to live, at will to die,</div> - <div class="i2">In fair or stormy weather.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Many, I see, have riches plenty—</div> - <div>Fine coaches, livery, servants twenty;—</div> - <div class="i2">Yet envy never pains me;</div> - <div>My appetite’s as good as theirs,</div> - <div>I sleep as sound, as free from fears;</div> - <div class="i2">I’ve only what maintains me!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>And while the precious joys I prove</div> - <div>Of Tom’s true friendship—and the love</div> - <div class="i2">Of bonny black-ey’d Jenny,—</div> - <div>Ye gods! my wishes are confin’d</div> - <div>To—health of body, peace of mind,</div> - <div class="i2">Clean linen, and a guinea!</div> - <div class="right"><i>Edward Lysaght</i> (1763–1810).</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>A WAREHOUSE FOR WIT.</i></h2> - - -<p>It is with men of their wit, as with women of their beauty. Tell a -woman she is fair, and she will not be offended that you tell her she -is cruel. Tell a man that he is a wit, and if you lay to his charge -ill-nature or blasphemy, he will take it as a compliment rather than a -reproach. Thus, too, there is no woman but lays some claim to beauty; -and no man will give up his pretensions to wit. In cases of this -kind, therefore, where so much depends upon opinion, and where every -man thinks himself qualified to be his own judge, there is nothing -so useless to a reader as illustrations; and nothing to an author so -dangerous as definition. Any attempt therefore to decide what true -<span class="smcap">wit</span> is must be ineffectual, as not one in a hundred would be -content to abide by the decision; it is impossible to rank all mankind -under the name of wits,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span> and there is scarce one in a hundred who does -not think that he merits the appellation.</p> - -<p>Hence it is that every one, how little qualified soever, is fond -of making a display of his fancied abilities; and generally at the -expense of some one to whom he supposes himself infinitely superior. -And from this supposition many mistakes arise to those who commence -wags, with a very small share of wit, and a still smaller of judgment; -whose imaginations are by nature unprolific, and whose minds are -uncultivated by education. These persons, while they are ringing -their rounds on a few dull jests, are apt to mistake the rude and -noisy merriment of illiterate jocularity for genuine humour. They -often unhappily conceive that those laugh <i>with</i> them who laugh -<i>at</i> them. The sarcasms which every one disdains to answer, they -vainly flatter themselves are unanswerable; forgetting, no doubt, -that their <i>good things</i> are unworthy the notice of a retort, -and below the condescension of criticism. They know not perhaps that -the Ass, whom the fable represents assuming the playfulness of the -lap-dog, is a perfect picture of jocular stupidity; and that, in like -manner, that awkward absurdity of waggishness which they expect should -delight, cannot but disgust; and instead of laying claim to admiration, -must ensure contempt. But, alas! I am aware that mine will prove a -success-less undertaking; and that though knight-errant-like I sally -forth to engage with the monsters of witticism and waggery, all my -prowess will be inadequate to the achievement of the enterprise. The -world will continue as facetious as ever in spite of all I can do; and -people will be just as fond of their “little jokes and old stories” as -if I had never combated their inclination.</p> - -<p>Since then I cannot utterly extirpate this unchristian practice, my -next endeavour must be to direct it properly, and improve it by some -wholesome regulations. I propose, if I meet with proper encouragement, -making application to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span> Parliament for permission to open “<i>A Licensed -Warehouse for Wit</i>,” and for a patent, entitling me to the sole -vending and uttering ware of this kind, for a certain term of years. -For this purpose I have already laid in <i>Jokes</i>, <i>Jests</i>, -<i>Witticisms</i>, <i>Morceaus</i>, and <i>Bon-Mots</i> of every -kind, to a very considerable amount, well worthy the attention of -the public. I have <i>Epigrams</i> that want nothing but the sting; -<i>Conundrums</i> that need nothing but an explanation; <i>Rebuses</i> -and <i>Acrostics</i> that will be complete with the addition of the -name only. These being in great request, may be had at an hour’s -warning. <i>Impromptus</i> will be got ready at a week’s notice. For -common and vernacular use, I have a long list of the most palpable -<i>Puns</i> in the language, digested in alphabetical order; for these -I expect good sale at both the universities. <i>Jokes</i> of all kinds, -ready <i>cut</i> and <i>dry</i>.</p> - -<p>N.B.—Proper allowance made to gentlemen of the law going on circuit; -and to all second-hand vendors of wit and retailers of repartee, who -take large quantities.</p> - -<p>N.B.—<i>Attic Salt</i> in any quantity.</p> - -<p>N.B.—Most money for old <i>Jokes</i>.</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>George Canning</i> (1770–1827).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>CONJUGAL AFFECTION.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>When Elliott (called the Salamander)</div> - <div>Was famed Gibraltar’s stout commander,</div> - <div>A soldier there went to a well</div> - <div>To fetch home water to his Nell;</div> - <div>But fate decreed the youth to fall</div> - <div>A victim to a cannon ball.</div> - <div>One brought the tidings to his spouse,</div> - <div>Which drove her frantic from the house;</div> - <div>On wings of love the creature fled</div> - <div>To seek her dear—she found him dead!</div> - <div>Her husband killed—the water spilt—</div> - <div>Judge, ye fond females, what she felt!</div> - <div>She looked—she sighed—and melting, spoke—</div> - <div>“Thank God, the pitcher is not broke!”</div> - <div class="right"><i>Thomas Cannings</i> (<i>fl.</i> 1790–1800).</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>WHISKY, DRINK DIVINE!</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Whisky, drink divine!</div> - <div class="i1">Why should drivellers bore us</div> - <div>With the praise of wine</div> - <div class="i1">While we’ve thee before us?</div> - <div>Were it not a shame,</div> - <div class="i1">Whilst we gaily fling thee</div> - <div>To our lips of flame,</div> - <div class="i1">If we could not sing thee?</div> - <div class="i4h">Whisky, drink divine, etc.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Greek and Roman sung</div> - <div class="i1">Chian and Falernian—</div> - <div>Shall no harp be strung</div> - <div class="i1">To thy praise, Hibernian?</div> - <div>Yes! let Erin’s sons—</div> - <div class="i1">Generous, brave, and frisky—</div> - <div>Tell the world at once</div> - <div class="i1">They owe it to their whisky—</div> - <div class="i4h">Whisky, drink divine, etc.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>If Anacreon—who</div> - <div class="i1">Was the grape’s best poet—</div> - <div>Drank our <i>mountain-dew</i>,</div> - <div class="i1">How his verse would show it!</div> - <div>As the best then known,</div> - <div class="i1">He to wine was civil;</div> - <div>Had he <i>Inishowen</i>,</div> - <div class="i1">He’d pitch wine to the divil—</div> - <div class="i4h">Whisky, drink divine, etc.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Bright as beauty’s eye,</div> - <div class="i1">When no sorrow veils it:</div> - <div>Sweet as beauty’s sigh,</div> - <div class="i1">When young love inhales it:</div> - <div>Come, then, to my lips—</div> - <div class="i1">Come, thou rich in blisses!</div> - <div>Every drop I sip</div> - <div class="i1">Seems a shower of kisses—</div> - <div class="i4h">Whisky, drink divine, etc.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Could my feeble lays</div> - <div class="i1">Half thy virtues number,</div> - <div>A whole <i>grove</i> of bays</div> - <div class="i1">Should my brows encumber.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span></div> - <div>Be his name adored,</div> - <div class="i1">Who summed up thy merits</div> - <div>In one little word,</div> - <div class="i1">When he called thee <i>spirits</i>—</div> - <div class="i4h">Whisky, drink divine, etc.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Send it gaily round—</div> - <div class="i1">Life would be no pleasure,</div> - <div>If we had not found</div> - <div class="i1">This enchanting treasure:</div> - <div>And when tyrant death’s</div> - <div class="i1">Arrow shall transfix ye,</div> - <div>Let your latest breaths</div> - <div class="i1">Be whisky! whisky! whisky!</div> - <div class="i4h">Whisky, drink divine, etc.</div> - <div class="right"><i>Joseph O’Leary</i> (17— -1845?).</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>TO A YOUNG LADY BLOWING A TURF FIRE WITH HER PETTICOAT.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Cease, cease, Amira, peerless maid!</div> - <div class="i1">Though we delighted gaze,</div> - <div>While artless you excite the flame,</div> - <div class="i1">We perish in the blaze.</div> - <div>Haply you too provoke your harm—</div> - <div class="i1">Forgive the bold remark—</div> - <div>Your petticoat may fan the fire,</div> - <div class="i1">But, O! beware a <i>spark</i>!</div> - <div class="right"><i>Anonymous</i> (1772).</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span></p> - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>EPIGRAMS, ETC.</i></h2> - -<p class="center"><i>On Lord Dudley, who was noted for learning all his speeches -by heart.</i></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>In vain my affections the ladies are seeking:</div> - <div class="hangingindent">If I give up my heart, there’s an end to my speaking.</div> - </div> - -<p class="center p1"><i>On Miss Ellen Tree, the singer.</i></p> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>On this <i>Tree</i> if a nightingale settles and sings,</div> - <div>The <i>tree</i> will return her as good as she brings.</div> - </div> - -<p class="center p1"><i>On Moore the poet’s excuse to his guests that his servant was -ill from the effects of a carousal.</i></p> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Come, come, for trifles never stick,</div> - <div class="i1">Most servants have a failing,</div> - <div>Yours, it is true, are sometimes sick,</div> - <div class="i1">But mine are always <i>aleing</i>.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>On being asked what “on the contrary” meant, when that phrase was used -by a person charged with eating three eggs every morning, Luttrell’s -ready retort was, “Laying them, I daresay.”</p> - -<p>I hate the sight of monkeys, they remind one so of poor relations.</p> - - -<p class="center"><i>On a man run over by an omnibus.</i></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Killed by an omnibus—why not?</div> - <div class="i1">So quick a death a boon is.</div> - <div>Let not his friends lament his lot—</div> - <div class="i1"><i>Mors omnibus communis</i>.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span></p> - -<p>At one of the crowded receptions at Holland House, Lady Holland -was requested by the guests to “make room.” “It must certainly be -<i>made</i>, for it does not exist,” said Luttrell.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>On Samuel Rogers’ poem, “Italy,” which was illustrated by -Turner.</i></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Of Rogers’ “Italy” Luttrell relates</div> - <div class="hangingindent">That ’twould have been <i>dished</i>, if ’twere not for the <i>plates</i>!</div> - <div class="right"><i>Henry Luttrell</i> (1766?-1851.)</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>LETTER FROM MISS BETTY FUDGE, IN PARIS, TO MISS DOROTHY——.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">What a time since I wrote!—I’m a sad naughty girl—</div> - <div>For though, like a tee-totum, I’m all in a twirl;—</div> - <div>Yet ev’n (as you wittily say) a tee-totum</div> - <div>Between all its twirls gives a letter to note ’em.</div> - <div class="hangingindent">But, Lord, such a place! and then, Dolly, my dresses,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">My gowns, so divine!—there’s no language expresses,</div> - <div>Except just the words “superbe,” “magnifique,”</div> - <div>The trimmings of that which I had home last week!</div> - <div class="hangingindent">It is call’d—I forget—<i>à la</i>—something which sounded</div> - <div>Like <i>alicampane</i>—but, in truth, I’m confounded</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And bother’d, my dear, ’twixt that troublesome boy’s</div> - <div>(Bob’s) cookery language, and Madame Le Roi’s:</div> - <div>What with fillets of roses and fillets of veal,</div> - <div>Things <i>garni</i> with lace, and things <i>garni</i> with eel,</div> - <div>One’s hair and one’s cutlets both <i>en popillote</i>,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And a thousand more things I shall ne’er have by rote,</div> - <div>I can scarce tell the diff’rence, at least as to phrase,</div> - <div>Between beef <i>à la Psyche</i> and curls <i>à la braise</i>.—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">But, in short, dear, I’m trick’d out quite <i>à la Française</i>,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span></div> - <div class="hangingindent">With my bonnet—so beautiful!—high up and poking,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Like things that are put to keep chimneys from smoking.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Where shall I begin with the endless delights</div> - <div>Of this Eden of milliners, monkeys, and sights—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">This dear busy place, where there’s nothing transacting</div> - <div>But dressing and dinnering, dancing and acting?</div> - <div><i>Imprimis</i>, the opera—mercy, my ears!</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">Brother Bobby’s remark, t’other night, was a true one;—</div> - <div class="i2 hangingindent">“This must be the music,” said he, “of the spears,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">For I’m curst if each note of it doesn’t run through one!”</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Pa says (and you know, love, his Book’s to make out,</div> - <div>’Twas the Jacobins brought ev’ry mischief about)</div> - <div>That this passion for roaring has come in of late,</div> - <div>Since the rabble all tried for a <i>voice</i> in the State.—</div> - <div>What a frightful idea, one’s mind to o’erwhelm!</div> - <div class="hangingindent">What a chorus, dear Dolly, would soon be let loose of it,</div> - <div>If, when of age, every man in the realm</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Had a voice like old Laïs,<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> and chose to make use of it;</div> - <div>No—never was known in this riotous sphere</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Such a breach of the peace as their singing, my dear.</div> - <div>So bad, too, you’d swear that the God of both arts,</div> - <div class="i1">Of Music and Physic, had taken a frolic</div> - <div>For setting a loud fit of asthma in parts,</div> - <div class="i1">And composing a fine rumbling base in a cholic!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>But the dancing—ah! <i>parlez-moi</i>, Dolly, <i>de ça</i>—</div> - <div>There, <i>indeed</i>, is a treat that charms all but Papa.</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Such beauty—such grace—oh, ye sylphs of romance!</div> - <div class="i1">Fly, fly to Titania, and ask her if <i>she</i> has</div> - <div>One light-footed nymph in her train, that can dance</div> - <div class="i1">Like divine Bigottini and sweet Fanny Bias!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span></div> - <div class="hangingindent">Fanny Bias in <i>Flora</i>—dear creature!—you’d swear,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">When her delicate feet in the dance twinkle round,</div> - <div>That her steps are of light, that her home is the air,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">And she only <i>par complaisance</i> touches the ground.</div> - <div>And when Bigottini in Psyche dishevels</div> - <div class="i1">Her black flowing hair, and by demons is driven,</div> - <div>Oh! who does not envy those rude little devils,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">That hold her and hug her, and keep her from Heaven?</div> - <div>Then, the music—so softly its cadences die,</div> - <div class="i1">So divinely—oh, Dolly! between you and I,</div> - <div>It’s as well for my peace that there’s nobody nigh</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">To make love to me then—<i>you’ve</i> a soul, and can judge</div> - <div class="hangingindent">What a crisis ’twould be for your friend, Betty Fudge!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">The next place (which Bobby has near lost his heart in)</div> - <div class="hangingindent">They call it the Play-house—I think—of St. Martin;</div> - <div>Quite charming—and <i>very</i> religious—what folly</div> - <div>To say that the French are not pious, dear Dolly,</div> - <div>When here one beholds, so correctly and rightly,</div> - <div>The Testament turned into <i>melodrames</i> nightly;</div> - <div>And, doubtless, so fond they’re of scriptural facts,</div> - <div>They will soon get the Pentateuch up in five acts.</div> - <div>Here Daniel, in pantomime, bids bold defiance</div> - <div>To Nebuchadnezzar and all his stuff’d lions,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">While pretty young Israelites dance round the Prophet,</div> - <div>In very thin clothing, and <i>but</i> little of it;—</div> - <div>Here Bégrand,<a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> who shines in the scriptural path,</div> - <div class="i1">As the lovely Suzanna, without ev’n a relic</div> - <div>Of drapery round her, comes out of the bath</div> - <div class="i1">In a manner that, Bob says, is quite <i>Eve-angelic</i>!</div> - <div class="hangingindent">But, in short, dear, ’twould take me a month to recite</div> - <div>All the exquisite places we’re at, day and night.</div> - <div class="right"><i>Thomas Moore</i> (1779–1852).</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span></p> - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>MONTMORENCI AND CHERUBINA.</i></h2> - - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>[The two extracts which follow are taken from a burlesque novel -which had a great success early in the century. Its ridicule of -the Radcliffian type of romance, full of accumulated horrors and -grotesque affectation, probably did much to extirpate the worst -examples of that unrealistic school.]</p> -</div> - - -<p>This morning, soon after breakfast, I heard a gentle knocking at my -door, and, to my great astonishment, a figure, cased in shining armour, -entered. Oh! ye conscious blushes; it was my Montmorenci! A plume of -white feathers nodded on his helmet, and neither spear nor shield were -wanting. “I come,” cried he, bending on one knee, and pressing my hand -to his lips, “I come in the ancient armour of my family to perform my -promise of recounting to you the melancholy memoirs of my life.” “My -lord,” said I, “rise and be seated. Cherubina knows how to appreciate -the honour that Montmorenci confers.” He bowed; and having laid by his -spear, shield, and helmet, he placed himself beside me on the sofa, and -began his heart-rending history.</p> - -<p>“All was dark. The hurricane howled, the hail rattled, and the thunder -rolled. Nature was convulsed, and the traveller inconvenienced. In the -province of Languedoc stood the Gothic castle of Montmorenci. Before -it ran the Garonne, and behind it rose the Pyrenees, whose summits -exhibiting awful forms, seen and lost again, as the partial vapours -rolled along, were sometimes barren, and gleamed through the blue -tinge of air, and sometimes frowned with forests of gloomy fir, that -swept downward to their base. ‘My lads, are your carbines charged, and -your daggers sharpened?’ whispered Rinaldo, with his plume of black<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span> -feathers, to the banditti, in their long cloaks. ‘If they an’t,’ said -Bernardo, ‘by St. Jago, we might load our carbines with the hail, and -sharpen our daggers against this confounded north-wind.’ ‘The wind is -east-south-east,’ said Ugo. At this moment the bell of Montmorenci -Castle tolled one. The sound vibrated through the long corridors, the -spiral staircases, the suites of tapestried apartments, and the ears -of the personage who has the honour to address you. Much alarmed, I -started from my couch, which was of exquisite workmanship; the coverlet -of flowered gold, and the canopy of white velvet painted over with -jonquils and butterflies by Michael Angelo. But conceive my horror when -I beheld my chamber filled with banditti! Snatching my faulchion, I -flew to the armoury for my coat of mail; the bravos rushed after me, -but I fought and dressed and dressed and fought, till I had perfectly -completed my unpleasing toilet. I then stood alone, firm, dignified, -collected, and only fifteen years of age.”</p> - - <div class="poetry-container1"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="ileft">“‘Alack! there lies more peril in thine eye,</div> - <div>Than twenty of their swords——’</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p class="p-left">To describe the horror of the contest that followed were beyond the pen -of an Anacreon. In short, I fought till my silver skin was laced with -my golden blood; while the bullets flew round me, thick as hail,</p> - - <div class="poetry-container1"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“‘And whistled as they went for want of thought.’</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p class="p-left">At length I murdered my way down to my little skiff, embarked in it, -and arrived at this island. As I first touched foot on its chalky -beach, ‘Hail! happy land,’ cried I, ‘hail, thrice hail!’ ‘There is no -hail here, sir,’ said a child running by.... Nine days and nights I -wandered through the country, the rivulet my beverage, and the berry my -repast; the turf my couch, and the sky my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span> canopy.” “Ah!” interrupted -I, “how much you must have missed the canopy of white velvet painted -over with jonquils and butterflies!” “Extremely,” said he, “for during -sixteen long years I had not a roof over my head—I was an itinerant -beggar! One summer’s day, the cattle lay panting under the broad -umbrage, the sun had burst into an immoderate fit of splendour, and -the struggling brook chided the matted grass for obstructing it. I sat -under a hedge, and began eating wild strawberries; when lo! a form, -flexile as the flame ascending from a censer, and undulating with the -sighs of a dying vestal, flitted inaudible by me, nor crushed the -daisies as it trod. What a divinity! she was fresh as the Anadyomene -of Apelles, and beautiful as the Gnidus of Praxiteles, or the Helen of -Zeuxis. Her eyes dipt in heaven’s own hue——” “Sir,” said I, “you -need not mind her eyes; I dare say they were blue enough. But pray, who -was this immortal doll of yours?” “Who?” cried he, “why, who but—shall -I speak it? who but—the <span class="smcap">Lady Cherubina De Willoughby</span>!!!” -“I!” “You!” “Ah! Montmorenci!” “Ah! Cherubina! I followed you with -cautious steps,” continued he, “till I traced you into your—you had a -garden, had you not?” “Yes.” “Into your garden. I thought ten thousand -flowerets would have leapt from their beds to offer you a nosegay. -But the age of gallantry is past, that of merchants, placemen, and -fortune-hunters has succeeded, and the glory of Cupid is extinguished -for ever!... But wherefore,” cried he, starting from his seat, -“wherefore talk of the past? Oh! let me tell you of the present and of -the future. Oh! let me tell you how dearly, how deeply, how devotedly -I love you!” “Love me!” cried I, giving such a start as the nature of -the case required. “My Lord, this is so—really now, so——” “Pardon -this abrupt avowal of my unhappy passion,” said he, flinging himself -at my feet; “fain would I have let concealment, like a worm in the -bud, feed on my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span> damask cheek; but, oh! who could resist the maddening -sight of so much beauty?” I remained silent, and, with the elegant -embarrassment of modesty, cast my blue eyes to the ground. I never -looked so lovely.... “I declare,” said I, “I would say anything on -earth to relieve you—only tell me what.” “Angel of light!” exclaimed -he, springing upon his feet, and beaming on me a smile that might -liquefy marble. “Have I then hope? Dare I say it? Dare I pronounce the -divine words, ‘she loves me’?” “I am thine and thou art mine,” murmured -I, while the room swam before me.</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>Eaton Stannard Barrett</i> (1786–1820).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span></p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_141"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_141.jpg" - alt="" /> - </div> - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>MODERN MEDIÆVALISM.</i></h2> - -<p class="center sm p2">CHAPTER I.</p> - - <div class="poetry-container1"> - <h2 class="smaller"></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“Blow, blow, thou wintry wind.”</div> - <div class="right p-min">—<i>Shakespeare.</i></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“Blow, breezes, blow.”</div> - <div class="right p-min">—<i>Moore.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p class="p-left">It was on a nocturnal night in autumnal October; the wet rain fell in -liquid quantities, and the thunder rolled in an awful and Ossianly -manner. The lowly but peaceful inhabitants of a small but decent -cottage were just sitting down to their homely but wholesome supper, -when a loud knocking at the door alarmed them. Bertram armed himself -with a ladle. “Lack-a-daisy!” cried old Margueritone, and little Billy -seized the favourable moment to fill his mouth with meat. Innocent -fraud! happy childhood!</p> - - <div class="poetry-container1"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“The father’s lustre and the mother’s bloom.”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>Bertram then opened the door, when, lo! pale, breathless, dripping, -and with a look that would have shocked the Royal Humane Society, a -beautiful female tottered into the room. “Lack-a-daisy! ma’am,” said -Margueritone, “are<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span> you wet?” “Wet?” exclaimed the fair unknown, -wringing a rivulet of rain from the corner of her robe; “O ye gods, -wet!” Margueritone felt the justice, the gentleness of the reproof, and -turned the subject, by recommending a glass of spirits.</p> - - <div class="poetry-container1"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“Spirit of my sainted sire.”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>The stranger sipped, shook her head, and fainted. Her hair was long and -dark, and the bed was ready; so since she seems in distress, we will -leave her there awhile, lest we should betray an ignorance of the world -in appearing not to know the proper time for deserting people.</p> - -<p>On the rocky summit of a beetling precipice, whose base was lashed -by the angry Atlantic, stood a moated and turreted structure called -Il Castello di Grimgothico. As the northern tower had remained -uninhabited since the death of its late lord, Henriques de Violenci, -lights and figures were, <i>par consequence</i>, observed in it at -midnight. Besides, the black eyebrows of the present baron had a habit -of meeting for several years, and <i>quelque fois</i>, he paced the -picture-gallery with a hurried step. These circumstances combined, -there could be no doubt of his having committed murder....</p> - - -<p class="center p2 sm">CHAPTER II.</p> - - <div class="poetry-container1"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“Oh!”</div> - <div class="right p-min">—<i>Milton.</i></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“Ah!”</div> - <div class="right p-min">—<i>Pope.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p class="p-left">One evening, the Baroness de Violenci, having sprained her left leg -in the composition of an ecstatic ode, resolved not to go to Lady -Penthesilea Rouge’s rout. While she was sitting alone at a plate of -prawns, the footman entered with a basket, which had just been left -for her. “Lay it down, John,” said she, touching his forehead with her -fork. The gay-hearted young fellow did as he was desired and capered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span> -out of the room. Judge of her astonishment when she found, on opening -it, a little cherub of a baby sleeping within. An oaken cross, with -“Hysterica” inscribed in chalk, was appended at its neck, and a mark, -like a bruised gooseberry, added interest to its elbow. As she and -her lord had never had children, she determined, <i>sur le champ</i>, -on adopting the pretty Hysterica. Fifteen years did this worthy woman -dedicate to the progress of her little charge; and in that time taught -her every mortal accomplishment. Her sigh, particularly, was esteemed -the softest in Europe.</p> - -<p>But the stroke of death is inevitable; come it must at last, and -neither virtue nor wisdom can avoid it. In a word, the good old -Baroness died, and our heroine fell senseless on her body.</p> - - <div class="poetry-container1"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“O what a fall was there, my countrymen!”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>But it is now time to describe our heroine. As Milton tells us that Eve -was “more lovely than Pandora” (an imaginary lady who never existed but -in the brains of poets), so do we declare, and are ready to stake our -lives, that our heroine excelled in her form the Timinitilidi, whom no -man ever saw; and in her voice, the music of the spheres, which no man -ever heard. Perhaps her face was not perfect; but it was more—it was -interesting—it was oval. Her eyes were of the real, original old blue; -and her lashes of the best silk. You forgot the thickness of her lips -in the casket of pearls which they enshrined; and the roses of York -and Lancaster were united in her cheek. A nose of the Grecian order -surmounted the whole. Such was Hysterica.</p> - -<p>But, alas! misfortunes are often gregarious, like sheep. For one night, -when our heroine had repaired to the chapel, intending to drop her -customary tear on the tomb of her sainted benefactress, she heard on a -sudden,</p> - - <div class="poetry-container1"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“Oh, horrid horrible, and horridest horror!”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span></p> - -<p class="p-left">the distant organ peal a solemn voluntary. While she was preparing, in -much terror and astonishment, to accompany it with her voice, four men -in masks rushed from among some tombs and bore her to a carriage, which -instantly drove off with the whole party. In vain she sought to soften -them by swoons, tears, and a simple little ballad; they sat counting -murders and not minding her. As the blinds of the carriage were closed -the whole way, we waive a description of the country which they -traversed. Besides, the prospect within the carriage will occupy the -reader enough; for in one of the villains Hysterica discovered—Count -Stilletto! She fainted. On the second day the carriage stopped at an -old castle, and she was conveyed into a tapestried apartment—in which -rusty daggers, mouldering bones, and ragged palls lay scattered in all -the profusion of feudal plenty—where the delicate creature fell ill of -an inverted eyelash, caused by continual weeping....</p> - - -<p class="center p2 sm">CHAPTER III.</p> - - <div class="poetry-container1"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“Sure such a day as this was never seen!”</div> - <div class="right p-min">—<i>Thomas Thumb.</i></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“The day, th’ important day!”</div> - <div class="right p-min">—<i>Addison.</i></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“O giorno felice!”</div> - <div class="right p-min">—<i>Italian.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p class="p-left">The morning of the happy day destined to unite our lovers was ushered -into the world with a blue sky, and the ringing of bells. Maidens, -united in bonds of amity and artificial roses, come dancing to the -pipe and tabor; while groups of children and chickens add hilarity -to the union of congenial minds. On the left of the village are some -plantations of tufted turnips; on the right a dilapidated dog-kennel</p> - - <div class="poetry-container1"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“With venerable grandeur marks the scene,”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span></p> - -<p class="p-left">while everywhere the delighted eye catches monstrous mountains and -minute daisies. In a word,</p> - - <div class="poetry-container1"> - <h2 class="smaller"></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“All nature wears one universal grin.”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>The procession now set forward to the church. The bride was habited in -white drapery. Ten signs of the Zodiac, worked in spangles, sparkled -round its edge, but Virgo was omitted at her desire, and the bridegroom -proposed to dispense with Capricorn. Sweet delicacy! She held a pot -of myrtle in her hand, and wore on her head a small lighted torch, -emblematical of Hymen.... The marriage ceremony passed off with great -spirit, and the fond bridegroom, as he pressed her to his heart, felt -how pure, how delicious are the joys of virtue.</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>Eaton Stannard Barrett.</i></p> - - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>THE NIGHT BEFORE LARRY WAS STRETCHED.</i><a id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The night before Larry was stretched,</div> - <div class="i1">The boys they all paid him a visit;</div> - <div>A bit in their sacks, too, they fetched—</div> - <div class="i1">They sweated their duds till they riz it;</div> - <div>For Larry was always the lad,</div> - <div class="i1">When a friend was condemned to the squeezer,</div> - <div>To fence all the togs that he had,</div> - <div class="i1">Just to help the poor boy to a sneezer,</div> - <div class="i2">And moisten his gob ’fore he died.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“I’m sorry now, Larry,” says I,</div> - <div class="i1">“To see you in this situation;</div> - <div>’Pon my conscience, my lad, I don’t lie,</div> - <div class="i1">I’d rather it was my own station.”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span></div> - <div>“Ochone! ’tis all over,” says he,</div> - <div class="i1">“For the neckcloth I am forced to put on,</div> - <div>And by this time to-morrow you’ll see</div> - <div class="i1">Your Larry will be dead as mutton;</div> - <div class="i2">Bekase why?—his courage was good!”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The boys they came crowding in fast;</div> - <div class="i1">They drew all their stools round about him,</div> - <div>Six glims round his trap-case were placed—</div> - <div class="i1">He couldn’t be well waked without ’em.</div> - <div>I ax’d him was he fit to die,</div> - <div class="i1">Without having duly repented?</div> - <div>Says Larry, “That’s all in my eye,</div> - <div class="i1">And all by the gownsmen invented,</div> - <div class="i2">To make a fat bit for themselves.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Then the cards being called for, they played,</div> - <div class="i1">Till Larry found one of them cheated;</div> - <div>Quick he made a smart stroke at his head—</div> - <div class="i1">The lad being easily heated.</div> - <div>“Oh! by the holy, you thief,</div> - <div class="i1">I’ll scuttle your nob with my daddle!</div> - <div>You cheat me bekase I’m in grief,</div> - <div class="i1">But soon I’ll demolish your noddle,</div> - <div class="i2">And leave you your claret to drink.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Then in came the priest with his book;</div> - <div class="i1">He spoke him so smooth and so civil;</div> - <div>Larry tipp’d him a Kilmainham look,</div> - <div class="i1">And pitched his big wig to the divil.</div> - <div>Then stooping a little his head,</div> - <div class="i1">To get a sweet drop of the bottle,</div> - <div>And pitiful, sighing he said,</div> - <div class="i1">“Oh! the hemp will be soon round my throttle,</div> - <div class="i2">And choke my poor windpipe to death!”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>So moving these last words he spoke,</div> - <div class="i1">We all vented our tears in a shower;</div> - <div>For my part, I thought my heart broke,</div> - <div class="i1">To see him cut down like a flower!</div> - <div>On his travels we watched him next day,</div> - <div class="i1">Oh! the hangman I thought I could kill him!</div> - <div>Not one word did our poor Larry say,</div> - <div class="i1">Nor changed, till he came to “King William”:</div> - <div class="i2">Och! my dear, then his colour turned white.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>When he came to the nubbling chit,</div> - <div class="i1">He was tucked up so neat and so pretty,</div> - <div>The rumbler jogged off from his feet,</div> - <div class="i1">And he died with his face to the city.</div> - <div>He kicked, too, but that was all pride,</div> - <div class="i1">For soon you might see ’twas all over;</div> - <div>And as soon as the noose was untied,</div> - <div class="i1">Then at evening we waked him in clover,</div> - <div class="i2">And sent him to take a ground sweat.</div> - <div class="right"><i>William Maher</i> (?) (<i>fl.</i> 1780).</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span></p> - -<h2 class="smaller">DARBY DOYLE’S VOYAGE TO QUEBEC.</h2> - -<p>I <i>tuck</i> the road, one fine morning in May, from Inchegelagh, an’ -got up to the Cove safe an’ sound. There I saw many ships with big -broad boords fastened to ropes, every one ov them saying, “The first -vessel for Quebec.” Siz I to myself, those are about to run for a -wager; this one siz she’ll be first, and that one siz she’ll be first. -At any rate I pitched on one that was finely painted. When I wint on -boord to ax the fare, who shou’d come up out ov a hole but Ned Flinn, -an ould townsman ov my own.</p> - -<p>“Och, is it yoorself that’s there, Ned?” siz I; “are ye goin’ to -Amerrykey?”</p> - -<p>“Why, an’ to be shure,” sez he; “I’m <i>mate</i> ov the ship.”</p> - -<p>“Meat! that’s yer sort, Ned,” siz I; “then we’ll only want bread. -Hadn’t I betther go and pay my way?”</p> - -<p>“You’re time enough,” siz Ned; “I’ll tell you when we’re ready for -sea—leave the rest to me, Darby.”</p> - -<p>“Och, tip us your fist,” siz I; “you were always the broath of a boy; -for the sake ov ould times, Ned, we must have a dhrop ov drink, and a -bite to ate.” So, my jewel, Ned brought me to where there was right -good stuff. When it got up to three o’clock I found myself mighty weak -with hunger. I got the smell ov corn-beef an’ cabbage that knock’d me -up entirely. I then wint to the landlady, and siz I to her, “Maybee -your leddyship ’id not think me rood by axin iv Ned an’ myself cou’d -get our dinner ov that fine hot mate that I got a taste ov in my nose?” -“In throath you can,” siz she (an’ she look’d mighty pleasant), “an’ -welkim.” So my darlin’ dish and all came up. “That’s what I call a -<i>flaugholoch</i><a id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> mess,” siz I. So we ate and drank away.</p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_149"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_149.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“MANY’S THE SQUEEZE NED GAVE MY FIST.”</p> - </div> - -<p>Many’s the squeeze Ned gave my fist, telling me to leave<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span> it all to -him, and how comfortable he’d make me on the voyage. Day afther day we -spint together, waitin’ for the wind, till I found my pockets begin to -grow very light. At last, siz he to me, one day afther dinner—</p> - -<p>“Darby, the ship will be ready for sea on the morrow—you’d betther go -on boord an’ pay your way.”</p> - -<p>“Is it jokin’ you are, Ned?” siz I; “shure you tould me to leave it all -to you.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! Darby,” siz he, “you’re for takin’ a rise out o’ me; shure enough, -ye were the lad that was never without a joke—the very priest himself -couldn’t get over ye. But, Darby, there’s no joke like the thrue one. -I’ll stick to my promise; but, Darby, you must pay your way.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Ned,” siz I, “is this the way you’re goin’ to threat me afther -all? I’m a rooin’d man; all I cou’d scrape together I spint on you. If -you don’t do something for me, I’m lost. Is there no place where you -cou’d hide me from the captin?”</p> - -<p>“Not a place,” siz Ned.</p> - -<p>“An’ where, Ned, is the place I saw you comin’ up out ov?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Darby, that was the hould where the cargo’s stow’d.”</p> - -<p>“An’ is there no other place?” siz I.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes,” siz he, “where we keep the wather casks.”</p> - -<p>“An’ Ned,” siz I, “does any one live down there?”</p> - -<p>“Not a mother’s soul,” siz he.</p> - -<p>“An’ Ned,” siz I, “can’t you cram me down there, and give me a lock ov -straw an’ a bit?”</p> - -<p>“Why, Darby,” siz he (an’ he look’d mighty pittyfull), “I must thry. -But mind, Darby, you’ll have to hide all day in an empty barrel, and -when it comes to my watch, I’ll bring you down some prog; but if you’re -diskiver’d, it’s all over with me, an’ you’ll be put on a dissilute -island to starve.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span></p> - -<p>“Oh, Ned,” siz I, “leave it all to me.”</p> - -<p>“Never fear, Darby, I’ll mind my eye.”</p> - -<p>When night cum on I got down into the dark cellar, among the barrels; -poor Ned fixt a place in a corner for me to sleep, an’ every night he -brought me down hard black cakes and salt mate. There I lay snug for -a whole month. At last, one night, siz he to me, “Now, Darby, what’s -to be done? we’re within three days’ sail ov Quebec; the ship will -be overhauled, and all the passengers’ names called over; if you are -found, you’ll be sould as a slave for your passage money.” “An’ is that -all that frets you, my jewel?” siz I; “can’t you leave it all to me? -In throath, Ned, I’ll never forget your hospitality, at any rate. But -what place is outside ov the ship?” “Why, the sea, to be shure,” siz -he. “Och! botheration,” siz I. “I mean what’s the outside ov the ship?” -“Why, Darby,” siz he, “part of it’s called the bulwark.” “An’ fire an’ -faggots!” siz I, “is it bulls work the vessel along?” “No, nor horses,” -siz he, “neither; this is no time for jokin’; what do you mean to do?” -“Why, I’ll tell you, Ned; get me an empty meal-bag, a bottle, an’ a -bare ham-bone, and that’s all I’ll ax.” So, begad, Ned look’d very -queer at me; but he got them for me, anyhow. “Well, Ned,” siz I, “you -know I’m a great shwimmer; your watch will be early in the mornin’; -I’ll jist slip down into the sea; do you cry out, ‘There’s a man in the -wather,’ as loud as you can, and leave all the rest to me.” Well, to -be shure, down into the sea I dropt without as much as a splash. Ned -roared out with the hoarseness ov a brayin’ ass, “A man in the sea! a -man in the sea!” Every man, woman, and child came running up out ov -the hole, the captain among the rest, who put a long red barrel like a -gun to his eye—gibbet me, but I thought he was for shootin’ me! down -I dived. When I got my head over the wather agen, what shou’d I see -but a boat rowin’ to me, as fast as a throut after a pinkeen. When it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span> -came up close enough to be heard, I roared out: “Bad end to yees, for -a set ov spalpeen rascals, did ye hear me at last?” The boat now run -’pon the top ov me; down I dived agen like a duck afther a frog, but -the minnit my skull came over the wather, I was gript by the scruff ov -the neck and dhragged into the boat. To be shure, I didn’t kick up a -row—“Let go my hair, ye blue divils,” I roared; “it’s well ye have me -in your marcy in this dissilute place, or by the powthers I’d make ye -feel the strinth of my bones. What hard look I had to follow yees, at -all, at all—which ov ye is the masther?” As I sed this every mother’s -son began to stare at me, with my bag round my neck, an’ my bottle -by my side, an’ the bare bone in my fist. “There he is,” siz they, -pointin’ to a little yellow man in a corner ov the boat. “May the—— -rise blisthers on your rapin’ hook shins,” siz I, “you yallow-lookin’ -monkey, but it’s a’most time for you to think ov lettin’ me into your -ship—I’m here plowin’ and plungin’ this month afther ye: shure I -didn’t care a <i>thrawneen</i> was it not that you have my best Sunday -clothes in your ship, and my name in your books. For three sthraws, if -I don’t know how to write, I’d leave my mark on your skull;” so sayin’, -I made a lick at him with the ham-bone, but I was near tumblin’ into -the sea agen. “An’ pray, what is your name, my lad?” siz the captin. -“What’s my name! What ’id you give to know?” siz I; “ye unmannerly -spalpeen, it might be what’s your name, Darby Doyle, out ov your -mouth—ay, Darby Doyle, that was never afraid or ashamed to own it at -home or abroad!”</p> - -<p>“An’, Mr. Darby Doyle,” siz he, “do you mean to persuade us that you -swum from Cork to this afther us?”</p> - -<p>“This is more ov your ignorance,” siz I—“ay, an’ if you sted three -days longer and not take me up, I’d be in Quebec before ye, only my -purvisions were out, and the few rags of bank-notes I had all melted -into paste in my pocket, for I hadn’t time to get them changed. But -stay, wait till<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span> I get my foot on shore, there’s ne’er a cottoner in -Cork iv you don’t pay for leavin’ me to the marcy ov the waves.”</p> - -<p>All this time the blue chaps were pushin’ the boat with sticks through -the wather, till at last we came close to the ship. Every one on board -saw me at the Cove but didn’t see me on the voyage; to be sure, every -one’s mouth was wide open, crying out “Darby Doyle.”</p> - -<p>“The—— stop your throats,” siz I, “it’s now you call me loud enough,” -siz I; “ye wouldn’t shout that way when ye saw me rowlin’ like a tub in -a mill-race the other day fornenst your faces.”</p> - -<p>When they heard me say that, some of them grew pale as a sheet—every -thumb was at work till they a’most brought the blood from their -forreds. But, my jewel, the captin does no more than runs to the book, -an’ calls out the names that paid, and them that wasn’t paid—to be -shure, I was one ov them that didn’t pay. If the captin looked at -me before with <i>wondherment</i>, he now looked with astonishment. -Nothin’ was tawk’d ov for the other three days but Darby Doyle’s great -shwim from the Cove to Quebec. One sed, “I always knew Darby to be a -great shwimmer.” “Do ye remimher,” siz another, “when Darby’s dog was -nigh been dhrownded in the great duck hunt, whin Darby peeled off an’ -brought in the dog, an’ made afther the duck himself, and swam for two -hours endways; an’ do ye remimber whin all the dogs gather round the -duck at one time; whin it wint down how Darby dived afther it,—an’ -sted below while the creathur was eatin’ a few frogs, for she was weak -an’ hungry; an’ whin everybody thought he was lost, up he came with the -duck by the leg in his kithogue” (left hand). Begar, I agreed to all -they sed, till at last we got to Amerrykey. I was now in a quare way; -the captin wouldn’t let me go till a friend of his would see me. By -this time, my jewel, not only his friends came, but swarms upon swarms, -starin’ at poor Darby.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span></p> - -<p>At last I called Ned. “Ned, avic,” siz I, “I want to go about my -<i>bisness</i>.” “Be asy, Darby,” siz he; “haven’t ye your fill ov good -atin’, an’ the captin’s got mighty fond ov ye entirely.” “Is he, Ned?” -siz I; “but tell us, Ned, are all them crowd ov people goin’ to sea?” -“Augh, ye <i>omadhaun</i>,”<a id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> siz Ned, “sure they are come to look at -you.” Just as he said this a tall yallow man, with a black curly head, -comes and stares me full in the face. “You’ll know me agen,” siz I, -“bad luck to yer manners an’ the school-masther that taught ye.” But -I thought he was goin’ to shake hands with me when he tuck hould ov -my fist and opened every finger, one by one, then opened my shirt and -look’d at my breast. “Pull away, <i>ma bouchal</i>”<a id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> siz I, “I’m no -desarthur, at any rate.” But never an answer he made, but walk’d down -into the hole where the captin lived. “This is more ov it,” siz I; -“Ned, what could that tallah-faced man mean?” “Why,” siz Ned, “he was -<i>lookin’ to see</i> if your fingers were webbed, or had ye scales -on your breast.” “His impidence is great,” siz I; “did he take me for -a duck or a bream? But, Ned, what’s the meanin’ ov the boords acrass -the stick the people walk on, and the big white boord up there?” “Why, -come over and read,” siz Ned. But, my jewel, I didn’t know whether -I was stannin’ on my head or my heels when I saw in great big black -letthers:—</p> - -<p class="smcap center">The Greatest Wondher of the World</p> - -<p class="smcap center">to be seen here!</p> - -<p class="center"><i>A Man that beats out Nicholas the Diver!</i></p> - -<p class="center">He has swum from Cork to Amerrykey!!</p> - -<p class="center">Proved on oath by ten of the Crew and twenty Passengers.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>Admittance—Half a Dollar.</i></p> - - -<p>“Bloody wars! Ned,” siz I, “does this mean your humble sarvint?” “Divil -another,” siz he. So I makes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span> no more ado, than with a hop, skip, and -jump gets over to the captin, who was now talkin’ to the yallow fellow -that was afther starin’ me out ov countenance. “Pardon my roodness, -your honour,” siz I, mighty polite, and makin’ a bow,—at the same time -Ned was at my heels—so risin’ my foot to give the genteel scrape, -shure I scraped all the skin off Ned’s shins. “May bad luck to your -brogues,” siz he. “You’d betther not curse the wearer,” siz I, “or—— -” “Oh, Darby!” siz the captin, “don’t be unginteel, an’ so many ladies -and gintlemen lookin’ at ye.” “The never another mother’s soul shall -lay their peepers on me till I see sweet Inchegelagh agen,” siz I. -“Begar, ye are doin’ it well. How much money have ye gother for my -shwimmin’?” “Be quiet, Darby,” siz the captin, an’ he look’d very much -frickened; “I have plenty, an’ I’ll have more for ye if ye do what I -want ye to do.” “An’ what is it, avic?” siz I. “Why, Darby,” siz he, -“I’m afther houldin’ a wager last night with this gintleman for all the -worth ov my ship, that you’ll shwim agen any shwimmer in the world; -an’ Darby, if ye don’t do that, I’m a gone man.” “Augh, give us your -fist,” siz I; “did ye ever hear ov Paddies disheving any man in the -European world yet—barrin’ themselves?” “Well, Darby,” siz he, “I’ll -give you a hundred dollars; but, Darby, you must be to your word, an’ -you shall have another hundred.” So sayin’, he brought me down into the -cellar; but, my jewel, I didn’t think for the life of me to see sich -a wondherful place—nothin’ but goold every way I turn’d, an’ Darby’s -own sweet face in twenty places. Begar, I was a’most ashamed to ax the -gintleman for the dollars. “But,” siz I to myself agen, “the gintleman -has too much money, I suppose, he does be throwin’ it into the sea, for -I often heard the sea was much richer than the land, so I may as well -take it, anyhow.” “Now, Darby,” siz he, “here’s the dollars for ye.” -But, begar, it was only a bit of paper he was handin’ me. “Arrah, none -ov yer thricks<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span> upon thravellers,” siz I; “I had betther nor that, an’ -many more ov them, melted in the sea; give me what won’t wash out ov my -pocket” “Why, Darby,” siz he, “this is an ordher on a marchant for the -amount.” “Pho, pho!” siz I, “I’d sooner take your word nor his oath,” -lookin’ round mighty respectful at the goold walls. “Well, Darby,” siz -he, “ye must have the raal thing.” So, by the powthers, he reckoned -me out a hundred dollars in goold. I never saw the like since the -stockin’ fell out of the chimley on my aunt and cut her forred. “Now, -Darby,” siz he, “ye are a rich man, and ye are worthy ov it all—sit -down, Darby, an’ take a bottle ov wine.” So to please the gintleman I -sat down. Afther a bit, who comes down but Ned. “Captin,” siz he, “the -deck is crowded; I had to block up the gangway to prevint any more from -comin’ in to see Darby. Bring him up, or blow me if the ship won’t be -sunk.” “Come up, Darby,” siz the captin, lookin’ roguish pleasant at -myself. So, my jewel, he handed me up through the hall, as tendher as -if I was a lady, or a pound ov fresh butther in the dog days.</p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_157"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_157.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“I WAS MADE TO PEEL OFF BEHIND A BIG SHEET.”</p> - </div> - -<p>When I got up, shure enough I couldn’t help starin’; sich crowds of -fine ladies and yallow gintlemen never was seen before in any ship. One -ov them, a little rosy-cheeked beauty, whispered the captin somethin’, -but he shuk his head, and then came over to me. “Darby,” siz he, “I -know an Irishman would do anything to please a lady.” “In throth you -may say that with your own ugly mouth,” siz I. “Well, then, Darby,” -siz he, “the ladies would wish to see you give a few sthrokes in the -sea.” “Och, an’ they shall have them, an’ welkim,” siz I. “That’s a -good fellow,” siz he; “now strip off.” “Decency, captin,” siz I; “is -it in my mother-naked pelt before the ladies? Bad luck to the undacent -brazen-faced—but no matther! Irish girls for ever, afther all!” But -all to no use. I was made to peel off behind a big sheet, and then I -made one race an’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span> jump’d ten yards into the wather to get out of their -sight. Shure enough, every one’s eyes danced in their head, while they -look’d on the spot where I went down. A thought came into my head while -I was below, how I’d show them a little divarsion, as I could use a -great many thricks on the wather. So I didn’t rise at all till I got -to the other side, an’ every one run to that side; then I took a hoult -ov my two big toes, an’ makin’ a ring ov myself, rowled like a hoop -on the top ov the wather all round the ship. I b’leeve I opened their -eyes! Then I yarded, back swum, an’ dived, till at last the captin made -signs for me to come out so I got into the boat an’ threw on my duds. -The very ladies were breakin’ their necks runnin’ to shake hands with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span> -me. “Shure,” siz they, “you’re the greatest man in the world!!” So for -three days I showed off to crowds ov people, though I was <i>fryin’</i> -in the wather for shame.</p> - -<p>At last the day came that I was to stand the tug. I saw the captin -lookin’ very often at me. At last, “Darby,” siz he, “are you any way -cow’d? The fellow you have to shwim agenst can shwim down watherfalls -an’ catharacts.” “Can he, avic?” says I; “but can he shwim up agenst -them? Wow, wow, Darby, for that. But, captin, come here; is all my -purvisions ready? don’t let me fall short ov a dhrop ov the raal stuff -above all things.” An’ who should come up while I was tawkin’ to the -captin but the chap I was to shwim with, an’ heard all I sed. Begar! -his eyes grew as big as two oysther-shells. Then the captin called me -aside. “Darby,” siz he, “do you put on this green jacket an’ white -throwsers, that the people may betther extinguish you from the other -chap.” “With all hearts, avic,” siz I; “green for ever! Darby’s own -favourite colour the world over; but where am I goin’ to, captin?” “To -the swhimmin’ place, to be shure,” siz he. “Divil shoot the failers -an’ take the hindmost,” siz I; “here’s at ye.” I was then inthrojuiced -to the shwimmer. I looked at him from head to foot. He was so tall -he could eat bread an’ butther over my head—with a face as yallow -as a kite’s foot. “Tip us the mitten, <i>ma bouchal</i>” siz I (but, -begad, I was puzzled. “Begar,” siz I to myself, “I’m done. Cheer up, -Darby. If I’m not able to kill him, I’ll fricken the life out ov him.”) -“Where are we goin’ to shwim to?” But never a word he answered. “Are ye -bothered, neighbour?” “I reckon I’m not,” siz he, mighty chuff. “Well, -then,” siz I, “why didn’t ye answer your betthers? What ’ud ye think if -we shwum to Keep Cleer or the Keep ov Good Hope?” “I reckon neither,” -siz he agen, eyein’ me as if I was goin’ to pick his pockets. “Well, -then, have ye any favourite place?” siz I. “Now, I’ve heard a great -deal about the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span> place where poor Boney died; I’d like to see it, if -I’d any one to show me the place; suppose we wint there?” Not a taste -ov a word could I get out ov him, good or bad. Off we set through the -crowds ov ladies and gintlemen. Sich cheerin’ an’ wavin’ ov hats was -never seen even at <i>Dan’s</i><a id="FNanchor_11" href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> enthry; an’ then the row ov purty -girls laughin’ an’ rubbin’ up agenst me, that I could har’ly get on. To -be shure, no one could be lookin’ to the ground, an’ not be lookin’ at -them, till at last I was thript up by a big loomp ov iron stuck fast in -the ground with a big ring to it. “Whoo, Darby!” siz I, makin’ a hop -an’ a crack ov my finger, “you’re not down yet.” I turn’d round to look -at what thript me.</p> - -<p>“What d’ye call that?” siz I to the captin, who was at my elbow.</p> - -<p>“Why, Darby,” siz he, “that’s half an anchor.”</p> - -<p>“Have ye any use for it?” siz I.</p> - -<p>“Not in the least,” siz he; “it’s only to fasten boats to.”</p> - -<p>“Maybee you’d give it to a body,” siz I.</p> - -<p>“An’ welkim, Darby,” siz he; “it’s yours.”</p> - -<p>“God bless your honour, sir,” siz I, “it’s my poor father that will -pray for you. When I left home the creather hadn’t as much as an anvil -but what was sthreeled away by the agint—bad end to them. This will -be jist the thing that’ll match him; he can tie the horse to the ring, -while he forges on the other part. Now, will ye obleege me by gettin’ -a couple ov chaps to lay it on my shoulder when I get into the wather, -and I won’t have to be comin’ back for it afther I shake hands with -this fellow.”</p> - -<p>Begar, the chap turned from yallow to white when he heard me say this. -An’ siz he to the gintleman that was walkin’ by <i>his</i> side—</p> - -<p>“I reckon I’m not fit for the shwimmin’ to-day—I don’t feel -<i>myself</i>.”</p> - -<p>“An’, murdher an’ Irish, if you’re yer brother, can’t you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span> send him -for yerself, an’ I’ll wait here till he comes. Here, man, take a dhrop -ov this before ye go. Here’s to yer betther health, and your brother’s -into the bargain.” So I took off my glass, and handed him another; but -the never a dhrop ov it he’d take. “No force,” siz I, “avic; maybee you -think there’s poison in it—well, here’s another good luck to us. An’ -when will ye be able for the shwim, avic?” siz I, mighty complisant.</p> - -<p>“I reckon in another week,” siz he.</p> - -<p>So we shook hands and parted. The poor fellow went home, took the -fever, then began to rave. “Shwim up catharacts!—shwim to the Keep ov -Good Hope!—shwim to St Helena!—shwim to Keep Cleer!—shwim with an -anchor on his back!—Oh! oh! oh!”</p> - -<p>I now thought it best to be on the move; so I gother up my winners; and -here I sit undher my own hickory threes, as indipindent as any Yankee.</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>Thomas Ettingsall</i> (17—–1850?).</p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_161"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_161.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">ST. PATRICK AND THE SNAKES.</p> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>ST. PATRICK OF IRELAND, MY DEAR!</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>A fig for St. Denis of France—</div> - <div class="i1">He’s a trumpery fellow to brag on;</div> - <div>A fig for St. George and his lance,</div> - <div class="i1">Which spitted a heathenish dragon;</div> - <div>And the saints of the Welshman or Scot</div> - <div class="i1">Are a couple of pitiful pipers;</div> - <div>Both of whom may just travel to pot,</div> - <div class="i1">Compared with that patron of swipers,</div> - <div class="i3">St Patrick of Ireland, my dear!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>He came to the Emerald Isle</div> - <div class="i1">On a lump of a paving stone mounted;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span></div> - <div>The steamboat he beat by a mile,</div> - <div class="i1">Which mighty good sailing was counted.</div> - <div>Says he, “The salt water, I think,</div> - <div class="i1">Has made me most fishily thirsty;</div> - <div>So bring me a flagon of drink</div> - <div class="i1">To keep down the mulligrubs, burst ye—</div> - <div class="i3">Of drink that is fit for a saint.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>He preached, then, with wonderful force,</div> - <div class="i1">The ignorant natives a’ teaching;</div> - <div>With a pint he washed down his discourse,</div> - <div class="i1">“For,” says he, “I detest your dry preaching.”</div> - <div>The people, with wonderment struck,</div> - <div class="i1">At a pastor so pious and civil,</div> - <div>Exclaimed—“We’re for you, my old buck!</div> - <div class="i1">And we pitch our blind gods to the divil,</div> - <div class="i3">Who dwells in hot water below!”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>This ended, our worshipful spoon</div> - <div class="i1">Went to visit an elegant fellow,</div> - <div>Whose practice, each cool afternoon,</div> - <div class="i1">Was to get most delightfully mellow</div> - <div>That day, with a black-jack of beer,</div> - <div class="i1">It chanced he was treating a party;</div> - <div>Says the Saint—“This good day, do you hear,</div> - <div class="i1">I drank nothing to speak of, my hearty!</div> - <div class="i3">So give me a pull at the pot!”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The pewter he lifted in sport</div> - <div class="i1">(Believe me, I tell you no fable),</div> - <div>A gallon he drank from the quart,</div> - <div class="i1">And then placed it full on the table.</div> - <div>“A miracle!” every one said,</div> - <div class="i1">And they all took a haul at the stingo;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span></div> - <div>They were capital hands at the trade,</div> - <div class="i1">And drank till they fell; yet, by jingo,</div> - <div class="i3">The pot still frothed over the brim!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Next day, quoth his host, “’Tis a fast,</div> - <div class="i1">And I’ve naught in my larder but mutton;</div> - <div>And on Fridays, who’d make such repast,</div> - <div class="i1">Except an unchristian-like glutton?”</div> - <div>Says Pat, “Cease your nonsense, I beg,</div> - <div class="i1">What you tell me is nothing but gammon;</div> - <div>Take my compliments down to the leg,</div> - <div class="i1">And bid it come hither a salmon!”</div> - <div class="i3">And the leg most politely complied!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>You’ve heard, I suppose, long ago,</div> - <div class="i1">How the snakes, in a manner most antic,</div> - <div>He marched to the County Mayo,</div> - <div class="i1">And trundled them into th’ Atlantic.</div> - <div>Hence, not to use water for drink,</div> - <div class="i1">The people of Ireland determine:</div> - <div>With mighty good reason, I think,</div> - <div class="i1">Since St. Patrick has filled it with vermin,</div> - <div class="i3">And vipers and such other stuff!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh! he was an elegant blade</div> - <div class="i1">As you’d meet from Fairhead to Kilcrumper!</div> - <div>And though under the sod he is laid,</div> - <div class="i1">Yet here goes his health in a bumper!</div> - <div>I wish he was here, that my glass</div> - <div class="i1">He might by art magic replenish;</div> - <div>But since he is not—why, alas!</div> - <div class="i1">My ditty must come to a finish,</div> - <div class="i3">Because all the liquor is out.</div> - <div class="right"><i>William Maginn, LL.D.</i> (1793–1842).</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>THE LAST LAMP OF THE ALLEY.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - -<p class="center sm">A MOORE-ISH MELODY.</p> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The last lamp of the alley</div> - <div class="i1">Is burning alone!</div> - <div>All its brilliant companions</div> - <div class="i1">Are shivered and gone;</div> - <div>No lamp of her kindred,</div> - <div class="i1">No burner is nigh</div> - <div>To rival her glimmer</div> - <div class="i1">Or light to supply.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I’ll not leave thee, thou lone one,</div> - <div class="i1">To vanish in smoke,</div> - <div>As the bright ones are shattered,</div> - <div class="i1">Thou too shalt be broke:</div> - <div>Thus kindly I scatter</div> - <div class="i1">Thy globe o’er the street,</div> - <div>Where the watch in his rambles</div> - <div class="i1">Thy fragments shall meet.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Then home will I stagger</div> - <div class="i1">As well as I may,</div> - <div>By the light of my nose, sure,</div> - <div class="i1">I’ll find out the way;</div> - <div>When thy blaze is extinguished,</div> - <div class="i1">Thy brilliancy gone,</div> - <div>Oh! my beak shall illumine</div> - <div class="i1">The alley alone!</div> - <div class="right"><i>William Maginn, LL.D.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span></p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_165"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_165.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“I’LL NOT LEAVE THEE, THOU LONE ONE.”</p> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span></p> - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>THOUGHTS AND MAXIMS.</i></h2> - -<p>Alas! how we are changed as we progress through the world! That breast -becomes arid which once was open to every impression of the tender -passion. The rattle of the dice-box beats out of the head the rattle -of the quiver of Cupid; and the shuffling of the cards renders the -rustling of his wings inaudible. The necessity of looking after a -tablecloth supersedes that of looking after a petticoat; and we more -willingly make an assignation with a mutton-chop than with an angel -in female form. The bonds of love are exchanged for those of the -conveyancer; bills take the place of billets; and we do not protest, -but are protested against, by a three-and-sixpenny notary. Such are the -melancholy effects of age.</p> - -<p class="center">⁂</p> - -<p>There are few objects on which men differ so much as in regard to -blue-stockings. I believe that the majority of literary men look upon -them as entirely useless. Yet a little reflection will serve us to -show the unphilosophical nature of this opinion. There seems, indeed, -to be a system of exclusive appropriation in literature, as well as in -law, which cannot be too severely reprobated. A critic of the present -day cannot hear a young woman make a harmless observation on poetry -or politics without starting; which start, I am inclined to think, -proceeds from affectation, considering how often he must have heard -the same remark made on former occasions. Ought the female sex to be -debarred from speaking nonsense on literary matters any more than the -men? I think not. Even supposing that such privilege was not originally -conferred by a law of Nature, they have certainly acquired right to it -by the long prescription. Besides, if commonplace remarks were not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span> -daily and nightly rendered more commonplace by continual repetition, -even a man of original mind might run the hazard of occasionally so far -forgetting himself and his subject as to record an idea which, upon -more mature deliberation, might be found to be no idea at all. This, I -contend, is prevented by the judicious interference of the fair sex.</p> - -<p class="center">⁂</p> - -<p>Don’t marry any woman hastily at Brighton or Brussels without knowing -who she is, and where she lived before she came there. And whenever you -get a reference upon this or any other subject, always be sure and get -another reference about the person referred to.</p> - -<p class="center">⁂</p> - -<p>Don’t marry any woman under twenty; she is not come to her wickedness -before that time; nor any woman who has a red nose at any age; because -people make observations as you go along the street. “A cast of the -eye”—as the lady casts it upon you—may pass muster under some -circumstances; and I have even known those who thought it desirable; -but absolute squinting is a monopoly of vision which ought not to be -tolerated.</p> - -<p class="center">⁂</p> - -<p>Don’t on any account marry a “lively” young lady; that is, in other -words, a “romp”; that is, in other words, a woman who has been hauled -about by half your acquaintance.</p> - -<p class="center">⁂</p> - -<p>On the very day after your marriage, whenever you do marry, take -one precaution. Be cursed with no more troubles for life than you -have bargained for. Call the roll of all your wife’s even speaking -acquaintance; and strike out every soul that you have—or fancy you -ought to have—or<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span> fancy you ever shall have—a glimpse of dislike -to. Upon this point be merciless. Your wife won’t hesitate—a hundred -to one—between a husband and a gossip; and if she does, don’t you. Be -particularly sharp upon the list of women; of course, men—you would -frankly kick any one from Pall Mall to Pimlico who presumed only to -recollect ever having seen her. And don’t be manœuvred out of what -you mean by cards or morning calls, or any notion of what people call -“good breeding.” ... Never dispute with her where the question is of no -importance; nor, where it is of the least consequence, let any earthly -consideration ever once induce you to give way.</p> - -<p class="center">⁂</p> - -<p>Few pieces of cant are more common than that which consists in -re-echoing the old and ridiculous cry of “variety is charming,” -“<i>toujours perdrix</i>,” etc., etc., etc. I deny the fact. I want -no variety. Let things be really good, and I, for one, am in no -danger of wearying of them. For example, to rise every day about half -after nine—eat a couple of eggs and muffins, and drink some cups of -genuine sound, clear coffee—then to smoke a cigar or so—read the -<i>Chronicle</i>—skim a few volumes of some first-rate new novel, or -perhaps pen a libel or two in a slight sketchy vein—then to take a -bowl of strong, rich, invigorating soup—then to get on horseback, and -ride seven or eight miles, paying a visit to some amiable, well-bred, -accomplished young lady, in the course of it, and chattering away an -hour with her,</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="ileft">“Sporting with Amaryllis in the shade,</div> - <div>Or with the tangles of Neœra’s hair,”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p class="p-left">as Milton expresses it—then to take a hot-bath, and dress—then to sit -down to a plain substantial dinner, in company with a select party of -real good, honest, jolly Tories—and to spend the rest of the evening -with them over a pitcher<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span> of cool Chateau-Margout, singing, laughing, -speechifying, blending wit and wisdom, and winding up the whole with -a devil, and a tumbler or two of hot rum-punch. This, repeated day -after day, week after week, month after month, and year after year, may -perhaps appear, to some people, a picture pregnant with ideas of the -most sickening and disgusting monotony. Not so with me, however. I am a -plain man. I could lead this dull course of uniform, unvaried existence -for the whole period of the Millennium. Indeed, I mean to do so.</p> - -<p class="center">⁂</p> - -<p>When a man is drunk, it is no matter upon what he has got drunk.</p> - -<p class="center">⁂</p> - -<p>In whatever country one is, one should choose the dishes of the -country. Every really national dish is good—at least, I never yet -met with one that did not gratify my appetite. The Turkish pilaws are -most excellent—but the so-called French cookery of Pera is execrable. -In like manner, roast beef with Yorkshire pudding is always a prime -feast in England, while John Bull’s <i>Fricandeaux soufflées</i>, -<i>etc.</i>, are decidedly anathema. What a horror, again, is a -<i>Bifsteck</i> of the Palais Royal! On the same principle—(for -all the fine arts follow exactly the same principles)—on the same -principle it is, that while Principal Robertson, Dugald Stewart, Dr. -Thomas Brown, and all the other would-be English writers of Scotland, -have long since been voted tame, insipid, and tasteless diet, the real -haggis-bag of a Robert Burns keeps, and must always keep, its place.</p> - -<p class="center">⁂</p> - -<p>The next best thing to a really good woman is a really good-natured -one. The next worst thing to a really bad man (in other words, <i>a -knave</i>) is a really good-natured man (in other words, a fool).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span></p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_170"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_170.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“WINDING UP THE WHOLE WITH A DEVIL, AND A TUMBLER OR TWO -OF HOT RUM-PUNCH.”</p> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span></p> - -<p>A married woman commonly falls in love with a man as unlike her -husband as is possible—but a widow very often marries a man extremely -resembling the defunct. The reason is obvious.</p> - -<p class="center">⁂</p> - -<p>If you meet with a pleasant fellow in a stage-coach, dine and get drunk -with him, and, still holding him to be a pleasant fellow, hear from his -own lips at parting that he is a Whig—do not change your opinion of -the man. Depend on it, he is quizzing you.</p> - -<p class="center">⁂</p> - -<p>The safety of women consists in one circumstance—men do not possess at -the same time the knowledge of thirty-five and the blood of seventeen.</p> - -<p class="center">⁂</p> - -<p>If prudes were as pure as they would have us believe, they would not -rail so bitterly as they do. We do not thoroughly hate that which we do -not thoroughly understand.</p> - -<p class="center">⁂</p> - -<p>Few idiots are entitled to claver on the same form with the -bibliomaniacs; but, indeed, to be a <i>collector</i> of anything, -and to be an <i>ass</i>, are pretty nearly equivalent phrases in the -language of all rational men. No one <i>collects</i> anything of which -he really makes use. Who ever suspected Lord Spencer, or his factotum, -little Dibdin, of reading? The old Quaker at York, who has a museum of -the ropes at which eminent criminals have dangled, has no intention -to make an airy and tassel-like termination of his own terrestrial -career—for that would be quite out of character with a man of his -brims. In like manner, it is now well known that the three thousand -three hundred and thirty-three<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span> young ladies who figure on the books -of the Seraglio have a very idle life of it, and that, in point of -fact, the Grand Seignior is a highly respectable man. The people that -collect pictures, also, are, generally speaking, such folk as Sir John -Leicester, the late Angerstein, and the like of that. The only two -things that I have any pleasure in collecting are bottles of excellent -wine and boxes of excellent cigars—articles, of the first of which I -flatter myself I know rather more than Lord Eldon does of pictures; and -of the latter whereof I make rather more use than old Mustapha can be -supposed to do of his 3333 knick-knacks in petticoats—or rather, I beg -their ladyships’ pardon, in trousers.</p> - -<p class="center">⁂</p> - -<p>As to the beautiful material adaptation of cold rum and cold water, -that is beyond all praise, and indeed forms a theme of never-ceasing -admiration, being one of Nature’s most exquisite achievements. -Sturm has omitted it, but I intend to make a supplement to his -<i>Reflections</i> when I get a little leisure.</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>William Maginn, LL.D.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span></p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_173"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_173.jpg" - alt="" /> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>THE GATHERING OF THE MAHONYS.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Jerry Mahony, arrah, my jewel, come let us be off to the fair,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">For the Donovans all in their glory most certainly mean to be there;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Say they, “The whole Mahony faction we’ll banish ’em out clear and clean;”</div> - <div class="hangingindent">But it never was yet in their breeches their bullaboo words to maintain.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">There’s Darby to head us, and Barney, as civil a man as yet spoke,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">’Twould make your mouth water to see him just giving a bit of a stroke;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">There’s Corney, the bandy-legged tailor, a boy of the true sort of stuff,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Who’d fight though the black blood was flowing like butter-milk out of his buff.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">There’s broken-nosed Bat from the mountain—last week he burst out of jail—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And Murty, the beautiful Tory, who’d scorn in a row to turn tail;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Bloody Bill will be there like a darling—and Jerry—och! let him alone</div> - <div class="hangingindent">For giving his blackthorn a flourish, or lifting a lump of a stone!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">And Tim, who’d served in the Militia, has his bayonet stuck on a pole;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Foxy Dick has his scythe in good order—a neat sort of tool on the whole;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">A cudgel, I see, is your weapon, and never I knew it to fail;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">But I think that a man is more handy who fights, as I do, with a flail.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">We muster a hundred shillelahs, all handled by iligant men,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Who battered the Donovans often, and now will go do it again;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">To-day we will teach them some manners, and show that, in spite of their talk,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">We still, like our fathers before us, are surely the cocks of the walk.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">After cutting out work for the sexton by smashing a dozen or so,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">We’ll quit in the utmost of splendour, and down to Peg Slattery’s go;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">In gallons we’ll wash down the battle, and drink to the next merry day,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">When mustering again in a body, we all shall go leathering away.</div> - <div class="right"><i>William Maginn, LL.D.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span></p> - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>DANIEL O’ROURKE.</i></h2> - -<p>People may have heard of the renowned adventures of Daniel O’Rourke, -but how few are there who know that the cause of all his perils, above -and below, was neither more nor less than his having slept under the -walls of the Phooka’s tower. I knew the man well: he lived at the -bottom of Hungry Hill, just at the right-hand side of the road as you -go towards Bantry. An old man was he, at the time that he told me the -story, with grey hair, and a red nose; and it was on the 25th of June, -1813, that I heard it from his own lips, as he sat smoking his pipe -under the old poplar tree, on as fine an evening as ever shone from the -sky. I was going to visit the caves in Dursey Island, having spent the -morning at Glengariff.</p> - -<p>“I am often <i>axed</i> to tell it, sir,” said he, “so that this is -not the first time. The master’s son, you see, had come from beyond -foreign parts, in France and Spain, as young gentlemen used to go, -before Bonaparte or any such was ever heard of; and sure enough there -was a dinner given to all the people on the ground, gentle and simple, -high and low, rich and poor. The <i>ould</i> gentlemen were the -gentlemen after all, saving your honour’s presence. They’d swear at a -body a little, to be sure, and maybe give one a cut of a whip now and -then, but we were no losers by it in the end, and they were so easy -and civil, and kept such rattling houses, and thousands of welcomes; -and there was no grinding for rent, and there was hardly a tenant -on the estate that did not taste of his landlord’s bounty often and -often in a year, but now it’s another thing; no matter for that, sir, -for I’d better be telling you my story. Well, we had everything of -the best, and plenty of it; and we ate, and we drank, and we danced, -and the young master by the same token danced with Peggy Barry, from -the Bohereen—a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span> lovely young couple they were, though they are both -low enough now. To make a long story short, I got, as a body may -say, the same thing as tipsy almost. And so as I was crossing the -stepping-stones of the ford of Ballyasheenogh, I missed my foot, and -souse I fell into the water. ‘Death alive!’ thought I, ‘I’ll be drowned -now!’ However, I began swimming, swimming, swimming away for the dear -life, till at last I got ashore, somehow or other, but never the one of -me can tell how, upon a <i>dissolute</i> island.</p> - -<p>“I wandered and wandered about there, without knowing where I wandered, -until at last I got into a big bog. The moon was shining as bright as -day, or your fair lady’s eyes, sir (with your pardon for mentioning -her), and I looked east and west, and north and south, and every way, -and nothing did I see but bog, bog, bog. I began to scratch my head, -and sing the <i>Ullagone</i><a id="FNanchor_12" href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a>—when all of a sudden the moon grew -black, and I looked up, and saw something for all the world as if it -was moving down between me and it, and I could not tell what it was. -Down it came with a pounce, and looked at me full in the face; and -what was it but an eagle? as fine a one as ever flew from the kingdom -of Kerry. So he looked at me in the face, and says he to me, ‘Daniel -O’Rourke,’ says he, ‘how do you do?’ ‘Very well, I thank you, sir,’ -says I; ‘I hope you’re well;’ wondering out of my senses all the time -how an eagle came to speak like a Christian. ‘What brings you here, -Dan?’ says he. ‘Nothing at all, sir,’ says I; ‘only I wish I was safe -home again.’ ‘Is it out of the island you want to go, Dan?’ says he. -‘’Tis, sir,’ says I, so I up and told him how I had taken a drop -too much, and fell into the water. ‘Dan,’ says he, after a minute’s -thought, ’though it is very improper for you to get drunk on Lady-day, -yet as you are a decent sober man, who ’tends mass well, and never -flings stones at me or mine, nor cries out after us in the fields—my -life for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span> yours,’ says he, ‘so get up on my back, and grip me well for -fear you’d fall off, and I’ll fly you out of the bog.’ ‘I am afraid,’ -says I, ‘your honour’s making game of me; for who ever heard of riding -a horseback on an eagle before?’ ‘’Pon the honour of a gentleman,’ says -he, putting his right foot on his breast, ‘I am quite in earnest; and -so now either take my offer or starve in the bog—besides, I see that -your weight is sinking the stone.’</p> - -<p>“It was true enough as he said, for I found the stone every minute -going from under me. I had no choice; so thinks I to myself, faint -heart never won fair lady, and this is fair persuadance. ‘I thank your -honour,’ says I, ‘for the loan of your civility; and I’ll take your -kind offer.’ I therefore mounted upon the back of the eagle, and held -him tight enough by the throat, and up he flew in the air like a lark. -Little I knew the thrick he was going to serve me. Up—up—up, God -knows how far up he flew. ‘Why then,’ said I to him—thinking he did -not know the right road home—very civilly, because why? I was in his -power entirely; ‘sir,’ says I, ‘please your honour’s glory, and with -humble submission to your better judgment, if you’d fly down a bit, -you’re now just over my cabin, and I could be put down there, and many -thanks to your worship.’</p> - -<p>“‘<i>Arrah</i>, Dan,’ said he, ‘do you think me a fool? Look down in -the next field, and don’t you see two men and a gun? By my word it -would be no joke to be shot this way, to oblige a drunken blackguard -that I picked up off a <i>cowld</i> stone in a bog.’ ‘Bother you,’ said -I to myself, but I did not speak out, for where was the use? Well, sir, -up he kept flying, flying, and I asking him every minute to fly down, -and all to no use. ‘Where in the world are you going, sir?’ says I to -him. ‘Hold your tongue, Dan,’ says he: ‘mind your own business, and -don’t be interfering with the business of other people.’ ‘Faith, this -is my business, I think,’ says I. ‘Be quiet, Dan,’ says he; so I said -no more.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span></p> - -<p>“At last where should we come to, but to the moon itself. Now you can’t -see it from this, but there is, or there was in my time, a reaping-hook -sticking out of the side of the moon, this way [drawing the figure thus -<img src="images/i_198.jpg" alt="" -style="height:2em; padding:0 0em 0 0em;" /> - on the ground with the end of his stick].</p> - -<p>“‘Dan,’ said the eagle, ‘I’m tired with this long fly; I had no -notion ’twas so far.’ ‘And, my lord, sir,’ said I, ‘who in the world -<i>axed</i> you to fly so far—was it I? did not I beg and pray and -beseech you to stop half-an-hour ago?’ ‘There’s no use talking, Dan,’ -says he; ‘I’m tired bad enough, so you must get off, and sit down on -the moon until I rest myself.’ ‘Is it sit down on the moon?’ said I; -‘is it upon that little round thing, then? why, then, sure I’d fall off -in a minute, and be <i>kilt</i> and spilt, and smashed all to bits; you -are a vile deceiver, so you are.’ ‘Not at all, Dan,’ said he; ‘you can -catch fast hold of the reaping-hook that’s sticking out of the side -of the moon, and ’twill keep you up.’ ‘I won’t then,’ said I. ‘May be -not,’ said he, quite quiet. ‘If you don’t, my man, I shall just give -you a shake, and one slap of my wing, and send you down to the ground, -where every bone in your body will be smashed as small as a drop of dew -on a cabbage-leaf in the morning.’ ‘Why, then, I’m in a fine way,’ said -I to myself, ‘ever to have come along with the likes of you;’ and so -giving him a hearty curse in Irish, for fear he’d know what I said, I -got off his back with a heavy heart, took hold of the reaping-hook, and -sat down upon the moon, and a mighty cold seat it was, I can tell you -that.</p> - -<p>“When he had me there fairly landed, he turned about on me, and said, -‘Good morning to you, Daniel O’Rourke,’ said he, ‘I think I’ve nicked -you fairly now. You robbed my nest last year’ (’twas true enough for -him, but how he found it out is hard to say), ‘and in return you -are freely welcome to cool your heels dangling upon the moon like a -cockthrow.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span></p> - -<p>“‘Is that all, and is this the way you leave me, you brute, you?’ says -I. ‘You ugly unnatural <i>baste</i>, and is this the way you serve -me at last? Bad luck to yourself, with your hooked nose, and to all -your breed, you blackguard.’ ’Twas all to no manner of use; he spread -out his great big wings, burst out a laughing, and flew away like -lightning. I bawled after him to stop; but I might have called and -bawled for ever, without his minding me. Away he went, and I never -saw him from that day to this—sorrow fly away with him! You may be -sure I was in a disconsolate condition, and kept roaring out for the -bare grief, when all at once a door opened right in the middle of the -moon, creaking on its hinges as if it had not been opened for a month -before—I suppose they never thought of greasing ’em, and out there -walks—who do you think, but the man in the moon himself? I knew him by -his bush.</p> - -<p>“‘Good morrow to you, Daniel O’Rourke,’ said he; ‘how do you do?’ -‘Very well, thank your honour,’ said I. ‘I hope your honour’s well.’ -‘What brought you here, Dan?’ said he. So I told him how I was a -little overtaken in liquor at the master’s, and how I was cast on a -<i>dissolute</i> island, and how I lost my way in the bog, and how the -thief of an eagle promised to fly me out of it, and how instead of that -he had fled me up to the moon.</p> - -<p>“‘Dan,’ said the man in the moon, taking a pinch of snuff when I was -done, ‘you must not stay here.’ ‘Indeed, sir,’ says I, ‘’tis much -against my will I’m here at all; but how am I to go back?’ ‘That’s your -business,’ said he; ‘Dan, mine is to tell you that here you must not -stay, so be off in less than no time.’ ‘I’m doing no harm,’ says I, -‘only holding on hard by the reaping-hook, lest I fall off.’ ‘That’s -what you must not do, Dan,’ says he. ‘Pray, sir,’ says I, ‘may I ask -how many you are in family, that you would not give a poor traveller -lodging; I’m sure ’tis not so often you’re troubled with strangers -coming to see you, for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span> ’tis a long way.’ ‘I’m by myself, Dan,’ says -he; ‘but you’d better let go the reaping-hook.’ ‘And with your leave,’ -says I, ‘I’ll not let go the grip, and the more you bids me, the more I -won’t let go—so I will.’ ‘You had better, Dan,’ says he again. ‘Why, -then, my little fellow,’ says I, taking the whole weight of him with my -eye from head to foot, ‘there are two words to that bargain; and I’ll -not budge, but you may if you like.’ ‘We’ll see how that is to be,’ -says he; and back he went, giving the door such a great bang after him -(for it was plain he was huffed) that I thought the moon and all would -fall down with it.</p> - -<p>“Well, I was preparing myself to try strength with him, when back again -he comes, with the kitchen cleaver in his hand, and without saying a -word he gives two bangs to the handle of the reaping-hook that was -keeping me up, and <i>whap!</i> it came in two. ‘Good morning to you, -Dan,’ says the spiteful little old blackguard, when he saw me cleanly -falling down with a bit of the handle in my hand; ‘I thank you for your -visit, and fair weather after you, Daniel.’ I had not time to make -any answer to him, for I was tumbling over and over, and rolling and -rolling, at the rate of a fox-hunt. ‘God help me!’ says I, ‘this is a -pretty pickle for a decent man to be seen in at this time of night; I -am now sold fairly.’ The word was not out of my mouth when, whiz! what -should fly by close to my ear but a flock of wild geese; all the way -from my own bog of Ballyasheenogh, else how should they know <i>me</i>? -The <i>ould</i> gander, who was their general, turning about his head, -cried out to me, ‘Is that you, Dan?’ ‘The same,’ said I, not a bit -daunted now at what he said, for I was by this time used to all kinds -of <i>bedevilment</i>, and, besides, I knew him of <i>ould</i>. ‘Good -morrow to you,’ says he, ‘Daniel O’Rourke; how are you in health this -morning?’ ‘Very well, sir,’ says I, ‘I thank you kindly,’ drawing my -breath, for I was mightily in want of some. ‘I hope your honour’s the -same.’ ‘I think ’tis<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span> falling you are, Daniel,’ says he. ‘You may say -that, sir,’ says I. ‘And where are you going all the way so fast?’ said -the gander. So I told him how I had taken the drop, and how I came on -the island, and how I lost my way in the bog, and how the thief of an -eagle flew me up to the moon, and how the man in the moon turned me -out. ‘Dan,’ said he, ‘I’ll save you; put out your hand and catch me by -the leg, and I’ll fly you home.’ ‘Sweet is your hand in a pitcher of -honey, my jewel,’ says I, though all the time I thought within myself -that I don’t much trust you; but there was no help, so I caught the -gander by the leg, and away I and the other geese flew after him as -fast as hops.</p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_181"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_181.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“I WAS TUMBLING OVER AND OVER, AND ROLLING AND ROLLING.”</p> - </div> - -<p>“We flew, and we flew, and we flew, until we came right over the wide -ocean. I knew it well, for I saw Cape Clear to my right hand, sticking -up out of the water. ‘Ah! my lord,’ said I to the goose, for I thought -it best to keep a civil tongue in my head any way, ‘fly to land if -you please.’ ‘It is impossible, you see, Dan,’ said he, ‘for a while, -because you see we are going to Arabia.’ ‘To Arabia!’ said I, ‘that’s -surely some place in foreign parts, far away. Oh! Mr. Goose; why then, -to be sure, I’m a man to be pitied among you.’ ‘Whist, whist, you -fool,’ said he, ‘hold your tongue; I tell you Arabia is a very decent -sort of place, as like West Carbery as one egg is like another, only -there is a little more sand there.’</p> - -<p>“Just as we were talking a ship hove in sight, scudding so beautiful -before the wind; ‘Ah! then, sir,’ said I, ‘will you drop me on the -ship, if you please?’ ‘We are not fair over her,’ said he. ‘We are,’ -said I. ‘We are not,’ said he; ‘if I dropped you now you would go -splash into the sea.’ ‘I would not,’ says I; ‘I know better than that, -for it is just clean under us, so let me drop now at once.’ ‘If you -must, you must,’ said he; ‘there, take your own way;’ and he opened his -claw, and, faith, he was right—sure enough I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span> came down plump into -the very bottom of the salt sea! Down to the very bottom I went, and I -gave myself up then for ever, when a whale walked up to me, scratching -himself after his night’s sleep, and looked me full in the face, and -never the word did he say, but lifting up his tail, he splashed me all -over again with the cold salt water till there wasn’t a dry stitch upon -my whole carcase; and I heard somebody saying—’twas a voice I knew -too—‘Get up, you drunken brute, off o’ that;’ and with that I woke up, -and there was Judy with a tub full of water, which she was splashing -all over me—for, rest her soul! though she was a good wife, she never -could bear to see me in drink, and had a bitter hand of her own. ‘Get -up,’ said she again; ‘and of all places in the parish would no place -<i>sarve</i> your turn to lie down upon but under the <i>ould</i> walls -of Carrigaphooka? an uneasy resting I am sure you had of it.’ And sure -enough I had, for I was fairly bothered out of my senses with eagles, -and men of the moons, and flying ganders, and whales driving me through -bogs, and up to the moon, and down to the bottom of the green ocean. If -I was in drink ten times over, long would it be before I’d lie down in -the same spot again, I know that.”</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>William Maginn, LL.D.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>THE HUMOURS OF DONNYBROOK FAIR.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh! ’twas Dermot O’Nowlan McFigg,</div> - <div>That could properly handle a twig,</div> - <div class="i2">He went to the Fair,</div> - <div class="i2">And kicked up a dust there,</div> - <div>In dancing the Donnybrook Jig,</div> - <div class="i2">With his twig,</div> - <div>Oh! my blessing to Dermot McFigg!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>When he came to the midst of the Fair,</div> - <div>He was <i>all in a paugh</i> for fresh air,</div> - <div class="i2">For the Fair very soon</div> - <div class="i2">Was as full as the moon,</div> - <div>Such mobs upon mobs as were there,</div> - <div class="i2">Oh! rare,</div> - <div>So more luck to sweet Donnybrook Fair.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The souls, they came crowding in fast,</div> - <div>To dance while the leather would last,</div> - <div class="i2">For the Thomas Street brogue</div> - <div class="i2">Was there much in vogue,</div> - <div>And oft with a brogue the joke passed,</div> - <div class="i2">Quite fast,</div> - <div>While the Cash and the Whisky did last!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>But Dermot, his mind on love bent,</div> - <div>In search of his sweetheart he went;</div> - <div class="i2">Peep’d in here and there,</div> - <div class="i2">As he walked thro’ the Fair,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span></div> - <div>And took a small taste in each tent,</div> - <div class="i2">As he went,</div> - <div>Och! on Whisky and Love he was bent.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>And who should he spy in a jig,</div> - <div>With a Meal-man so tall and so big,</div> - <div class="i2">But his own darling Kate</div> - <div class="i2">So gay and so neat;</div> - <div>Faith, her partner he hit him a dig,</div> - <div class="i2">The pig,</div> - <div>He beat the meal out of his wig!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Then Dermot, with conquest elate,</div> - <div>Drew a stool near his beautiful Kate;</div> - <div class="i2">“Arrah! Katty,” says he,</div> - <div class="i2">“My own Cushlamachree,</div> - <div>Sure the world for Beauty you beat,</div> - <div class="i2">Complete,</div> - <div>So we’ll just take a dance while we wait!”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The Piper, to keep him in tune,</div> - <div>Struck up a gay lilt very soon,</div> - <div class="i2">Until an arch wag</div> - <div class="i2">Cut a hole in his bag,</div> - <div>And at once put an end to the tune</div> - <div class="i2">Too soon,</div> - <div>Oh! the music flew up to the moon!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>To the Fiddler says Dermot McFigg,</div> - <div>“If you’ll please to play ‘Sheela na gig,’</div> - <div class="i2">We’ll shake a loose toe</div> - <div class="i2">While you humour the bow,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span></div> - <div>To be sure you must warm the wig</div> - <div class="i2">Of McFigg,</div> - <div>While he’s dancing a neat Irish jig!”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>But says Katty, the darling, says she,</div> - <div>“If you’ll only just listen to me,</div> - <div class="i2">It’s myself that will show</div> - <div class="i2">Billy can’t be your foe,</div> - <div>Tho’ he fought for his Cousin, that’s me,”</div> - <div class="i2">Says she,</div> - <div>“For sure Billy’s related to me!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“For my own cousin-german, Ann Wild,</div> - <div>Stood for Biddy Mulrooney’s first child,</div> - <div class="i2">And Biddy’s step-son,</div> - <div class="i2">Sure he married Bess Dunn,</div> - <div>Who was gossip to Jenny, as mild</div> - <div class="i2">A child</div> - <div>As ever at mother’s breast smiled.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“And maybe you don’t know Jane Brown,</div> - <div>Who served goat’s whey in sweet Dundrum town,</div> - <div class="i2">’Twas her uncle’s half-brother</div> - <div class="i2">That married my mother,</div> - <div>And bought me this new yellow gown,</div> - <div class="i2">To go down,</div> - <div>When the marriage was held in Miltown!”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“By the Powers, then,” says Dermot, “’tis plain,</div> - <div>Like a son of that rapscallion Cain,</div> - <div class="i2">My best friend I’ve kilt,</div> - <div class="i2">Tho’ no blood it is spilt,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span></div> - <div>And the devil a harm did I mean,</div> - <div class="i2">That’s plain,</div> - <div>But by me he’ll be ne’er kilt again!”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Then the Meal-man forgave him the blow,</div> - <div>That laid him a-sprawling so low,</div> - <div class="i2">And being quite gay,</div> - <div class="i2">Asked them both to the play,</div> - <div>But Katty, being bashful, said “No,”</div> - <div class="i2">“No!” “No!”</div> - <div>Yet he treated them all to the show!</div> - <div class="right"><i>Charles O’Flaherty</i> (1794–1828).</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>THE NIGHT-CAP.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Jolly Phœbus his car to the coach-house had driven,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">And unharnessed his high-mettled horses of light;</div> - <div>He gave them a feed from the manger of heaven,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">And rubbed them and littered them up for the night.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Then down to the kitchen he leisurely strode,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">Where Thetis, the housemaid, was sipping her tea;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">He swore he was tired with that damned up-hill road,</div> - <div class="i1">He’d have none of her slops or hot water, not he.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>So she took from the corner a little cruiskeen</div> - <div class="i1">Well filled with the nectar Apollo loves best,</div> - <div>(From the neat Bog of Allen, some pretty poteen);</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">And he tippled his quantum and staggered to rest.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>His many-caped box-coat around him he threw,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">For his bed, faith, ’twas dampish, and none of the best;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">All above him the clouds their bright-fringed curtains drew,</div> - <div class="i1">And the tuft of his night-cap lay red in the west.</div> - <div class="right"><i>Thomas Hamblin Porter</i> (<i>fl.</i> 1820).</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>KITTY OF COLERAINE.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping</div> - <div class="i1">With a pitcher of milk from the fair of Coleraine,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">When she saw me she stumbled, the pitcher down tumbled,</div> - <div class="i1">And all the sweet butter-milk watered the plain.</div> - <div class="hangingindent">“Oh! what shall I do now?—’twas looking at you, now!</div> - <div class="i1">Sure, sure, such a pitcher I’ll ne’er see again;</div> - <div>’Twas the pride of my dairy—O Barney McCleary,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">You’re sent as a plague to the girls of Coleraine!”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I sat down beside her, and gently did chide her,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">That such a misfortune should give her such pain;</div> - <div>A kiss then I gave her, and ere I did leave her,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">She vowed for such pleasure she’d break it again.</div> - <div class="hangingindent">’Twas hay-making season—I can’t tell the reason—</div> - <div class="i1">Misfortunes will never come single, ’tis plain;</div> - <div>For very soon after poor Kitty’s disaster</div> - <div class="i1">The devil a pitcher was whole in Coleraine.</div> - <div class="right"><i>Anonymous.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span></p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_189"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_189.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“I SAT DOWN BESIDE HER, AND GENTLY DID CHIDE HER.”</p> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span></p> - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>GIVING CREDIT.</i></h2> - -<p>In due time it was determined that Peter, as he understood poteen, -should open a shebeen-house. The moment this resolution was made, the -wife kept coaxing him until he took a small house at the cross-roads -before alluded to, where, in the course of a short time, he was -established, if not in his line, yet in a mode of life approximating -to it as nearly as the inclination of Ellish would permit. The cabin -which they occupied had a kitchen in the middle, and a room at each end -of it, in one of which was their own humble chaff bed, with its blue -quilted drugget cover; in the other stood a couple of small tables, -some stools, a short form, and one chair, being a present from his -father-in-law. These constituted Peter’s whole establishment, so far as -it defied the gauger. To this we must add a five-gallon keg of spirits -hid in the garden and a roll of smuggled tobacco. From the former he -bottled, overnight, as much as was usually drunk the following day; -and from the tobacco, which was also kept underground, he cut, with -the same caution, as much as to-morrow’s exigencies might require. -This he kept in his coat-pocket, a place where the gauger would never -think of searching for it, divided into halfpenny and pennyworths, -ounces, or half-ounces, according as it might be required; and, as he -had it without duty, the liberal spirit in which he dealt it out to his -neighbours soon brought him a large increase of custom.</p> - -<p>Peter’s wife was an excellent manager, and he himself a pleasant, -good-humoured man, full of whim and inoffensive mirth. His powers of -amusement were of a high order, considering his station in life and his -want of education. These qualities contributed, in a great degree, to -bring both the young and the old to his house during the long winter<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span> -nights, in order to hear the fine racy humour with which he related his -frequent adventures and battles with excisemen. In the summer evenings -he usually engaged a piper or fiddler, and had a dance, a contrivance -by which he not only rendered himself popular, but increased his -business.</p> - -<p>In this mode of life the greatest source of anxiety to Peter and Ellish -was the difficulty of not offending their friends by refusing to give -them credit. Many plans were, with great skill and forethought, devised -to obviate this evil; but all failed. A short board was first procured, -on which they got written with chalk—</p> - - <div class="poetry-container1"> - <h2 class="smaller"></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“No credit giv’n—barrin’ a thrifle to Pether’s friends.”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>Before a week passed after this intimation, the number of “Pether’s -friends” increased so rapidly that neither he nor Ellish knew the half -of them. Every scamp in the parish was hand and glove with him: the -drinking tribe, particularly, became desperately attached to him and -Ellish. Peter was naturally kind-hearted, and found that his firmest -resolutions too often gave way before the open flattery with which -he was assailed. He then changed his hand, and left Ellish to bear -the brunt of their blarney. Whenever any person or persons were seen -approaching the house, Peter, if he had reason to expect an attack -upon his indulgence, prepared himself for a retreat. He kept his eye -to the window, and if they turned from the direct line of the road, he -immediately slipped into bed, and lay close, in order to escape them. -In the meantime they enter.</p> - -<p>“God save all here! Ellish, agra machree, how are you?”</p> - -<p>“God save you kindly! Faix, I’m middlin’, I thank you, Condy; how is -yourself, an’ all at home?”</p> - -<p>“Devil a heartier, barrin’ my father, that’s touched wid a loss of -appetite afther his meals—ha, ha, ha!”</p> - -<p>“Musha, the dickens be an you, Condy, but you’re your<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span> father’s -son, anyway; the best company in Europe is the same man. Throth, -whether you’re jokin’ or not, I’d be sarry to hear of anything to his -disadvantage, dacent man. Boys, won’t yees go down to the other room?”</p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_192"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_192.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“HE KEPT HIS EYE TO THE WINDOW, AND IF THEY TURNED FROM -THE DIRECT LINE OF THE ROAD, HE SLIPPED INTO BED.”</p> - </div> - -<p>“Go way wid yees, boys, till I spake to Ellish here about the affairs -o’ the nation. Why, Ellish, you stand the cut all to pieces. By the -contints o’ the book, you do; Pether doesn’t stand it half so well. How -is he, the thief?”</p> - -<p>“Throth, he’s not well to-day, in regard of a smotherin’ about the -heart he tuck this morning, afther his breakfast.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span> He jist laid himself -on the bed a while, to see if it would go off of him—God be praised -for all his marcies!”</p> - -<p>“Thin, upon my <i>sole</i>vation, I’m sorry to hear it, and so will -all at home, for there’s not in the parish we’re sittin’ in a couple -that our family has a greater regard an’ friendship for than him an’ -yourself. Faix, my modher, no longer ago than Friday night last, argued -down Bartle Meegan’s throath that you and Biddy Martin war the two -portliest weemen that comes into the chapel. God forgive myself, I -was near quarrellin’ wid Bartle, on the head of it, bekase I tuck my -modher’s part, as I had good right to do.”</p> - -<p>“Thrath, I’m thankful to you both, Condy, for your kindness.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, the sarra taste o’ kindness was in it all, Ellish, ’twas only the -thruth; an’ as long as I live I’ll stand up for that.”</p> - -<p>“Arrah, how is your aunt down at Carntall?”</p> - -<p>“Indeed, thin, but middlin’, not gettin’ her health: she’ll soon give -the crow a puddin’, anyway; thin, Ellish, you thief, I’m <i>in</i> for -the yallow boys. Do you know thim that came in wid me?”</p> - -<p>“Why, thin, I can’t say I do. Who are they, Condy?”</p> - -<p>“Why, one o’ thim’s a bachelor to my sisther Norah, a very dacent boy, -indeed—him wid the frieze jock upon him, an’ the buckskin breeches. -The other three’s from Teenabraighera beyant. They’re related to my -brother-in-law, Mick Dillon, by his first wife’s brother-in-law’s -uncle. They’re come to this neighbourhood till the ’Sizes, bad luck to -them, goes over; for, you see, they’re in a little throuble.”</p> - -<p>“The Lord grant them safe out of it, poor boys!”</p> - -<p>“I brought them up here to treat them, poor fellows; an’ Ellish, -avourneen, you must credit me for whatsomever we may have. The thruth -is, you see, that when we left home none of us had any notion of -dhrinkin’, or I’d a put<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span> a something in my pocket, so that I’m taken -at an average.—Bud-an’-age—how is little Dan? Sowl, Ellish, that -goor-soon, when he grows up, will be a credit to you. I don’t think -there’s a finer child in Europe of his age, so there isn’t.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed, he’s a good child, Condy. But, Condy, avick, about givin’ -credit:—by thim five crasses, if I could give score to any boy in -the parish, it ud be to yourself. It was only last night that I made -a promise against doin’ sich a thing for man or mortual. We’re a’most -broken an’ harrish’d out o’ house an’ home by it; an’ what’s more, -Condy, we intend to give up the business. The landlord’s at us every -day for his rint, an’ we owe for the two last kegs we got, but hasn’t -a rap to meet aither o’ thim; an’ enough due to us if we could get -it together: an’ whisper, Condy, atween ourselves, that’s what ails -Pether, although he doesn’t wish to let an to any one about it.”</p> - -<p>“Well, but you know I’m safe, Ellish?”</p> - -<p>“I know you are, avourneen, as the bank itself; an’ should have what -you want wid a heart an’ a half, only for the promise I made an my two -knees last night aginst givin’ credit to man or woman. Why the dickens -didn’t you come yistherday?”</p> - -<p>“Didn’t I tell you, woman alive, that it was by accident, an’ that I -wished to sarve the house, that we came at all. Come, come, Ellish; -don’t disgrace me afore my sisther’s bachelor an’ the sthrange boys -that’s to the fore. By this staff in my hand, I wouldn’t for the best -cow in our byre be put to the blush afore thim; an’ besides, there’s a -<i>cleeveenship</i> atween your family an’ ours.”</p> - -<p>“Condy, avourneen, say no more: if you were fed from the same breast -wid me, I couldn’t, nor wouldn’t break my promise. I wouldn’t have the -sin of it an me for the wealth o’ the three kingdoms.”</p> - -<p>“Bedad, you’re a quare woman; an’ only that my regard<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span> for you is great -entirely, we would be two, Ellish; but I know you’re dacent still.”</p> - -<p>He then left her, and joined his friends in the little room that was -appropriated for drinking, where, with a great deal of mirth, he -related the failure of the plan they had formed for outwitting Peter -and Ellish.</p> - -<p>“Boys,” said he, “she’s too many for us! St. Pether himself wouldn’t -make a hand of her. Faix, she’s a cute one. I palavered her at the -rate of a hunt, an’ she ped me back in my own coin, wid dacent -intherest—but no whisky!—Now to take a rise out o’ Pether. Jist sit -where yees are, till I come back.”</p> - -<p>He then left them enjoying the intended “spree,” and went back to -Ellish.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m sure, Ellish, if any one had tuck their book oath that you’d -refuse my father’s son sich a thrifle, I wouldn’t believe them. It’s -not wid Pether’s knowledge you do it, I’ll be bound. But bad as you -thrated us, sure we must see how the poor fellow is, at any rate.”</p> - -<p>As he spoke, and before Ellish had time to prevent him, he pressed into -the room where Peter lay.</p> - -<p>“Why, tare alive, Pether, is it in bed you are, at this hour o’ the -day?”</p> - -<p>“Eh? What’s that—who’s that? Oh!”</p> - -<p>“Why, thin, the sarra lie undher you, is that the way wid you?”</p> - -<p>“Oh!—oh! Eh? Is that Condy?”</p> - -<p>“All that’s to the fore of him. What’s asthray wid you, man alive?”</p> - -<p>“Throth, Condy, I don’t know rightly. I went out, wantin’ my coat, -about a week ago, an’ got cowld in the small o’ the back: I’ve a pain -in it ever since. Be sittin’.”</p> - -<p>“Is your <i>heart</i> safe? You have no smotherin’ or anything upon -<i>it</i>?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span></p> - -<p>“Why, thin, thank goodness, no; it’s all about my back an’ my hinches.”</p> - -<p>“Divil a thing it is but a complaint they call an <i>alloverness</i> -ails you, you shkaimer o’ the world wide. ’Tis the oil o’ the hazel, or -a rubbin’ down wid an oak towel, you want. Get up, I say, or, by this -an’ by that, I’ll flail you widin an inch o’ your life.”</p> - -<p>“Is it beside yourself you are, Condy?”</p> - -<p>“No, no, faix; I’ve found you out: Ellish is afther tellin’ me that it -was a smotherin’ on the heart; but it’s a pain in the small o’ the back -wid <i>yourself</i>. Oh, you born desaver! Get up, I say agin, afore I -take the stick to you!”</p> - -<p>“Why, thin, all sorts o’ fortune to you, Condy—ha, ha, ha!—but you’re -the sarra’s pet, for there’s no escapin’ you. What was that I hard -atween you an’ Ellish?” said Peter, getting up.</p> - -<p>“The sarra matther to you. If you behave yourself, we may let you into -the wrong side o’ the sacret afore you die. Go an’ get us a pint o’ -what you know,” replied Condy, as he and Peter entered the kitchen.</p> - -<p>“Ellish,” said Peter, “I suppose you must give it to thim. Give -it—give it, avourneen. Now, Condy, whin’ll you pay me for this?”</p> - -<p>“Never fret yourself about that; you’ll be ped. Honour <i>bright</i>, -as the black said whin he stole the boots.”</p> - -<p>“Now, Pether,” said the wife, “sure it’s no use axin me to give it, -afther the promise I made last night. Give it yourself; for me, I’ll -have no hand in sich things, good or bad. I hope we’ll soon get out of -it altogether, for myself’s sick an’ sore of it, dear knows!”</p> - -<p>Peter accordingly furnished them with the liquor, and got a promise -that Condy would certainly pay him at mass on the following Sunday, -which was only three days distant. The fun of the boys was exuberant at -Condy’s success:<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span> they drank, and laughed, and sang, until pint after -pint followed in rapid succession.</p> - -<p>Every additional inroad upon the keg brought a fresh groan from -Ellish; and even Peter himself began to look blank as their potations -deepened. When the night was far advanced they departed, after having -first overwhelmed Ellish with professions of the warmest friendship, -promising that in future she exclusively should reap whatever benefit -was to be derived from their patronage.</p> - -<p>In the meantime Condy forgot to perform his promise. The next Sunday -passed, but Peter was not paid, nor was his clever debtor seen at -mass, or in the vicinity of the shebeen-house, for many a month -afterwards—an instance of ingratitude which mortified his creditor -extremely. The latter, who felt that it was a <i>take in</i>, resolved -to cut short all hopes of obtaining credit from them in future. In -about a week after the foregoing hoax he got up a board, presenting a -more vigorous refusal of <i>score</i> than the former. His friends, -who were more in number than he could possibly have imagined, on this -occasion were altogether wiped out of the exception. The notice ran to -the following effect:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“Notice to the Public, <i>and to Pether Connell’s friends in -particular</i>—Divil resave the morsel of credit will be got -or given in this house, while there is stick or stone of it -together, barrin’ them that axes it has the <i>ready money</i>.</p> - -<p class="r2h p-min">“<span class="smcap">Pether x Connell</span>, his mark.</p> - -<p class="r2 p-min">“<span class="smcap">Ellish x Connell</span>, her mark.”</p> -</div> - -<p class="r2"><i>William Carleton</i> (1794–1869).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>BRIAN O’LINN.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Brian O’Linn was a gentleman born,</div> - <div>His hair it was long and his beard unshorn,</div> - <div>His teeth were out and his eyes far in—</div> - <div>“I’m a wonderful beauty,” says Brian O’Linn!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Brian O’Linn was hard up for a coat,</div> - <div>He borrowed the skin of a neighbouring goat,</div> - <div>He buckled the horns right under his chin—</div> - <div>“They’ll answer for pistols,” says Brian O’Linn;</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Brian O’Linn had no breeches to wear,</div> - <div>He got him a sheepskin to make him a pair,</div> - <div>With the fleshy side out and the woolly side in—</div> - <div>“They are pleasant and cool,” says Brian O’Linn!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Brian O’Linn had no hat to his head,</div> - <div>He stuck on a pot that was under the shed,</div> - <div>He murdered a cod for the sake of his fin—</div> - <div>“’Twill pass for a feather,” says Brian O’Linn!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Brian O’Linn had no shirt to his back,</div> - <div>He went to a neighbour and borrowed a sack.</div> - <div>He puckered a meal-bag under his chin—</div> - <div>“They’ll take it for ruffles,” says Brian O’Linn!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Brian O’Linn had no shoes at all,</div> - <div>He bought an old pair at a cobbler’s stall,</div> - <div>The uppers were broke and the soles were thin—</div> - <div>“They’ll do me for dancing,” says Brian O’Linn!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Brian O’Linn had no watch for to wear,</div> - <div>He bought a fine turnip and scooped it out fair,</div> - <div>He slipped a live cricket right under the skin—</div> - <div>“They’ll think it is ticking,” says Brian O’Linn!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Brian O’Linn was in want of a brooch,</div> - <div>He stuck a brass pin in a big cockroach,</div> - <div>The breast of his shirt he fixed it straight in—</div> - <div>“They’ll think it’s a diamond,” says Brian O’Linn!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Brian O’Linn went a-courting one night,</div> - <div>He set both the mother and daughter to fight—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">“Stop, stop,” he exclaimed, “if you have but the tin,</div> - <div>I’ll marry you both,” says Brian O’Linn!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Brian O’Linn went to bring his wife home,</div> - <div>He had but one horse, that was all skin and bone—</div> - <div>“I’ll put her behind me, as nate as a pin,</div> - <div>And her mother before me,” says Brian O’Linn!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Brian O’Linn and his wife and wife’s mother,</div> - <div>They all crossed over the bridge together,</div> - <div>The bridge broke down and they all tumbled in—</div> - <div>“We’ll go home by water,” says Brian O’Linn!</div> - <div class="right"><i>Anonymous.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span></p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_200"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_200.jpg" - alt="" /> - </div> - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>THE TURKEY AND THE GOOSE.</i></h2> - -<p>Did yir honor ever hear of the wager ’tween the goose and the turkey? -Oncet upon a time an ould cock-turkey lived in the barony of Brawny, -or, let me see, was it in Inchebofin or Tubbercleer? faix, an’ it’s -meself forgets that same at the present writin’,—but Jim Gurn—you -know Jim Gurn, yir honor, Jim Gurn the nailer that lives hard by,—him -that fought his black-and-tan t’other day ’gainst Tim Fagan’s silver -hackle,—oh! Jim is the boy that’ll tell ye the <i>ins</i> and -<i>outs</i> of it any day yir honor wud pay him a visit, ’caze Jim’s in -the way of it. Well, as I was relatin’, the turkey was a parson’s bird, -and as proud as Lucifer, bein’ used to the best of livin’; while the -gander was only a poor <i>commoner</i>, for he was a <i>Roman</i>,<a id="FNanchor_13" href="#Footnote_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> -and oblidged to live upon what he could get by the roadside. These two -fowls, yir honor, never could agree anyhow,—never could put up their -horses together on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span> any blessed p’int,—till one day a big row happened -betune them, when the gander challenged the turkey to a steeplechase -across the country, day and dark, for twenty-four hours. Well, to my -surprise,—though I wasn’t there at the time, but Jim Gurn was, who -gave me the whole history,—to my surprise, the turkey didn’t say -<i>no</i> to it, but was quite agreeable to it, all of a suddent; so -away they started from Jim Gurn’s dunghill one Sunday after mass, for -the gander wouldn’t stir a step afore prayers. Well, to be sure, to -give the divil his due, the turkey took the lead in fine style, and -was soon clane out of sight; but the gander kept movin’ on, no ways -downhearted, after him. About nightfall it was his business to pass -through an ould archway across the road; and as he was stoopin’ his -head to get under it,—for yir honor knows a gander will stoop his -head under a doorway if it was only as high as the moon,—who should -he see comfortably sated in an ivy-bush but the turkey himself, tucked -in for the night. The gander, winkin’ to himself, says, “Is it there -ye are, honey?”—but he kept never mindin’ him for all that, but only -walked bouldly on to his journey’s end, where he arrived safe and sound -next day, afore the turkey was out of his first sleep; ’caze why, ye -see, sir, a goose or a gander will travel all night; but in respect of -a turkey, once the day falls in, divil another inch of ground he’ll -put his futt to, barrin’ it’s to roost in a tree or the rafters of a -cow-house! Oh! maybe the parson’s bird wasn’t ashamed of himself! Jim -Gurn says he never held his head up afterward, though to be sure he -hadn’t long to fret, for Christmas was nigh at hand, and he had to -stand sentry by the kitchen fire one day without his body-clothes till -he could bear it no longer; so they dished him entirely. Them that -ett him said he was as tough as leather, no doubt from the grief; but -divil’s cure to him! what business had he to be so proud of himself, -the spalpeen?</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>Joseph A. Wade</i> (1796–1845).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>WIDOW MACHREE.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Widow Machree, it’s no wonder you frown,</div> - <div>Och hone, Widow Machree—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Faith, it ruins your looks that same dirty black gown,</div> - <div>Och hone, Widow Machree.</div> - <div>How altered your air,</div> - <div>With that close cap you wear—</div> - <div>It’s destroying your hair,</div> - <div>Which should be flowing free,</div> - <div>Be no longer a churl</div> - <div>Of its black silken curl,</div> - <div>Och hone, Widow Machree.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Widow Machree, now the summer is come,</div> - <div>Och hone, Widow Machree,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">When everything smiles—should a beauty look glum,</div> - <div>Och hone, Widow Machree.</div> - <div>See the birds go in pairs,</div> - <div>And the rabbits and hares—</div> - <div>Why even the bears,</div> - <div>Now in couples agree,</div> - <div>And the mute little fish,</div> - <div>Though they can’t speak, they wish,</div> - <div>Och hone, Widow Machree.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Widow Machree, when the winter comes in,</div> - <div>Och hone, Widow Machree,</div> - <div>To be poking the fire, all alone, is a sin,</div> - <div>Och hone, Widow Machree.</div> - <div>Why the shovel and tongs,</div> - <div>To each other belongs,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span></div> - <div>And the kettle sings songs,</div> - <div>Full of family glee,</div> - <div>While alone with your cup,</div> - <div>Like a hermit you sup,</div> - <div>Och hone, Widow Machree.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>And how do you know, with the comforts I’ve told,</div> - <div>Och hone, Widow Machree,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">But you’re keeping some poor divil out in the cold?</div> - <div>Och hone, Widow Machree.</div> - <div>With such sins on your head,</div> - <div>Sure your peace would be fled,</div> - <div>Could you sleep in your bed,</div> - <div>Without thinking to see,</div> - <div>Some ghost or some sprite,</div> - <div>Come to wake you each night,</div> - <div>Crying, och hone, Widow Machree.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Then take my advice, darling Widow Machree,</div> - <div>Och hone, Widow Machree,</div> - <div>And with my advice, faith, I wish you’d take me,</div> - <div>Och hone, Widow Machree.</div> - <div>You’d have me to desire.</div> - <div>Then to stir up the fire,</div> - <div>And sure hope is no liar,</div> - <div>In whispering to me,</div> - <div>That the ghosts would depart,</div> - <div>When you’d me near your heart,</div> - <div>Och hone, Widow Machree.</div> - <div class="right"><i>Samuel Lover</i> (1797–1868).</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span></p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_204"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_204.jpg" - alt="" /> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>BARNEY O’HEA.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Now let me alone, though I know you won’t,</div> - <div>I know you won’t,</div> - <div>I know you won’t,</div> - <div>Now let me alone, though I know you won’t,</div> - <div>Impudent Barney O’Hea.</div> - <div class="hangingindent">It makes me outrageous when you’re so contagious—</div> - <div>You’d better look out for the stout Corney Creagh!</div> - <div>For he is the boy that believes me his joy;—</div> - <div>So you’d better behave yourself, Barney O’Hea.</div> - <div>Impudent Barney—</div> - <div>None of your blarney,</div> - <div>Impudent Barney O’Hea.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I hope you’re not going to Bandon fair,</div> - <div>To Bandon fair,</div> - <div>To Bandon fair,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span></div> - <div>For sure I’m not wanting to meet you there,</div> - <div>Impudent Barney O’Hea.</div> - <div>For Corney’s at Cork, and my brother’s at work,</div> - <div>And my mother sits spinning at home all the day;</div> - <div>So no one will be there, of poor me to take care,</div> - <div>And I hope you won’t follow me, Barney O’Hea.</div> - <div>Impudent Barney—</div> - <div>None of your blarney,</div> - <div>Impudent Barney O’Hea.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>But as I was walking up Bandon Street,</div> - <div>Just who do you think ’twas myself should meet</div> - <div>But impudent Barney O’Hea!</div> - <div>He said I look’d killin’,</div> - <div>I call’d him a villain,</div> - <div>And bid him that minute get out of my way.</div> - <div>He said I was jokin’,</div> - <div>And look’d so provokin’,—</div> - <div>I could not help laughing with Barney O’Hea!</div> - <div>Impudent Barney—</div> - <div>’Tis he has the blarney,</div> - <div>Impudent Barney O’Hea!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>He knew ’twas all right when he saw me smile,</div> - <div>For he is the rogue up to every wile,</div> - <div>Is impudent Barney O’Hea!</div> - <div>He coax’d me to choose him,</div> - <div>For, if I’d refuse him,</div> - <div>He swore he’d kill Corney the very next day;</div> - <div>So for fear ’twould go further,</div> - <div>And—just to save murther—</div> - <div>I think I must marry that mad-cap O’Hea.</div> - <div>Botherin’ Barney—</div> - <div>’Tis he has the blarney</div> - <div>To make a girl Misthress O’Hea!</div> - <div class="right"><i>Samuel Lover.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span></p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_206"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_206.jpg" - alt="" /> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>MOLLY CAREW.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Och hone, and what will I do?</div> - <div class="i4">Sure, my love is all crost</div> - <div class="i4">Like a bud in the frost,</div> - <div>And there’s no use at all in my going to bed;</div> - <div>For ’tis dhrames and not sleep comes into my head;</div> - <div class="i4">And ’tis all about you,</div> - <div class="i4">My sweet Molly Carew—</div> - <div class="i2">And indeed ’tis a sin and a shame;</div> - <div class="i4">You’re complater than Nature</div> - <div class="i4">In every feature,</div> - <div class="i4">The snow can’t compare</div> - <div class="i4">With your forehead so fair;</div> - <div>And I rather would see just one blink of your eye<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span></div> - <div>Than the purtiest star that shines out of the sky—</div> - <div class="i4">And by this and by that,</div> - <div class="i4">For the matter of that,</div> - <div class="i2">You’re more distant by far than that same!</div> - <div class="i4">Och hone! wirrasthrue!</div> - <div class="i2">I’m alone in this world without you.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4">Och hone! but why should I spake</div> - <div class="i4">Of your forehead and eyes,</div> - <div class="i4">When your nose it defies</div> - <div>Paddy Blake, the schoolmaster, to put it in rhyme?</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Tho’ there’s one Burke, he says, that would call it <i>snublime</i>.</div> - <div class="i4">And then for your cheek!</div> - <div class="i4">Throth, ’twould take him a week</div> - <div class="i2">Its beauties to tell as he’d rather.</div> - <div class="i4">Then your lips! oh, Machree!</div> - <div class="i4">In their beautiful glow</div> - <div class="i4">They a patthern might be</div> - <div class="i4">For the cherries to grow.</div> - <div class="hangingindent">’Twas an apple that tempted our mother, we know—</div> - <div>For apples were <i>scarce</i>, I suppose, long ago;</div> - <div class="i4">But at this time o’ day,</div> - <div class="i4">’Pon my conscience, I’ll say,</div> - <div class="i2">Such cherries might tempt a man’s father!</div> - <div class="i4">Och hone! wirrasthrue!</div> - <div class="i2">I’m alone in this world without you.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4">Och hone! by the man in the moon,</div> - <div class="i4">You <i>taze</i> me all ways,</div> - <div class="i4">That a woman can plaze,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">For you dance twice as high with that thief Pat Magee,</div> - <div>As when you take share of a jig, dear, with me,</div> - <div class="i4">Tho’ the piper I bate,</div> - <div class="i4">For fear the ould chate<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span></div> - <div class="i2">Wouldn’t play you your favourite tune;</div> - <div class="i4">And when you’re at mass</div> - <div class="i4">My devotion you crass,</div> - <div class="i4">For ’tis thinking of you</div> - <div class="i4">I am, Molly Carew;</div> - <div>While you wear, on purpose, a bonnet so deep,</div> - <div>That I can’t at your sweet purty face get a peep:</div> - <div class="i4">Oh! lave off that bonnet,</div> - <div class="i4">Or else I’ll lave on it</div> - <div class="i2">The loss of my wandherin’ sowl!</div> - <div class="i4">Och hone! wirrasthrue!</div> - <div class="i4">Och hone, like an owl,</div> - <div class="i2">Day is night, dear, to me, without you!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4">Och hone! don’t provoke me to do it;</div> - <div class="i4">For there’s girls by the score</div> - <div class="i4">That love me—and more;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And you’d look very quare if some morning you’d meet</div> - <div>My wedding all marchin’ in pride down the sthreet;</div> - <div class="i4">Throth, you’d open your eyes,</div> - <div class="i4">And you’d die with surprise,</div> - <div class="i2">To think ’twasn’t you was come to it!</div> - <div class="i4">And, faith, Katty Naile,</div> - <div class="i4">And her cow, I go bail,</div> - <div class="i4">Would jump if I’d say,</div> - <div class="i4">“Katty Naile, name the day.”</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And tho’ you’re fair and fresh as a morning in May,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">While she’s short and dark like a cowld winther’s day,</div> - <div class="i4">Yet if you don’t repent</div> - <div class="i4">Before Easther, when Lent</div> - <div class="i2">Is over I’ll marry for spite;</div> - <div class="i4">Och hone! wirrasthrue!</div> - <div class="i4">And when I die for you,</div> - <div class="i2">My ghost will haunt you every night.</div> - <div class="right"><i>Samuel Lover.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span></p> - - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>HANDY ANDY AND THE POSTMASTER.</i></h2> - -<p>“Ride into the town, and see if there’s a letter for me,” said the -Squire one day to our hero.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“You know where to go?”</p> - -<p>“To the town, sir.”</p> - -<p>“But do you know where to go in the town?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir.”</p> - -<p>“And why don’t you ask, you stupid fellow?”</p> - -<p>“Sure, I’d find out, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Didn’t I often tell you to ask what you’re to do when you don’t know?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“And why don’t you?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t like to be throublesome, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Confound you!” said the Squire, though he could not help laughing at -Andy’s excuse for remaining in ignorance.</p> - -<p>“Well,” continued he, “go to the post-office. You know the post-office, -I suppose?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir, where they sell gunpowder.”</p> - -<p>“You’re right for once,” said the Squire; for his Majesty’s postmaster -was the person who had the privilege of dealing in the aforesaid -combustible. “Go, then, to the post-office, and ask for a letter for -me. Remember,—not gunpowder, but a letter.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” said Andy, who got astride of his hack and trotted away to -the post-office. On arriving at the shop of the postmaster (for that -person carried on a brisk trade in groceries, gimlets, broadcloth, and -linen drapery), Andy presented himself at the counter, and said—</p> - -<p>“I want a letther, sir, if you plaze.”</p> - -<p>“Who do you want it for?” said the postmaster, in a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span> tone which Andy -considered an aggression upon the sacredness of private life; so -Andy thought the coollest contempt he could throw upon the prying -impertinence of the postmaster was to repeat his question.</p> - -<p>“I want a letther, sir, if you plaze.”</p> - -<p>“And who do you want it for?” repeated the postmaster.</p> - -<p>“What’s that to you?” said Andy.</p> - -<p>The postmaster, laughing at his simplicity, told him he could not tell -what letter to give unless he told him the direction.</p> - -<p>“The directions I got was to get a letther here—that’s the directions.”</p> - -<p>“Who gave you those directions?”</p> - -<p>“The masther.”</p> - -<p>“And who’s your master?”</p> - -<p>“What consarn is that o’ yours?”</p> - -<p>“Why, you stupid rascal! if you don’t tell me his name, how can I give -you a letter?”</p> - -<p>“You could give it if you liked; but you’re fond of axin’ impident -questions, bekase you think I’m simple.”</p> - -<p>“Go along out o’ this! Your master must be as great a goose as yourself -to send such a messenger.”</p> - -<p>“Bad luck to your impidence,” said Andy; “is it Squire Egan you dar’ to -say goose to?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Squire Egan’s your master, then?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; have you anything to say agin it?”</p> - -<p>“Only that I never saw you before.”</p> - -<p>“Faith, then, you’ll never see me agin if I have my own consint.”</p> - -<p>“I won’t give you any letter for the Squire unless I know you’re his -servant. Is there any one in the town knows you?”</p> - -<p>“Plenty,” said Andy; “it’s not every one is as ignorant as you.”</p> - -<p>Just at this moment a person to whom Andy was known<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span> entered the house, -who vouched to the postmaster that he might give Andy the Squire’s -letter. “Have you one for me?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” said the postmaster, producing one—“four pence.”</p> - -<p>The gentleman paid the fourpence postage, and left the shop with his -letter.</p> - -<p>“Here’s a letter for the Squire,” said the postmaster; “you’ve to pay -me elevenpence postage.”</p> - -<p>“What ’ud I pay elevenpence for?”</p> - -<p>“For postage.”</p> - -<p>“To the divil wid you! Didn’t I see you give Mr. Durfy a letther for -fourpence this minit, and a bigger letther than this? and now you want -me to pay elevenpence for this scrap of a thing. Do you think I’m a -fool?”</p> - -<p>“No, but I’m sure of it,” said the postmaster.</p> - -<p>“Well, you’re welkim to be sure, sure;—but don’t be delayin’ me now; -here’s fourpence for you, and gi’ me the letther.”</p> - -<p>“Go along, you stupid thief!” said the postmaster, taking up the -letter, and going to serve a customer with a mouse-trap.</p> - -<p>While this person and many others were served, Andy lounged up and down -the shop, every now and then putting in his head in the middle of the -customers, and saying, “Will you gi’ me the letther?”</p> - -<p>He waited for above half-an-hour, in defiance of the anathemas of the -postmaster, and at last left, when he found it impossible to get common -justice for his master, which he thought he deserved as well as another -man; for, under this impression, Andy determined to give no more than -the fourpence.</p> - -<p>The Squire, in the meantime, was getting impatient for his return, and -when Andy made his appearance, asked if there was a letter for him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span></p> - -<p>“There is, sir,” said Andy.</p> - -<p>“Then give it to me.”</p> - -<p>“I haven’t it, sir.”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“He wouldn’t give it to me, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Who wouldn’t give it to you?”</p> - -<p>“That ould chate beyant in the town—wanting to charge double for it.”</p> - -<p>“Maybe it’s a double letter. Why the devil didn’t you pay what he -asked, sir?”</p> - -<p>“Arrah, sir, why would I let you be chated? It’s not a double letther -at all; not above half the size o’ one Mr. Durfy got before my face for -fourpence.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll provoke me to break your neck some day, you vagabond! Ride back -for your life, you <i>omadhaun</i>; and pay whatever he asks, and get -me the letter.”</p> - -<p>“Why, sir, I tell you he was sellin’ them before my face for fourpence -apiece.”</p> - -<p>“Go back, you scoundrel! or I’ll horsewhip you; and if you’re longer -than a hour, I’ll have you ducked in the horsepond!”</p> - -<p>Andy vanished, and made a second visit to the post-office. When he -arrived two other persons were getting letters, and the postmaster was -selecting the epistles for each from a large parcel that lay before him -on the counter; at the same time many shop customers were waiting to be -served.</p> - -<p>“I’m come for that letther,” said Andy.</p> - -<p>“I’ll attend to you by-and-by.”</p> - -<p>“The masther’s in a hurry.”</p> - -<p>“Let him wait till his hurry’s over.”</p> - -<p>“He’ll murther me if I’m not back soon.”</p> - -<p>“I’m glad to hear it.”</p> - -<p>While the postmaster went on with such provoking answers to these -appeals for despatch, Andy’s eye caught the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span> heap of letters which lay -on the counter; so while certain weighing of soap and tobacco was going -forward, he contrived to become possessed of two letters from the heap, -and having effected that, waited patiently enough till it was the great -man’s pleasure to give him the missive directed to his master.</p> - -<p>Then did Andy bestride his hack, and, in triumph at his trick on the -postmaster, rattled along the road homeward as fast as the beast could -carry him. He came into the Squire’s presence, his face beaming with -delight, and an air of self-satisfied superiority in his manner, quite -unaccountable to his master, until he pulled forth his hand, which had -been grubbing up his prizes from the bottom of his pocket; and holding -three letters over his head, while he said, “Look at that!” he next -slapped them down under his broad fist on the table before the Squire, -saying—</p> - -<p>“Well, if he did make me pay elevenpence, by gor, I brought your honour -the worth o’ your money, anyhow!”</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>Samuel Lover.</i></p> - - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>THE LITTLE WEAVER OF DULEEK GATE.</i></h2> - -<p>There was a waiver lived, wanst upon a time, in Duleek here, hard by -the gate, and a very honest, industherous man he was. He had a wife, -and av coorse they had childhre, and plenty of them, and small blame to -them, so that the poor little waiver was obleeged to work his fingers -to the bone a’most to get them the bit and the sup, but he didn’t -begridge that, for he was an industherous craythur, as I said before, -and it was up airly and down late with him, and the loom never standin’ -still.</p> - -<p>Well, it was one mornin’ that his wife called to him,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span> “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.”</p> - -<p>“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 cowld if you don’t give over that weary work and come and -ate it at wanst.”</p> - -<p>“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”</p> - -<p>“Oh, think of the iligant stirabout that ’ill be spylte intirely.”</p> - -<p>“To the divil with the stirabout,” says he.</p> - -<p>“God forgive you,” says she, “for cursin’ your good brekquest.”</p> - -<p>“Ay, and you too,” says he.</p> - -<p>“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 but whin he looked at it, it was as -black as a crow—for you 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.</p> - -<p>“Why, thin, bad luck to your impidence,” says the waiver, “would no -place sarve you but that? and is it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span> spyling my brekquest yiz 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 threescore and tin flies at the one -blow. It was threescore and tin exactly, for he counted the carcases -one by one, and laid them out an a clane plate for to view them.</p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_215"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_215.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“HE KEM HOME IN THE EVENIN’, AFTHER SPENDIN’ EVERY RAP HE HAD.”</p> - </div> - -<p>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 day, but out -he wint, and was fractious and impident to every one he met, and was -squarin’ up into<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span> their faces and sayin’, “Look at that fist! that’s -the fist that killed threescore and tin at one blow—Whoo!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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, darlin’.”</p> - -<p>“How dar’ you say dirty to the greatest hand in Ireland?” says he, -going to bate her.</p> - -<p>“Well, it’s nat dirty,” says she.</p> - -<p>“It is throwin’ away my time I have been all my life,” says he; “livin’ -with you at all, and stuck at a loom, nothin’ but a poor waiver, when -it is Saint George or the Dhraggin I ought to be, which is two o’ the -siven champions o’ Christendom.”</p> - -<p>“Well, suppose they christened him twice as much,” says the wife, -“sure, what’s that to uz?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Thady, dear, and what’ll the children do then?”</p> - -<p>“Let them go play marvels,” says he.</p> - -<p>“That would be but poor feedin’ for them, Thady.”</p> - -<p>“They shan’t want for feedin’,” says he, “for it’s a rich man I’ll be -soon, and a great man too.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t talk to me of any bed but the bed o’ glory, woman,” says he, -lookin’ mortial grand.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span></p> - -<p>“Oh! God sind we’ll all be in glory yet,” says the wife, crossin’ -herself; “but go to sleep, Thady, for this present.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll sleep with the brave yit,” says he.</p> - -<p>“Indeed, an’ a brave sleep will do you a power o’ good, my darlin’,” -says she.</p> - -<p>“And it’s I that will be the knight!” says he.</p> - -<p>“All night, if you plaze, Thady,” says she.</p> - -<p>“None o’your coaxin’,” says he. “I’m detarmined on it, and I’ll set off -immediately and be a knight arriant.”</p> - -<p>“A what?” says she.</p> - -<p>“A knight arriant, woman.”</p> - -<p>“Lord, be good to me! what’s that?” says she.</p> - -<p>“A knight arriant is a rale gintleman,” says he; “goin’ 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.</p> - -<p>Well, sure enough he wint about among his neighbours 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 <i>that</i> he -was very partic’lar about bekase it was his shield, and he went to a -frind o’ his, a painther and glazier, and made him paint an his shield -in big letthers:—</p> - -<p class="center sm">“I’M THE MAN OF ALL MIN,</p> - -<p class="center sm">THAT KILL’D THREESCORE AND TIN</p> - -<p class="center sm">AT A BLOW.”</p> - -<p>“When the people sees <i>that</i>” says the waiver to himself, “the -sorra one will dar’ for to come near me.”</p> - -<p>And with that he towld the wife to scour out the small iron pot for -him, “for,” says he, “it will make an illigant helmet;” and when it was -done, he put it on his head, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span> 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?”</p> - -<p>“Sartinly,” says he, “for a knight arriant should always have <i>a -weight an his brain</i>.”</p> - -<p>“But, Thady, dear,” says the wife, “there’s a hole in it, and it can’t -keep out the weather.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“The three legs of it looks mighty quare, stickin’ up,” says she.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” says the wife, getting bitther at last, “all I can say is, it -isn’t the first sheep’s head was dhress’d in it”</p> - -<p>“<i>Your sarvint, ma’am</i>,” says he; and off he set.</p> - -<p>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 -waiver; “he is used to carryin’ flour and male, and what am I but the -<i>flower</i> o’ shovelry in a coat o’ <i>mail</i>; so that the horse -won’t be put out iv his way in the laste.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“No,” says the waiver; “I’m only goin’ to exercise him,” says he, “in -the cool o’ the evenin’; it will be good for his health.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you kindly,” says the miller; “but lave him where he is, and -you’ll obleege me.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t afford it,” says the waiver, runnin’ the horse at the ditch.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span></p> - -<p>“Bad luck to your impidince,” says the miller, “you’ve as much tin -about you as a thravellin’ tinker, but you’ve more brass. Come 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 its own). 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 turnpikes then, glory be to God! -When he got to Dublin, he wint sthrait to the palace, and whin he got -into the coortyard he let his horse go and graze about the place, -for the grass was growin’ out betune the stones; everything was -flourishin’ thin in Dublin, you see. Well, the king was lookin’ out -of his dhrawin’-room windy for divarshin, whin the waiver kem in; but -the waiver pretended not to see him, and he wint over to a stone sate, -undher the windy—for, you see, there was stone sates all round about -the place, for the accommodation o’ the people—for the king was a -dacent obleeging man; well, as I said, the waiver wint over and lay -down an one o’ the 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 vagabone like that, comin’ undher -my very nose to sleep? It is thrue I’m a good king,” says he, “and I -’commodate the people by havin’ sates for them to sit down and enjoy -the raycreation and contimplation of seein’ me here, lookin’ out o’ my -dhrawin’-room windy, for divarshin; but that is no rayson they are to -<i>make a hotel</i> o’ the place, and come and sleep here. Who is it at -all?” says the king.</p> - -<p>“Not a one o’ me knows, plaze your majesty.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span></p> - -<p>“I think he must be a furriner,” says the king, “bekase his dhress is -outlandish.”</p> - -<p>“And doesn’t know manners, more betoken,” says the lord.</p> - -<p>“I’ll go down and <i>circumspect</i> him myself,” says the king; “folly -me,” says he to the lord, wavin’ his hand at the same time in the most -dignacious manner.</p> - -<p>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, -“Bedad,” says he, “this is the very man I want.”</p> - -<p>“For what, plaze your majesty?” says the lord.</p> - -<p>“To kill the vagabone dhraggin, to be sure,” says the king.</p> - -<p>“Sure, do you think he could kill him,” says the lord, “whin 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?”</p> - -<p>“Sure, don’t you see there,” says the king, pointin’ at the shield, -“that he killed threescore and tin at one blow; and the man that done -<i>that</i>, I think, is a match for anything.”</p> - -<p>So, with that, he wint over to the waiver and shuck him by the shoulder -for to wake him, and the waiver rubbed his eyes as if just wakened, and -the king says to him, “God save you,” says he.</p> - -<p>“God save you kindly,” says the waiver, <i>purtendin</i>’ he was quite -onknownst who he was spakin’ to.</p> - -<p>“Do you know who I am,” says the king, “that you make so free, good -man?”</p> - -<p>“No, indeed,” says the waiver, “you have the advantage o’ me.”</p> - -<p>“To be sure I have,” says the king, <i>moighty high</i>; “sure ain’t I -the King o’ Dublin?” says he.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span></p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_221"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_221.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“‘SURE, DON’T YOU SEE THERE,’ SAYS THE KING, ‘THAT HE -KILLED THREESCORE AND TIN AT ONE BLOW.’”</p> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span></p> - -<p>The waiver dhropped down on his two knees forninst the king, and says -he, “I beg God’s pardon and yours for the liberty I tuk; plaze your -holiness, I hope you’ll excuse it.”</p> - -<p>“No offince,” says the king; “get up, good man. And what brings you -here?” says he.</p> - -<p>“I’m in want o’ work, plaze your riverence,” says the waiver.</p> - -<p>“Well, suppose I give you work?” says the king.</p> - -<p>“I’ll be proud to sarve you, my lord,” says the waiver.</p> - -<p>“Very well,” says the king. “You killed threescore and tin at one blow, -I undherstan’,” says the king.</p> - -<p>“Yis,” says the waiver; “that was the last thrifle o’ work I done, and -I’m afeard my hand ’ll go out o’ practice if I don’t get some job to do -at wanst.”</p> - -<p>“You shall have a job immediately,” says the king. “It is not -threescore and tin or any fine thing like that; it is only a blaguard -dhraggin that is disturbin’ the counthry and ruinatin’ my tinanthry wid -aitin’ their powlthry, and I’m lost for want of eggs,” says the king.</p> - -<p>“Throth, thin, plaze your worship,” says the waiver, “you look as -yellow as if you swallowed twelve yolks this minit.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I want this dhraggin 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.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I don’t value it in the laste,” says the waiver, “for the last -threescore and tin I killed was in a <i>soft place</i>.”</p> - -<p>“When will you undhertake the job, thin?” says the king.</p> - -<p>“Let me be at him at wanst,” says the waiver.</p> - -<p>“That’s what I like,” says the king; “you’re the very man for my -money,” says he.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span></p> - -<p>“Talkin’ of money,” says the waiver, “by the same token, I’ll want a -thrifle o’ change from you for my thravellin’ charges.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Now I’m ready for the road,” says the waiver.</p> - -<p>“Very well,” says the king; “but you must have a fresh horse,” says he.</p> - -<p>“With all my heart,” says the waiver, who thought he might as well -exchange the miller’s owld garron for a betther.</p> - -<p>And maybe it’s wondherin’ you are that the waiver would think of goin’ -to fight the dhraggin afther what he heerd about him, when he was -purtendin’ to be asleep, but he had no sich notion; all he intended -was—to fob the goold, and ride back again to Duleek with his gains and -a good horse. But you see, cute as the waiver was, the king was cuter -still; for these high quality, you see, is great desaivers; and so the -horse the waiver was an was 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 days he was goin’ evermore, until -at last the waiver seen a crowd o’ people runnin’ as if owld Nick was -at their heels, and they shoutin’ a thousand murdhers, and cryin’—“The -dhraggin, the dhraggin!” and he couldn’t stop the horse nor make him -turn back, but away he pelted right forninst the terrible baste that -was comin’ up to him; and there was the most <i>nefaarious</i> 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 threw himself off -the horse and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span> 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 dhraggin 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, “You might as well -come down out o’ that,” says he, “for I’ll have you as sure as eggs is -mate.”</p> - -<p>“Divil a fut I’ll go down,” says the waiver.</p> - -<p>“Sorra care I care,” says the dhraggin; “for you’re as good as ready -money in my pocket this minit, for I’ll lie undher this three,” says -he, “and sooner or later you must fall to my share;” and sure enough he -sot down, and began to pick his teeth with his tail, afther the 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.</p> - -<p>Well, as soon as the waiver knew he was dead asleep, by the snorin’ of -him—and every snore he let out of him was like a clap o’ thunder—that -minit the waiver began to creep down the three, as cautious as a fox; -and he was very nigh hand the bottom, when a thievin’ branch he was -dipindin’ an 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 rayson the -waiver was behind his ears he could not come at him, and, with that, -he endayvoured for to shake him off; but not a stir could he stir the -waiver; and though he shuk all the scales an his body, he could not -turn the scale agin the waiver.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span></p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_225"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_225.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“‘I’LL GIVE YOU A RIDE THAT ’ILL ASTONISH YOUR SIVEN -SMALL SENSES, MY BOY.’”</p> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span></p> - -<p>“Och, this is too bad intirely,” says the dhraggin; “but if you won’t -let go,” says he, “by the powers o’ wildfire, I’ll give you a ride -that ’ill astonish your siven small senses, my boy;” and, with that, -away he flew like mad; and where do you think did he fly?—bedad, 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 -<i>inside passenger</i>; but, anyway, he flew and he flew till he kem -<i>slap</i> up agin the palace o’ the king; for, bein’ blind with the -rage, he never seen it, and he knocked his brains out—that is, the -small thrifle he had, and down he fell spacheless. An’ you see, good -luck would have it, that the King o’ Dublin was looking out iv his -dhrawin’-room windy, for divarshin, that day also, and whin he seen -the waiver ridin’ an the fiery dhraggin (for he was blazin’ like a tar -barrel), he called out to his coortyers to come and see the show.</p> - -<p>“By the powdhers o’ war here comes the knight arriant,” says the king, -“ridin’ the dhraggin that’s all a-fire, and if he gets <i>into the -palace</i>, yiz must be ready wid the <i>fire ingines</i>,” says he, -“for to <i>put him out</i>.”</p> - -<p>But when they seen the dhraggin fall outside, they all run -downstairs and scampered into the palace-yard for to circumspect the -<i>curosity</i>; 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—</p> - -<p>“Plaze your holiness, 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 <i>dar’</i> to appear in your -royal prisince, and you’ll obleege 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 -<i>dirty</i> brute, as <i>clane</i> as a new pin.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span></p> - -<p>Well, there was great rejoicin’ in the coort that the dhraggin was -killed; and says the king to the little waiver, says he—</p> - -<p>“You are a knight arriant as it is, and so it would be no use for to -knight you over again; but I will make you a lord,” says he.</p> - -<p>“O Lord!” says the waiver, thunderstruck like at his own good luck.</p> - -<p>“I will,” says the king; “and as you are the first man I ever heer’d -tell of that rode a dhraggin, you shall be called Lord <i>Mount</i> -Dhraggin,” says he.</p> - -<p>“And where’s my estates, plaze your holiness?” says the waiver, who -always had a sharp look-out afther the main chance.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Is that all?” says the waiver.</p> - -<p>“All!” says the king. “Why, you ongrateful little vagabone, was the -like ever given to any man before?”</p> - -<p>“I b’lieve not, indeed,” says the waiver; “many thanks to your majesty.”</p> - -<p>“But that is not all I’ll do for you,” says the king; “I’ll give you my -daughter too, in marriage,” says he.</p> - -<p>Now, you see, that was nothin’ more than what he promised the waiver in -his first promise; for, by all accounts, the king’s daughter was the -greatest dhraggin ever was seen....</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>Samuel Lover.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>BELLEWSTOWN HILL</i>.</h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>If a respite ye’d borrow from turmoil or sorrow,</div> - <div>I’ll tell you the secret of how it is done;</div> - <div>’Tis found in this statement of all the excitement</div> - <div>That Bellewstown knows when the races come on.</div> - <div>Make one of a party whose spirits are hearty,</div> - <div>Get a seat on a trap that is safe not to spill,</div> - <div>In its well pack a hamper, then off for a scamper,</div> - <div>And hurroo for the glories of Bellewstown Hill!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">On the road how they dash on, rank, beauty, and fashion,</div> - <div>It Banagher bangs, by the table o’ war!</div> - <div>From the coach of the quality, down to the jollity</div> - <div>Jogging along on an ould jaunting-car.</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Though straw cushions are placed, two feet thick at laste,</div> - <div>Its jigging and jumping to mollify still;</div> - <div>Oh, the cheeks of my Nelly are shaking like jelly,</div> - <div>From the jolting she gets as she jogs to the Hill.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>In the tents play the pipers, the fiddlers and fifers,</div> - <div>Those rollicking lilts such as Ireland best knows;</div> - <div>While Paddy is prancing, his colleen is dancing,</div> - <div>Demure, with her eyes quite intent on his toes.</div> - <div class="hangingindent">More power to you, Micky! faith, your foot isn’t sticky,</div> - <div>But bounds from the boards like a pea from a quill.</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Oh, ’twould cure a rheumatic,—he’d jump up ecstatic,</div> - <div>At “Tatter Jack Welsh” upon Bellewstown Hill.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Oh, ’tis there ’neath the haycocks, all splendid like paycocks,</div> - <div>In chattering groups that the quality dine;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Sitting cross-legged like tailors the gentlemen dealers,</div> - <div>In flattery spout and come out mighty fine.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span></div> - <div class="hangingindent">And the gentry from Navan and Cavan are “having”</div> - <div class="hangingindent">’Neath the shade of the trees, an Arcadian quadrille.</div> - <div>All we read in the pages of pastoral ages</div> - <div>Tell of no scene like this upon Bellewstown Hill.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Arrived at its summit, the view that you come at,</div> - <div>From etherealised Mourne to where Tara ascends,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">There’s no scene in our sireland, dear Ireland, old Ireland!</div> - <div>To which nature more exquisite loveliness lends.</div> - <div>And the soil ’neath your feet has a memory sweet,</div> - <div>The patriots’ deeds they hallow it still;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Eighty-two’s volunteers (would to-day saw their peers!)</div> - <div>Marched past in review upon Bellewstown Hill.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>But hark! there’s a shout—the horses are out,—</div> - <div>’Long the ropes, on the stand, what a hullaballoo!</div> - <div>To old <i>Crock-a-Fatha</i>, the people that dot the</div> - <div>Broad plateau around are all for a view.</div> - <div class="hangingindent">“Come, Ned, my tight fellow, I’ll bet on the yellow!</div> - <div>Success to the green! faith, we’ll stand by it still!”</div> - <div class="hangingindent">The uplands and hollows they’re skimming like swallows,</div> - <div>Till they flash by the post upon Bellewstown Hill.</div> - <div class="right"><i>Anonymous.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_229"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_229.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“FROM THE COACH OF THE QUALITY, DOWN TO THE JOLLITY -JOGGING ALONG ON AN OULD JAUNTING-CAR.”</p> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>THE PEELER AND THE GOAT.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>A Bansha Peeler wint wan night</div> - <div class="i1">On duty and pathrollin, O,</div> - <div>An’ met a goat upon the road,</div> - <div class="i1">And tuck her for a sthroller, O.</div> - <div>Wud bay’net fixed he sallied forth,</div> - <div class="i1">And caught her by the wizzen, O,</div> - <div>And then he swore a mighty oath,</div> - <div class="i1">“I’ll send you off to prison, O.”</div> - </div> - -<p class="center sm p1">GOAT.</p> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“Oh, mercy, sir!” the goat replied,</div> - <div class="i1">“Pray let me tell my story, O!</div> - <div>I am no Rogue, no Ribbonman,</div> - <div class="i1">No Croppy, Whig, or Tory, O;</div> - <div>I’m guilty not of any crime</div> - <div class="i1">Of petty or high thraison, O,</div> - <div>I’m badly wanted at this time,</div> - <div class="i1">For this is the milking saison, O.”</div> - </div> - -<p class="center sm p1">PEELER.</p> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>It is in vain for to complain</div> - <div class="i1">Or give your tongue such bridle, O;</div> - <div>You’re absent from your dwelling-place,</div> - <div class="i1">Disorderly and idle, O.</div> - <div>Your hoary locks will not prevail,</div> - <div class="i1">Nor your sublime oration, O,</div> - <div>You’ll be thransported by Peel’s Act,</div> - <div class="i1">Upon my information, O.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span></div> - </div> - -<p class="center sm p1">GOAT.</p> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>No penal law did I transgress</div> - <div class="i1">By deeds or combination, O,</div> - <div>I have no certain place to rest,</div> - <div class="i1">No home or habitation, O.</div> - <div>But Bansha is my dwelling-place,</div> - <div class="i1">Where I was bred and born, O,</div> - <div>Descended from an honest race,</div> - <div class="i1">That’s all the trade I’ve learned, O.</div> - </div> - -<p class="center sm p1">PEELER.</p> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I will chastise your insolince</div> - <div class="i1">And violent behaviour, O;</div> - <div>Well bound to Cashel you’ll be sint,</div> - <div class="i1">Where you will gain no favour, O.</div> - <div>The Magistrates will all consint</div> - <div class="i1">To sign your condemnation, O;</div> - <div>From there to Cork you will be sint</div> - <div class="i1">For speedy thransportation, O.</div> - </div> - -<p class="center sm p1">GOAT.</p> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>This parish an’ this neighbourhood</div> - <div class="i1">Are paiceable an’ thranquil, O;</div> - <div>There’s no disturbance here, thank God!</div> - <div class="i1">And long may it continue so.</div> - <div>I don’t regard your oath a pin,</div> - <div class="i1">Or sign for my committal, O,</div> - <div>My jury will be gintlemin</div> - <div class="i1">And grant me my acquittal, O.</div> - </div> - -<p class="center sm p1">PEELER.</p> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The consequince be what it will,</div> - <div class="i1">A peeler’s power I’ll let you know,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span></div> - <div>I’ll handcuff you, at all events,</div> - <div class="i1">And march you off to Bridewell, O.</div> - <div>An’ sure, you rogue, you can’t deny</div> - <div class="i1">Before the judge or jury, O,</div> - <div>Intimidation with your horns,</div> - <div class="i1">And threatening me with fury, O.</div> - </div> - -<p class="center sm p1">GOAT.</p> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I make no doubt but you are dhrunk</div> - <div class="i1">Wud whisky, rum, or brandy, O,</div> - <div>Or you wouldn’t have such gallant spunk</div> - <div class="i1">To be so bould or manly, O.</div> - <div>You readily would let me pass</div> - <div class="i1">If I had money handy, O,</div> - <div>To thrate you to a potheen glass—</div> - <div class="i1">Oh! it’s thin I’d be the dandy, O.</div> - <div class="right"><i>Jeremiah O’ Ryan</i> (17— –1855).</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span></p> - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>THE LOQUACIOUS BARBER.</i></h2> - -<p>He had scarcely taken his seat before the toilet, when a soft tap -at the door, and the sound of a small squeaking voice, announced -the arrival of the hair-cutter. On looking round him, Hardress -beheld a small, thin-faced, red-haired little man, with a tailor’s -shears dangling from his finger, bowing and smiling with a timid and -conciliating air. In an evil hour for his patience, Hardress consented -that he should commence operations.</p> - -<p>“The piatez were very airly this year, sir,” he modestly began, after -he had wrapped a check apron about the neck of Hardress, and made the -other necessary arrangements.</p> - -<p>“Very early, indeed. You needn’t cut so fast.”</p> - -<p>“Very airly, sir—the white-eyes especially. Them white-eyes are fine -piatez. For the first four months I wouldn’t ax a better piatie than -a white-eye, with a bit o’ bacon, if one had it; but after that the -meal goes out of ’em, and they gets wet and bad. The cups arn’t so -good in the beginnin’ o’ the saison, but they hould better. Turn your -head more to the light, sir, if you plase. The cups, indeed, are a -fine substantial, lasting piatie. There’s great nutriment in’em for -poor people, that would have nothin’ else with them but themselves, -or a grain o’ salt. There’s no piatie that eats better, when you have -nothin’ but a bit o’ the little one (as they say) to eat with a bit o’ -the big. No piatie that eats so sweet with point.”</p> - -<p>“With point?” Hardress repeated, a little amused by this fluent -discussion of the poor hair-cutter upon the varieties of a dish which, -from his childhood, had formed almost his only article of nutriment, -and on which he expatiated with as much cognoscence and satisfaction -as a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span> fashionable gourmand might do on the culinary productions of -Eustache Ude. “What is point?”</p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_235"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_235.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“ON LOOKING ROUND HIM, HARDRESS BEHELD A SMALL, -THIN-FACED, RED-HAIRED LITTLE MAN.”</p> - </div> - -<p>“Don’t you know what that is, sir? I’ll tell you in a minute. A joke -that them that has nothin’ to do, an’ plenty to eat, make upon the poor -people that has nothin’ to eat, and plenty to do. That is, when there’s -dry piatez on the table, and enough of hungry people about it, and the -family would have, maybe, only one bit o’ bacon hanging up above their -heads, they’d peel a piatie first, and then they’d <i>point</i> it up -at the bacon, and they’d fancy that it would have the taste o’ the -mait when they’d be aitin’ it after. That’s what they call point, sir. -A cheap sort o’ diet it is (Lord help us!) that’s plenty enough among -the poor people in this country. A great plan for making a small bit o’ -pork go a long way in a large family.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed it is but a slender sort of food. Those scissors you have are -dreadful ones.”</p> - -<p>“Terrible, sir. I sent my own over to the forge before I left home, to -have an eye put in it; only for that, I’d be smarter a deal. Slender -food it is, indeed. There’s a deal o’ poor people here in Ireland, -sir, that are run so hard at times, that the wind of a bit o’ mait is -as good to ’em as the mait itself to them that would be used to it. -The piatez are everythin’; the <i>kitchen</i><a id="FNanchor_14" href="#Footnote_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> little or nothin’. -But there’s a sort o’ piatez (I don’t know did your honour ever taste -’em) that’s gettin’ greatly in vogue now among ’em, an’ is killin’ half -the country,—the white piatez, a piatie that has great produce, an’ -requires but little manure, and will grow in very poor land; but has no -more strength nor nourishment in it than if you had boiled a handful o’ -sawdust and made gruel of it, or put a bit of a deal board between your -teeth and thought to make a breakfast of it. The black bulls themselves -are better; indeed, the black bulls are a deal<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span> a better piatie than -they’re thought. When you’d peel ’em, they look as black as indigo, an’ -you’d have no mind to ’em at all; but I declare they’re very sweet in -the mouth, an’ very strengthenin’. The English reds are a nate piatie, -too; and the apple piatie (I don’t know what made ’em be given up), -an’ the kidney (though delicate o’ rearing); but give me the cups for -all, that will hould the meal in ’em to the last, and won’t require any -inthricket tillage. Let a man have a middling-sized pit o’ cups again -the winter, a small <i>caish</i><a id="FNanchor_15" href="#Footnote_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> to pay his rent, an’ a handful o’ -turf behind the doore, an’ he can defy the world.”</p> - -<p>“You know as much, I think,” said Hardress, “of farming as of -hair-cutting.”</p> - -<p>“Oyeh, if I had nothin’ to depend upon but what heads comes across me -this way, sir, I’d be in a poor way enough. But I have a little spot o’ -ground besides.”</p> - -<p>“And a good taste for the produce.”</p> - -<p>“’Twas kind father for me to have that same. Did you ever hear tell, -sir, of what they call limestone broth?”</p> - -<p>“Never.”</p> - -<p>“’Twas my father first made it. I’ll tell you the story, sir, if you’ll -turn your head this way a minute.”</p> - -<p>Hardress had no choice but to listen.</p> - -<p>“My father went once upon a time about the country, in the idle season, -seeing would he make a penny at all by cutting hair, or setting razhurs -and penknives, or any other job that would fall in his way. Well an’ -good—he was one day walking alone in the mountains of Kerry, without -a hai’p’ny in his pocket (for though he travelled a-foot, it cost him -more than he earned), an’ knowing there was but little love for a -county Limerick man in the place where he was, on being half perished -with the hunger, an’ evening drawing nigh, he didn’t know well what -to do with himself till<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span> morning. Very good—he went along the wild -road; an’ if he did, he soon sees a farmhouse at a little distance o’ -one side—a snug-looking place, with the smoke curling up out of the -chimney, an’ all tokens of good living inside. Well, some people would -live where a fox would starve. What do you think did my father do? He -wouldn’t beg (a thing one of our people never done yet, thank heaven!) -an’ he hadn’t the money to buy a thing, so what does he do? He takes up -a couple o’ the big limestones that were lying on the road in his two -hands, an’ away with him to the house. ‘Lord save all here!’ says he, -walkin’ in the doore. ‘And you kindly,’ says they. ‘I’m come to you,’ -says he, this way, looking at the two limestones, ‘to know would you -let me make a little limestone broth over your fire, until I’ll make -my dinner?’ ‘Limestone broth!’ says they to him again; ‘what’s that, -<i>aroo</i>?’ ‘Broth made o’ limestone,’ says he; ‘what else?’ ‘We -never heard of such a thing,’ says they. ‘Why, then, you may hear it -now,’ says he, ‘an’ see it also, if you’ll gi’ me a pot an’ a couple -o’ quarts o’ soft water.’ ‘You can have it an’ welcome,’ says they. So -they put down the pot an’ the water, an’ my father went over an’ tuk -a chair hard by the pleasant fire for himself, an’ put down his two -limestones to boil, and kep stirrin’ them round like stirabout. Very -good—well, by-an’-by, when the wather began to boil—‘’Tis thickening -finely,’ says my father; ‘now if it had a grain o’ salt at all, ’twould -be a great improvement to it’ ‘Raich down the salt-box, Nell,’ says -the man o’ the house to his wife. So she did. ‘Oh, that’s the very -thing, just,’ says my father, shaking some of it into the pot. So he -stirred it again awhile, looking as sober as a minister. By-an’-by, -he takes the spoon he had stirring it, an’ tastes it ‘It is very good -now,’ says he, ‘although it wants something yet.’ ‘What is it?’ says -they. ‘Oyeh, wisha nothing,’ says he; ‘maybe ’tis only fancy o’ me.’ -‘If it’s anything we can give you,’ says they, ‘you’re welcome to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span> -it’ ‘’Tis very good as it is,’ says he; ‘but when I’m at home, I find -it gives it a fine flavour just to boil a little knuckle o’ bacon, or -mutton trotters, or anything that way along with it.’ ‘Raich hether -that bone o’ sheep’s head we had at dinner yesterday, Nell,’ says -the man o’ the house. ‘Oyeh, don’t mind it,’ says my father; ‘let it -be as it is.’ ‘Sure if it improves it, you may as well,’ says they. -‘<i>Baithershin!</i>’<a id="FNanchor_16" href="#Footnote_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> says my father, putting it down. So after -boiling it a good piece longer, ‘’Tis as fine limestone broth,’ says -he, ‘as ever was tasted; an’ if a man had a few piatez,’ says he, -looking at a pot of ’em that was smokin’ in the chimney-corner, ‘he -couldn’t desire a better dinner.’ They gave him the piatez, and he -made a good dinner of themselves an’ the broth, not forgetting the -bone, which he polished equal to chaney before he let it go. The people -themselves tasted it, an’ thought it as good as any mutton broth in the -world.”</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>Gerald Griffin</i> (1803–1840).</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>NELL FLAHERTY’S DRAKE.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>My name it is Nell, quite candid I tell,</div> - <div class="i1">That I live near Coote hill, I will never deny;</div> - <div>I had a fine drake, the truth for to spake,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">That my grandmother left me and she going to die;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">He was wholesome and sound, he would weigh twenty pound,</div> - <div class="i1">The universe round I would rove for his sake—</div> - <div>Bad wind to the robber—be he drunk or sober—</div> - <div class="i1">That murdered Nell Flaherty’s beautiful drake.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>His neck it was green—most rare to be seen,</div> - <div class="i1">He was fit for a queen of the highest degree;</div> - <div>His body was white—and would you delight—</div> - <div class="i1">He was plump, fat and heavy, and brisk as a bee.</div> - <div>The dear little fellow, his legs they were yellow,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">He would fly like a swallow and dive like a hake,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">But some wicked savage, to grease his white cabbage,</div> - <div class="i1">Has murdered Nell Flaherty’s beautiful drake.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>May his pig never grunt, may his cat never hunt,</div> - <div class="i1">May a ghost ever haunt him at dead of the night;</div> - <div>May his hen never lay, may his ass never bray,</div> - <div class="i1">May his goat fly away like an old paper kite.</div> - <div class="hangingindent">That the flies and the fleas may the wretch ever tease,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">And the piercing north breeze make him shiver and shake,</div> - <div>May a lump of a stick raise bumps fast and thick</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">On the monster that murdered Nell Flaherty’s drake.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">May his cradle ne’er rock, may his box have no lock,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">May his wife have no frock for to cover her back;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">May his cock never crow, may his bellows ne’er blow,</div> - <div class="i1">And his pipe and his pot may he evermore lack.</div> - <div class="hangingindent">May his duck never quack, may his goose turn black,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">And pull down his turf with her long yellow beak;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">May the plague grip the scamp, and his villainy stamp</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">On the monster that murdered Nell Flaherty’s drake.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">May his pipe never smoke, may his teapot be broke,</div> - <div class="i1">And to add to the joke, may his kettle ne’er boil;</div> - <div>May he keep to the bed till the hour that he’s dead,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">May he always be fed on hogwash and boiled oil.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span></div> - <div class="hangingindent">May he swell with the gout, may his grinders fall out,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">May he roll, howl and shout with the horrid toothache;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">May the temples wear horns, and the toes many corns,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">Of the monster that murdered Nell Flaherty’s drake.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>May his spade never dig, may his sow never pig,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">May each hair in his wig be well thrashed with a flail;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">May his door have no latch, may his house have no thatch,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">May his turkey not hatch, may the rats eat his meal.</div> - <div>May every old fairy, from Cork to Dunleary,</div> - <div class="i1">Dip him snug and airy in river or lake,</div> - <div>Where the eel and the trout may feed on the snout</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">Of the monster that murdered Nell Flaherty’s drake.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">May his dog yelp and howl with the hunger and could,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">May his wife always scold till his brains go astray;</div> - <div>May the curse of each hag that e’er carried a bag</div> - <div class="i1">Alight on the vag. till his hair turns grey.</div> - <div class="hangingindent">May monkeys affright him, and mad dogs still bite him,</div> - <div class="i1">And every one slight him, asleep or awake;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">May weasels still gnaw him, and jackdaws still claw him—</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">The monster that murdered Nell Flaherty’s drake.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The only good news that I have to infuse</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">Is that old Peter Hughes and blind Peter McCrake,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And big-nosed Bob Manson, and buck-toothed Ned Hanson,</div> - <div class="i1">Each man had a grandson of my lovely drake.</div> - <div>My treasure had dozens of nephews and cousins,</div> - <div class="i1">And one I must get or my heart it will break;</div> - <div>To keep my mind easy, or else I’ll run crazy—</div> - <div class="i1">This ends the whole song of my beautiful drake.</div> - <div class="right"><i>Anonymous.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>ELEGY ON HIMSELF.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Sweet upland! where, like hermit old, in peace sojourned</div> - <div class="i4">This priest devout;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Mark where beneath thy verdant sod lie deep inurned</div> - <div class="i4">The bones of Prout!</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Nor deck with monumental shrine or tapering column</div> - <div class="i4">His place of rest,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Whose soul, above earth’s homage, meek, yet solemn,</div> - <div class="i4">Sits ’mid the blest.</div> - <div>Much was he prized, much loved; his stern rebuke</div> - <div class="i4">O’erawed sheep-stealers;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And rogues feared more the good man’s single look</div> - <div class="i4">Than forty Peelers.</div> - <div>He’s gone, and discord soon I ween will visit</div> - <div class="i4">The land with quarrels;</div> - <div>And the foul demon vex with stills illicit</div> - <div class="i4">The village morals.</div> - <div>No fatal chance could happen more to cross</div> - <div class="i4">The public wishes;</div> - <div>And all the neighbourhood deplore his loss,</div> - <div class="i4">Except the fishes;</div> - <div>For he kept Lent most strict, and pickled herring</div> - <div class="i4">Preferred to gammon.</div> - <div>Grim death has broke his angling rod: his <i>berring</i></div> - <div class="i4">Delights the salmon.</div> - <div>No more can he hook up carp, eel, or trout,</div> - <div class="i4">For fasting pittance—</div> - <div>Arts which St. Peter loved, whose gate to Prout</div> - <div class="i4">Gave prompt admittance.</div> - <div>Mourn not, but verdantly let shamrocks keep</div> - <div class="i4">His sainted dust,</div> - <div>The bad man’s death it well becomes to weep—</div> - <div class="i4">Not so the just!</div> - <div class="right"><i>Francis Sylvester Mahony</i> (“<i>Father Prout</i>”) (1804–1866).</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span></p> - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>BOB MAHON’S STORY.</i></h2> - -<p>Father Tom rubbed his hands pleasantly, and related story after story -of his own early experiences, some of them not a little amusing.</p> - -<p>The major, however, seemed not fully to enjoy the priest’s anecdotal -powers, but sipped his glass with a grave and sententious air. “Very -true, Tom,” said he, at length breaking silence; “you have seen a fair -share of these things for a man of your cloth; but where’s the man -living—show him to me, I say—that has had my experience, either as -principal or second: haven’t I had my four men out in the same morning?”</p> - -<p>“Why, I confess,” said I meekly, “that does seem an extravagant -allowance.”</p> - -<p>“Clear waste, downright profusion, <i>du luxe, mon cher</i>, nothing -else,” observed Father Tom. Meanwhile the major rolled his eyes -fearfully at me, and fidgeted in his chair with impatience to be asked -his story, and as I myself had some curiosity on the subject, I begged -him to relate it.</p> - -<p>“Tom, here, doesn’t like a story at supper,” said the major, pompously; -for, perceiving our attitude of attention, he resolved on being a -little tyrannical before telling it.</p> - -<p>The priest made immediate submission; and, slyly hinting that his -objection only lay against stories he had been hearing for the last -thirty years, said he could listen to the narration in question with -much pleasure.</p> - -<p>“You shall have it, then!” said the major, as he squared himself in his -chair, and thus began:—</p> - -<p>“You have never been in Castle Connel, Hinton? Well, there is a wide -bleak line of country there, that stretches<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span> away to the westward, with -nothing but large round-backed mountains, low boggy swamps, with here -and there a miserable mud hovel, surrounded by, maybe, half an acre -of lumpers, or bad oats; a few small streams struggle through this on -their way to the Shannon, but they are brown and dirty as the soil they -traverse; and the very fish that swim in them are brown and smutty also.</p> - -<p>“In the very heart of this wild country, I took it into my head to -build a house. A strange notion it was, for there was no neighbourhood -and no sporting; but, somehow, I had taken a dislike to mixed society -some time before that, and I found it convenient to live somewhat in -retirement; so that, if the partridges were not in abundance about me, -neither were the process-servers; and the truth was, I kept a much -sharper look-out for the sub-sheriff than I did for the snipe.</p> - -<p>“Of course, as I was over head and ears in debt, my notion was to build -something very considerable and imposing; and, to be sure, I had a -fine portico, and a flight of steps leading up to it; and there were -ten windows in front, and a grand balustrade at the top; and, faith, -taking it all in all, the building was so strong, the walls so thick, -the windows so narrow, and the stones so black, that my cousin, Darcy -Mahon, called it Newgate; and not a bad name either—and the devil -another it ever went by: and even that same had its advantages; for -when the creditors used to read that at the top of my letters, they’d -say—‘Poor devil! he has enough on his hands; there’s no use troubling -him any more.’ Well, big as Newgate looked from without, it had not -much accommodation when you got inside. There was, ’tis true, a fine -hall, all flagged; and, out of it, you entered what ought to have been -the dinner-room, thirty-eight feet by seven-and-twenty, but which was -used for herding sheep in winter. On the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span> right hand, there was a cozy -little breakfast-room, just about the size of this we are in. At the -back of the hall, but concealed by a pair of folding-doors, there was -a grand staircase of old Irish oak, that ought to have led up to a -great suite of bedrooms, but it only conducted to one, a little crib I -had for myself. The remainder were never plastered nor floored; and, -indeed, in one of them, that was over the big drawing-room, the joists -were never laid, which was all the better, for it was there we used to -keep our hay and straw.</p> - -<p>“Now, at the time I mention, the harvest was not brought in, and -instead of its being full, as it used to be, it was mighty low; so -that, when you opened the door above stairs, instead of finding the hay -up beside you, it was about fourteen feet down beneath you.</p> - -<p>“I can’t help boring you with all these details—first, because they -are essential to my story; and next, because, being a young man, and a -foreigner to boot, it may lead you to a little better understanding of -some of our national customs. Of all the partialities we Irish have, -after lush and the ladies, I believe our ruling passion is to build a -big house, spend every shilling we have, or that we have not, as the -case may be, in getting it half finished, and then live in a corner -of it, ‘just for grandeur,’ as a body may say. It’s a droll notion, -after all; but show me the county in Ireland that hasn’t at least six -specimens of what I mention.</p> - -<p>“Newgate was a beautiful one; and although the sheep lived in the -parlour, and the cows were kept in the blue drawing-room, Darby Whaley -slept in the boudoir, and two bull-dogs and a buck-goat kept house in -the library—faith, upon the outside it looked very imposing; and not -one that saw it, from the high road to Ennis—and you could see it for -twelve miles in every direction—didn’t say, ‘That Mahon must be a snug -fellow: look what a beautiful<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span> place he has of it there! ‘Little they -knew that it was safer to go up the ’Reeks’ than my grand staircase, -and it was like rope-dancing to pass from one room to the other.</p> - -<p>“Well, it was about four o’clock in the afternoon of a dark louring day -in December, that I was treading homewards in no very good humour; for, -except a brace and a half of snipe, and a grey plover, I had met with -nothing the whole day. The night was falling fast; so I began to hurry -on as quickly as I could, when I heard a loud shout behind me, and a -voice called out—</p> - -<p>“‘It’s Bob Mahon, boys! By the hill of Scariff, we are in luck!’</p> - -<p>“I turned about, and what should I see but a parcel of fellows in red -coats—they were the blazers. There was Dan Lambert, Tom Burke, Harry -Eyre, Joe M’Mahon, and the rest of them; fourteen souls in all. They -had come down to draw a cover of Stephen Blake’s about ten miles from -me; but, in the strange mountain country, they lost the dogs—they -lost their way and their temper; in truth, to all appearance they lost -everything but their appetites. Their horses were dead beat too, and -they looked as miserable a crew as ever you set eyes on.</p> - -<p>“‘Isn’t it lucky, Bob, that we found you at home?’ said Lambert.</p> - -<p>“‘They told us you were away,’ said Burke.</p> - -<p>“‘Some said that you were grown so pious, that you never went out -except on Sundays,’ added old Harry, with a grin.</p> - -<p>“‘Begad,’ said I, ‘as to the luck, I won’t say much for it; for here’s -all I can give you for your dinner;’ and so I pulled out the four birds -and shook them at them; ‘and as to the piety, troth, maybe you’d like -to keep a fast with as devoted a son of the church as myself.’</p> - -<p>“‘But isn’t that Newgate up there?’ said one.</p> - -<p>“‘That same.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span></p> - -<p>“‘And you don’t mean to say that such a house as that hasn’t a good -larder and a fine cellar?’</p> - -<p>“‘You’re right,’ said I, ‘and they’re both full at this very -moment—the one with seed-potatoes, and the other with Whitehaven -coals.’</p> - -<p>“‘Have you got any bacon?’ said Mahon.</p> - -<p>“‘Oh, yes!’ said I, ‘there’s bacon.’</p> - -<p>“‘And eggs?’ said another.</p> - -<p>“‘For the matter of that, you might swim in batter.’</p> - -<p>“‘Come, come,’ said Dan Lambert, ‘we’re not so badly off after all.’</p> - -<p>“‘Is there whisky?’ cried Eyre.</p> - -<p>“‘Sixty-three gallons, that never paid the king sixpence!’</p> - -<p>“As I said this, they gave three cheers you’d have heard a mile off.</p> - -<p>“After about twenty minutes’ walking, we go up to the house, and when -poor Darby opened the door, I thought he’d faint; for, you see, the red -coats made him think it was the army coming to take me away; and he was -for running off to raise the country, when I caught him by the neck.</p> - -<p>“‘It’s the blazers, ye old fool,’ said I. ‘The gentlemen are come to -dine here.’</p> - -<p>“‘Hurroo!’ said he, clapping his hands on his knees—‘there must be -great distress entirely, down about Nenagh and them parts, or they’d -never think of coming up here for a bit to eat.’</p> - -<p>“‘Which way lie the stables, Bob?’ said Burke.</p> - -<p>“‘Leave all that to Darby,’ said I; for ye see he had only to whistle -and bring up as many people as he liked—and so he did too; and as -there was room for a cavalry regiment, the horses were soon bedded -down and comfortable; and in ten minutes’ time we were all sitting -pleasantly round a big fire, waiting for the rashers and eggs.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span></p> - -<p>“‘Now, if you’d like to wash your hands before dinner, Lambert, come -along with me.’</p> - -<p>“‘By all means,’ said he.</p> - -<p>“The others were standing up too; but I observed that, as the house was -large, and the ways of it unknown to them, it was better to wait till -I’d come back for them.</p> - -<p>“This was a real piece of good luck, Bob,’ said Dan, as he followed me -upstairs: ‘capital quarters we’ve fallen into; and what a snug bedroom -ye have here.’</p> - -<p>“‘Yes,’ said I carelessly; ‘it’s one of the small rooms—there are -eight like this, and five large ones, plainly furnished, as you see; -but for the present, you know——’</p> - -<p>“‘Oh, begad! I wish for nothing better. Let me sleep here—the other -fellows may care for your four-posters with satin hangings.’</p> - -<p>“‘Well,’ said I, ‘if you are really not joking, I may tell you that the -room is one of the warmest in the house’—and this was telling no lie.</p> - -<p>“‘Here I’ll sleep,’ said he, rubbing his hands with satisfaction, and -giving the bed a most affectionate look. ‘And now let us join the rest.’</p> - -<p>“When I brought Dan down, I took up Burke, and after him M’Mahon, and -so on to the last; but every time I entered the parlour, I found them -all bestowing immense praises on my house, and each fellow ready to bet -he had got the best bedroom.</p> - -<p>“Dinner soon made its appearance; for if the cookery was not very -perfect, it was at least wonderfully expeditious. There were two men -cutting rashers, two more frying them in the pan, and another did -nothing but break the eggs, Darby running from the parlour to the -kitchen and back again, as hard as he could trot.</p> - -<p>“Do you know, now, that many a time since, when I have been giving -venison, and Burgundy, and claret, enough to swim a life-boat in, I -often thought it was a cruel<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span> waste of money; for the fellows weren’t -half as pleasant as they were that evening on bacon and whisky!</p> - -<p>“I’ve a theory on that subject, Hinton, I’ll talk to you more about -another time; I’ll only observe now, that I’m sure we all over-feed -our company. I’ve tried both plans; and my honest experience is, that, -as far as regards conviviality, fun, and good-fellowship, it is a -great mistake to provide too well for your guests. There is something -heroic in eating your mutton-chop, or your leg of a turkey among -jolly fellows; there is a kind of reflective flattering about it that -tells you you have been invited for your drollery, and not for your -digestion; and that your jokes, and not your flattery, have been your -recommendation. Lord bless you! I’ve laughed more over red herrings and -poteen than I ever expect to do again over turtle and toquay.</p> - -<p>“My guests were, to do them justice, a good illustration of my theory. -A pleasanter and a merrier party never sat down together. We had good -songs, good stories, plenty of laughing, and plenty of drink; until -at last poor Darby became so overpowered, by the fumes of the hot -water I suppose, that he was obliged to be carried up to bed, and so -we were compelled to boil the kettle in the parlour. This, I think, -precipitated matters; for, by some mistake, they put punch into it -instead of water, and the more you tried to weaken the liquor, it was -only the more tipsy you were getting.</p> - -<p>“About two o’clock five of the party were under the table, three more -were nodding backwards and forwards like insane pendulums, and the rest -were mighty noisy, and now and then rather disposed to be quarrelsome.</p> - -<p>“‘Bob,’ said Lambert to me, in a whisper, ‘if it’s the same thing to -you, I’ll slip away and get into bed.’</p> - -<p>“‘Of course, if you won’t take anything more. Just make yourself at -home; and, as you don’t know the way here—follow me!’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[250]</span></p> - -<p>“‘I’m afraid,’ said he, ‘I’d not find my way alone.’</p> - -<p>“‘I think,’ said I, ‘it’s very likely. But come along.’</p> - -<p>“I walked upstairs before him; but instead of turning to the left, I -went the other way, till I came to the door of the large room, that I -have told you already was over the big drawing-room. Just as I put my -hand on the lock, I contrived to blow out the candle, as if it was the -wind.</p> - -<p>“‘What a draught there is here!’ said I; ‘but just step in, and I’ll go -for a light.’</p> - -<p>“He did as he was bid; but instead of finding himself on my beautiful -little carpet, down he went fourteen feet into the hay at the bottom. I -looked down after him for a minute or two, and then called out—</p> - -<p>“‘As I am doing the honours of Newgate, the least I could do was to -show you the drop. Good night, Dan! but let me advise you to get a -little farther from the door, as there are more coming.’</p> - -<p>“Well, sir, when they missed Dan and me out of the room, two or three -more stood up and declared for bed also. The first I took up was -Ffrench, of Green Park; for indeed he wasn’t a cute fellow at the best -of times; and if it wasn’t that the hay was so low, he’d never have -guessed it was not a feather-bed till he woke in the morning. Well, -down he went. Then came Eyre! Then Joe Mahon—two-and-twenty stone—no -less! Lord pity them!—this was a great shock entirely! But when I -opened the door for Tom Burke, upon my conscience you’d think it was -Pandemonium they had down there. They were fighting like devils, and -roaring with all their might.</p> - -<p>“‘Good night, Tom,’ said I, pushing Burke forward. ‘It’s the cows you -hear underneath.’</p> - -<p>“‘Cows!’ said he. ‘If they’re cows, begad, they must have got at that -sixty-three gallons of poteen you talked of; for they’re all drunk.’</p> - -<p>“With that, he snatched the candle out of my hand, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[251]</span> looked down -into the pit. Never was such a scene before or since. Dan was pitching -into poor Ffrench, who, thinking he had an enemy before him, was -hitting out manfully at an old turf-creel, that rocked and creaked at -every blow as he called out—</p> - -<p>“‘I’ll smash you! I’ll dinge your ribs for you, you infernal scoundrel!’</p> - -<p>“Eyre was struggling in the hay, thinking he was swimming for his life; -and poor Joe Mahon was patting him on the head, and saying, ‘Poor -fellow! good dog!’ for he thought it was Towser, the bull-terrier, that -was prowling round the calves of his legs.</p> - -<p>“‘If they don’t get tired, there will not be a man of them alive by -morning!’ said Tom, as he closed the door. ‘And now, if you’ll allow me -to sleep on the carpet, I’ll take it as a favour.’</p> - -<p>“By this time they were all quiet in the parlour, so I lent Tom a -couple of blankets and a bolster, and having locked my door, went to -bed with an easy mind and a quiet conscience. To be sure, now and then -a cry would burst forth, as if they were killing somebody below stairs, -but I soon fell asleep and heard no more of them.</p> - -<p>“By daybreak next morning they made their escape; and when I was trying -to awake at half-past ten, I found Colonel M’Morris, of the Mayo, with -a message from the whole four.</p> - -<p>“‘A bad business this, Captain Mahon,’ said he; ‘my friends have been -shockingly treated.’</p> - -<p>“‘It’s mighty hard,’ said I, ‘to want to shoot me, because I hadn’t -fourteen feather-beds in the house.’</p> - -<p>“‘They will be the laugh of the whole country, sir.’</p> - -<p>“‘Troth!’ said I, ‘if the country is not in very low spirits, I think -they will.’</p> - -<p>“‘There’s not a man of them can see!—their eyes are actually closed -up!’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[252]</span></p> - -<p>“‘The Lord be praised!’ said I. ‘It’s not likely they’ll hit me.’</p> - -<p>“But, to make a short story of it; out we went. Tom Burke was my -friend; I could scarce hold my pistol with laughing; for such faces no -man ever looked at. But, for self-preservation sake, I thought it best -to hit one of them; so I just pinked Ffrench a little under the skirt -of the coat.</p> - -<p>“‘Come, Lambert!’ said the colonel, ‘it’s your turn now.’</p> - -<p>“‘Wasn’t that Lambert,’ said I, ‘that I hit?’</p> - -<p>“‘No,’ said he, ‘that was Ffrench.’</p> - -<p>“‘Begad, I’m sorry for it. Ffrench, my dear fellow, excuse me; for, you -see, you’re all so like each other about the eyes this morning——’</p> - -<p>“With this there was a roar of laughing from them all, in which, I -assure you, Lambert took not a very prominent part; for somehow he -didn’t fancy my polite inquiries after him; and so we all shook hands, -and left the ground as good friends as ever, though to this hour the -name of Newgate brings less pleasant recollections to their minds than -if their fathers had been hanged at its prototype.”</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>Charles Lever</i> (1806–1872).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[253]</span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>THE WIDOW MALONE.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Did ye hear of the widow Malone,</div> - <div class="i8h">Ohone!</div> - <div>Who lived in the town of Athlone,</div> - <div class="i8h">Alone?</div> - <div>Oh! she melted the hearts</div> - <div>Of the swains in them parts,</div> - <div>So lovely the widow Malone,</div> - <div class="i8h">Ohone!</div> - <div>So lovely the widow Malone.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Of lovers she had a full score,</div> - <div class="i8h">Or more;</div> - <div>And fortunes they all had galore,</div> - <div class="i8h">In store;</div> - <div>From the minister down</div> - <div>To the Clerk of the Crown,</div> - <div>All were courting the widow Malone,</div> - <div class="i8h">Ohone!</div> - <div>All were courting the widow Malone.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>But so modest was Mrs. Malone,</div> - <div class="i8h">’Twas known</div> - <div>No one ever could see her alone,</div> - <div class="i8h">Ohone!</div> - <div>Let them ogle and sigh,</div> - <div>They could ne’er catch her eye,</div> - <div>So bashful the widow Malone,</div> - <div class="i8h">Ohone!</div> - <div>So bashful the widow Malone.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[254]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Till one Mr. O’Brien from Clare—</div> - <div class="i8h">How quare,</div> - <div>It’s little for blushing they care</div> - <div class="i8h">Down there—</div> - <div>Put his arm round her waist,</div> - <div>Gave ten kisses at laste—</div> - <div>“Oh,” says he, “you’re my Molly Malone,</div> - <div class="i8h">My own;”—</div> - <div>“Oh,” says he, “you’re my Molly Malone!”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>And the widow they all thought so shy,</div> - <div class="i8h">My eye!</div> - <div>Ne’er thought of a simper or sigh—</div> - <div class="i8h">For why?</div> - <div>But “Lucius,” says she,</div> - <div>“Since you’ve now made so free,</div> - <div>You may marry your Molly Malone,</div> - <div class="i8h">Ohone!</div> - <div>You may marry your Molly Malone.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>There’s a moral contained in my song,</div> - <div class="i8h">Not wrong;</div> - <div>And, one comfort, it’s not very long,</div> - <div class="i8h">But strong</div> - <div>If for widows you die,</div> - <div>Learn <i>to kiss</i>, not to sigh,</div> - <div>For they’re all like sweet Mistress Malone,</div> - <div class="i8h">Ohone!</div> - <div>Oh! they’re all like sweet Mistress Malone.</div> - <div class="right"><i>Charles Lever.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[255]</span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>THE GIRLS OF THE WEST</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4h">You may talk, if you please,</div> - <div class="i4h">Of the brown Portuguese,</div> - <div>But, wherever you roam, wherever you roam,</div> - <div class="i4h">You nothing will meet</div> - <div class="i4h">Half so lovely or sweet</div> - <div>As the girls at home, the girls at home.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4h">Their eyes are not sloes,</div> - <div class="i4h">Nor so long is their nose,</div> - <div>But, between me and you, between me and you,</div> - <div class="i4h">They are just as alarming,</div> - <div class="i4h">And ten times more charming,</div> - <div>With hazel and blue, with hazel and blue.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4h">They don’t ogle a man</div> - <div class="i4h">O’er the top of their fan,</div> - <div>Till his heart’s in a flame, his heart’s in a flame</div> - <div class="i4h">But though bashful and shy,</div> - <div class="i4h">They’ve a look in their eye</div> - <div class="hangingindent">That just comes to the same, just comes to the same.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4h">No mantillas they sport,</div> - <div class="i4h">But a petticoat short</div> - <div>Shows an ankle the best, an ankle the best,</div> - <div class="i4h">And a leg—but, O murther!</div> - <div class="i4h">I dare not go further,</div> - <div>So here’s to the West; so here’s to the West.</div> - <div class="right"><i>Charles Lever.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[256]</span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>THE MAN FOR GALWAY.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4">To drink a toast</div> - <div class="i4">A proctor roast,</div> - <div class="i3">Or bailiff, as the case is;</div> - <div class="i4">To kiss your wife,</div> - <div class="i4">Or take your life</div> - <div class="i3">At ten or fifteen paces;</div> - <div>To keep game-cocks, to hunt the fox,</div> - <div class="i1">To drink in punch the Solway—</div> - <div>With debts galore, but fun far more—</div> - <div class="i1">Oh, that’s “the man for Galway!”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4">The King of Oude</div> - <div class="i4">Is mighty proud,</div> - <div class="i3">And so were onst the Caysars;</div> - <div class="i4">But ould Giles Eyre</div> - <div class="i4">Would make them stare</div> - <div class="i3">With a company of the Blazers.</div> - <div>To the devil I fling ould Runjeet Sing,</div> - <div class="i1">He’s only a prince in a small way,</div> - <div>And knows nothing at all of a six-foot wall—</div> - <div class="i1">Oh, he’d never “do for Galway.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4">Ye think the Blakes</div> - <div class="i4">Are no great shakes—</div> - <div class="i3">They’re all his blood relations;</div> - <div class="i4">And the Bodkins sneeze</div> - <div class="i4">At the grim Chinese,</div> - <div class="i3">For they come from the <i>Phenaycians</i>;</div> - <div>So fill to the brim, and here’s to him</div> - <div class="i1">Who’d drink in punch the Solway;</div> - <div>With debts galore, but fun far more—</div> - <div class="i1">Oh, that’s “the man for Galway!”</div> - <div class="right"><i>Charles Lever.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[257]</span></p> - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>HOW CON CREGAN’S FATHER LEFT HIMSELF A BIT OF LAND.</i></h2> - -<p>I was born in a little cabin on the borders of Meath and King’s County; -it stood on a small triangular bit of ground, beside a cross-road; -and although the place was surveyed every ten years or so, they were -never able to say to which county we belonged; there being just the -same number of arguments for one side as for the other—a circumstance, -many believed, that decided my father in his original choice of the -residence; for while, under the “disputed boundary question,” he paid -no rates or county cess, he always made a point of voting at both -county elections. This may seem to indicate that my parent was of a -naturally acute habit; and, indeed, the way he became possessed of the -bit of ground will confirm that impression.</p> - -<p>There was nobody of the rank of gentry in the parish, not even -“squireen”; the richest being a farmer, a snug old fellow, one -Harry McCabe, that had two sons, who were always fighting between -themselves which was to have the old man’s money. Peter, the elder, -doing everything to injure Mat, and Mat never backward in paying off -the obligation. At last Mat, tired out in the struggle, resolved he -would bear no more. He took leave of his father one night, and next -day set off for Dublin, and listed in the “Buffs.” Three weeks after -he sailed for India; and the old man, overwhelmed by grief, took to -his bed, and never arose from it after. Not that his death was any -way sudden, for he lingered on for months long; Peter always teasing -him to make his will, and be revenged on “the dirty spalpeen” that -disgraced the family, but old Harry as stoutly resisting, and declaring -that whatever he owned should be fairly divided between them. These -disputes between them were well known in the neighbourhood. Few of the -country<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[258]</span> people passing the house at night but had overheard the old -man’s weak, reedy voice, and Peter’s deep hoarse one, in altercation. -When, at last—it was on a Sunday night—all was still and quiet in the -house; not a word, not a footstep could be heard, no more than if it -were uninhabited, the neighbours looked knowingly at each other, and -wondered if the old man was worse—if he were dead!</p> - -<p>It was a little after midnight that a knock came to the door of our -cabin. I heard it first, for I used to sleep in a little snug basket -near the fire; but I didn’t speak, for I was frightened. It was -repeated still louder, and then came a cry—</p> - -<p>“Con Cregan! Con, I say! open the door! I want you.”</p> - -<p>I knew the voice well, it was Peter McCabe’s; but I pretended to be -fast asleep, and snored loudly. At last my father unbolted the door, -and I heard him say—</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mr. Peter, what’s the matter? is the ould man worse?”</p> - -<p>“Faix! that’s what he is, for he’s dead!”</p> - -<p>“Glory be his bed! when did it happen?”</p> - -<p>“About an hour ago,” said Peter, in a voice that even I from my corner -could perceive was greatly agitated. “He died like an ould haythen, -Con, and never made a will!”</p> - -<p>“That’s bad,” said my father; for he was always a polite man, and said -whatever was pleasing to the company.</p> - -<p>“It is bad,” said Peter; “but it would be worse if we couldn’t help it. -Listen to me now, Conny, I want ye to help me in this business; and -here’s five guineas in goold, if ye do what I bid ye. You know that ye -were always reckoned the image of my father, and before he took ill ye -were mistaken for each other every day of the week.”</p> - -<p>“Anan!” said my father; for he was getting frightened at the notion, -without well knowing why.</p> - -<p>“Well, what I want is, for ye to come over to the house and get into -the bed.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[259]</span></p> - -<p>“Not beside the corpse?” said my father, trembling.</p> - -<p>“By no means; but by yourself; and you’re to pretend to be my father, -and that ye want to make yer will before ye die; and then I’ll send for -the neighbours, and Billy Scanlan the schoolmaster, and ye’ll tell him -what to write, laving all the farm and everything to me—ye understand. -And as the neighbours will see ye and hear yer voice, it will never be -believed but it was himself that did it.”</p> - -<p>“The room must be very dark,” says my father.</p> - -<p>“To be sure it will, but have no fear! Nobody will dare to come nigh -the bed; and ye’ll only have to make a cross with your pen under the -name.”</p> - -<p>“And the priest?” said my father.</p> - -<p>“My father quarrelled with him last week about the Easter dues, and -Father Tom said he’d not give him the ‘rites’; and that’s lucky now! -Come along now, quick, for we’ve no time to lose; it must be all -finished before the day breaks.”</p> - -<p>My father did not lose much time at his toilet, for he just wrapped -his big coat ’round him, and slipping on his brogues, left the house. -I sat up in the basket and listened till they were gone some minutes; -and then, in a costume light as my parent’s, set out after them, to -watch the course of the adventure. I thought to take a short cut and -be before them; but by bad luck I fell into a bog-hole, and only -escaped being drowned by a chance. As it was, when I reached the house -the performance had already begun. I think I see the whole scene this -instant before my eyes, as I sat on a little window with one pane, and -that a broken one, and surveyed the proceeding. It was a large room, at -one end of which was a bed, and beside it a table, with physic-bottles, -and spoons, and tea-cups; a little farther off was another table, at -which sat Billy Scanlan, with all manner of writing materials before -him. The country people sat two, sometimes three deep round the walls, -all<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[260]</span> intently eager and anxious for the coming event. Peter himself -went from place to place, trying to smother his grief, and occasionally -helping the company to whisky—which was supplied with more than -accustomed liberality. All my consciousness of the deceit and trickery -could not deprive the scene of a certain solemnity. The misty distance -of the half-lighted room; the highly-wrought expression of the country -people’s faces, never more intensely excited than at some moment of -this kind; the low, deep-drawn breathings, unbroken save by a sigh or a -sob—the tribute of some affectionate sorrow to some lost friend, whose -memory was thus forcibly brought back; these, I repeat it, were all so -real that, as I looked, a thrilling sense of awe stole over me, and I -actually shook with fear.</p> - -<p>A low, faint cough, from the dark corner where the bed stood, seemed to -cause even a deeper stillness; and then in a silence where the buzzing -of a fly would have been heard, my father said—</p> - -<p>“Where’s Billy Scanlan? I want to make my will!”</p> - -<p>“He’s here, father!” said Peter, taking Billy by the hand and leading -him to the bedside.</p> - -<p>“Write what I bid ye, Billy, and be quick, for I hav’n’t a long time -before me here. I die a good Catholic, though Father O’Rafferty won’t -give me the ‘rites’!”</p> - -<p>A general chorus of “Oh, musha, musha,” was now heard through the -room; but whether in grief over the sad fate of the dying man, or the -unflinching severity of the priest, is hard to say.</p> - -<p>“I die in peace with all my neighbours and all mankind!”</p> - -<p>Another chorus of the company seemed to approve these charitable -expressions.</p> - -<p>“I bequeath unto my son, Peter—and never was there a better son, or -a decenter boy!—have you that down? I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[261]</span> bequeath unto my son, Peter, -the whole of my two farms of Killimundoonery and Knocksheboorn, with -the fallow meadows behind Lynch’s house; the forge, and the right -of turf on the Dooran bog. I give him, and much good may it do him, -Lanty Cassarn’s acre, and the Luary field, with the limekiln—and that -reminds me that my mouth is just as dry; let me taste what ye have in -the jug.”</p> - -<p>Here the dying man took a very hearty pull, and seemed considerably -refreshed by it.</p> - -<p>“Where was I, Billy Scanlan?” says he; “oh, I remember, at the -limekiln; I leave him—that’s Peter, I mean—the two potato-gardens at -Noonan’s Well; and it is the elegant fine crops grows there.”</p> - -<p>“An’t you gettin’ wake, father, darlin’?” says Peter, who began to be -afraid of my father’s loquaciousness; for, to say the truth, the punch -got into his head, and he was greatly disposed to talk.</p> - -<p>“I am, Peter, my son,” says he, “I am getting wake; just touch my lips -again with the jug. Ah, Peter, Peter, you watered the drink!”</p> - -<p>“No, indeed, father, but it’s the taste is leavin’ you,” says Peter; -and again a low chorus of compassionate pity murmured through the cabin.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m nearly done now,” says my father; “there’s only one little -plot of ground remaining, and I put it on you, Peter—as ye wish to -live a good man, and die with the same asy heart I do now—that ye -mind my last words to ye here. Are ye listening? Are the neighbours -listening? Is Billy Scanlan listening?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir. Yes, father. We’re all minding,” chorused the audience.</p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_262"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_262.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“‘YOU WATERED THE DRINK!’ ‘NO, INDEED, FATHER, BUT IT’S -THE TASTE IS LEAVIN’ YOU,’ SAYS PETER.”</p> - </div> - -<p>“Well, then, it’s my last will and testament, and may—give me over the -jug”—here he took a long drink—“and may that blessed liquor be poison -to me if I’m not as eager about this as every other part of my will; I -say, then, I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[263]</span> bequeath the little plot at the cross-roads to poor Con -Cregan; for he has a heavy charge, and is as honest and as hard-working -a man as ever I knew. Be a friend to him, Peter dear; never let him -want while ye have it yerself; think of me on my death-bed whenever he -asks ye for any trifle. Is it down, Billy Scanlan? the two acres at -the cross to Con Cregan and his heirs, in <i>secla seclorum</i>. Ah, -blessed be the saints! but I feel my heart lighter after that,” says -he; “a good work makes an easy conscience; and now I’ll drink all the -company’s good health, and many happy returns——”</p> - -<p>What he was going to add there’s no saying; but Peter, who was now -terribly frightened at the lively tone the sick man was assuming, -hurried all the people away into another room, to let his father die in -peace. When they were all gone Peter slipped back to my father, who was -putting on his brogues in a corner.</p> - -<p>“Con,” says he, “ye did it all well; but sure that was a joke about the -two acres at the cross.”</p> - -<p>“Of course it was,” says he; “sure it was all a joke for the matter of -that; won’t I make the neighbours laugh hearty to-morrow when I tell -them all about it!”</p> - -<p>“You wouldn’t be mean enough to betray me?” says Peter, trembling with -fright.</p> - -<p>“Sure ye wouldn’t be mean enough to go against yer father’s dying -words?” says my father; “the last sentence ever he spoke;” and here he -gave a low, wicked laugh that made myself shake with fear.</p> - -<p>“Very well, Con!” says Peter, holding out his hand; “a bargain’s a -bargain; yer a deep fellow, that’s all!” and so it ended; and my father -slipped quietly home over the bog, mighty well satisfied with the -legacy he left himself. And thus we became the owners of the little -spot known to this day as Con’s Acre.</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>Charles Lever.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[264]</span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>KATEY’S LETTER.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Och, girls dear, did you ever hear I wrote my love a letter?</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And although he cannot read, sure, I thought ’twas all the better,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">For why should he be puzzled with hard spelling in the matter,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">When the maning was so plain that I loved him faithfully?</div> - <div class="i5h">I love him faithfully—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And he knows it, oh, he knows it, without one word from me.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I wrote it, and I folded it and put a seal upon it;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">’Twas a seal almost as big as the crown of my best bonnet—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">For I would not have the postmaster make his remarks upon it,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">As I said inside the letter that I loved him faithfully.</div> - <div class="i5h">I love him faithfully—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And he knows it, oh, he knows it, without one word from me.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">My heart was full, but when I wrote I dare not put the half in;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">The neighbours know I love him, and they’re mighty fond of chaffing,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">So I dared not write his name outside for fear they would be laughing,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">So I wrote “From Little Kate to one whom she loves faithfully.”</div> - <div class="i5h">I love him faithfully—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And he knows it, oh, he knows it, without one word from me.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[266]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Now, girls, would you believe it, that postman’s so consated,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">No answer will he bring me, so long as I have waited—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">But maybe there may not be one, for the reason that I stated,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">That my love can neither read nor write, but he loves me faithfully,</div> - <div class="i5h">He loves me faithfully,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And I know where’er my love is that he is true to me.</div> - <div class="right"><i>Lady Dufferin</i> (1807–1867).</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_265"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_265.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“AS I SAID INSIDE THE LETTER THAT I LOVED HIM FAITHFULLY.”</p> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>DANCE LIGHT, FOR MY HEART IT LIES UNDER YOUR FEET.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“Ah, sweet Kitty Neil, rise up from that wheel—</div> - <div>Your neat little foot will be weary from spinning;</div> - <div>Come trip down with me to the sycamore tree,</div> - <div>Half the parish is there and the dance is beginning.</div> - <div>The sun has gone down, but the full harvest moon</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Shines sweetly and cool on the dew-whitened valley;</div> - <div>While all the air rings with the soft loving things</div> - <div>Each little bird sings in the green shaded valley!”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>With a blush and a smile, Kitty rose up the while,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Her eyes in the glass, as she bound her hair, glancing;</div> - <div>’Tis hard to refuse when a young lover sues,—</div> - <div>So she couldn’t but choose to go off to the dancing.</div> - <div>And now on the green the glad groups are seen,</div> - <div>Each gay-hearted lad with the lass of his choosing;</div> - <div>And Pat, without fail, leads out sweet Kitty Neil,—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Somehow, when he asked, she ne’er thought of refusing.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[267]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Now Felix Magee puts his pipes to his knee,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And with flourish so free sets each couple in motion;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">With a cheer and a bound the lads patter the ground,—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">The maids move around just like swans on the ocean.</div> - <div>Cheeks bright as the rose, feet light as the doe’s,</div> - <div>Now coyly retiring, now boldly advancing,—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Search the world all around, from the sky to the ground,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">No such sight can be found as an Irish lass dancing!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Sweet Kate! who could view your bright eyes of deep blue,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Beaming humidly through their dark lashes so mildly,—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Your fair-turned arm, heaving breast, rounded form,—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Nor feel his heart warm and his pulses throb wildly?</div> - <div>Young Pat feels his heart, as he gazes, depart,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Subdued by the smart of such painful yet sweet love;</div> - <div>The sight leaves his eye, as he cries, with a sigh,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">“<i>Dance light, for my heart it lies under your feet, love!</i>”</div> - <div class="right"><i>John Francis Waller, LL.D.</i> (1809–1894).</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>FATHER TOM’S WAGER WITH THE POPE.</i></h2> - -<p>“I’d hould you a pound,” says the Pope, “that I’ve a -quadruped in my possession that’s a wiser baste nor any -dog in your kennel.”</p> - -<p>“Done,” says his riv’rence, and they staked the money. -“What can this larned quadhruped o’ yours do?” says his -riv’rence.</p> - -<p>“It’s my mule,” says the Pope; “and if you were to offer -her goolden oats and clover off the meadows o’ Paradise, -sorra taste ov aither she’d let pass her teeth till the first -mass is over every Sunday or holiday in the year.”</p> - -<p>“Well, and what ’ud you say if I showed you a baste ov -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[268]</span>mine,” says his riv’rence, “that, instead ov fasting till first -mass is over only, fasts out the whole four-and-twenty hours -ov every Wednesday and Friday in the week as reg’lar as a -Christian?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, be asy, Misther Maguire,” says the Pope.</p> - -<p>“You don’t b’lieve me, don’t you?” says his riv’rence; -“very well, I’ll soon show you whether or no,” and he put -his knuckles in his mouth, and gev a whistle that made the -Pope stop his fingers in his ears. The aycho, my dear, was -hardly done playing wid the cobwebs in the cornish, when -the door flies open, and in jumps Spring. The Pope -happened to be sitting next the door, betuxt him and his -riv’rence, and may I never die if he didn’t clear him, -thriple crown and all, at one spang.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[269]</span></p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_268"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_268.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“‘HERE, SPRING, MY MAN,’ SAYS HE.”</p> - </div> - -<p>“God’s presence be about us!” says the Pope, thinking it -was an evil spirit come to fly away wid him for the lie that he -hed tould in regard ov his mule (for it was nothing more -nor a thrick that consisted in grazing the brute’s teeth); -but seeing it was only one ov the greatest beauties ov -a greyhound that he’d ever laid his epistolical eyes on, -he soon recovered ov his fright, and began to pat him, -while Father Tom ris and went to the sideboard, where he -cut a slice ov pork, a slice ov beef, a slice ov mutton, and a -slice ov salmon, and put them all on a plate thegither. -“Here, Spring, my man,” says he, setting the plate down -afore him on the hearthstone, “here’s your supper for you -this blessed Friday night.” Not a word more he said nor -what I tell you; and, you may believe it or not, but it’s the -blessed truth that the dog, afther jist tasting the salmon, and -spitting it out again, lifted his nose out ov the plate, and -stood wid his jaws wathering, and his tail wagging, looking -up in his riv’rence’s face, as much as to say, “Give me your -absolution, till I hide them temptations out ov my sight.”</p> - -<p>“There’s a dog that knows his duty,” says his riv’rence; -“there’s a baste that knows how to conduct himself aither -in the parlour or the field. You think him a good dog, -looking at him here; but I wisht you seen him on the side -ov Slieve-an-Eirin! Be my soul, you’d say the hill was -running away from undher him. Oh, I wisht you had been -wid me,” says he, never letting on to see the dog at all, -“one day last Lent, that I was coming from mass. Spring -was near a quarther ov a mile behind me, for the childher -was delaying him wid bread and butther at the chapel door; -when a lump ov a hare jumped out ov the plantations ov -Grouse Lodge and ran acrass the road; so I gev the whilloo, -and knowing that she’d take the rise ov the hill, I made over -the ditch, and up through Mullaghcashel as hard as I could -pelt, still keeping her in view, but afore I hed gone a -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[270]</span>perch, Spring seen her, and away the two went like the wind, -up Drumrewy, and down Clooneen, and over the river, -widout his being able onst to turn her. Well, I run on till -I came to the Diffagher, and through it I went, for the -wather was low, and I didn’t mind being wet shod, and out -on the other side, where I got up on a ditch, and seen sich -a coorse as I’ll be bound to say was never seen afore or -since. If Spring turned that hare onst that day, he turned -her fifty times, up and down, back and for’ard, throughout -and about. At last he run her right into the big quarry-hole -in Mullaghbawn, and when I went up to look for her -fud, there I found him sthretched on his side, not able to -stir a fut, and the hare lying about an inch afore his nose as -dead as a door-nail, and divil a mark ov a tooth upon her. -Eh, Spring, isn’t that thrue?” says he.</p> - -<p>Jist at that minit the clock sthruck twelve, and afore you -could say <i>thrap-sticks</i>, Spring had the plateful ov mate -consaled. “Now,” says his riv’rence, “hand me over my -pound, for I’ve won my bet fairly.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll excuse me,” says the Pope, pocketing the money, -“for we put the clock half-an-hour back, out ov compliment -to your riv’rence,” says he, “and it was Sathurday morning -afore he came up at all.”</p> - -<p>“Well, it’s no matter,” says his riv’rence, “only,” says he, -“it’s hardly fair to expect a brute baste to be so well skilled -in the science ov chronology.”</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>Sir Samuel Ferguson</i> (1810–1886).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[271]</span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>THE OULD IRISH JIG.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>My blessing be on you, old Erin,</div> - <div class="i1">My own land of frolic and fun;</div> - <div>For all sorts of mirth and diversion,</div> - <div class="i1">Your like is not under the sun.</div> - <div>Bohemia may boast of her polka,</div> - <div class="i1">And Spain of her waltzes talk big;</div> - <div>Sure, they are all nothing but limping,</div> - <div class="i1">Compared with our ould Irish jig.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i2">Then a fig for your new-fashioned waltzes,</div> - <div class="i3">Imported from Spain and from France;</div> - <div class="i2">And a fig for the thing called the polka—</div> - <div class="i3">Our own Irish jig we will dance.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I’ve heard how our jig came in fashion—</div> - <div class="i1">And believe that the story is true—</div> - <div>By Adam and Eve ’twas invented,</div> - <div class="i1">The reason was, partners were few.</div> - <div>And, though they could both dance the polka,</div> - <div class="i1">Eve thought it was not over-chaste;</div> - <div>She preferred our ould jig to be dancing—</div> - <div class="i1">And, faith, I approve of her taste.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4h">Then a fig, etc.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The light-hearted daughters of Erin,</div> - <div class="i1">Like the wild mountain deer they can bound,</div> - <div>Their feet never touch the green island,</div> - <div class="i1">But music is struck from the ground.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[272]</span></div> - <div>And oft in the glens and green meadows,</div> - <div class="i1">The ould jig they dance with such grace,</div> - <div>That even the daisies they tread on,</div> - <div class="i1">Look up with delight in their face.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4h">Then a fig, etc.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>An ould Irish jig, too, was danced by</div> - <div class="i1">The kings and the great men of yore;</div> - <div>King O’Toole could himself neatly foot it</div> - <div class="i1">To a tune they call “Rory O’More.”</div> - <div>And oft in the great hall of Tara,</div> - <div class="i1">Our famous King Brian Boru,</div> - <div>Danced an ould Irish jig with his nobles,</div> - <div class="i1">And played his own harp to them, too.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4h">Then a fig, etc.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>And sure, when Herodias’ daughter</div> - <div class="i1">Was dancing in King Herod’s sight,</div> - <div>His heart that for years had been frozen,</div> - <div class="i1">Was thawed with pure love and delight;</div> - <div>And more than a hundred times over,</div> - <div class="i1">I’ve heard Father Flanagan tell,</div> - <div>’Twas our own Irish jig that she footed,</div> - <div class="i1">That pleased the ould villain so well.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4h">Then a fig, etc.</div> - </div> - <div class="right"><i>James M’Kowen</i> (1814–1889).</div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[273]</span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>MOLLY MULDOON.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Molly Muldoon was an Irish girl,</div> - <div class="i2">And as fine a one</div> - <div class="i2">As you’d look upon</div> - <div>In the cot of a peasant or hall of an earl.</div> - <div>Her teeth were white, though not of pearl,</div> - <div>And dark was her hair, though it did not curl;</div> - <div>Yet few who gazed on her teeth and her hair,</div> - <div>But owned that a power o’ beauty was there.</div> - <div class="i1">Now many a hearty and rattling <i>gorsoon</i>,</div> - <div class="i1">Whose fancy had charmed his heart into tune,</div> - <div class="i1">Would dare to approach fair Molly Muldoon,</div> - <div class="i2">But for <i>that</i> in her eye</div> - <div class="i2">Which made most of them shy</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And look quite ashamed, though they couldn’t tell why—</div> - <div class="i1">Her eyes were large, dark blue, and clear,</div> - <div>And heart and mind seemed in them blended.</div> - <div class="i1">If <i>intellect</i> sent you one look severe,</div> - <div class="i2"><i>Love</i> instantly leapt in the next to mend it.</div> - <div class="i1">Hers was the eye to check the rude,</div> - <div class="i2">And hers the eye to stir emotion,</div> - <div class="i1">To keep the sense and soul subdued,</div> - <div class="i2">And calm desire into devotion.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i2">There was Jemmy O’Hare,</div> - <div class="i2">As fine a boy as you’d see in a fair,</div> - <div>And wherever Molly was he was there.</div> - <div>His face was round and his build was square,</div> - <div class="i2">And he sported as rare</div> - <div class="i2">And tight a pair</div> - <div>Of legs, to be sure, as are found anywhere.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[274]</span></div> - <div class="i2">And Jemmy would wear</div> - <div class="i2">His <i>caubeen</i><a id="FNanchor_17" href="#Footnote_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> and hair</div> - <div>With such a peculiar and rollicking air,</div> - <div class="i2">That I’d venture to swear</div> - <div class="i2">Not a girl in Kildare,</div> - <div>Nor Victoria’s self, if she chanced to be there,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Could resist his wild way—called “Devil may care.”</div> - <div>Not a boy in the parish could match him for fun,</div> - <div>Nor wrestle, nor leap, nor hurl, nor run</div> - <div>With Jemmy—no <i>gorsoon</i> could equal him—none,</div> - <div>At wake or at wedding, at feast or at fight,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">At throwing the sledge with such dext’rous sleight,—</div> - <div>He was the envy of men, and the women’s delight.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Now Molly Muldoon liked Jemmy O’Hare,</div> - <div class="i1">And in troth Jemmy loved in his heart Miss Muldoon.</div> - <div>I believe in my conscience a purtier pair</div> - <div class="i1">Never danced in a tent at a patthern in June,—</div> - <div class="i3">To a bagpipe or fiddle</div> - <div class="i2">On the rough cabin-door</div> - <div class="i3">That is placed in the middle—</div> - <div class="i2">Ye may talk as ye will,</div> - <div>There’s a grace in the limbs of the peasantry there</div> - <div>With which people of quality couldn’t compare.</div> - <div class="i2">And Molly and Jemmy were counted the two</div> - <div class="i2 hangingindent">That could keep up the longest and go the best through</div> - <div class="i3">All the jigs and the reels</div> - <div class="i3">That have occupied heels</div> - <div class="i2 hangingindent">Since the days of the Murtaghs and Brian Boru.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i2">It was on a long bright sunny day</div> - <div class="i3">They sat on a green knoll side by side,</div> - <div class="i2">But neither just then had much to say;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[275]</span></div> - <div class="i3">Their hearts were so full that they only tried</div> - <div class="i3">To do anything foolish, just to hide</div> - <div class="i3">What both of them felt, but what Molly denied.</div> - <div class="i1">They plucked the speckled daisies that grew</div> - <div class="i1">Close by their arms,—then tore them too;</div> - <div class="i1">And the bright little leaves that they broke from the stalk</div> - <div class="i1">They threw at each other for want of talk;</div> - <div class="i1">While the heart-lit look and the sunny smile,</div> - <div class="i1">Reflected pure souls without art or guile;</div> - <div class="i2">And every time Molly sighed or smiled,</div> - <div class="i2">Jem felt himself grow as soft as a child;</div> - <div class="i1">And he fancied the sky never looked so bright,</div> - <div class="i1">The grass so green, the daisies so white;</div> - <div class="i1">Everything looked so gay in his sight</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">That gladly he’d linger to watch them till night—</div> - <div class="i2">And Molly herself thought each little bird,</div> - <div class="i2">Whose warbling notes her calm soul stirred,—</div> - <div class="i2">Sang only his lay but by her to be heard.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i1">An Irish courtship’s short and sweet,</div> - <div class="i1">It’s sometimes foolish and indiscreet;</div> - <div class="i1">But who is wise when his young heart’s heat</div> - <div class="i1">Whips the pulse to a galloping beat—</div> - <div class="i1">Ties up his judgment neck and feet,</div> - <div class="i1">And makes him the slave of a blind conceit?</div> - <div>Sneer not therefore at the loves of the poor,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Though their manners be rude, their affections are pure;</div> - <div>They look not by art, and they love not by rule,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">For their souls are not tempered in fashion’s cold school.</div> - <div>Oh! give me the love that endures no control</div> - <div>But the delicate instinct that springs from the soul,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">As the mountain stream gushes in freshness and force,</div> - <div>Yet obedient, wherever it flows, to its source.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[276]</span></div> - <div>Yes, give me the love that but Nature has taught,</div> - <div>By rank unallured and by riches unbought;</div> - <div>Whose very simplicity keeps it secure—</div> - <div>The love that illumines the hearts of the poor.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>All blushful was Molly, or shy at least,</div> - <div class="i2">As one week before Lent</div> - <div class="i2">Jem procured her consent</div> - <div>To go the next Sunday and speak to the priest.</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">Shrove Tuesday was named for the wedding to be,</div> - <div class="i1">And it dawned as bright as they’d wish to see.</div> - <div>And Jemmy was up at the day’s first peep,</div> - <div>For the livelong night no wink could he sleep.</div> - <div class="i1">A bran-new coat, with a bright big button,</div> - <div class="i1">He took from a chest and carefully put on—</div> - <div class="i1">And brogues as well lamp-blacked as ever went foot on,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Were greased with the fat of <i>a quare sort of mutton</i>!</div> - <div class="i1">Then a tidier <i>gorsoon</i> couldn’t be seen</div> - <div class="i1">Treading the Emerald Isle so green—</div> - <div class="i1">Light was his step, and bright was his eye,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">As he walked through the <i>slobbery</i> streets of Athy.</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And each girl he passed bid “God bless him” and sighed,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">While she wished in her heart that herself was the bride.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Hush! here’s the Priest—let not the least</div> - <div>Whisper be heard till the father has ceased.</div> - <div class="i1">“Come, bridegroom and bride,</div> - <div class="i1">That the knot may be tied</div> - <div class="i1">Which no power on earth can hereafter divide.”</div> - <div>Up rose the bride and the bridegroom too,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And a passage was made for them both to walk through;</div> - <div class="i1">And his Riv’rence stood with a sanctified face,</div> - <div class="i1">Which spread its infection around the place.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[277]</span></div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">The bridegroom blushed and whispered the bride,</div> - <div class="i1">Who felt so confused that she almost cried,</div> - <div class="i1">But at last bore up and walked forward, where</div> - <div class="i1">The Father was standing with solemn air;</div> - <div class="i1">The bridegroom was following after with pride,</div> - <div class="i1"><i>When his piercing eye something awful espied!</i></div> - <div class="i3">He stopped and sighed,</div> - <div class="i3">Looked round and tried</div> - <div class="i1">To tell what he saw, but his tongue denied:</div> - <div class="i3">With a spring and a roar</div> - <div class="i3">He jumped to the door,</div> - <div class="smcap hangingindent">And the bride laid her eyes on the bridegroom no more!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4">Some years sped on,</div> - <div class="i4">Yet heard no one</div> - <div class="i2">Of Jemmy O’Hare, or where he had gone.</div> - <div class="i1">But since the night of that widow’d feast,</div> - <div class="i1">The strength of poor Molly had ever decreased;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[278]</span></div> - <div class="i2">Till, at length, from earth’s sorrow her soul released,</div> - <div class="i2">Fled up to be ranked with the saints at least.</div> - <div class="i2">And the morning poor Molly to live had ceased,</div> - <div class="i2">Just five years after the widow’d feast,</div> - <div class="i2">An American letter was brought to the priest,</div> - <div class="i2">Telling of Jemmy O’Hare deceased!</div> - <div class="i4">Who, ere his death,</div> - <div class="i4">With his latest breath,</div> - <div class="i1">To a spiritual father unburdened his breast,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">And the cause of his sudden departure confest.—</div> - <div class="i2">“Oh, Father,” says he, “I’ve not long to live,</div> - <div class="i2 hangingindent">So I’ll freely confess, and hope you’ll forgive—</div> - <div class="i2 hangingindent">That same Molly Muldoon, sure I loved her indeed;</div> - <div class="i2">Ay, as well as the Creed</div> - <div class="i2">That was never forsaken by one of my breed;</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">But I couldn’t have married her, after I saw—”</div> - <div class="i2 hangingindent">“Saw what?” cried the Father, desirous to hear—</div> - <div class="i2 hangingindent">And the chair that he sat in unconsciously rocking—</div> - <div class="i1">“Not in her <i>karàcter</i>, yer Riv’rince, a flaw”—</div> - <div class="i1">The sick man here dropped a significant tear,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">And died as he whispered in the clergyman’s ear—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">“But I saw, God forgive her, <span class="allsmcap">A HOLE IN HER STOCKING</span>!”</div> - </div> - -<p class="center sm p1">THE MORAL.</p> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Lady readers, love may be</div> - <div>Fixed in hearts immovably,</div> - <div>May be strong and may be pure;</div> - <div>Faith may lean on faith secure,</div> - <div>Knowing adverse fate’s endeavour</div> - <div>Makes that faith more firm than ever;</div> - <div>But the purest love and strongest,</div> - <div>Love that has endured the longest,</div> - <div>Braving cross, and blight, and trial,</div> - <div>Fortune’s bar or pride’s denial,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[279]</span></div> - <div>Would—no matter what its trust—</div> - <div>Be uprooted by disgust:—</div> - <div>Yes, the love that might for years</div> - <div>Spring in suffering, grow in tears,</div> - <div>Parents’ frigid counsel mocking,</div> - <div>Might be—where’s the use of talking?—</div> - <div>Upset by a <span class="allsmcap">BROKEN STOCKING</span>!</div> - <div class="right"><i>Anonymous.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_277"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_277.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“WITH A SPRING AND A ROAR HE JUMPED TO THE DOOR.”</p> - </div> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_280"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_280.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“THE GANDHER ID BE AT HIS HEELS, AN’ RUBBIN’ HIMSELF AGIN HIS LEGS.”</p> - </div> - -<h2 class="smaller" id="THE_QUARE_GANDER"><i>THE QUARE GANDER.</i></h2> - -<p>Terence Mooney was an honest boy and well-to-do, an’ he rinted the -biggest farm on this side iv the Galties, an’ bein’ mighty cute an’ -a sevare worker, it was small wonder he turned a good penny every -harvest; but unluckily he was blessed with an iligant large family iv -daughters, an’ iv coorse his heart was allamost bruck, strivin’ to make -up fortunes for the whole of them—an’ there wasn’t a conthrivance iv -any soart or discription for makin’ money out iv the farm but he was up -to. Well, among the other ways he had iv gettin’ up in the world, he -always kep a power iv turkeys, and all soarts iv poultry; an’ he was -out iv all raison partial to geese—an’ small blame to him for that -same—for twiste a year you can pluck them as bare as my hand—an’ get -a fine price for the feathers, and plenty of rale sizable eggs—an’ -when they are too ould to lay any more, you can kill them, an’ sell -them to the gintlemen for gozlings, d’ye see,—let alone that a goose -is the most manly bird that is out. Well, it happened in the coorse -iv time, that one ould gandher tuck a wondherful likin’ to Terence, -an’ divil a place he could go serenadin’ about the farm, or lookin’ -afther<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[281]</span> the men, but the gandher id be at his heels, an’ rubbin’ -himself agin his legs, and lookin’ up in his face just like any other -Christian id do; and the likes iv it was never seen,—Terence Mooney -an’ the gandher wor so great. An’ at last the bird was so engagin’ that -Terence would not allow it to be plucked any more; an’ kept it from -that time out, for love an’ affection—just all as one like one iv -his childhren. But happiness in perfection never lasts long; an’ the -neighbours bigin’d to suspect the nathur and intentions iv the gandher; -an’ some iv them said it was the divil, and more iv them that it was a -fairy. Well, Terence could not but hear something of what was sayin’, -and you may be sure he was not altogether asy in his mind about it, an’ -from one day to another he was gettin’ more ancomfortable in himself, -until he detarmined to sind for Jer Garvan, the fairy docthor in -Garryowen, an’ it’s he was the iligant hand at the business, and divil -a sperit id say a crass word to him, no more nor a priest. An’ moreover -he was very great wid ould Terence Mooney, this man’s father that was. -So without more about it, he was sint for; an’ sure enough the divil a -long he was about it, for he kem back that very evenin’ along wid the -boy that was sint for him; an’ as soon as he was there, an’ tuck his -supper, an’ was done talkin’ for a while, he bigined of coorse to look -into the gandher. Well, he turned it this away an’ that away, to the -right, and to the left, an’ straight-ways an’ upside down, an’ when he -was tired handlin’ it, says he to Terence Mooney—</p> - -<p>“Terence,” says he, “you must remove the bird into the next room,” says -he, “an’ put a pettycoat,” says he, “or any other convaynience round -his head,” says he.</p> - -<p>“An’ why so?” says Terence.</p> - -<p>“Becase,” says Jer, says he.</p> - -<p>“Becase what?” says Terence.</p> - -<p>“Becase,” says Jer, “if it isn’t done—you’ll never be asy agin,” says -he, “or pusilanimous in your mind,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[282]</span> says he; “so ax no more questions, -but do my biddin’,’ says he.</p> - -<p>“Well,” says Terence, “have your own way,” says he.</p> - -<p>An’ wid that he tuck the ould gandher, and giv’ it to one iv the -gossoons.</p> - -<p>“An’ take care,” says he, “don’t smother the crathur,” says he.</p> - -<p>Well, as soon as the bird was gone, says Jer Garvan, says he, “Do you -know what that ould gandher <i>is</i>, Terence Mooney?”</p> - -<p>“Divil a taste,” says Terence.</p> - -<p>“Well then,” says Jer, “the gandher is your own father,” says he.</p> - -<p>“It’s jokin’ you are,” says Terence, turnin’ mighty pale; “how can an -ould gandher be my father?” says he.</p> - -<p>“I’m not funnin’ you at all,” says Jer; “it’s thrue what I tell -you—it’s your father’s wandhrin’ sowl,” says he, “that’s naturally -tuck pissession iv the ould gandher’s body,” says he; “I know him many -ways, and I wondher,” says he, “you do not know the cock iv his eye -yourself,” says he.</p> - -<p>“Oh, blur an’ ages!” says Terence, “what the divil will I ever do at -all at all,” says he; “it’s all over wid me, for I plucked him twelve -times at the laste,” says he.</p> - -<p>“That can’t be helped now,” says Jer; “it was a sevare act surely,” -says he, “but it’s too late to lamint for it now,” says he; “the only -way to prevint what’s past,” says he, “is to put a stop to it before it -happens,” says he.</p> - -<p>“Thrue for you,” says Terence; “but how the divil did you come to the -knowledge iv my father’s sowl,” says he, “bein’ in the ould gandher?” -says he.</p> - -<p>“If I tould you,” says Jer, “you would not undherstand me,” says -he, “without book-larnin’ an’ gasthronomy,” says he; “so ax me no -questions,” says he, “an’ I’ll tell you no lies; but b’lieve me in this -much,” says he, “it’s your father that’s in it,” says he, “an’ if I -don’t make him spake to-morrow<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[283]</span> mornin’,” says he, “I’ll give you lave -to call me a fool,” says he.</p> - -<p>“Say no more,” says Terence, “that settles the business,” says he; “an’ -oh! blur an’ ages, is it not a quare thing,” says he, “for a dacent, -respictable man,” says he, “to be walkin’ about the counthry in the -shape iv an ould gandher,” says he; “and oh, murdher, murdher! isn’t -it often I plucked him,” says he; “an’ tundher an’ ouns, might not I -have ate him,” says he; and wid that he fell into a could parspiration, -savin’ your prisince, an’ was on the pint iv faintin’ wid the bare -notions iv it.</p> - -<p>Well, whin he was come to himself agin, says Jerry to him quiet an’ -asy—“Terence,” says he, “don’t be aggravatin’ yourself,” says he, -“for I have a plan composed that ’ill make him spake out,” says he, -“an’ tell what it is in the world he’s wantin’,” says he; “an’ mind -an’ don’t be comin’ in wid your gosther an’ to say agin anything I -tell you,” says he, “but jist purtind, as soon as the bird is brought -back,” says he, “how that we’re goin’ to sind him to-morrow mornin’ to -market,” says he; “an’ if he don’t spake tonight,” says he, “or gother -himself out iv the place,” says he, “put him into the hamper airly, and -sind him in the cart,” says he, “straight to Tipperary, to be sould -for aiting,” says he, “along wid the two gossoons,” says he; “an’ my -name isn’t Jer Garvan,” says he, “if he doesn’t spake out before he’s -half-way,” says he; “an’ mind,” says he, “as soon as ever he says -the first word,” says he, “that very minute bring him off to Father -Crotty,” says he, “an’ if his raverince doesn’t make him ratire,” says -he, “like the rest iv his parishioners, glory be to God,” says he, -“into the siclusion iv the flames iv purgathory, there’s no vartue in -my charums,” says he.</p> - -<p>Well, wid that the ould gandher was let into the room agin, an’ they -all bigined to talk iv sindin’ him the nixt mornin’ to be sould for -roastin’ in Tipperary, jist as if it was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[284]</span> a thing andoubtingly settled; -but not a notice the gandher tuck, no more nor if they wor spaking -iv the Lord Liftinant; an’ Terence desired the boys to get ready the -kish for the poulthry, “an’ to settle it out wid hay soft and shnug,” -says he, “for it’s the last jauntin’ the poor ould gandher ’ill get -in this world,” says he. Well, as the night was getting late, Terence -was growin’ mighty sorrowful an’ downhearted in himself entirely wid -the notions iv what was goin’ to happen. An’ as soon as the wife an’ -the crathurs war fairly in bed, he brought out some iligant potteen, -an’ himself an’ Jer Garvan sot down to it, an’ the more anasy Terence -got, the more he dhrank, and himself and Jer Garvan finished a quart -betune them: it wasn’t an imparial though, an’ more’s the pity, for -them wasn’t anvinted antil short since; but divil a much matther it -signifies any longer if a pint could hould two quarts, let alone what -it does, sinst Father Mathew—the Lord purloin his raverince—bigin’d -to give the pledge, an’ wid the blessin’ iv timperance to deginerate -Ireland. An’ begorra, I have the medle myself; an’ its proud I am iv -that same, for abstamiousness is a fine thing, although it’s mighty -dhry. Well, whin Terence finished his pint, he thought he might as well -stop, “for enough is as good as a faste,” says he, “an’ I pity the -vagabond,” says he, “that is not able to conthroul his licquor,” says -he, “an’ to keep constantly inside iv a pint measure,” says he, an’ wid -that he wished Jer Garvan a good night, an’ walked out iv the room. -But he wint out the wrong door, being a thrifle hearty in himself, an’ -not rightly knowin’ whether he was standin’ on his head or his heels, -or both iv them at the same time, an’ in place iv gettin’ into bed, -where did he thrun himself but into the poulthry hamper, that the boys -had settled out ready for the gandher in the mornin’; an’ sure enough -he sunk down soft an’ complate through the hay to the bottom; an’ wid -the turnin’ an’ roulin’ about in the night, not a bit iv him but was -covered up as shnug as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[285]</span> a lumper in a pittaty furrow before mornin’. So -wid the first light, up gets the two boys that war to take the sperit, -as they consaved, to Tipperary; an’ they cotched the ould gandher, an’ -put him in the hamper and clapped a good wisp iv hay on the top iv him, -and tied it down sthrong wid a bit iv a coard, and med the sign iv the -crass over him, in dhread iv any harum, an’ put the hamper up on the -car, wontherin’ all the while what in the world was makin’ the ould -bird so surprisin’ heavy. Well, they wint along quiet an’ asy towards -Tipperary, wishin’ every minute that some iv the neighbours bound the -same way id happen to fall in with them, for they didn’t half like the -notions iv havin’ no company but the bewitched gandher, an’ small blame -to them for that same. But, although they wor shakin’ in their shkins -in dhread iv the ould bird biginin’ to convarse them every minute, they -did not let on to one another, but kep singin’ and whistlin’, like mad, -to keep the dhread out iv their hearts. Well, afther they wor on the -road betther nor half-an-hour, they kem to the bad bit close by Father -Crotty’s, an’ there was one divil iv a rut three feet deep at the -laste; an’ the car got sich a wondherful chuck goin’ through it, that -it wakened Terence within the basket.</p> - -<p>“Oh!” says he, “my bones is bruck wid yer thricks, what the divil are -ye doin’ wid me?”</p> - -<p>“Did ye hear anything quare, Thady?” says the boy that was next to the -car, turnin’ as white as the top iv a musharoon; “did ye hear anything -quare soundin’ out iv the hamper?” says he.</p> - -<p>“No, nor you,” says Thady, turnin’ as pale as himself; “it’s the ould -gandher that’s gruntin’ wid the shakin’ he’s gettin’,” says he.</p> - -<p>“Where the divil have ye put me into?” says Terence inside; “let me -out, or I’ll be smothered this minute,” says he.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[286]</span></p> - -<p>“There’s no use in purtendin’,” says the boy; “the gandher’s spakin’, -glory be to God!” says he.</p> - -<p>“Let me out, you murdherers,” says Terence.</p> - -<p>“In the name iv all the holy saints,” says Thady, “hould yer tongue, -you unnatheral gandher,” says he.</p> - -<p>“Who’s that, that dar’ to call me nicknames?” says Terence inside, -roaring wid the fair passion; “let me out, you blasphamious infiddles,” -says he, “or by this crass I’ll stretch ye,” says he.</p> - -<p>“In the name iv heaven,” says Thady, “who the divil are ye?”</p> - -<p>“Who the divil would I be but Terence Mooney,” says he. “It’s myself -that’s in it, you unmerciful bliggards,” says he; “let me out, or by -the holy I’ll get out in spite iv yez,” says he, “an’ be jabers I’ll -wallop yez in arnest,” says he.</p> - -<p>“It’s ould Terence, sure enough,” says Thady; “isn’t it cute the fairy -docthor found him out?” says he.</p> - -<p>“I’m on the pint iv snuffication,” says Terence; “let me out I tell -you, an’ wait till I get at ye,” says he, “for begorra, the divil a -bone in your body but I’ll powdher,” says he; an’ wid that he bigined -kickin’ and flingin’ inside in the hamper, and dhrivin’ his legs agin -the sides iv it, that it was a wondher he did not knock it to pieces. -Well, as soon as the boys seen that, they skelped the ould horse into a -gallop as hard as he could peg towards the priest’s house, through the -ruts, an’ over the stones; an’ you’d see the hamper fairly flyin’ three -feet up in the air with the joultin’, glory be to God; so it was small -wondher, by the time they got to his raverince’s door, the breath was -fairly knocked out iv poor Terence; so that he was lyin’ speechless in -the bottom iv the hamper. Well, whin his raverince kem down, they up -an’ they tould him all that happened, an’ how they put the gandher into -the hamper, an’ how he bigined to spake, an’ how he confissed that he -was ould Terence<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[287]</span> Mooney; and they axed his honour to advise them how -to get rid iv the sperit for good an’ all. So says his raverince, says -he—</p> - -<p>“I’ll take my book,” says he, “an’ I’ll read some rale sthrong holy -bits out iv it,” says he, “an’ do you get a rope and put it round the -hamper,” says he, “an’ let it swing over the runnin’ wather at the -bridge,” says he, “an’ it’s no matther if I don’t make the sperit come -out iv it,” says he.</p> - -<p>Well, wid that, the priest got his horse, an’ tuck his book in undher -his arum, an’ the boys follied his raverince, ladin’ the horse down to -the bridge, an’ divil a word out iv Terence all the way, for he seen it -was no use spakin’, an’ he was afeard if he med any noise they might -thrait him to another gallop an’ finish him intirely. Well, as soon as -they war all come to the bridge, the boys tuck the rope they had with -them, an’ med it fast to the top iv the hamper an’ swung it fairly over -the bridge; lettin’ it hang in the air about twelve feet out iv the -wather; an’ his raverince rode down to the bank iv the river, close -by, an’ bigined to read mighty loud and bould intirely. An’ when he -was goin’ on about five minutes, all at onst the bottom iv the hamper -kem out, an’ down wint Terence, falling splash dash into the water, -an’ the ould gandher a-top iv him; down they both went to the bottom -wid a souse you’d hear half-a-mile off; an’ before they had time to -rise agin, his raverince, wid the fair astonishment, giv his horse -one dig iv the spurs, an’ before he knew where he was, in he went, -horse and all, a-top iv them, an’ down to the bottom. Up they all kem -agin together, gaspin’ an’ puffin’, an’ off down wid the current wid -them, like shot in undher the arch iv the bridge, till they kem to the -shallow wather. The ould gandher was the first out, an’ the priest and -Terence kem next, pantin’ an’ blowin’ an’ more than half dhrounded; -an’ his raverince was so freckened wid the dhroundin’ he got, and wid -the sight iv the sperit as he consaved, that he wasn’t the better iv -it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[288]</span> for a month. An’ as soon as Terence could spake, he said he’d have -the life iv the two gossoons; but Father Crotty would not give him his -will; an’ as soon as he was got quiter they all endayvoured to explain -it, but Terence consaved he went raly to bed the night before, an’ his -wife said the same to shilter him from the suspicion ov having the -dhrop taken. An’ his raverince said it was a mysthery, an’ swore if he -cotched any one laughin’ at the accident, he’d lay the horsewhip across -their shouldhers; an’ Terence grew fonder an’ fonder iv the gandher -every day, until at last he died in a wondherful ould age, lavin’ the -gandher afther him an’ a large family iv childher.</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>Joseph Sheridan Lefanu</i> (1814–1873).</p> - - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>TABLE-TALK.</i></h2> - -<p>If the age of women were known by their teeth, they would not be so -fond of showing them.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>What is an Irishman but a mere machine for converting potatoes into -human nature?</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The smiles of a pretty woman are glimpses of Paradise.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Military men never blush; it is not in the articles of war.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>We look with pleasure even on our shadows.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It is particularly inconvenient to have a long nose—especially if you -are in company with Irishmen after dinner.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Weak-minded men are obstinate; those of a robust intellect are firm.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Bear-baiting has gone down very much of late. The best exhibitions of -that manly and rational amusement take place nightly in the House of -Commons.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[289]</span></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>When you are invited to a drinking-party you do not treat your host -well if you do not eat at least six salt herrings before you sit down -to his table. I have never known this to fail in ensuring a pleasant -evening.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Butchers and doctors are with great propriety excluded from being -jurymen.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Few men have the moral courage <i>not</i> to fight a duel.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It is a saying of the excellent Tom Brown, “No poet ever went to a -church when he had money to go to a tavern.” This may be looked on as -an indisputable axiom; there is no truer proposition in Euclid. Indeed, -the very name of poet is derived from <i>potare</i>—to drink; and it -is not by mere accident that the same word signifies <i>Bacchus</i> and -a <i>book</i>.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The most ferocious monsters in existence are authors who insist on -reading their MSS to their friends and visitors.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>A friend of mine, one of the wittiest and most learned men of the day, -once recommended a Frenchman, who expressed an anxiety to possess the -autographs of literary men, to cash their bills. “And, believe me,” -says he, “if you do, you will get the handwriting of the best of the -tribe.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Tailors call Adam and Eve the first founders of their noble art; they -have them depicted on their banners and escutcheons. But they would be -nearer the truth if they called the devil the first master-tailor; as -only for him a coat and breeches would be unnecessary and useless. This -would be giving the devil his due.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>A very acute man used to say, “Tell me your second reason; I do not -want your first. The second is the true motive of your actions.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[290]</span></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Youth and old age seem to be mutual spies on each other—blind, each, -to its own imperfections, but extremely quick-sighted to those of its -opposite.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hints to Men of Business.</span>—Whenever you are in a hurry engage -a drunken cabman; he will drive you at double the speed of a sober one. -Also, be sure not to engage a cabman who owns the horse he drives; he -will spare his quadruped, and carry you at a funeral pace. Both these -maxims are as good as any in Rochefoucault.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Man is a twofold creature; one half he exhibits to the world, and the -other to himself.</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>Edward V. H. Kenealy, LL.D.</i> (1819–1880).</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>ADVICE TO A YOUNG POET.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Snooks, my friend, I see with sorrow</div> - <div class="i1">How you waste much precious time—</div> - <div>Notwithstanding all you borrow—</div> - <div class="i1">In concocting wretched rhyme.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Do not think that I fling any</div> - <div class="i1">Innuendoes at your head,</div> - <div>When I state the fact that many</div> - <div class="i1">Mines of Wicklow teem with lead.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Snooks, my friend, you are a ninny</div> - <div class="i1">(Class, mammalia-genus, muff),</div> - <div>If you hope to make a guinea</div> - <div class="i1">By such caterwauling stuff.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[291]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Lives of poets all remind us</div> - <div class="i1">We may write “demnition” fine,</div> - <div>Leaving still unsolved behind us</div> - <div class="i1">The problem, “How are bards to dine?”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Problem which perhaps some others,</div> - <div class="i1">As through life they dodge about,</div> - <div>Seeing, shall suppose our mothers</div> - <div class="i1">Did not know that we were out.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Hang the bard, and cut the punster,</div> - <div class="i1">Fling all rhyming to the deuce,</div> - <div>Take a business tour through Munster,</div> - <div class="i1">Shoot a landlord—be of use.</div> - <div class="right"><i>Richard Dalton Williams</i> (1822–1862).</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_292"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_292.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“SAINT KEVIN TOOK THE GANDER FROM THE ARMS OF THE KING.”</p> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>SAINT KEVIN AND KING O’TOOLE.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">As Saint Kevin once was travelling through a place called Glendalough,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">He chanced to meet with King O’Toole, and asked him for a <i>shough</i>;<a id="FNanchor_18" href="#Footnote_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a></div> - <div class="hangingindent">Said the king, “You are a stranger, for your face I’ve never seen,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">But if you have a taste o’ weed, I’ll lend you my <i>dhudeen</i>.”<a id="FNanchor_19" href="#Footnote_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">While the saint was kindling up the pipe the monarch fetched a sigh;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">“Is there anything the matter,” says the saint, “that makes you cry?”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[293]</span></div> - <div class="hangingindent">Said the king, “I had a gander, that was left me by my mother,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And this morning he cocked up his toes with some disease or other.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">“And are you crying for the gander, you unfortunate ould goose?</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Dhry up your tears, in frettin’, sure, there’s ne’er a bit o’ use;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">As you think so much about the bird, if I make him whole and sound,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Will you give to me the taste o’ land the gander will fly round?”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">“In troth I will, and welcome,” said the king, “give what you ask;”</div> - <div class="hangingindent">The saint bid him bring out the bird, and he’d begin the task;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">The king went into the palace to fetch him out the bird,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Though he’d not the least intention of sticking to his word.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Saint Kevin took the gander from the arms of the king,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">He first began to tweak his beak, and then to pull his wing,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">He <i>hooshed</i> him up into the air—he flew thirty miles around;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Said the saint, “I’ll thank your majesty for that little bit o’ ground.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">The king, to raise a ruction next, he called the saint a witch,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And sent in for his six big sons, to heave him in the ditch;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">“<i>Nabocklish</i>,” said Saint Kevin, “I’ll soon settle these young urchins,”</div> - <div class="hangingindent">So he turned the king and his six sons into the seven churches.</div> - <div class="right"><i>Thomas Shalvey</i> (<i>fl.</i> 1850).</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[294]</span></p> - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>THE SHAUGHRAUN.</i></h2> - -<p class="center"><i>Scene</i>—<span class="smcap">Exterior of Father Dolan’s Cottage</span>.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Moya</span>.</p> - -<p><i>Moya.</i> There! now I’ve spancelled the cow and fed the pig, my -uncle will be ready for his tay. Not a sign of Conn for the past three -nights. What’s come to him?</p> - -<p class="center"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. O’Kelly</span>.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. O’K.</i> Is that yourself, Moya? I’ve come to see if that -vagabond of mine has been round this way.</p> - -<p><i>Moya.</i> Why would he be here—hasn’t he a home of his own?</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. O’K.</i> The shebeen is his home when he’s not in gaol. His -father died o’ drink, and Conn will go the same way.</p> - -<p><i>Moya.</i> I thought your husband was drowned at sea?</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. O’K.</i> And, bless him, so he was.</p> - -<p><i>Moya</i> (<i>aside</i>). Well, that’s a quare way of dying o’ drink.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. O’K.</i> The best of men he was, when he was sober—a betther -never dhrawed the breath o’ life.</p> - -<p><i>Moya.</i> But you say he never was sober.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. O’K.</i> Nivir! An’ Conn takes afther him!</p> - -<p><i>Moya.</i> Mother.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. O’K.</i> Well?</p> - -<p><i>Moya.</i> I’m afeard I’ll take afther Conn.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. O’K.</i> Heaven forbid, and purtect you agin him. You are a -good, dacent girl, an’ desarve the best of husbands.</p> - -<p><i>Moya.</i> Them’s the only ones that gets the worst. More betoken -yourself, Mrs. O’Kelly.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. O’K.</i> Conn nivir did an honest day’s work in his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[295]</span> life—but -dhrinkin’, an’ fishin’, an’ shootin’, and sportin’, and love-makin’.</p> - -<p><i>Moya.</i> Sure, that’s how the quality pass their lives.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. O’K.</i> That’s it. A poor man that spoorts the sowl of a -gentleman is called a blackguard.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Conn</span>.</p> - -<p><i>Conn.</i> There’s somebody talking about me.</p> - -<p><i>Moya</i> (<i>running to him</i>). Conn!</p> - -<p><i>Conn.</i> My darlin’, was the mother makin’ little of me? Don’t -believe a word that comes out o’ her! She’s jealous—a devil a haporth -less. She’s choking wid it this very minute, just bekase she sees my -arms about ye. She’s as proud of me as an ould hen that’s got a duck -for a chicken. Hould your whist now! Wipe your mouth, an’ give me a -kiss!</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. O’K.</i> (<i>embracing him</i>). Oh, Conn, what have you been -afther? The polis were in my cabin to-day about ye. They say you stole -Squire Foley’s horse.</p> - -<p><i>Conn.</i> Stole his horse! Sure the baste is safe and sound in his -paddock this minute.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. O’K.</i> But he says you stole it for the day to go huntin’.</p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_296"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_296.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“JUST THEN WE TOOK A STONE WALL AND A DOUBLE DITCH TOGETHER.”</p> - </div> - -<p><i>Conn.</i> Well, here’s a purty thing, for a horse to run away with -a man’s characther like this! Oh, wurra! may I never die in sin, but -this was the way of it. I was standing by ould Foley’s gate, when I -heard the cry of the hounds comin’ across the tail end of the bog, and -there they wor, my dear, spread out like the tail of a paycock, an’ the -finest dog fox you’d ever seen sailing ahead of them up the boreen, and -right across the churchyard. It was enough to raise the inhabitants. -Well, as I looked, who should come up and put his head over the gate -beside me but the Squire’s brown mare, small blame to her. Divil a -thing I said to her, nor she to me, for the hounds had lost their -scent, we<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[297]</span> knew by their yelp and whine as they hunted among the -grave-stones, when, whish! the fox went by us. I leapt on the gate, -an’ gave a shriek of a view holloo to the whip; in a minute the pack -caught the scent again, an’ the whole field came roarin’ past. The mare -lost her head, an’ tore at the gate. “Stop,” ses I, “ye divil!” and I -slipped the taste of a rope over her head an’ into her mouth. Now mind -the cunnin’ of the baste, she was quiet in a minute. “Come home now,” -ses I, “asy!” and I threw my leg across her. Be jabers! no sooner was -I on her bare back than whoo! holy rocket! she was over the gate, an’ -tearin’ like mad afther the hounds. “Yoicks!” ses I; “come back, you -thief of the world, where are you takin’ me to?” as she went through -the huntin’ field an’ laid me beside the masther of the hounds, Squire -Foley himself. He turned the colour of his leather breeches. “Mother of -Moses!” ses he, “is that Conn the Shaughraun on my brown mare?” “Bad -luck to me!” ses I, “it’s no one else!” “You sthole my horse,” ses the -Squire. “That’s a lie!” ses I, “for it was your horse sthole me!”</p> - -<p><i>Moya.</i> An’ what did he say to that?</p> - -<p><i>Conn.</i> I couldn’t sthop to hear, for just then we took a stone -wall and a double ditch together, and he stopped behind to keep an -engagement he had in the ditch.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs. O’K.</i> You’ll get a month in gaol for this.</p> - -<p><i>Conn.</i> Well, it was worth it.</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>Dion Boucicault</i> (1822–1890).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[298]</span></p> - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>RACKRENTERS ON THE STUMP.</i></h2> - - -<p class="center sm p1">A REMARKABLE DEMONSTRATION.</p> - - -<p>The first public meeting held under the auspices of the newly-formed -Irish landlord organisation was held on Thursday last, in a field -close by the charming residence of W. L. Cromwellian Freebooter, Esq., -J.P., and is considered by all who took part in it to have been a -great success. The Government gave the heartiest co-operation to the -project; they undertook to supply the audience; they sent an engineer -from the Royal Barracks, Dublin, to select a strategic site for the -meeting, and to superintend the erection of the platform; and they -offered any amount of artillery that might be considered requisite to -give an imposing appearance to the assembly, and to inspire a feeling -of confidence in the breasts of those who were to take part in it. -All the police stations within a radius of thirty miles were ordered -to send in contingents to form the body of the meeting, and a number -of military pensioners were also directed to proceed to the spot and -exert themselves in cheering the speakers. When the meeting was fully -constituted it was calculated that there could hardly have been less -than two hundred and fifty persons on the grounds.</p> - -<p>At about one o’clock <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span> the carriages containing the noble -lords and gentlemen who were to occupy the platform began to arrive at -Freebooter Hall, where they set down the ladies of the party, who were -to figure in the grand ball which was to be held there that evening. At -1.30 the noblemen and gentlemen proceeded to the scene of the meeting, -and took their places on the platform, amidst the plaudits of the -constabulary, which were again renewed in obedience to signals given -by the sub-inspectors. The view from the platform, which was situated -on a rising<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[299]</span> ground, was particularly fine. Some years ago a number of -peasant homes and three considerable villages existed on the property; -but Mr. Freebooter, being of opinion that they spoiled the prospect -and tended to favour overpopulation in the country, had the people all -evicted and their houses levelled to the ground. The wisdom and the -good taste he had shown in this matter were highly praised by their -lordships as they made their way up the carpeted steps leading to the -platform, and took their seats on the chairs and sofas which had been -placed there for their accommodation. The meeting having presented -arms, it was moved by the Hon. Frederick Augustus Mightyswell, and -seconded by George Famous Grabber, Esq., that the most noble the -Marquis of Squanderall do take the chair.</p> - -<p>The noble marquis said—My lords and gentlemen, I may say I thank -you for having called me—that is, for the honour you have done me -in having called me to have the honour of presiding over this, I may -say, important meeting. (Cheers.) I have come over from London—I may -say across the Channel—to have the honour of attending this meeting, -because we all know these tenant fellows have been allowed to have -this sort of thing too long to themselves. (Hear, hear, and cheers.) -There have been, I may say, hundreds of these meetings, at which the -fellows say they want to get their rents reduced, that their crops -were short, that they must keep their families from starving, and -all that sort of rot. How can we help it if their crops were short? -(Hear, hear.) How can we help it if they have families to support? -(Cheers.) The idiots talk about our rents being three or four times -more than Griffith’s valuation; if that be so, I may say, more shame -for the fellow Griffith, whoever he was. (Groans for Griffith.) Are -we to be robbed because Griffith was an ass? (Cheers.) My lords and -gentlemen, I shall not detain you longer—(cries of “Go on” from -several sub-inspectors)—but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[300]</span> will call upon, I may say, my eloquent -friend, Lord Deliverus, who will propose the first resolution. (Loud -and long-continued cheering from the constabulary.)</p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_300"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_300.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“MY ELOQUENT FRIEND, LORD DELIVERUS.”</p> - </div> - -<p>Lord Deliverus—My dear Squanderall, my good friends, and other -persons, you know I am not accustomed to this sort of thing, but I have -been asked to propose the following resolution:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[301]</span></p> - -<p>“That we regret to notice that the unbounded prosperity which is being -enjoyed by the small farmers and the labouring classes of Ireland -is having a very bad effect on them, leading them into all sorts of -extravagance, and producing among them an insolent and rebellious -spirit, and that in the interest of morality and public safety we -consider it absolutely necessary that the rents of the country shall be -increased by about 100 per cent.”</p> - -<p>Now, my friends, this is a resolution which must waken a sympathetic -echo in the bosom of every rightly-constituted gentleman of property. -Do we not all know, have we not all seen, the lamentable changes -that have taken place in this country? Twenty years ago not half the -population indulged in the luxury of shoes and stockings, and the -labouring classes never thought of wearing waistcoats; now, most of -them take care to provide themselves with these things. Where do they -get the money to buy them but out of our rents? (True, true.) Twenty -years ago they were satisfied if they could get a few potatoes to live -upon each day, and a very good, wholesome, simple food they were for -such people. (Hear, hear.) But latterly some bad instructors have got -amongst them, and now the blackguards will not be contented unless they -have rashers two or three times a week. (Oh, oh.) Where do they get the -money for these rashers? (Voices—“Out of our rents.”) Yes, my friends, -out of our rents. They rob us to supply themselves with delicacies of -this kind. Eight or ten years ago we could bring up the fellows to -vote for us; now they do as they like. (Groans.) And now the fellows -say we must give them a reduction of their rents! (A voice—“Give them -an ounce of lead.”) The rascals say they won’t starve. (Oh, oh, and -groans.) They say they will feed themselves first, and then consider -if they have anything to spare for us. (Shrieks and groans on the -platform—Colonel Hardup faints.) They say the life of any<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[302]</span> one among -them is just as precious as the life of any one of us. (Expressions of -horror on all sides—Lord Tomnoddy looks unutterably disgusted, changes -colour, puts his hand on his stomach, and retires hastily to the back -of the platform.) My friends, I need not tell you that the Government -is bound to put them down at any cost. (Tremendous cheering.) Just -think what would result from any considerable reduction of our incomes; -why, most of us might have to remain in this wretched country, for -we would be ashamed to return in reduced circumstances to London and -Paris; we should have fewer horses, fewer yachts, fewer servants, less -champagne, less Italian opera, no <i>rouge et noir</i>—think, my -friends, of the number of charming establishments from London to Vienna -that would feel the shock. (Sobs and moans on the platform.) Would life -be worth living under such circumstances? (No, no.) No, my lords and -gentlemen, it would not; and therefore we are entitled to call upon the -Government to interfere promptly and with a strong hand to stop the -spread of those subversive theories that are now being taught to the -lower classes in this country. (Great applause.)</p> - -<p>A. D. Shoneen, Esq., J.P., came forward to second the resolution. -He said—My lords and gentlemen, I feel that I need not add a word, -even if I were able to do so, to the beautiful, the eloquent, the -argumentative, the thrilling oration you have just heard from the -estimable Lord Deliverus. I will not attempt to describe that -magnificent performance in the language it deserves, for the task -would far transcend my humble capacity. But I do think that this -country should feel grateful—every country should feel grateful—the -human race should feel grateful—to his lordship for the invaluable -contribution he has made to the sum of our political philosophy in -that address. I own I am moved almost to tears when I consider that -the people whose conduct has excited such righteous<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[303]</span> indignation in -the breast of his lordship, and so affected the epigastric region of -that most amiable young nobleman, Viscount Tomnoddy—are my countrymen. -I blush to make the confession, I am so overcome by my feelings that -I am unable to do more than briefly second the resolution, which has -been proposed to you in words that deserve to live for ever, and -that mankind will not willingly let die. (The resolution was passed -unanimously.)</p> - -<p>Major Bearhead came forward to propose the next resolution, which was -in the following terms:—“That, from the unlawful, rebellious, and -revolutionary spirit which is now abroad, we deem it essential that a -suspension of the Habeas Corpus Act shall at once be effected, that -martial law shall be proclaimed in all disturbed districts, that all -land agitators shall be at once arrested, and all tenant-right books, -pamphlets, and newspapers shall be confiscated and suppressed.”</p> - -<p>The gallant Major said—My lords and gentlemen, ahem! you may talk -of resolutions, but this is the resolution that is wanted. Ahem! by -the soul of Julius Cæsar, it is only such spirited measures that will -ever settle this confounded Irish trouble. Ahem! the fellows want -reductions—by the boots of the immortal Wellington, I would reduce -them with grape and canister; that’s the reduction I would give them! -Thunder and lightning—ahem! thunder and lightning! to think that -these agitating fellows have been going about the country these twelve -months, and not one of them shot, sabred, or hanged yet! Two or three -fellows were put under a sort of sham arrest, and I am told they are -to be tried; trial be damned, I say. Ahem! a drum-head court-martial -is the sort of trial for them. No fear they would ever trouble the -country afterwards. Let the Horse-Guards only send me word, “Bearhead, -you settle with these people,” and see how soon I’d do it. (Cheers.) -By all the bombshells in Britain, I’d have the country as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[304]</span> quiet as a -churchyard in two months. That is enough for me to say—ahem! (Great -cheering.)</p> - -<p>The Hon. Charles Edward Algernon Featherhead, in seconding the -resolution, said—My lords, ladies, and gentlemen—oh, I really forgot -that the ladies are not present, which I take to be a dooced pity, -for, as the poet says, “Their smiles would make a summer”—oh, yes, -I have it—“where darkness else would be.” (Applause.) I can’t say I -know much about these blooming agricultural matters, for on my word -of honour I always looked on them as a low, vulgar sort of thing, and -all my set of fellows do just the same; but my old governor wished me -to come here and take part in the proceedings, and I have a little -reason for wishing to humour him just now. But, as I was saying, I -don’t see how any sort of fun can go on if we are not to get money from -these farming fellows. It may be very true that oats were not worth -digging this season, and that potatoes were very short in the straw -and very light in the ear; but then, on the other hand, was there not -a plentiful supply of cucumbers? (Cheers.) We hear a great deal about -American importations, but it seems to me that’s the jolliest part -of the whole thing, because surely the farming fellows can’t want to -eat the American food and the Irish food both together. Let them eat -the Yankee stuff, and then sell the Irish and give us the money, and -there’s the whole thing settled handsomely. It’s their confounded -stupidity that prevents them seeing this plain and simple way of -satisfying themselves and us. For, as the poet says, “Is there a heart -that never loved?”—no, that’s not it—“When the wine-cup is circling -before us”—no, I forget what the poet said, but no matter: I beg to -say that I highly approve of the toast which has just been proposed. -(The resolution was carried unanimously.)</p> - -<p>Sir Nathaniel H. Castlehack wished to offer a few remarks before the -close of the meeting. It appeared to him that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[305]</span> the tone of some of the -speakers had not shown quite as much confidence in the Government as -in his opinion they deserved. I do not think (said the speaker) that -the arrests which have been referred to were at all intended to be a -flash in the pan, for I have reason to know that at this moment the -jury panels are being carefully looked after by the authorities—(good, -good)—and I think I may say to the gallant major who has just preceded -me, and whose zeal for the public cause we all must recognise and -admire, that if he will only exercise to some extent the virtue of -patience, and allow things to take their regular course, he will -probably ere long have the opportunity which he desires for again -distinguishing himself and rendering the State some service.... Don’t -be afraid, my friends; rely with confidence on the Government; they -will give to this unreasonable and turbulent people everything but what -they want.</p> - -<p>A scene of immense enthusiasm followed these remarks. The gentlemen -on the platform embraced each other; the band of the 33rd Dragoons -struck up “God save the Queen,” and the constabulary fired a <i>feu -de joie</i>. The meeting was then put through some evolutions, which -they performed in brilliant style, after which they broke into sections -and marched off to their different stations. Their lordships and the -gentry then proceeded to their carriages, and drove off to Freebooter -Hall. They expressed themselves highly pleased with the results of the -demonstration, and stated that similar meetings would soon be held in -various parts of the country.</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>T. D. Sullivan</i> (1827).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[306]</span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>LANIGAN’S BALL.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>In the town of Athy one Jeremy Lanigan</div> - <div class="i1">Battered away till he hadn’t a pound,</div> - <div>His father he died and made him a man again,</div> - <div class="i1">Left him a house and ten acres of ground!</div> - <div>He gave a grand party to friends and relations</div> - <div class="i1">Who wouldn’t forget him if he went to the wall;</div> - <div>And if you’ll just listen, I’ll make your eyes glisten</div> - <div class="i1">With the rows and the ructions of Lanigan’s ball.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Myself, to be sure, got free invitations</div> - <div class="i1">For all the nice boys and girls I’d ask,</div> - <div>And in less than a minute the friends and relations</div> - <div class="i1">Were dancing as merry as bees round a cask.</div> - <div>Miss Kitty O’Hara, the nice little milliner,</div> - <div class="i1">Tipped me the wink for to give her a call,</div> - <div>And soon I arrived with Timothy Glenniher</div> - <div class="i1">Just in time for Lanigan’s ball.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>There was lashins of punch and wine for the ladies,</div> - <div class="i1">Potatoes and cakes and bacon and tay,</div> - <div>The Nolans, the Dolans, and all the O’Gradys</div> - <div class="i1">Were courting the girls and dancing away.</div> - <div>Songs they sung as plenty as water,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">From “The Harp that once through Tara’s ould Hall,”</div> - <div class="hangingindent">To “Sweet Nelly Gray” and “The Ratcatcher’s Daughter,”</div> - <div class="i1">All singing together at Lanigan’s ball.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>They were starting all sorts of nonsensical dances,</div> - <div class="i1">Turning around in a nate whirligig;</div> - <div>But Julia and I soon scatthered their fancies,</div> - <div class="i1">And tipped them the twist of a rale Irish jig.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[307]</span></div> - <div>Och mavrone! ’twas then she got glad o’ me:</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">We danced till we thought the old ceilin’ would fall,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">(For I spent a whole fortnight in Doolan’s Academy</div> - <div class="i1">Learning a step for Lanigan’s ball).</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The boys were all merry, the girls were all hearty,</div> - <div class="i1">Dancin’ around in couples and groups,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">When an accident happened—young Terence McCarthy</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">He dhruv his right foot through Miss Halloran’s hoops.</div> - <div class="hangingindent">The creature she fainted, and cried “<i>Millia murther!</i>”</div> - <div class="i1">She called for her friends and gathered them all;</div> - <div>Ned Carmody swore he’d not stir a step further,</div> - <div class="i1">But have satisfaction at Lanigan’s ball.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>In the midst of the row Miss Kerrigan fainted—</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">Her cheeks all the while were as red as the rose—</div> - <div>And some of the ladies declared she was painted,</div> - <div class="i1">She took a small drop too much, I suppose.</div> - <div>Her lover, Ned Morgan, so pow’rful and able,</div> - <div class="i1">When he saw his dear colleen stretched out by the wall,</div> - <div>He tore the left leg from under the table,</div> - <div class="i1">And smashed all the china at Lanigan’s ball.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh, boys, but then was the ructions—</div> - <div class="i1">Myself got a lick from big Phelim McHugh,</div> - <div>But I soon replied to his kind introductions,</div> - <div class="i1">And kicked up a terrible hullabaloo.</div> - <div>Old Casey the piper was near being strangled,</div> - <div class="i1">They squeezed up his pipes, his bellows, and all;</div> - <div>The girls in their ribbons they all got entangled,</div> - <div class="i1">And that put an end to Lanigan’s ball.</div> - <div class="right"><i>Anonymous.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[308]</span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>THE WIDOW’S LAMENT.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Ochone, <i>acushla mavourneen</i>! ah, why thus did ye die?</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">(I won’t keep ye waitin’ a minit: just wait till I wipe my eye);</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And is it gone ye are, darlint,—the kindest, the fondest, the best?</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">(Don’t forget the half-crown for the clerk—ye’ll find it below in the chest).</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">And to leave me alone in the world—O <i>whirra, ochone, ochone</i>!</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">(Is that Misther Moore in the car?—I thought I was goin’ alone);</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Why am I alive this minit? why don’t I die on the floore?</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">(I’ll take your hand up the step, an’ thank ye, Misther Moore!)</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">An’ are ye gone at last from your weepin’, desolate wife?</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">(Not a dhrop, Misther Moore, I thank ye—well, the laste little dhrop in life!)</div> - <div class="hangingindent">’Twas ye had the generous heart, an’ ’twas ye had the noble mind,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">(Good mornin’, Mrs. O’Flanagan! Is Tim in the car behind?)</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Oh, that I lived till this minit, such bitther sorrow to taste,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">(I’m not goin’ to fall, Misther Moore! take your arm from around my waist).</div> - <div class="hangingindent">’Twas the like of you there wasn’t in Ballaghaslatthery town,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">(There’s Mary Mullaly, the hussy, an’ she wearin’ her laylock gown!)<span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[310]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">I’ll throw meself into the river; I’ll never come back no more;</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">(’Twon’t be takin’ ye out of the way to lave me at home, Misther Moore?)</div> - <div class="hangingindent">It’s me should have gone that could bear it, now that I’m young and sthrong,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">(He was sixty-nine come Christmas: I wondhered he lasted so long!)</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Oh, what’s the world at all when him that I love isn’t in it?</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">(If ’twas any one else but yourself, I’d lave the car this minit!)</div> - <div class="hangingindent">There’s nothin’ but sorrow foreninst me, wheresoever I roam,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">(Musha, why d’ye talk like that—can’t ye wait till we’re goin’ home?)</div> - <div class="right"><i>Anonymous.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_309"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_309.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“I’M NOT GOIN’ TO FALL, MISTHER MOORE! TAKE YOUR ARM -FROM AROUND MY WAIST.”</p> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>WHISKY AND WATHER.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>It’s all mighty fine what Taytotallers say,</div> - <div class="i1">“That ye’re not to go dhrinking of sperits,</div> - <div>But to keep to pump wather, and gruel, and tay”—</div> - <div class="i1">Faith, ye’d soon have a face like a ferret’s.</div> - <div class="hangingindent">I don’t care one sthraw what such swaddlers may think,</div> - <div class="i1">(Ye’ll find them in every quarther),</div> - <div>The wholesomest liquor in life you can dhrink,</div> - <div class="i1">I’ll be bail, now, is <i>Whisky and Wather</i>.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Don’t go dhrinking of Brandy, or Hollands, or Shrub,</div> - <div class="i1">Or Gin—thim’s all docthored, dipind an it—</div> - <div>Or ye’ll soon have a nose that ye niver can rub,</div> - <div class="i1">For the blossoms ye’ll grow at the ind iv it;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[311]</span></div> - <div>But the “raal potheen” it’s a babby may take</div> - <div class="i1">Before its long clothes are cut shorther;</div> - <div>In as much as would swim ye there’s divil an ache,</div> - <div class="i1">Av it’s not mixed with <i>too much</i> could wather.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Do ye like thim small dhrinks? Dhrink away by all manes—</div> - <div class="i1">I wonst thried Ginger Beer to my sorrow—</div> - <div>Ye’ll be tuck jist as I was, wid all sorts of pains,</div> - <div class="i1">And ye’ll see what ye’re like on the morrow.</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Ye’ll find ye can’t ate—no, nor walk—for the wind;</div> - <div class="i1">Ye’ll have cheeks jist the colour of morthar;</div> - <div>Av ye call in the docthor he’ll jist recommind</div> - <div class="i1">A hot tumbler of <i>Whisky and Wather</i>.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Av the colic you get, or the cramp in your legs,</div> - <div class="i1">Don’t go scalding yerself wid hot bottles:</div> - <div class="hangingindent">(Tho’ thim’s betther, they tell me, than hot flannel bags),</div> - <div class="i1">And take no docthor’s stuff down your throttles;</div> - <div>But just tell the misthress to hate the tin pot—</div> - <div class="i1">(Maybe one for tay ye’ll have bought her)—</div> - <div>And keep dosing yerself off and an, hot and hot,</div> - <div class="i1">Till ye’re aisy—wid <i>Whisky and Wather</i>.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Av ye go to a fair, as it maybe ye might,</div> - <div class="i1">And ye meet with some thrilling disasther,</div> - <div>Such as having the head iv ye broken outright,</div> - <div class="i1">Av coorse ye’ll be wanting a plasther.</div> - <div>Don’t sind for a surgeon, thim’s niver no use—</div> - <div class="i1">Sure their thrade is to cut and to quarther—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">They’d be dealing wid you, as you’d dale wid a goose:</div> - <div class="i1">Thry a poultice iv <i>Whisky and Wather</i>.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[312]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Av ye can’t sleep at night, an ye rowl in yer bed</div> - <div class="i1">(And that’s mighty disthressin’—no doubt iv it),</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Till ye don’t know the front from the back iv yer head,</div> - <div class="i1">The best thing ye can do is—rowl out iv it.</div> - <div>Av ye’ve let out the fire, and can’t get a light,</div> - <div class="i1">Feel yer way to the crock, till ye’ve caught her</div> - <div>(In the dark it’s ye are, so remimber, hould tight),</div> - <div class="i1">Take a pull—an’ thin dhrink some could wather.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Av ye meet wid misfortune, beyant your controwl,</div> - <div class="i1">Av disease gets a hould iv the praties,</div> - <div>Or the slip iv a pig gets the masles, poor sowl;</div> - <div class="i1">No matther how sarious yer case is—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Don’t go walking about wid yer hands crossed behind,</div> - <div class="i1">And a face like a cow’s—only shorther,—</div> - <div>Sure the best way to keep up yer sperits, ye’ll find</div> - <div class="i1">Is to keep to hot <i>Whisky and Wather</i>.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">It’s in more ways than thim ye’ll find whisky yer frind,</div> - <div class="i1">Sure it’s not only jist while ye dhrink it—</div> - <div>It has vartues on which ye can always depind—</div> - <div class="i1">And perhaps, too, when laste ye would think it.</div> - <div>One fine summer’s day, it was coorting I wint,</div> - <div class="i1">To make love to Dame Flanagan’s daughter—</div> - <div>And I won her—and got the old woman’s consint:</div> - <div class="i1">Sure I did it wid <i>Whisky and Wather</i>.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>In the Liffey I tumbled, one could winther’s day,</div> - <div class="i1">And, bedad, it was coulder than plisint,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Out they fished me, and stretched me full length on the quay,</div> - <div class="i1">But the divil a docthor was prisint,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[313]</span></div> - <div>When a blessed ould woman of eighty came by</div> - <div class="i1">(There’s no doubt expariance had taught her),</div> - <div>And—in jist a pig’s whisper—I tell ye no lie—</div> - <div class="i1">Fetched me to, wid hot <i>Whisky and Wather</i>.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>It’s the loveliest liquor ye iver can take,</div> - <div class="i1">And no matther how often ye take it;</div> - <div>The great thing is never to mix it too wake:</div> - <div class="i1">And see now—it’s this way ye make it:<span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[314]</span></div> - <div>Take three lumps of sugar—it’s jist how ye feel—</div> - <div class="i1">About whisky, not less than one quarther;</div> - <div>No limon—the laste taste in life of the peel,</div> - <div class="i1">And be sure you put screeching hot wather.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>It’ll make ye, all over, as warm as a toast,</div> - <div class="i1">And yer heart jist as light as a feather;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Sure it’s mate, dhrink, and washing, and lodging almost,</div> - <div class="i1">And the great-coat itself, in could weather.</div> - <div>Oh! long life to the man that invinted potheen—</div> - <div class="i1">Sure the Pope ought to make him a marthyr—</div> - <div>If myself was this moment Victoria, our queen,</div> - <div class="i1">I’d dhrink nothing but <i>Whisky and Wather</i>!</div> - <div class="right"><i>Anonymous.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_313"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_313.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“IT’LL MAKE YE, ALL OVER, AS WARM AS TOAST, AND YER -HEART JIST AS LIGHT AS A FEATHER.”</p> - </div> - - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>THE THRUSH AND THE BLACKBIRD.</i></h2> - -<p>A stranger meeting Sally Cavanagh as she tripped along the mountain -road would consider her a contented and happy young matron, and might -be inclined to set her down as a proud one; for Sally Cavanagh held -her head rather high, and occasionally elevated it still higher with -a toss which had something decidedly haughty about it. She turned up -a short boreen for the purpose of calling upon the gruff blacksmith’s -wife, who had been very useful to her for some time before. The smith’s -habits were so irregular that his wife was often obliged to visit the -pawn office in the next town, and poor Sally Cavanagh availed herself -of Nancy Ryan’s experience in pledging almost everything pledgeable she -possessed. The new cloak, of which even a rich farmer’s wife might feel -proud, was the last thing left. It was a present from Connor, and was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[315]</span> -only worn on rare occasions, and to part with it was a sore trial.</p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_315"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_315.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“NANCY FLEW AT HER LIKE A WILD CAT.”</p> - </div> - -<p>Loud screams and cries for help made Sally Cavanagh start. She stopped -for a moment, and then ran forward and rushed breathless into the -smith’s house. The first sight that met her eyes was our friend Shawn -Gow choking his wife. A heavy three-legged stool came down with such -force upon the part of Shawn Gow’s person which happened to be most -elevated as he bent over the prostrate woman, that, uttering an -exclamation between a grunt and a growl, he bounded into the air, and -striking his shins against a chair, tumbled head over heels into the -corner. When Shawn found that he was more frightened than hurt, and -saw Sally with the three-legged stool in her hand, a sense of the -ludicrous overcame him, and turning his face to the wall, he relieved -his feelings by giving way to a fit of laughter. It was of the silent, -inward sort, however, and neither his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[316]</span> wife nor Sally Cavanagh had any -notion of the pleasant mood he was in. The bright idea of pretending to -be “kilt” occurred to the overthrown son of Vulcan, and with a fearful -groan he stretched out his huge limbs and remained motionless on the -broad of his back. Sally’s sympathy for the ill-used woman prevented -her from giving a thought to her husband. Great was her astonishment -then when Nancy flew at her like a wild cat. “You kilt my husband,” -she screamed. Sally retreated backwards, defending herself as best she -could with the stool. “For God’s sake, Nancy, be quiet. Wouldn’t he -have destroyed you on’y for me?” But Nancy followed up the attack like -a fury. “There’s nothing the matter with him,” Sally cried out, on -finding herself literally driven to the wall. “What harm could a little -touch of a stool on the back do the big brute?”</p> - -<p>Nancy’s feelings appeared to rush suddenly into another channel, for -she turned round quickly, and kneeling down by her husband, lifted up -his head. “Och! Shawn, <i>avourneen machree</i>,”<a id="FNanchor_20" href="#Footnote_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a> she exclaimed, -“won’t you spake to me?” Shawn condescended to open his eyes. “Sally,” -she continued, “he’s comin’ to—glory be to God! Hurry over and hould -up his head while I’m runnin’ for somethin’ to rewive him. Or stay, -bring me the boulster.”</p> - -<p>The bolster was brought, and Nancy placed it under the patient’s head; -then snatching her shawl from the peg where it hung, she disappeared. -She was back again in five minutes, without the shawl, but with a half -pint of whisky in a bottle.</p> - -<p>“Take a taste av this, Shawn, an’ ’twill warm your heart.”</p> - -<p>Shawn Gow sat up and took the bottle in his hand.</p> - -<p>“Nancy,” says he, “I believe afther all you’re fond o’ me.”</p> - -<p>“Wisha, Shawn, <i>achora</i>,<a id="FNanchor_21" href="#Footnote_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> what else ’d I be but fond av you?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[317]</span></p> - -<p>“I thought, Nancy, you couldn’t care for a divil that thrated you so -bad.”</p> - -<p>“Och, Shawn, Shawn, don’t talk that way to me. Sure I thought my heart -was broke when I see you sthretched there ’idout a stir in you.”</p> - -<p>“An’ you left your shawl in pledge agin to get this for me?”</p> - -<p>“To be sure I did; an’ a good right I had; an’ sorry I’d be to see you -in want of a dhrop of nourishment.”</p> - -<p>“I was a baste, Nancy. But if I was, this is what made a baste av me.”</p> - -<p>And Shawn Gow fixed his eyes upon the bottle with a look in which -hatred and fascination were strangely blended. He turned quickly to his -wife.</p> - -<p>“Will you give in it was a blackbird?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“A blackbird,” she repeated, irresolutely.</p> - -<p>“Yes, a blackbird. Will you give in it was a blackbird?”</p> - -<p>Shawn Gow was evidently relapsing into his savage mood.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said his wife, after some hesitation, “’twas a blackbird. Will -that plase you?”</p> - -<p>“An’ you’ll never say ’twas a thrish agin?”</p> - -<p>“Never. An’ sure on’y for the speckles on the breast, I’d never -say ’twas a thrish; but sure you ought to know betther than -me—an’—an’—’twas a blackbird,” she exclaimed, with a desperate -effort.</p> - -<p>Shawn Gow swung the bottle round his head and flung it with all his -strength against the hob. The whole fireplace was for a moment one -blaze of light.</p> - -<p>“The Divil was in id,” says the smith, smiling grimly; “an’ there he’s -off in a flash of fire. I’m done wid him, any way.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I wish you a happy Christmas, Nancy,” said Sally.</p> - -<p>“I wish you the same, Sally, an’ a great many av ’em.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[318]</span> I suppose you’re -goin’ to first Mass? Shawn and me’ll wait for second.”</p> - -<p>Sally took her leave of this remarkable couple, and proceeded on her -way to the village. She met Tim Croak and his wife, Betty, who were -also going to Mass. After the usual interchange of greetings, Betty -surveyed Sally from head to foot with a look of delighted wonder.</p> - -<p>“Look at her, Tim,” she exclaimed, “an’ isn’t she as young an’ as -hearty as ever? Bad ’cess to me but you’re the same Sally that danced -wid the master at my weddin’, next Thursday fortnight ’ll be eleven -years.”</p> - -<p>“Begob, you’re a great woman,” says Tim.</p> - -<p>Sally Cavanagh changed the subject by describing the scene she had -witnessed at the blacksmith’s.</p> - -<p>“But, Tim,” said she, after finishing the story, “how did the dispute -about the blackbird come first? I heard something about it, but I -forget it.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll tell you that, then,” said Tim. “Begob, ay,” he exclaimed -abruptly, after thinking for a moment; “twas this day seven years, for -all the world—the year o’ the hard frost. Shawn Gow set a crib in his -haggart the evenin’ afore, and when he went out in the mornin’ he had a -hen blackbird. He put the <i>goulogue</i><a id="FNanchor_22" href="#Footnote_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a> on her nick, and tuck her -in his hand; an’ wud one <i>smulluck</i> av his finger knocked the life -out av her; he walked in an’ threw the blackbird on the table.</p> - -<p>“‘Oh, Shawn,’ siz Nancy, ‘you’re afther ketchin’ a fine thrish.’ Nancy -tuck the bird in her hand an’ began rubbin’ the feathers on her breast. -‘A fine thrish,’ siz Nancy.</p> - -<p>“‘’Tisn’t a thrish, but a blackbird,’ siz Shawn.</p> - -<p>“‘Wisha, in throth, Shawn,’ siz Nancy, ‘’tis a thrish; do you want to -take the sight o’ my eyes from me?’</p> - -<p>“‘I tell you ’tis a blackbird,’ siz he.</p> - -<p>“‘Indeed, then, it isn’t, but a thrish,’ siz she.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">[319]</span></p> - -<p>“Anyway one word borrowed another, an’ the end av it was, Shawn flailed -at her an’ gev her the father av a batin’.</p> - -<p>“The Christmas Day afther, Nancy opened the door an’ looked out.</p> - -<p>“‘God be wud this day twelve months,’ siz she, ‘do you remimber the -fine thrish you caught in the crib?’</p> - -<p>“’Twas a blackbird,’ siz Shawn.</p> - -<p>“‘Whisht, now, Shawn, ’twas a thrish,’ siz Nancy.</p> - -<p>“‘I tell you again ’twas a blackbird,’ siz Shawn.</p> - -<p>“‘Och,’ siz Nancy, beginnen to laugh, ‘that was the quare blackbird.’</p> - -<p>“Wud that, one word borrowed another, an’ Shawn stood up an’ gev her -the father av a batin’.</p> - -<p>“The third Christmas Day kem, an’ they wor in the best o’ good humour -afther the tay, an’ Shawn puttin’ on his ridin’-coat to go to Mass.</p> - -<p>“‘Well, Shawn,’ siz Nancy, ‘I’m thinkin’ av what an unhappy Christmas -mornin’ we had this day twelve months, all on account of the thrish you -caught in the crib, bad ’cess to her.’</p> - -<p>“‘’Twas a blackbird,’ siz Shawn.</p> - -<p>“‘Wisha, good luck to you, an’ don’t be talkin’ foolish,’ siz Nancy; -‘an’ you’re betther not get into a passion agin, account av an ould -thrish. My heavy curse on the same thrish,’ siz Nancy.</p> - -<p>“‘I tell you ’twas a blackbird,’ siz Shawn.</p> - -<p>“‘An’ I tell you ’twas a thrish,’ siz Nancy.</p> - -<p>“Wud that, Shawn took a <i>bunnaun</i><a id="FNanchor_23" href="#Footnote_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> he had seasonin’ in the -chimley, and whaled at Nancy, an’ gev her the father av a batin’. An’ -every Christmas morning from that day to this ’twas the same story, for -as sure as the sun Nancy ’d draw down the thrish. But do you tell me, -Sally, she’s afther givin’ in it was a blackbird?”</p> - -<p>“She is,” replied Sally.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">[320]</span></p> - -<p>“Begob,” said Tim Croak, after a minute’s serious reflection, “it ought -to be put in the papers. I never h’ard afore av a wrong notion bein’ -got out av a woman’s head. But Shawn Gow is no joke to dale wud, and it -took him seven years to do id.”</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>Charles Joseph Kickham</i> (1828–1882).</p> - - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>IRISH ASTRONOMY.</i></h2> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>A veritable myth, touching the constellation of O’Ryan, -ignorantly and falsely spelled Orion.</p> -</div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>O’Ryan was a man of might</div> - <div class="i1">Whin Ireland was a nation,</div> - <div>But poachin’ was his chief delight</div> - <div class="i1">And constant occupation.</div> - <div>He had an ould militia gun,</div> - <div class="i1">And sartin sure his aim was;</div> - <div>He gave the keepers many a run,</div> - <div class="i1">And didn’t mind the game laws.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>St. Pathrick wanst was passin’ by</div> - <div class="i1">O’Ryan’s little houldin’,</div> - <div>And as the saint felt wake and dhry,</div> - <div class="i1">He thought he’d enther bould in;</div> - <div>“O’Ryan,” says the saint, “avick!</div> - <div class="i1">To praich at Thurles I’m goin’;</div> - <div>So let me have a rasher, quick,</div> - <div class="i1">And a dhrop of Innishowen.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“No rasher will I cook for you</div> - <div class="i1">While betther is to spare, sir;</div> - <div>But here’s a jug of mountain dew,</div> - <div class="i1">And there’s a rattlin’ hare, sir.”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">[321]</span></div> - <div>St. Pathrick he looked mighty sweet,</div> - <div class="i1">And says he, “Good luck attind you,</div> - <div>And whin you’re in your windin’ sheet</div> - <div class="i1">It’s up to heaven I’ll sind you.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>O’Ryan gave his pipe a whiff—</div> - <div class="i1">“Thim tidin’s is transportin’,</div> - <div>But may I ax your saintship if</div> - <div class="i1">There’s any kind of sportin’?”</div> - <div>St. Pathrick said, “A Lion’s there,</div> - <div class="i1">Two Bears, a Bull, and Cancer”—</div> - <div>“Bedad,” says Mick, “the huntin’s rare,</div> - <div class="i1">St. Pathrick, I’m your man, sir!”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>So, to conclude my song aright,</div> - <div class="i1">For fear I’d tire your patience,</div> - <div>You’ll see O’Ryan any night</div> - <div class="i1">Amid the constellations.</div> - <div>And Venus follows in his thrack,</div> - <div class="i1">Till Mars grows jealous raally,</div> - <div>But, faith, he fears the Irish knack</div> - <div class="i1">Of handling the—shillaly.</div> - <div class="right"><i>Charles Graham Halpine</i> (1829–1868).</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">[322]</span></p> - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>PADDY FRET, THE PRIEST’S BOY.</i></h2> - -<p>“Sorra a one of me’ll get married,” remarked Paddy Fret, as he was -furbishing up the priest’s stirrups one beautiful Saturday morning, in -the little kitchen at the rear of the chapel-house. “Sure, if I don’t, -you will; and there’ll be a great palin’ of bells at the weddin’. We’ll -all turn out to see you—the whole of the foolish vargins rowled into -wan.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Galvin, who was at the moment occupied in turning the white side -of a slab of toast to the fire, turned round to her tormentor, no small -degree of acerbity wrinkling up her face.</p> - -<p>“Mind your work, and keep a civil tongue in your impty head,” -she exclaimed petulantly. “There was many a fine lump of a boy -would marry me in my time, if I only took the throuble to wink -a <i>comether</i><a id="FNanchor_24" href="#Footnote_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a> at him. There was min in them times, not -<i>sprahauns</i><a id="FNanchor_25" href="#Footnote_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a> like you.”</p> - -<p>“You’re burnin’ the toast, an’ goin’ to make snuff of Father Maher’s -break’ast,” interrupted Paddy. “At the rate you’re goin’ on, you’ll -bile the eggs that hard that you’ll kill his riverence, and be thried -for murdher. And, upon my <i>soukins</i>, the hangman will have a nate -job with you.”</p> - -<p>“You’d slip thro’ the rope, you flax-hank,” was the answer. “Wait till -I put my two eyes on Katty Tyrrell, and, troth, I’ll put your nose out -o’ joint, or my name isn’t Mary Galvin. You goin’ coortin’! The Lord -save and guide us! As if any wan would dhrame of taking a switch for a -husband—a crathur like you, only fit to beat an ould coat with!”</p> - -<p>“Don’t lose your timper, Mrs. Galvin,” said Paddy, whose -inextinguishable love of fun gleamed out of his black<span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">[323]</span> eyes, and -flashed from his dazzlingly white and regular teeth. “God is good; all -the ould fools isn’t dead yet, and there’s a chance of your not dying -without some unforchinate gandher saying the Rosary in thanks for his -redimption.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Galvin made no reply. She placed the toast in the rack in silence; -but that silence was ominous. Next, she removed the teapot, cosy and -all, from the fireside, and placed all on a tray, which she bore off -with a sort of conscious yet sullen dignity, to the pretty parlour, -where Father Maher, after his hard mountain ride, waited breakfast.</p> - -<p>“I’ll never spake to Paddy Fret again, your riverence,” she said, when -everything had been arranged, and it was her turn to quit the room.</p> - -<p>The priest, like the majority of his Irish brethren—God bless -them!—had a ready appreciation of a joke. He paused in the task of -shelling an egg, and inquired with all possible gravity, “What is the -matter now, Mrs. Galvin?”</p> - -<p>“Sure, your riverence, my heart is bruk with the goin’s on of Paddy -Fret. From mornin’ till night he’s never done makin’ faces at me, an’ -sayin’ as how no wan in Croagh would think of throwin’ a stick at me. -Ah! then, I can tell you, Father Michael, I squez the heart’s blood out -of many as fine a man, in my time, as iver bid the divil good night, -savin’ your riverence.”</p> - -<p>“You are in the autumn of your beauty yet, Mary,” said the priest, -“handsome is that handsome does, you know.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you kindly, Father Maher. But that boy’ll be the death o’ me. -And then,” putting her sharp knuckles on the table’s edge, and bending -over to her master, in deep confidence, “I know for sartin that he’s -runnin’ after half the girls in the parish.”</p> - -<p>Father Maher looked grave at this disclosure.</p> - -<p>“Of course they keep running away from him—don’t they, Mary? Why, -we’ve got an Adonis in the house.”</p> - -<p>“The Lord forbid I’d say that of him, sir,” remarked<span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">[324]</span> Mrs. Galvin, -whose acquaintance with Hellenic myths was rather hazy. “Bad as he is, -he hasn’t come to that yet.”</p> - -<p>“I am glad to hear you say as much,” said the priest, as he poured out -a cup of tea, and proceeded to butter the toast. “Never fear, Mary, -I’ll have an eye on that fellow.”</p> - -<p>The door closed, shutting out the housekeeper, and Father Maher’s face -relaxed into a broad smile. He rested the local paper against the -toast-rack, and laughed cautiously from time to time, as he ran down -its columns of barren contents. Neither Paddy nor Mrs. Galvin had the -faintest idea of the amusement their daily quarrels afforded him, or of -the gusto with which he used to describe them at the dinner-tables to -which he was occasionally invited.</p> - -<p>Having burnished the irons and cleansed the leathers until they -shone again, Paddy Fret mounted to his bedroom, over the stable, and -proceeded to array himself with unusual care. His toilet completed, -he surveyed himself in the cracked triangle of looking-glass imbedded -in the mortar of the wall, and the result of the scrutiny satisfied -him that there was not a gayer or handsomer young fellow in the whole -parish of Croagh. So, in love with himself and part of the world, he -stole cautiously down the rickety step-ladder, and gliding like a snake -between the over-bowering laurels which flanked the chapel-house, -emerged on the high road.</p> - -<p>“I’m afeerd, Paddy, that my father will never listen to a good word -for you,” said pretty Katty Tyrrell, as the priest’s boy took a stool -beside her before the blazing peat fire, burning on the stoveless -hearth. “He’s a grave man, wanst he takes a notion into his head.”</p> - -<p>“All ould min has got notions,” said Paddy, “but they dhrop off with -their hairs. Lave him to me, and if I don’t convart him, call me a -souper. Sure, if he wants a son-in-law to be a comfort in his ould age -he couldn’t meet with a finer boy than meself.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">[325]</span></p> - -<p>“Mrs. Galvin says,” continued Katty, “that it would be a morchial -sin to throw me and my two hundherd pounds away on the likes o’ you. -‘A good-for-nothin’ <i>bosthoon</i>,’<a id="FNanchor_26" href="#Footnote_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a> says she, ‘that I wouldn’t -graize the wheel of a barrow with.’”</p> - -<p>“She wouldn’t graize a great many wheels, at any rate,” replied Paddy. -“The truth is, Katty dear, the poor woman is out of her sivin sinses, -and all for the want of a gintleman to make a lady of her, as I’m goin’ -to make wan o’ you.”</p> - -<p>The splendour of the promise bewildered Miss Tyrrell. She could only -rest her elbows on her knees, hide her face in her hands, and cry, “Oh, -Paddy!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, me jewel,” continued the subtle suitor, “I’m poor to-day, -perhaps, but there’s noble blood coursin’ thro’ my veins. Go up to the -top of Knock-meil-Down some fine mornin’, and look down all around -you. There isn’t a square fut o’ grass in all you see that didn’t -wanst belong to my ancisthors. In the time of Cahul Mohr wan o’ my -grandfathers had tin thousand min and a hundherd thousand sheep at his -command, not to spake of ships at say and forthresses and palaces on -land.”</p> - -<p>“Arrah, how did you get robbed, Paddy?” said Katty.</p> - -<p>“Well, you see, my dear, they were a hard-dhrinkin’ lot at the time I’m -spakin’ of. The landed property wint into the Incumbered Estates Coort, -and was sould for a song; the forthresses were changed into Martello -towers, and the army took shippin’ for France, but they were wracked -somewhere in the South Says, where they all swam ashore and turned New -Zealandhers.”</p> - -<p>Katty was profoundly interested by this historical sketch of the Fret -family, which Paddy rolled out without hitch or pause—indispensable -elements of veracity in a spoken narrative. She allowed her lover to -hold her hand, and fancied she was a princess.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">[326]</span></p> - -<p>As they sat in this delightful abstraction—the ecstasy known to the -moderns as “spooning”—they were startled by the sound of wheels in the -farmyard, and Katty, with one swift glance at the window, exclaimed in -the wildest anguish, “Oh, Paddy, Paddy, what’ll become o’ me? Here’s my -father and mother come back from market already.”</p> - -<p>“Take it aisy, darlint,” replied Mr. Fret. “Can’t I hide in the bedroom -beyant?”</p> - -<p>“Not for all the world!” said Katty, in terror. “Oh, dear! oh, dear!”</p> - -<p>“Thin stick me in the pot and put the lid over me,” was Mr. Fret’s next -happy suggestion.</p> - -<p>Katty glanced in agony round the kitchen, and suddenly a great hope -filled her to the lips. Over the fireplace was a rude platform—common -to Irish farmhouses—on which saddles, harness, empty sacks, old ropes, -boots, and sometimes wool, were stored away indiscriminately.</p> - -<p>“Up there—up with you,” she cried, placing a chair for him to ascend.</p> - -<p>Paddy lost no time in mounting, and having stretched himself at full -length, his terrified sweetheart piled the litter over him until he was -completely hidden from view.</p> - -<p>The hiding was scarce effected when Andy Tyrrell, old Mrs. Tyrrell, -and Mrs. Galvin made their appearance. They each drew stools round the -fire, in order to enjoy the blaze, which was most welcome after their -inclement ride.</p> - -<p>“Are you yit mopin’ over that blackguard, Paddy Fret, <i>ma -colleen</i>?” asked the priest’s housekeeper. “’Tis a bad bargain you’d -make o’ the same <i>daltheen</i>,<a id="FNanchor_27" href="#Footnote_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a> honey.”</p> - -<p>Katty, profoundly concerned in the mending of a stocking, pretended not -to hear the inquiry.</p> - -<p>“She’s gettin’ sense, Mary,” said Mrs. Tyrrell. “Boys’ll be boys, and -girls’ll be girls, till the geese crows like cocks.”</p> - -<p>“I tould the vagabone at the last fair,” remarked the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">[327]</span> old man, “that -if ever I caught him within an ass’s roar o’ this doore I’d put him -into the thrashin’ machine, and make chaff of his ugly bones. Bad luck -to his impidence, the <i>aulaun</i>,<a id="FNanchor_28" href="#Footnote_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a> to come lookin’ afther my -daughter.”</p> - -<p>A bottle of whisky was now produced, and Katty busied herself in -providing glasses for the party. Mrs. Galvin at first declined to -“touch a dhrop, it bein’ too airly,” but once persuaded to hallow the -seductive fluid with her chaste lips, it was wonderful how soon she got -reconciled to potation after potation, till her inquisitive eyes began -to twinkle oddly in the firelight.</p> - -<p>“What the divil is the matther with the creel?” (the platform above -alluded to) asked old Tyrrell. “’Tis groanin’ as if it had the lumbago.”</p> - -<p>“The wind, my dear man, ’tis the wind,” replied Mrs. Galvin.</p> - -<p>“Faith, I think ’tis enchanted it is,” observed the lady of the house. -“Look how it keeps rockin’ and shakin’, as if there was a throubled -sowl in it.”</p> - -<p>“The wind, ma’am—’tis I know what it is, <i>alanna</i>,<a id="FNanchor_29" href="#Footnote_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a> to my -cost,” said the housekeeper; “’tis only the wind.”</p> - -<p>Katty’s heart went pit-a-pat during this conference. She knew that the -“creel” was not the firmest of structures, and she shivered at the bare -idea of Paddy making a turn which might send it to pieces.</p> - -<p>Again the whisky went round, mollifying the hard lines of Mrs. Galvin’s -unromantic countenance. Old Tyrrell, meanwhile, kept a steady eye on -the “creel,” which had relapsed by this time into its normal immobility.</p> - -<p>“Have a dhrop, Katty,” he said, handing his daughter his glass.</p> - -<p>The girl, who knew the consequence of disobeying his slightest command, -touched the rim of the vessel with her lips, and returned it with a -grateful “Thank you, father.”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">[328]</span> At the same time on lifting her eyes to -the “creel” she saw Paddy’s face peering out at her, and was honoured -with one of the finest winks that gentleman was capable of.</p> - -<p>“Well, here’s long life to all of us, and may we be no worse off this -day twelvemonth,” said the old man, as he replenished the ladies’ -glasses, and then set about draining his own. “Give me your hand, Mrs. -Galvin. There isn’t a finer nor a better woman in——”</p> - -<p>The sentence was never finished, for whilst he was speaking the “creel” -gave way, and Paddy Fret, followed by the miscellaneous lumber which -had concealed him, tumbled into the middle of the astonished party. The -women shrieked and ran, whilst poor Katty, overcome by the terror of -the situation, fainted into a chair.</p> - -<p>Paddy rose to his feet, unabashed and confident. “Wasn’t that a grand -fright I gave ye all?” he asked, with superb indifference.</p> - -<p>Tyrrell, pale as death, and trembling in every limb, went to a corner, -took up a gun, and pointed the muzzle at the intruder’s head. “Swear,” -he hoarsely exclaimed, “you’ll make an honest woman of my daughter -before another week, or I’ll blow the roof off your skull.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll spare you all the throuble,” said Paddy; “send for Father Maher -and I’ll marry her this minit, if you like. Will you have Paddy Fret -for your husband, Katty?” he asked, taking the hands of the now -conscious girl.</p> - -<p>The whisky was finished, and on the following Sunday Father Maher -united Paddy Fret and Katty Tyrrell, in the little chapel of Croagh. -Mrs. Galvin danced bravely at the wedding, and was heard, more than -once, to whisper that “only for her ’twould never be a match.”</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>John Francis O’Donnell</i> (1837–1874).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">[329]</span></p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_330"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_330.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“‘THAT’S THE TRUTH,’ SAYS O’SHANAHAN DHU.”</p> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>O’SHANAHAN DHU.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">O’Shanahan Dhu, you’re a rover, and you’ll never be better, I fear,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">A rogue, a deludherin’ lover, with a girl for each day in the year;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Don’t you know how the mothers go frowning, when a village you wander athrough,</div> - <div>For the priest you’d not seek were you drowning—</div> - <div class="i3">“That’s the truth,” says O’Shanahan Dhu,</div> - <div class="i4 hangingindent">“For I’m aisy in love and divarsion,” says the ranting O’Shanahan Dhu.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">O’Shanahan, don’t think you’re welcome, for I was but this moment, I’m sure,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Saying—“Speak of the dhioul<a id="FNanchor_30" href="#Footnote_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a> and he’ll come,” and that moment you stood on the floor;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Now you’ll blarney, and flatter, and swear it, while you know I’ve my spinning to do,</div> - <div>It would take a bright angel to bear it—</div> - <div class="i3">“That’s the truth,” says O’Shanahan Dhu;</div> - <div class="i4 hangingindent">“For, darling, all know you’re an angel,” says the ranting O’Shanahan Dhu.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">O’Shanahan Dhu, there’s Jack Morrow, the smith in the hill-forge above,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Who says marriage is nothing but sorrow, and a wedding the end of all love;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">I myself don’t care much for believing that it’s gospel, yet what can one do,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_331">[331]</span></div> - <div>When you men are so given to deceiving—</div> - <div class="i3">“That’s the truth,” says O’Shanahan Dhu;</div> - <div class="i4 hangingindent">“We’re the thieves of the world, still you like us,” says the ranting O’Shanahan Dhu.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">O’Shanahan Dhu, why come scheming, when there’s nobody in but poor me,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Can you fancy I’m foolish or draming, to believe that our hearts could agree?</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Don’t you know, sir, all round they’re reporting, with good reason, perhaps, for it too,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">That Jack Shea’s dainty daughter you’re courting?—</div> - <div class="i3">“That’s the truth,” says O’Shanahan Dhu,</div> - <div class="i4 hangingindent">“But there’s no one believes it, my darling,” with a wink, says O’Shanahan Dhu.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">O’Shanahan Dhu, now you’ll vex me, let me go, sir, this moment, I say,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">I’m in airnest, and why so perplex me, see I’m losing the work of the day.</div> - <div class="hangingindent">There’s my spinning all gone to a tangle, my bleached clothes all boiled to a blue,</div> - <div>While for kisses you wrestle and wrangle—</div> - <div class="i3">“That’s the truth,” says O’Shanahan Dhu,</div> - <div class="i4 hangingindent">“I own I’ve a weakness for kisses,” says the ranting O’Shanahan Dhu.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">O’Shanahan Dhu, here’s my mother, if you don’t let me go, faith, I’ll cry,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Why, she’ll tell both my father and brother, and with shame maybe cause me to die,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And then at your bedside I’ll haunt you, with a light in my hand burning blue,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_332">[332]</span></div> - <div class="hangingindent">From my shroud moaning, “Shemus, I want you,”—</div> - <div class="i3">“That’s the truth,” says O’Shanahan Dhu,</div> - <div class="i4 hangingindent">“But, ah, darling, say that while you’re living,” says the ranting O’Shanahan Dhu.</div> - <div class="right"><i>James J. Bourke</i> (1837–1894).</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>SHANE GLAS.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>If you saw Shane Glas as he tramped to the fair,</div> - <div>With his fresh white shirt and his neat combed hair,</div> - <div class="i1">You’d never believe what a rake went by;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Why the girls—however he’s won them—the rogue—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Love the ground that is touched by the sole of his brogue,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">And they follow him, ’spite of the old people’s cry—</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i2">“Sludhering Shawn, deludhering Shawn,</div> - <div class="i3 hangingindent">Whose blarneying lies might a warship float,</div> - <div class="i2">Let the girls alone, you big vagabone,</div> - <div class="i2">Or soon they’ll have reason to cry, ‘Ochone,’</div> - <div class="i3 hangingindent">Go home I say, there’s a rogue in your coat.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>He met Sally one day at the market town,</div> - <div>With her neat blacked shoes and her dimity gown,</div> - <div class="i1">And never dreamt she what a rake was nigh;</div> - <div>He whispered soft nothings, he pleaded with sighs,</div> - <div>Praised her red glowing cheek, her round breasts, her blue eyes,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">And, O maid of the mountain, he left her to cry—<span class="pagenum" id="Page_333">[333]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i2">“Sludhering Shawn, soothering Shawn,</div> - <div class="i3">Traitor, on whom all the girls still doat,</div> - <div class="i2">Sal, Peggy, and Sue have reason to rue</div> - <div class="i2">The day they beheld your bright eyes of blue,</div> - <div class="i3 hangingindent">And your swaggering gait, and the rogue in your coat.”</div> - <div class="right"><i>Translated from the Irish by J. J. Bourke.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>AN IRISH STORY-TELLER.</i></h2> - -<p>Meehawl Theige Oge (Murphy) was the name of the man of whom I speak. -Though small in stature, he himself deemed that there never lived a -more powerful man. He was not fond of speaking truth, as may be easily -learnt from the following story.</p> - -<p>He lived near Miskish, and reclaimed as much land at the base of this -hill as afforded pasture to a cow or two. This, he often swore, he made -so fertile that it would grow potatoes without sowing them at all. -Somebody once asked him how were the new potatoes. “I’ll tell you, -then,” says he. “I was setting down yesterday west there near the end -of wan of the ridges, and I heard the sweetest music that ever a singer -made. Wid the hate (heat) of the sun, ’tis how the <i>knapawns</i><a id="FNanchor_31" href="#Footnote_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a> -were fighting wid aich other, and they making noise and they saying -like this:—</p> - - <div class="poetry-container1"> - <h2 class="smaller"></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="ileft">“‘Move out from me and don’t crush me so,</div> - <div>But you won’t, you won’t, O bitter woe!’</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>West wid me to the house for a spade and a skive. I hadn’t the spade -in the ground right, when up popped every <i>knasster</i><a id="FNanchor_32" href="#Footnote_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a> as big -as your head. I went home in high<span class="pagenum" id="Page_334">[334]</span> glee,—sure, a wran’s egg wouldn’t -break under me, my heart was so light,—I washed the praties for myself -and hung them over the fire. Then I sat on the <i>seestheen</i>,<a id="FNanchor_33" href="#Footnote_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a> -and reddened (lit) my pipe. I hadn’t a <i>shoch</i> (whiff) and a half -pulled when here are the praties fubbling. I tuk ’em off the fire at -my dead aise and put ’em on the table after a spell. Glory be to God -that gave ’em to me; ’tis they wor the fine ating; I never ate the like -of ’em, and I won’t again too till the <i>Day of Flags</i> (day of his -burial). ’Tisn’t that itself, but they wor laffing with me, widout they -knowing I was going to lie my back-teeth on ’em.”</p> - -<p>Meehawl was often obliged to go to England. Once, after returning home, -a contemptible little fellow asked him would himself find any kind of -suitable employment there. Meehawl looked at him from head to foot, as -he stood by the fire warming himself, though the sun was splitting the -trees, the heat was so great. A fly alighted on his nose; but he gave -him a slap which put an end to his pricking. “The divel,” says Meehawl, -“if you had a whip I am sure you would keep the flies from the hams of -bacon which I used see hanging in the houses in England!”</p> - -<p>He was very fond of liquor, but alas! he had not the means whereby -to indulge his desires. At times, however, he used to have a few -shillings; then he would go to the fair,—not without bringing his -blackthorn stick,—and finding some neighbour whom he made much of, -they would both go and have a “drop” together, till his money was -spent; after which he would make his exit from the tavern like a mad -thunderbolt. And if anybody came near him he was sure to get a taste of -his blackthorn. To do him justice, there were few men who could beat -him fighting with a stick.</p> - -<p>One day he came home drunk; “he had a blow on the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_335">[335]</span> cat and a blow -on the dog.” His wife was sitting in the corner as mute as a cat, -but she uttered not a word till he had slept off the effects of the -drunkenness; then she asked him why he had come home as he did the -night before. It did not take him long to find his answer:—“Sure,” -said he, “I had to drink something to clane the cobwebs out of my -throat!” The poor fellow had no stripper that winter, so that he had to -eat his food dry.</p> - -<p>I have stated before that Meehawl often had to go to England. Here is -one of the stories which he used to relate after coming back:—“After -going to England I was a spell widout any work, and sure it did not -take me long to spind the little penny of money that I brought wid me, -and I wouldn’t get a lodging anywhere, since my pocket wasn’t stiff. -I put my hand in my pocket, trying for my pipe, and what should I -get there but tuppence (2d.) by the height of luck. I bought a loaf -of bread for myself; I ate a bit of it, and put the rest of it in -the pocket of my <i>casoge</i>.<a id="FNanchor_34" href="#Footnote_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a> When it was going of me to get a -lodging anywhere, what should I see a couple of steps from me but a -big gun. It was a short delay for me to get into its mouth, and while -you’d be closing your eye I wasn’t inside when I fell asleep. In the -morning, when I was waking myself up, I didn’t feel a bit till I got a -bullet that put so much hurry on me that I couldn’t ever or ever stop -till I fell in a fine brickle (brittle) <i>moantawn</i><a id="FNanchor_35" href="#Footnote_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a> in France. -‘Well, Meehawl,’ says I to myself, ‘maybe you oughtn’t complain since -you didn’t fall into the say where you’d get swallowing without chawing -(chewing).’ Then I thanked God who brought me safe and sound so far. I -put my hand in the pocket of my <i>casoge</i> and what should be there -before me but the small little bit of bread I put into it the night -before that. ‘<i>Food is the work-horse</i>, wherever you’ll be,’ says -I to myself, ating up the bread dry as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_336">[336]</span> fast as I could. When I had it -ate, I looked around me just as cute as Norry-the-bogs<a id="FNanchor_36" href="#Footnote_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a> when she’d -be trying for fish in a river, but sure if I stopped looking till the -<i>Day of Flags</i>, I wouldn’t get as much as the full of my eye of -wan Frenchman.</p> - -<p>“‘Well, that’s best,’ says I, going to a fine cock of hay, as high as -Miskish, but high as it was, I went on top of it. I made a hole through -it, and left myself into it, widout a bit of me out but the top of my -nose, to draw my breath. I wasn’t there long till I fell asleep, and -I didn’t feel anything till morning. When I woke up I looked round -me—where was I? God for ever wid me! where was I only in the middle of -the say, and my heart ruz as I thought of it right. I suppose ’tis how -a cloud fell near the cock, and that ruz the flood in the river so much -that it swept myself and the cock all together away—widout letting -<i>me</i> know of it. I gave myself up to God, but if I did ’tis likely -I didn’t deserve much of the good from Him, for again a spell here’s a -whale to me (there’s a creeping could running through me when I think -of him!), and he opened his dirty mouth and he swallowed myself and the -cock holus bolus.</p> - -<p>“I wasn’t gone right till that happened me. People say that Hell is -dark, but if it is as dark as the stomach of that baste, the divil -entirely is in it. But that isn’t here nor there; you’d see the fish -running hither and over about his stomach, some of ’em swimming fine -and aisy for theirself, more of ’em lepping as light as flays (fleas), -and some more of ’em bawling like young childer. ‘Ye haven’t any more -right to do that nor me,’ says I, and I tuk out and opened a big knife; -widout a lie it was sharp—wan blow of it would cut off the leg of the -biggest horse that ever trod or walked on grass. Here am I cutting, -and ’tis short till the pain pinched the whale, and begor I saw that -he would like to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_337">[337]</span> turn off. ‘Squeeze out,’ says I, and wid that I saw -the fish running out. ‘That your road may rise wid ye,’ says I; but I -wasn’t going to stop till he would give the same tratement or better -to myself. Here’s he blowing; ‘Blow on wid you,’ says I, and I was -cutting always at such a rate that it wasn’t long till I put my knife -out through his side, and I fell on the top of my head. ‘<i>Fooisg! -fooisg!</i>’ says the stomach of the whale, and praise and thanks be to -God, he blew me out through his mouth. He was tired of me and I was no -less tired of him too. He blew me so high in the sky that I couldn’t be -far from the sun, there was so much hate (heat) there. But any way I -fell down safe and sound on a fine soft bog of turf that was cut only -a few days before that. Nothing happened to me, only that the nail was -taken off the <i>loodeen</i><a id="FNanchor_37" href="#Footnote_37" class="fnanchor">[37]</a> of my left leg!”</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>Patrick O’Leary.</i></p> - - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>THE HAUNTED SHEBEEN.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>A very queer story I heard</div> - <div class="i2">Long ago,</div> - <div>In Kerry. ’Tis gruesome and weird:</div> - <div class="i2">Stage went slow</div> - <div>As we passed a ruined shebeen</div> - <div>On our way to Cahirciveen.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“They drank and they feasted <i>galore</i>,</div> - <div class="i2">With each breath</div> - <div>Loud calling for one bottle more!</div> - <div class="i2">Father Death</div> - <div>Came in in the midst of the cheer,</div> - <div>With ‘Long life to all of yez here!’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_338">[338]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“By Crom’ell! his eyes they were bright;</div> - <div class="i2">Loud he laughed,</div> - <div>Saying, ‘Boys, we will make it a night.’</div> - <div class="i2">Then he quaffed</div> - <div>A dandy of punch in a trice,</div> - <div>Remarking, ‘<i>Da di!</i> it is nice!’</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“’Tis whisky that loosens the tongue!</div> - <div class="i2">Beard o’ Crom’!</div> - <div>And that same has been often sung;</div> - <div class="i2">Not a <i>gom</i><a id="FNanchor_38" href="#Footnote_38" class="fnanchor">[38]</a></div> - <div>Was <i>filea</i><a id="FNanchor_39" href="#Footnote_39" class="fnanchor">[39]</a> that <i>clairsech’d</i><a id="FNanchor_40" href="#Footnote_40" class="fnanchor">[40]</a> the line:</div> - <div>O whisky’s a nectar divine!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“One welcomed the pale king with cheers;</div> - <div class="i2">All his life</div> - <div>Was channelled with woe’s soulful tears;</div> - <div class="i2">He had wife</div> - <div>That came, a black fate, in his way,</div> - <div>When his years were just clasping the May.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“Another—he gave furtive glance,</div> - <div class="i2">And grew pale—</div> - <div>‘This coming,’ mused he, ‘won’t entrance,</div> - <div class="i2">I’ll go bail,</div> - <div>This meeting of ours!’—week ere this,</div> - <div>God Hymen had made for him bliss.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“And another?—Rises the din</div> - <div class="i2">Loud and strong;</div> - <div>The whisky a-firing, Neill Finn</div> - <div class="i2">Said, ‘A song</div> - <div>We’ll have from our guest ere we’ll go!’</div> - <div>The guest said, ‘Well, Neill, be it so!’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_339">[339]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“He sang them a <i>spirited</i> stave,</div> - <div class="i2">Written where</div> - <div>The poet for bread is no slave</div> - <div class="i2">To black care—</div> - <div>‘Long life to yez!’ shouted Neill Finn;</div> - <div>Death smiled, and said, ‘Neill, boy, amin!’</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“They called for the cards and they played,</div> - <div class="i2">Sure the same</div> - <div>‘Forty-fives’ it was named—Mike Quade</div> - <div class="i2">In the game</div> - <div>So cheated that Death said: ‘’Tis like</div> - <div>The wind from your sails I’ll take, Mike.’</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“What time with a blow from his stick,</div> - <div class="i2">To the earth</div> - <div>He struck Mick. Then <i>kippeens</i><a id="FNanchor_41" href="#Footnote_41" class="fnanchor">[41]</a> took quick</div> - <div class="i2">Striking birth;</div> - <div>The Quade boys were there to the fore,</div> - <div>All longing, my dear, for red gore!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“They went for the old man, but he</div> - <div class="i2">Used to fight,</div> - <div>His glass drained, and quick as a bee</div> - <div class="i2">Left and right</div> - <div>Blows laid—when they woke from their fix,</div> - <div>They waited for Charon by Styx.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“The old one he stuck to the drink,</div> - <div class="i2">(So they tell),</div> - <div>Till being o’ercome (as they think),</div> - <div class="i2">That he fell</div> - <div>Down under the table—nor woke</div> - <div>Till day o’er the Atlantic broke.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_340">[340]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“Forgetful of all that had passed,</div> - <div class="i2">He looked round,</div> - <div>And seeing his subjects all massed</div> - <div class="i2">On the ground,</div> - <div>He said, ‘Oh, get up from the floor,</div> - <div>And help me with one bottle more!’</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“Since that time, the peasantry say,</div> - <div class="i2">Every night</div> - <div>Sure there is the devil to pay!</div> - <div class="i2">And the sight</div> - <div>They see—‘Sirs, no lie! ’pon my soul!’</div> - <div>Death drunk, <i>singing Beimedh a gole</i>!”<a id="FNanchor_42" href="#Footnote_42" class="fnanchor">[42]</a></div> - <div class="right"><i>Charles P. O’Conor</i> (1837?).</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_340"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_340.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“HE SAID, ‘OH, GET UP FROM THE FLOOR, AND HELP ME WITH -ONE BOTTLE MORE!’”</p> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_341">[341]</span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>FAN FITZGERL.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4h">Wirra, wirra! <i>ologone!</i></div> - <div class="i4h">Can’t ye lave a lad alone,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Till he’s proved there’s no tradition left of any other girl—</div> - <div class="i4h">Not even Trojan Helen,</div> - <div class="i4h">In beauty all excellin’—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Who’s been up to half the divilment of Fan Fitzgerl?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4h">Wid her brows of silky black</div> - <div class="i4h">Arched above for the attack,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Her eyes they dart such azure death on poor admiring man;</div> - <div class="i4h">Masther Cupid, point your arrows,</div> - <div class="i4h">From this out, agin the sparrows,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">For you’re bested at Love’s archery by young Miss Fan.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4h">See what showers of goolden thread</div> - <div class="i4h">Lift and fall upon her head,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">The likes of such a trammel-net at say was never spread;</div> - <div class="i4h">For, whin accurately reckoned,</div> - <div class="i4h">’Twas computed that each second</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Of her curls has cot a Kerryman and kilt him dead.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4h">Now mintion, if you will,</div> - <div class="i4h">Brandon Mount and Hungry Hill,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Or Mag’llicuddy’s Reeks, renowned for cripplin’ all they can;</div> - <div class="i4h">Still the country-side confisses</div> - <div class="i4h">None of all its precipices</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Cause a quarther of the carnage of the nose of Fan.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_342">[342]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4h">But your shatthered hearts suppose,</div> - <div class="i4h">Safely steered apast her nose,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">She’s a current and a reef beyand to wreck them roving ships.</div> - <div class="i4h">My meaning it is simple,</div> - <div class="i4h">For that current is her dimple,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And the cruel reef ’twill coax ye to’s her coral lips.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4h">I might inform ye further</div> - <div class="i4h">Of her bosom’s snowy murther,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And ah ankle ambuscadin’ through her gown’s delightful whirl;</div> - <div class="i4h">But what need when all the village</div> - <div class="i4h">Has forsook its peaceful tillage,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And flown to war and pillage all for Fan Fitzgerl!</div> - <div class="right"><i>Alfred Perceval Graves</i> (1846).</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_343">[343]</span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>FATHER O’FLYNN.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Of priests we can offer a charmin’ variety,</div> - <div>Far renown’d for larnin’ and piety;</div> - <div>Still, I’d advance ye without impropriety,</div> - <div class="i1">Father O’Flynn is the flow’r of them all.</div> - <div class="i2">Here’s a health to you, Father O’Flynn,</div> - <div class="i2"><i>Slainthe</i>, and <i>slainthe</i>, and <i>slainthe</i> agin;</div> - <div class="i2">Powerfullest preacher, and tenderest teacher,</div> - <div class="i3">And kindliest creature in ould Donegal.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Don’t talk of your Provost and Fellows of Trinity,</div> - <div>Famous for ever at Greek and Latinity,</div> - <div>Faix, and the divil and all at Divinity,</div> - <div class="i1">Father O’Flynn ’d make hares of them all!</div> - <div>Come, I venture to give ye my word,</div> - <div>Never the likes of his logic was heard,</div> - <div>Down from Mythology into Thayology,</div> - <div class="i1">Troth! and Conchology, if he’d the call.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Och! Father O’Flynn, you’ve a wonderful way wid you,</div> - <div>All the ould sinners are wishful to pray wid you,</div> - <div>All the young childer are wild for to play wid you,</div> - <div class="i1">You’ve such a way wid you, Father <i>avick</i>!</div> - <div>Still for all you’ve so gentle a soul,</div> - <div>Gad, you’ve your flock in the grandest control;</div> - <div>Checking the crazy ones, coaxing onaisy ones,</div> - <div class="i1">Lifting the lazy ones on with a stick.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>And though quite avoidin’ all foolish frivolity,</div> - <div>Still, at all seasons of innocent jollity,</div> - <div>Where was the play-boy could claim an equality</div> - <div class="i1">At comicality, Father, wid you?<span class="pagenum" id="Page_344">[344]</span></div> - <div>Once the Bishop looked grave at your jest,</div> - <div>Till this remark set him off wid the rest:</div> - <div>“Is it lave gaiety all to the laity?</div> - <div class="i1">Cannot the clargy be Irishmen too!”</div> - <div class="right"><i>Alfred Perceval Graves.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>PHILANDERING.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Maureen, <i>acushla</i>, ah! why such a frown on you!</div> - <div class="i1">Sure, ’tis your own purty smiles should be there,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Under those ringlets that make such a crown on you,</div> - <div class="i1">As the sweet angels themselves seem to wear,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">When from the picthers in church they look down on you,</div> - <div class="i6h">Kneeling in prayer.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Troth, no, you needn’t, there isn’t a drop on me,</div> - <div class="i1">Barrin’ one half-one to keep out the cowld;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And, Maureen, if you’ll throw a smile on the top o’ me,</div> - <div class="i1">Half-one was never so sweet, I’ll make bowld.</div> - <div>But, if you like, dear, at once put a stop on me</div> - <div class="i6h">Life with a scowld.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Red-haired Kate Ryan?—Don’t mention her name to me!</div> - <div class="i1">I’ve a taste, Maureen darlin’, whatever I do.</div> - <div class="hangingindent">But I kissed her?—Ah, now, would you even that same to me?—</div> - <div class="i1">Ye saw me! Well, well, if ye did, sure it’s true,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">But I don’t want herself or her cows, and small blame to me</div> - <div class="i6h">When I know you.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_345">[345]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>There now, <i>aroon</i>, put an ind to this strife o’ me</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">Poor frightened heart, my own Maureen, my duck;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Troth, till the day comes when you’ll be made wife o’ me,</div> - <div class="i1">Night, noon, and mornin’, my heart’ll be brack.</div> - <div>Kiss me, <i>acushla</i>! My darlin’! The life o’ me!</div> - <div class="i6h">One more for luck!</div> - <div class="right"><i>William Boyle</i> (1853).</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>HONIED PERSUASION.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“Terry O’Rourke, ’tis your presence that tazes me;</div> - <div class="i1">Haven’t I towld you so often before?</div> - <div>If you’ve the smallest regard for what plazes me,</div> - <div class="i1">Never come prowlin’ round here any more.</div> - <div>Why you persist in this game’s what amazes me;</div> - <div class="i1">Didn’t I tell you I’d beaus be the score?</div> - <div class="hangingindent">There’s Rody Kearney would give twenty cows to me</div> - <div>Any fine day that I’d let him be spouse to me.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“Biddy, <i>asthore</i>, an’ ’tis you that is hard on me,</div> - <div class="i1">Whin ’tis me two wicked legs are to blame;</div> - <div>Troth, I believe if you placed a strong guard on me,</div> - <div class="i1">They’d wandher back to this spot all the same.</div> - <div>Saving the gates of the prison are barr’d on me,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">You might as well try to keep moths from the flame,</div> - <div>Ducks from the water, or bees from the flowers,</div> - <div>As thim same legs from your door, be the powers!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“Come now, me darlin’, ’tis no use to frown on me;</div> - <div class="i1">Tho’ I’ve no cows, but two mules an’ a car,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">You wouldn’t know but I’d yet have the gown on me,</div> - <div class="i1">Ringing the tunes of me tongue at the Bar.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_346">[346]</span></div> - <div class="hangingindent">Whin I’ve won you, who despised and looked down on me,</div> - <div class="i1">Shure ’tis meself that might come to be Czar.</div> - <div>What are you smilin’ at? Give me the hand of you,</div> - <div>I’ll make the purtiest bride in the land of you.”</div> - <div class="right"><i>J. De Quincey</i> (185-).</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_346"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_346.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“I’LL MAKE THE PURTIEST BRIDE IN THE LAND OF YOU.”</p> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_347">[347]</span></p> - - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>THE FIRST LORD LIFTINANT.</i></h2> - -<p class="center sm">(AS RELATED BY ANDREW GERAGHTY, PHILOMATH.)</p> - -<p>“Essex,” said Queen Elizabeth, as the two of them sat at breakwhist in -the back parlour of Buckingham Palace, “Essex, me haro, I’ve got a job -that I think would suit you. Do you know where Ireland is?”</p> - -<p>“I’m no great fist at jografy,” says his lordship, “but I know the -place you mane. Population, three million; exports, emigrants.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” says the Queen, “I’ve been reading the <i>Dublin Evening -Mail</i> and the <i>Telegraft</i> for some time back, and sorra one -o’ me can get at the trooth o’ how things is goin’, for the leadin’ -articles is as conthradictory as if they wor husband and wife.”</p> - -<p>“That’s the way wid papers all the world over,” says Essex; “Columbus -told me it was the same in Amerikay, when he was there, abusin’ and -conthradictin’ each other at every turn—it’s the way they make their -livin’. Thrubble you for an egg-spoon.”</p> - -<p>“It’s addled they have me betune them,” says the Queen. “Not a know I -know what’s goin’ on. So now, what I want you to do is to run over to -Ireland, like a good fella, and bring me word how matters stand.”</p> - -<p>“Is it me?” says Essex, leppin’ up off his chair. “It’s not in airnest -ye are, ould lady. Sure it’s the hoight of the London saison. Every -one’s in town, and Shake’s new fairy piece, ‘The Midsummer’s Night -Mare,’ billed for next week.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll go when ye’re tould,” says the Queen, fixin’ him with her eye, -“if you know which side yer bread’s buttered on. See here, now,” says -she, seein’ him chokin’ wid<span class="pagenum" id="Page_348">[348]</span> vexation and a slice o’ corned beef, “you -ought to be as pleased as Punch about it, for you’ll be at the top o’ -the walk over there as vice-regent representin’ me.”</p> - -<p>“I ought to have a title or two,” says Essex, pluckin’ up a bit. “His -Gloriosity the Great Panjandhrum, or the like o’ that.”</p> - -<p>“How would His Excellency the Lord Liftinant of Ireland sthrike you?” -says Elizabeth.</p> - -<p>“First class,” cries Essex. “Couldn’t be betther; it doesn’t mean much, -but it’s allitherative, and will look well below the number on me hall -door.”</p> - -<p>Well, boys, it didn’t take him long to pack his clothes and start -away for the Island o’ Saints. It took him a good while to get there, -though, through not knowin’ the road; but by means of a pocket compass -and a tip to the steward, he was landed at last contagious to Dalkey -Island. Going up to an ould man who was sittin’ on a rock, he took off -his hat, and says he—</p> - -<p>“That’s great weather we’re havin’?”</p> - -<p>“Good enough for the times that’s in it,” says the ould man, cockin’ -one eye at him.</p> - -<p>“Any divarshun goin’ on?” says Essex.</p> - -<p>“You’re a sthranger in these parts, I’m thinkin’,” says the ould man, -“or you’d know this was a ‘band night’ in Dalkey.”</p> - -<p>“I wasn’t aware of it,” says Essex; “the fact is,” says he, “I only -landed from England just this minute.”</p> - -<p>“Ay,” says the ould man bitterly, “it’s little they know about us over -there. I’ll hould you,” says he, with a slight thrimble in his voice, -“that the Queen herself doesn’t know there is to be fireworks in the -Sorrento Gardens this night.”</p> - -<p>Well, when Essex heard that, he disremembered entirely he was sent -over to Ireland to put down rows and ructions, and away wid him to see -the fun and flirt wid all the pretty girls he could find. And he found -plenty of them—thick<span class="pagenum" id="Page_349">[349]</span> as bees they wor, and each one as beautiful as -the day and the morra. He wrote two letters home next day—one to Queen -Elizabeth and the other to Lord Montaigle, a play-boy like himself. -I’ll read you the one to the Queen first:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p class="r2">“<span class="smcap">Dame Sthreet</span>, <i>April 16th, 1599</i>.</p> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Fair Enchantress</span>,—I wish I was back in London, -baskin’ in your sweet smiles and listenin’ to your melodious -voice once more. I got the consignment of men and the -post-office order all right. I was out all the mornin’ lookin’ -for the inimy, but sorra a taste of Hugh O’Neil or his men can -I find. A policemin at the corner o’ Nassau Street told me they -wor hidin’ in Wicklow. So I am makin’ up a party to explore the -Dargle on Easter Monda’. The girls here are as ugly as sin, and -every minute o’ the day I do be wishin’ it was your good-lookin’ -self I was gazin’ at instead o’ these ignorant scarecrows. -Hopin’ soon to be back in ould England, I remain, your lovin’ -subjec’,</p> - -<p class="r2 smcap">“Essex.</p> - -<p>“P.S.—I hear Hugh O’Neil was seen on the top o’ the Donnybrook -tram yesterday mornin’. If I have any luck the head ’ll be off -him before you get this.</p> - -<p class="r2">“E.”</p> -</div> - - -<p>The other letter read this way—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Monty</span>—This is a great place all out. Come over -here if you want fun. Divil such play-boys ever I seen, and -the girls—oh! don’t be talkin’—’pon me secret honour you’ll -see more loveliness at a tay and supper ball in Rathmines than -there is in the whole of England. Tell Ned Spenser to send me -a love-song to sing to a young girl who seems taken wid my -appearance. Her name’s Mary, and she lives in Dunlary, so he -oughtent to find it hard. I hear Hugh O’Neil’s a terror, and -hits a powerful welt, especially when you’re not lookin’. If he -tries any of his games on wid me, I’ll give him in charge. No -brawlin’ for yours truly,</p> - -<p class="r2 smcap">“Essex.”</p> -</div> - - -<p>Well, me bould Essex stopped for odds of six months in Dublin, -purtendin’ to be very busy subjugatin’ the country, but all the time -only losin’ his time and money widout doin’ a hand’s turn, and doin’ -his best to avoid a ruction with “Fighting Hugh.” If a messenger came -to tell him that O’Neil was campin’ out on the North Bull, Essex would -up<span class="pagenum" id="Page_350">[350]</span> stick and away for Sandycove, where, after draggin’ the forty-foot -hole, he’d write off to Elizabeth, saying that “owing to their suparior -knowledge of the country, the dastard foe had once more eluded him.”</p> - -<p>The Queen got mighty tired of these letters, especially as they always -ended with a request to send stamps by return, and told Essex to finish -up his business and not be makin’ a fool of himself.</p> - -<p>“Oh, that’s the talk, is it,” says Essex; “very well, me ould -sauce-box” (that was the name he had for her ever since she gev him -the clip on the ear for turnin’ his back on her), “very well, me ould -sauce-box,” says he, “I’ll write off to O’Neil this very minute, and -tell him to send in his lowest terms for peace at ruling prices.”</p> - -<p>Well, the threaty was a bit of a one-sided one—the terms being—</p> - -<p>1. Hugh O’Neil to be King of Great Britain.</p> - -<p>2. Lord Essex to return to London and remain there as Viceroy of -England.</p> - -<p>3. The O’Neil family to be supported by Government, with free passes to -all theatres and places of entertainment.</p> - -<p>4. The London markets to buy only from Irish dealers.</p> - -<p>5. All taxes to be sent in stamped envelope, directed to H. O’Neil, and -marked “private.” Cheques crossed and made payable to H. O’Neil. Terms -cash.</p> - -<p>Well, if Essex had had the sense to read through this treaty he’d -have seen it was of too graspin’ a nature to pass with any sort of a -respectable sovereign, but he was that mad he just stuck the document -in the pocket of his pot-metal overcoat, and away wid him hot foot for -England.</p> - -<p>“Is the Queen widin?” says he to the butler, when he opened the -door o’ the palace. His clothes were that dirty and disorthered wid -travellin’ all night, and his boots that muddy, that the butler was -for not littin’ him in at the first<span class="pagenum" id="Page_351">[351]</span> go off, so says he very grand: -“Her Meejesty is abow stairs and can’t be seen till she’s had her -breakwhist.”</p> - -<p>“Tell her the Lord Liftinant of Ireland desires an enterview,” says -Essex.</p> - -<p>“Oh, beg pardon, me lord,” says the butler, steppin’ to one side, “I -didn’t know ’twas yourself was in it; come inside, sir; the Queen’s in -the dhrawin’-room.”</p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_351"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_351.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“‘YER MAJESTY, YOU HAVE A FACE ON YOU THAT WOULD CHARM A -BIRD OFF A BUSH.’”</p> - </div> - -<p>Well, Essex leps up the stairs and into the dhrawin’-room wid him, -muddy boots and all; but not a sight of Elizabeth was to be seen.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_352">[352]</span></p> - -<p>“Where’s your missis?” says he to one of the maids-of-honour that was -dustin’ the chimbley-piece.</p> - -<p>“She’s not out of her bed yet,” says the maid with a toss of her head; -“but if you write your message on the slate beyant, I’ll see”—but -before she had finished, Essex was up the second flight and knockin’ at -the Queen’s bedroom door.</p> - -<p>“Is that the hot wather?” says the Queen.</p> - -<p>“No, it’s me,—Essex. Can you see me?”</p> - -<p>“Faith, I can’t,” says the Queen. “Hould on till I draw the -bed-curtains. Come in now,” says she, “and say your say, for I can’t -have you stoppin’ long—you young Lutharian.”</p> - -<p>“Bedad, yer Majesty,” says Essex, droppin’ on his knees before her (the -delutherer he was), “small blame to me if I am a Lutharian, for you -have a face on you that would charm a bird off a bush.”</p> - -<p>“Hould your tongue, you young reprobate,” says the Queen, blushin’ up -to her curl-papers wid delight, “and tell me what improvements you med -in Ireland.”</p> - -<p>“Faith, I taught manners to O’Neil,” cries Essex.</p> - -<p>“He had a bad masther then,” says Elizabeth, lookin’ at his dirty -boots; “couldn’t you wipe yer feet before ye desthroyed me carpets, -young man?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, now,” says Essex, “is it wastin’ me time shufflin’ about on a mat -you’d have me, when I might be gazin’ on the loveliest faymale the -world ever saw.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” says the Queen, “I’ll forgive you this time, as you’ve been so -long away, but remimber in future that Kidderminster isn’t oilcloth. -Tell me,” says she, “is Westland Row Station finished yet?”</p> - -<p>“There’s a side wall or two wanted yet, I believe,” says Essex.</p> - -<p>“What about the Loop Line?” says she.</p> - -<p>“Oh, they’re gettin’ on with that,” says he, “only some people think -the girders a disfigurement to the city.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_353">[353]</span></p> - -<p>“Is there any talk about that esplanade from Sandycove to Dunlary?”</p> - -<p>“There’s talk about it, but that’s all,” says Essex; “’twould be an -odious fine improvement to house property, and I hope they’ll see to it -soon.”</p> - -<p>“Sorra much you seem to have done, beyant spendin me men and me money. -Let’s have a look at that threaty I see stickin’ out o’ your pocket.”</p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_353"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_353.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“‘ARREST THAT THRATER.’”</p> - </div> - -<p>Well, when the Queen read the terms of Hugh O’Neil she just gev him one -look, an’ jumpin’ from off the bed, put her head out of the window, and -called out to the policeman on duty—</p> - -<p>“Is the Head below?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_354">[354]</span></p> - -<p>“I’ll tell him you want him, ma’am,” says the policeman.</p> - -<p>“Do,” says the Queen. “Hello,” says she, as a slip o’ paper dhropped -out o’ the dispatches. “What’s this? ‘Lines to Mary.’ Ho! ho! me gay -fella, that’s what you’ve been up to, is it?”</p> - - <div class="poetry-container1"> - <h2 class="smaller"></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i5">“Mrs. Brady’s</div> - <div class="i5">A widow lady,</div> - <div>And she has a charmin’ daughter I adore;</div> - <div class="i5">I went to court her</div> - <div class="i5">Across the water,</div> - <div>And her mother keeps a little candy-store.</div> - <div class="i5">She’s such a darlin’,</div> - <div class="i5">She’s like a starlin’,</div> - <div>And in love with her I’m gettin’ more and more,</div> - <div class="i5">Her name is Mary,</div> - <div class="i5">She’s from Dunlary;</div> - <div>And her mother keeps a little candy-store.”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>“That settles it,” says the Queen. “It’s the gaoler you’ll serenade -next.”</p> - -<p>When Essex heard that, he thrimbled so much that the button of his -cuirass shook off and rowled under the dhressin’-table.</p> - -<p>“Arrest that man,” says the Queen, when the Head-Constable came to the -door; “arrest that thrater,” says she, “and never let me set eyes on -him again.”</p> - -<p>And indeed she never did, and soon after that he met with his death -from the skelp of an axe he got when he was standin’ on Tower Hill.</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>William Percy French</i> (1854).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_355">[355]</span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>THE AMERICAN WAKE.</i><a id="FNanchor_43" href="#Footnote_43" class="fnanchor">[43]</a></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>’Twas down at the Doherty’s “wake,”</div> - <div class="i1">(They were off to New York in the morning),</div> - <div>So we thought we’d a night of it make,</div> - <div class="i1">And gave all the countryside warning.</div> - <div>The girls came drest in their best,</div> - <div class="i1">The boys gathered too, every soul of them,</div> - <div>And Mary along with the rest——</div> - <div class="i1">’Tis she took the sway of the whole of them.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>We’d a fiddler, the pipes, and a flute——</div> - <div class="i1">The three were enough sure to bother you,</div> - <div>But you danced to whichever might suit,</div> - <div class="i1">And tried not to think of the other two.</div> - <div>The frolic was soon at its height,</div> - <div class="i1">The small drop went round never chary,</div> - <div>The girls would dazzle your sight,</div> - <div class="i1">But all I could think of was Mary.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The first jig, faith, out she’d to go,</div> - <div class="i1">The piper played “Haste to the Wedding,”</div> - <div>And while I set to heel and toe,</div> - <div class="i1">You’d think ’twas on eggs she was treading.</div> - <div>So bright was her smile and her glance,</div> - <div class="i1">So dainty the modest head bowed of her,</div> - <div>’Tis she was the Queen of the Dance,</div> - <div class="i1">And wasn’t it I that was proud of her!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_356">[356]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>At last I looked out for a chair,</div> - <div class="i1">And off I led Mary in state to it;</div> - <div>But think of us when we got there,</div> - <div class="i1">The sorra the sign of a <i>sate</i> to it!</div> - <div>Still, as there was no other free,</div> - <div class="i1">We thought we’d put up for a start with it—</div> - <div>Och, when she sat down on my knee</div> - <div class="i1">For an emperor’s throne I’d not part with it.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>When Mary sat down on my lap</div> - <div class="i1">A tremor ran through every bit of me,</div> - <div>My heart ’gin my ribs gave a rap</div> - <div class="i1">As if it was going to be quit of me.</div> - <div>I tried just a few words to say</div> - <div class="i1">To show the delight and the pride of me,</div> - <div>But my tongue was as dry in a way</div> - <div class="i1">As if I’d a bonfire inside of me.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>And there sat the <i>cailin</i> as mild</div> - <div class="i1">As if nothing at all was gone wrong with me,</div> - <div>And I just as wake as a child,</div> - <div class="i1">To have her so cosy along with me.</div> - <div>My arm around her I passed</div> - <div class="i1">When I saw there was no one persaiving us—</div> - <div>“Don’t you wish, dear,” says I, at long last,</div> - <div class="i1">“The Dohertys always were laving us?”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The words weren’t out of my mouth</div> - <div class="i1">When the thieves of musicians stopped playing,</div> - <div>And the boys ruz a laugh and a shout,</div> - <div class="i1">When they listened to what I was saying.</div> - <div>Poor Mary as swift as a hare</div> - <div class="i1">Ran off ’mong the girls and hid herself,</div> - <div>And, except that I fell through the chair,</div> - <div class="i1">I fairly forget what I did myself.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_358">[358]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The Dohertys scarce in New York</div> - <div class="i1">Were landed, I’m thinking, a week or more,</div> - <div>When a wedding took place in West Cork,</div> - <div class="i1">The like of it vainly you’d seek before.</div> - <div>Some day if my way you should pass,</div> - <div class="i1">Step in—I’ve a drop of the best of it;</div> - <div>And while Mary is mixing a glass,</div> - <div class="i1">I’ll try and I’ll tell you the rest of it.</div> - <div class="right"><i>Francis A. Fahy</i> (1854).</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_357"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_357.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“MY ARM AROUND HER I PASSED.”</p> - </div> - - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>HOW TO BECOME A POET.</i></h2> - -<p>Of all the sayings which have misled mankind from the days of Adam to -Churchill, not one has been more harmful than the old Latin one, “A -poet is born, not made.”</p> - -<p>The human intellect, it is said, may, by patient toil and study, -gather laurels in all fields of knowledge save one—that of poesy. You -may, by dint of hard work, become a captain in the Salvation Army, a -corporation crossing-sweeper—ay, even an unsuccessful Chief Secretary -for Ireland; but no amount of labour or perseverance will win you the -favour of the Muses unless those fickle-minded ladies have presided -at your birth, wrapped you, so to speak, in the swaddling clothes of -metre, and fashioned your first yells according to the laws of rhythm -and rhyme.</p> - -<p>Foolish, fatal fallacy! How many geniuses has it not nipped in the -bud—how many vaulting ambitions has it not brought to grief, what -treasures of melody has it not shut up for ever to mankind!</p> - -<p>Hence the paucity of poetical contributions to the press, the eagerness -of publishers to secure the slightest scrap of verse, the bashfulness -and timidity of authors, who yet in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_359">[359]</span> their hearts are quite confident -of their ability to transcend the best efforts of the “stars” of -ancient or modern song.</p> - -<p>Now the first thing that will strike you in reading poetical pieces is -the fact that nearly all the lines end in rhymed words, or words ending -in similar sounds, such as “kick, lick, stick,” “drink, ink, wink,” etc.</p> - -<p>This constitutes the <i>real</i> difference between prose and poetry. -For instance, the phrase, “The dread monarch stood on his head,” is -prose, but</p> - - <div class="poetry-container1"> - <h2 class="smaller"></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="ileft">“The monarch dread</div> - <div>Stood on his head”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p class="p-left">is undeniable poetry.</p> - -<p>Rhyme is, in fact, the chief or only feature in modern poetry. Get your -endings to rhyme and you need trouble your head about little else. -A certain amount of common sense is demanded by severe critics; the -general public, however, never look for it, would be astonished to find -it, and, as a matter of fact, seldom or never do find it.</p> - -<p>By careful study of the best authors you will soon discover what words -rhyme with each other, and these you should diligently record in a -small note-book, procurable at any respectable stationers for the -ridiculously small sum of one penny.</p> - -<p>Few researches afford keener intellectual pleasure than the discovery -of rhymes, in such words, say, as “cat, rat, Pat, scat”; “shed, head, -said, dead,” and it is excellent elementary training for the young poet -to combine such words into versed sentences, and even sing them to a -popular operatic air.</p> - -<p>For example——</p> - - <div class="poetry-container1"> - <h2 class="smaller"></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="ileft">“With that the cat</div> - <div>Sprang at the rat,</div> - <div>Whereat poor Pat</div> - <div>Yelled out ‘Iss-cat.’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_360">[360]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The roof of the shed</div> - <div>Fell plop on his head,</div> - <div>No more he said,</div> - <div>But fell down dead.”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>These first efforts of your muse are of high interest, and, although -it would not be advisable to rush to press with them, they should be -sedulously preserved for the use of future biographers, when fame, -honours, and emoluments shall have showered in upon you.</p> - -<p>A little caution is needed in the use of such rhymes as “fire, higher, -Maria,” “Hannah, manner, dinner,” “fight, riot, quiet.” There is -excellent authority for these, but it is well to recognise that an -absurd prejudice does exist against them.</p> - -<p>You will soon make the profitable discovery that there is a host of -words, the members of which run, like beagles, in couples, the one -invariably suggesting the other, such as “peeler, squealer”; “lick, -stick”; “Ireland, sireland”; “ocean, commotion,” and so on.</p> - - <div class="poetry-container1"> - <h2 class="smaller"></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="ileft">“’Twas then my bold peeler</div> - <div>Made after the squealer;”</div> - <div class="ileft">“He fetched him a lick</div> - <div>Of a murdering stick;”</div> - <div class="ileft">“His shriek spread from Ireland,</div> - <div>My own beloved sireland;”</div> - <div class="ileft">“And raised a commotion</div> - <div>Beyond the wide ocean.”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>Were it not for such handy couplets as these, most of our modern bards -would be forced to earn their bread honestly.</p> - -<p>Of equal importance is “alliteration’s artful aid.” It consists in -stringing together a number of words beginning with the same letter. -A large school of our bards owe their fame to this figure. You should -make a free use of it. How effective are such phrases as, “For Freedom, -Faith,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_361">[361]</span> and Fatherland we fight or fall”; “Dear Dirty Dublin’s damp and -dreary dungeons”; “Softly shone the setting sun in Summer splendour”; -“Blow the blooming heather”; “Winter winds are wailing wildly.”</p> - -<p>Of great effect at this stage of your progress will be the adroit and -unstinted employment of such phrases as “I wis,” “I wot,” “I trow,” -“In sooth,” “Methinks,” “Of yore,” “Erstwhile,” “Alack,” a plentiful -sprinkling of which, like currants in a cake, will impart a quaint -poetical flavour to your verses, making up for a total want of sense -and sentiment. Observe their effect in the following admirable lines -from Skott:—</p> - - <div class="poetry-container1"> - <h2 class="smaller"></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="ileft">“It were, I ween, a bootless task to tell</div> - <div>How here, of yore, in sooth, the foeman fell,</div> - <div>Erstwhile the Paynim sank with eerie yell,</div> - <div>Alack, in goodly guise, forsooth, to——.”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>Of like value are words melodious in sound or poetical in suggestion, -like “nightingale,” “moonlight,” “roundelay,” “trill,” “dreamy,” and so -on, which, freely used, throw a glamour over the imagination and lull -thought, the chiefest value of verse nowadays.</p> - - <div class="poetry-container1"> - <h2 class="smaller"></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="ileft">“There trills the nightingale his roundelay</div> - <div>In dreamy moonlight till the dawn of day.”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>Note that in poetic diction you must by no means “call a spade a -spade.” The statement of a plain fact is highly objectionable, and a -roundabout expression has to be resorted to. For example, if a girl -have red hair, describe it as</p> - - <div class="poetry-container1"> - <h2 class="smaller"></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“Glowing with the glory of the golden God of Day,”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p class="p-left">or, if Nature has blest her with a “pug-nose,” you should, like -Tennyson, describe it as</p> - - <div class="poetry-container1"> - <h2 class="smaller"></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“Tip-tilted like the petal of a flower”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_362">[362]</span></p> - -<p>For similar reasons words of mean significance have to be avoided. For -instance, for “dead drunk,” use “spirituously disguised”; for “thirty -days in quad,” “one moon in durance vile.” You may now be said to have -mastered the rudiments of modern poetry, and your future course is easy.</p> - -<p>You may now choose, although it is not at all essential, to write on a -subject conveying some meaning to your reader’s mind. You would do well -to try one of a familiar kind, or of personal or everyday interest, -of which the following are specimens:—“Lines on beholding a dead rat -in the street”; “Impromptu on being asked to have a drink”; “Reverie -on being asked to stand one”; “Epitaph on my mother-in-law”; “Ode to -my creditors”; “Morning soliloquy in a police cell”; “Acrostic on a -shillelah.” Through pieces of this character the soul of the writer -permeates. Hence their abiding value and permanency on second-hand -bookstalls; Then you may seek “fresh woods and pastures new,” and -weave garlands in fields untrod by the ordinary bard. One of these -is “Spring.” Conceive the idea of that season in your mind. Winter -gone, Summer coming, coughs being cured, overcoats put up the spout, -streets dryer, coals cheaper, or—if you love nature—the strange facts -of the leaves budding, winds surging, etc. Then probably the spirit -(waterproof) of poesy will take possession of you, and you will blossom -into song as follows:—</p> - - <div class="poetry-container1"> - <h2 class="smaller"></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="ileft"></div> - <div>“’Tis the Spring! ’Tis the Spring!</div> - <div>Little birds begin to sing.</div> - <div>See! the lark is on the wing,</div> - <div>The sun shines out like anything;</div> - <div>And the sweet and tender lamb</div> - <div>Skips beside his great big dam,</div> - <div>While the rough and horny ram</div> - <div>Thinketh single life a sham.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_363">[363]</span></div> - <div>Now the East is in the breeze,</div> - <div>Now old maids begin to sneeze,</div> - <div>Now the leaves are on the trees,</div> - <div>Now I cannot choose but sing:</div> - <div>Oh, ’tis Spring! ’tis Spring! ’tis Spring!”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>Verses like the above have an intrinsic charm, but if you should think -them too trivial, you may soar into the higher regions of thought, and -expand your soul in epics on, say, “The Creation,” “The Deluge,” “The -Fall of Rome,” “The Future of Man.” You possibly know nothing whatever -of those subjects, but that is an advantage, as you will bring a fresh -unhackneyed mind to bear upon them.</p> - -<p>I need hardly tell you that there is one subject above all others -whose most fitting garb is poetry, and that is—Love. Fall in love if -you can. It is easy—nothing easier to a poet. He is mostly always -in love, and with ten at a time. But if you cannot, or (hapless -wretch!) if you find it an entirely one-sided affair—very little -free trade, and no reciprocity—ay, even if you be a married man who -walketh the floor of nights, and vainly seeketh to soothe the seventh -olive-branch—despair not. To write of Love, needeth not to feel it. -If not in love, imagine you are. Extol in unmeasured terms the beauty -of your adored one—matchless, as the pipe-bearing stranger in the -street—peerless, as the American House of Representatives. Safely call -on mankind to produce her equal, and inform the world that you would -give up all its honours and riches (of which you own none) for the sake -of your Dulcinea; but tell them not the fact that you would not forego -your nightly pipe and glass of rum punch for the best woman that ever -breathed. Cultivate a melancholy mood. Call the fair one all sorts of -names, heartless, cold, exacting—yourself, a miserable wight, hurrying -hot haste to an early grave, and bid her come and shed unavailing -tears<span class="pagenum" id="Page_364">[364]</span> there. At the same time keep your strength up, and don’t forget -your four meals a day and a collation.</p> - -<p>I need not touch on the number of feet required in the various kinds of -verse, as if a verse lacks a foot anywhere you are almost sure to put -yours in it.</p> - -<p>And now to “cast your lines in pleasant places.”</p> - -<p>Having fairly mastered the gamut of poetical composition, you will -be open to a few hints as to the publication of your effusions. It -is often suggested that the opinion of a friend should be consulted -at the outset as to their value. Of course you may do so, but, as -friends go nowadays, you must be prepared to ignore his verdict. It -is now you will discover that even the judgment of your dearest and -most intellectual friend is not alone untrustworthy, but really below -contempt, and that what he styles his candour is nothing less than -brutality. I have known the greatest coolnesses ascribable to this -cause, and the noblest offspring of the muse consigned to oblivion in -weak deference to a friendly opinion. On the other hand, it is often of -great value to read aloud your longest epics to some one who is in any -way indebted to you and cannot well resent it.</p> - -<p>Where the poet’s corners of so many papers await you, the choice of -a medium to convey your burning thoughts to the world will be easily -made. You will scarcely be liable, I hope, to the confusion of mind of -a friend of mine who, in mistake, sent his “Ode to Death” to the editor -of a comic paper, and found it accepted as eminently suitable.</p> - -<p>You should write your poem carefully on superfine paper with as little -blotting, scratching, and bad spelling as you can manage.</p> - -<p>To smooth the way to insertion, you might also write a conciliatory -note to the editor, somewhat in this vein:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Respected Sir</span>,—It is with much diffidence that a -young poet of seventeen (<i>no mention of the wife and five -children</i>) begs to send you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_365">[365]</span> his first attempt to woo the -Muses (<i>it may be your eighty-first, but no matter</i>). -Hoping the same may be deemed worthy of insertion in the -widely-read columns of your admirable journal, with whose -opinions I have the great pleasure of being in thorough accord -(<i>you may have never read a line of it before</i>), I have the -honour to be, respected sir, your obedient, humble servant,</p> - -<p class="r2">“<span class="smcap">Homer</span>.</p> - -<p>“P.S.—If inserted, kindly affix my full name as A. B.; if not, -my <i>nom-de-plume</i>, ‘Homer.’</p> - -<p>“N.B.—If inserted send me twenty copies of your valuable -paper.—<span class="smcap">Homer.</span>”</p> -</div> - -<p>It will be vain to attempt to describe your feelings from the time you -post that letter until you know the result of your venture. Your reason -is unhinged; you cannot rest or sleep. You hang about that newspaper -office for hours before the expected edition is out of the press. At -last it appears. Trembling with eagerness you seize the coveted issue, -and disregarding the “Double Murder and Suicide in——,” the “Collapse -of the Bank of——,” the “Outbreak of War between France and Germany,” -you dash to the poet’s corner and search with dazed eyes for your fate.</p> - -<p>You may have vaguely heard, at some period of your life, of the mean, -petty jealousies that befoul the clear current of journalism, and frown -down new and aspiring talent, however promising, and you may have -indignantly refused to believe such statements. Alas! now shall you -feel the full force of their truth in your own person.</p> - -<p>You look for your poem blindly, confusedly—amazed, bewildered, -disgusted! You turn that paper inside out, upside down; you search in -the Parliamentary debates, in the Money Market, in the Births, Deaths, -and Marriages, in the advertisements—everywhere. No sign of it!</p> - -<p>With your heart in your boots you turn to the “Answers to -Correspondents,” there to find your <i>nom-de-plume</i> heading some -scurrilous inanity from the editorial chair, of one or other of the -following patterns:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_366">[366]</span></p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“Homer—<i>Don’t</i> try again!”</p> - -<p>“Homer—Sweet seventeen. So young, so innocent. Hence we spare -you.”</p> - -<p>“Homer—Have you no friends to look after you?”</p> - -<p>“Homer—Do you really expect us to ruin this paper?”</p> - -<p>“Homer—Send it to the <i>Telegraph</i> man. We have a grudge -against him?”</p> - -<p>“Homer—The 71st <i>Ode to Spring</i> this year! And yet we -live.”</p> -</div> - -<p>While it would be quite natural to indulge in any number of “cuss” -words, your best plan will be to veil your wrath, and, refraining from -smashing the editorial windows, write the editor a studiously polite -letter, asking him to be good enough to point out for your benefit any -errors or defects in the poem submitted to him. This will fairly corner -him, and he will probably be driven to disclose his meanness in the -next issue:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“Homer—If you will engage to pay for the working of this -journal during the twelve months it would take us to explain the -defects in your poem, we are quite willing to undertake the job.”</p> -</div> - -<p>Insults and disappointments like these are the ordinary lot of rising -genius, and should only nerve you to greater efforts. Perseverance will -ultimately win, though it may not deserve, success.</p> - -<p>And who shall paint the joy that will irradiate life when you find -yourself in print for the first time? who shall describe the delirium -of reading your own verses? a delight leading you almost to forgive the -printer’s error which turns your “blessed rule” into “blasted fool,” -and your “Spring quickens” into “Spring Chickens”; who will count the -copies of that paper you will send to all your friends?</p> - -<p>By-and-by your fame spreads and you rank of the <i>élite</i>; you -assume the air and manners of a poet. You wear your hair long (it -saves barber’s charges). You are fond of solitary walks, communing -with yourself (or somebody else). You assume a rapt and abstracted air -in society<span class="pagenum" id="Page_367">[367]</span> (when asked to stand a drink). You despise mere mundane -matters (debts, engagements, and the like). Your eyes have a far-away -look (when you meet a poor relation). When people talk of Tennyson, -Browning, Swinburne, etc., you smile pityingly, and say: “Ah, yes! Poor -Alfred (or Robert or Algernon, as the case may be); he means well—he -means well;” and you ask your friends if they have read your “Spirit -Reveries,” and if not, you immediately produce it from your pocket, -and read it (never be without copies of your latest pieces for this -purpose).</p> - -<p>And now farewell and God-speed. You are on the high road to renown.</p> - - <div class="poetry-container1"> - <h2 class="smaller"></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="ileft">“Farewell, but whenever you welcome the hour,</div> - <div>They crown you with laurels and throne you in power,</div> - <div>Oh, think of the friend who first guided your way,</div> - <div>And set you such rules you could not go astray,</div> - <div>And who, as reward, doth but one favour claim,</div> - <div>That you <i>won’t</i> dedicate your first vol. to his name.”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p class="r2"><i>Francis A. Fahy.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_368">[368]</span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>THE DONOVANS.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>If you would like to see the height of hospitality,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">The cream of kindly welcome and the core of cordiality;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Joys of old times are you wishing to recall again?—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Oh! come down to Donovan’s, and there you’ll meet them all again!</div> - </div> - -<p class="center"><i>Chorus.</i></p> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent"><i>Cead mille failte</i><a id="FNanchor_44" href="#Footnote_44" class="fnanchor">[44]</a> they’ll give you down at Donovan’s,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">As cheery as the spring-time, and Irish as the <i>ceanabhan</i>;<a id="FNanchor_45" href="#Footnote_45" class="fnanchor">[45]</a></div> - <div>The wish of my heart is, if ever I had any one—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">That every luck in life may linger with the Donovans.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Soon as you lift the latch, little ones are meeting you;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Soon as you’re ’neath the thatch, kindly looks are greeting you;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Scarce have you time to be holding out the fist to them—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Down by the fireside you’re sitting in the midst of them!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">There sits the grey old man, so <i>flaitheamhail</i><a id="FNanchor_46" href="#Footnote_46" class="fnanchor">[46]</a> and so handsome,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">There sit his sturdy sons, well worth a monarch’s ransom;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Songs the night long, you may hear your heart’s desire of them,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Tales of old times they will tell you till you tire of them.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_370">[370]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">There bustles round the room the <i>lawhee</i>-est<a id="FNanchor_47" href="#Footnote_47" class="fnanchor">[47]</a> of <i>vanithees</i>,<a id="FNanchor_48" href="#Footnote_48" class="fnanchor">[48]</a></div> - <div class="hangingindent">Fresh as in her young bloom, and trying all she can to please;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">In vain to maintain you won’t have a <i>deorin</i><a id="FNanchor_49" href="#Footnote_49" class="fnanchor">[49]</a> more again—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">She’ll never let you rest till your glass is brimming o’er again.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">There smiles the <i>cailin deas</i><a id="FNanchor_50" href="#Footnote_50" class="fnanchor">[50]</a>—oh! where on earth’s the peer of her?</div> - <div class="hangingindent">The modest grace, the sweet face, the humour and the cheer of her?</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Eyes like the skies, when but twin stars beam above in them—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Oh! proud may be the boy that’s to light the lamp of love in them.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Then when you rise to go, ’tis “Ah, then, now, sit down again!”</div> - <div class="hangingindent">“Isn’t it the haste you’re in,” and “Won’t you come round soon again?”</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Your <i>cothamor</i><a id="FNanchor_51" href="#Footnote_51" class="fnanchor">[51]</a> and hat you had better put astray from them—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">The hardest job in life is to tear yourself away from them!</div> - <div class="right"><i>Francis A. Fahy.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_369"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_369.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“SHE’LL NEVER LET YOU REST TILL YOUR GLASS IS BRIMMING -O’ER AGAIN.”]</p> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_371">[371]</span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>PETTICOATS DOWN TO MY KNEES.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>When my first troubles in life I began to know,</div> - <div class="i1">Spry as a chick newly out of the shell,</div> - <div>Nothing I longed for so much as a man to grow,</div> - <div class="i1">Sharing his joys and his sorrows as well.</div> - <div>Now that the high tide of life’s on the slack again,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">Pleasure’s deep draught drained down to the lees,</div> - <div>Dearly I wish I had the days back again,</div> - <div class="i1">When I wore petticoats down to my knees!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Well do I mind the day I donned trousereens,</div> - <div class="i1">My proud mother cried “We’ll soon be a man!”</div> - <div>Little we know what fate has in store for us—</div> - <div class="i1">Troth, it was then that my troubles began.</div> - <div>Cramped up in clothes, little comfort or ease I find,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">Crippled and crushed, almost frightened to sneeze!</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Oh to have back my old freedom and peace of mind,</div> - <div class="i1">When I wore petticoats down to my knees!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Now must I walk many miles for an appetite,</div> - <div class="i1">And after all find my journey in vain—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Oh for the days when howe’er you might wrap it tight</div> - <div class="i1">My school lunch was ate at the end of the lane!</div> - <div>Now scarce a wink of sleep on the best of nights,</div> - <div class="i1">Worried in mind and ill at my ease,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Headache or heartache ne’er troubled my rest of nights</div> - <div class="i1">When I wore petticoats down to my knees!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Once of my days I thought girls were nuisances,</div> - <div class="i1">Petting and coaxing and ruffling your brow,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Now Love the rogue runs away with my few senses,</div> - <div class="i1">Vainly I wish they would fondle me now!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_372">[372]</span></div> - <div>Idols I worship with ardour unshakeable,</div> - <div class="i1">But none of all half so fitted to please</div> - <div>As the poor toys full of sawdust and breakable,</div> - <div class="i1">When I wore petticoats down to my knees!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Little I cared then for doings political,</div> - <div class="i1">The ebb or the flow of the popular tides,</div> - <div>Europe might quake in convulsions most critical—</div> - <div class="i1">I had my bread buttered well on both sides.</div> - <div>Now must I wander for themes for my puny verse</div> - <div class="i1">Over earth’s continents, islands and seas;</div> - <div>Small stock I took of affairs of the universe,</div> - <div class="i1">When I wore petticoats down to my knees!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Life is a puzzle and man is a mystery,</div> - <div class="i1">He that would solve them a wizard need be;</div> - <div>Precepts lie thick in the pathways of history,</div> - <div class="i1">This is the lesson that life has taught me.</div> - <div>Man ever longs for the dawn of a golden day,</div> - <div class="i1">Visions of joy in futurity sees,</div> - <div>Ah! he enjoyed Life’s cream in the olden day,</div> - <div class="i1">When he wore petticoats down to his knees!</div> - <div class="right"><i>Francis A. Fahy</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_373">[373]</span></p> - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>MUSICAL EXPERIENCES AND IMPRESSIONS.</i></h2> - - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p class="sm">AT A GIRL’S SCHOOL—THE TONIC SOL-FA METHOD—PAYING AT THE -DOOR—FLORAL OFFERINGS—DOROTHISIS.</p> -</div> - - -<p>Last Tuesday, when turning over my invitations, I found a card -addressed to me, not in my ancestral title of Di Bassetto, but in -the assumed name under which I conceal my identity in the vulgar -business of life. It invited me to repair to a High School for Girls -in a healthy south-western suburb, there to celebrate the annual -prize-giving with girlish song and recitation. Here was exactly the -thing for a critic. “Now is the time,” I exclaimed to my astonished -colleagues, “to escape from our stale iterations of how Mr. Santley -sang ‘The Erl King,’ and Mr. Sims Reeves ‘Tom Bowling’; of how the same -old orchestra played Beethoven in C minor or accompanied Mr. Henschel -in Pogner’s ‘Johannistag’ song, or Wotan’s ‘Farewell’ and ‘Fire Charm.’ -Our business is to look with prophetic eye past these exhausted -contemporary subjects into the next generation—to find out how much -beauty and artistic feeling is growing up for the time when we shall be -obsolete fogies, mumbling anecdotes of the funerals of our favourites.” -Will it be credited that the sanity of my project and the good taste of -my remarks were called in question, and that I was absolutely the only -eminent critic who went to the school!</p> - -<p>I found the school on the margin of a common, with which I have one -ineffaceable association. It is not my custom to confine my critical -opinions to the columns of the Press. In my public place I am ever -ready to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_374">[374]</span> address my fellow-citizens orally until the police interfere. -Now, it happens that once, on a fine Sunday afternoon, I addressed -a crowd on this very common for an hour, at the expiry of which a -friend took round a hat, and actually collected sixteen shillings and -ninepence. The opulence and liberality of the inhabitants were thus -very forcibly impressed on me; and when, last Tuesday, I made my way -through a long corridor into the crowded schoolroom, my first thought, -as I surveyed the row of parents, was whether any of them had been -among the contributors to that memorable hatful of coin. My second was -whether the principal of the school would have been pleased to see me -had she known of the sixteen and ninepence.</p> - -<p>When the sensation caused by my entrance had subsided somewhat, we -settled down to a performance which consisted of music and recitation -by the rising generation, and speechification by the risen one. The -rising generation had the best of it. Whenever the girls did anything, -we were delighted; whenever an adult began, we were bored to the very -verge of possible endurance. The deplorable member of Parliament who -gave away the prizes may be eloquent in the House of Commons; but -before that eager, keen, bright, frank, unbedevilled, unsophisticated -audience he quailed, he maundered, he stumbled, wanted to go on and -couldn’t, wanted to stop and didn’t, and finally collapsed with a few -remarks to the effect that he felt proud of himself, which struck me as -being the most uncalled-for remark I ever heard, even from an M.P. The -chairman was self-possessed, not to say hardened. He quoted statistics -about Latin, arithmetic and other sordid absurdities, specially -extolling the aptitude of the female mind since 1868 for botany. I -incited a little girl near me to call out “Time” and “Question,” but -she shook her head shyly, and said “Miss—— would be angry;”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_375">[375]</span> so he -had his say out. Let him deliver that speech next Sunday on the common, -and he will not get 16s. 9d. He will get stoned.</p> - -<p>But the rest of the programme was worth a dozen ordinary concerts. -It is but a few months since I heard Schubert’s setting of “The -Lord is my Shepherd” sung by the Crystal Palace Choir to Mr. Manns’ -appropriate and beautiful orchestral transcript of the accompaniment; -but here a class of girls almost obliterated that memory by singing -the opening strain with a purity of tone quite angelic. If they could -only have kept their attention concentrated long enough, it might have -been equally delightful all through. But girlhood is discursive; and -those who were not immediately under the awful eye of the lady who -conducted, wandered considerably from Schubert’s inspiration after a -time, although they stuck to his notes most commendably. Yet for all -that I can safely say that if there is a little choir like that in -every High School the future is guaranteed. We were much entertained -by a composition of Jensen’s, full of octaves and chords, which was -assaulted and vanquished after an energetic bout of fisticuffs by an -infant pianist, who will not be able to reach the pedals for years to -come.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I need hardly say that my remarks about the Tonic Sol-fa have brought -letters upon me insisting on the attractive simplicity of the notation, -and even inviting me to learn it at once. This reminds me of a sage -whom I consulted in my youth as to how I might achieve the formation of -a perfect character. “Young man,” he said, “are you a vegetarian?” I -promptly said “Yes,” which took him aback. (I subsequently discovered -that he had a weakness for oysters.) “Young man,” he resumed, “have -you mastered Pitman’s shorthand?” I told him<span class="pagenum" id="Page_376">[376]</span> that I could write it -very nearly as fast as longhand, but that I could not read it; and -he admitted that this was about the maximum of human attainment in -phonography. “Young man,” he went on, “do you understand phrenology?” -This was a facer, as I knew nothing about it, but I was determined not -to be beaten, so I declared that it was my favourite pursuit, and that -I had been attracted to him by the noble character of his bumps. “Young -man,” he continued, “you are indeed high on the Mount of Wisdom. There -remains but one accomplishment to the perfection of your character. -Are you an adept at the Tonic Sol-fa system?” This was too much. I got -up in a rage, and said, “Oh, d—the Tonic Sol-fa system!” Then we came -to high words, and our relations have been more or less strained ever -since. I have always resolutely refused to learn Tonic Sol-fa, as I am -determined to prove that it is possible to form a perfect character -without it.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The other evening I went to the Wind Instrument Society’s concert at -the Royal Academy of Music in Tenterden Street. Having only just heard -of the affair from an acquaintance, I had no ticket. The concert, as -usual, had been kept dark from me; Bassetto the Incorruptible knows -too much to be welcome to any but the greatest artists. I therefore -presented myself at the doors for admission on payment as a casual -amateur. Apparently the wildest imaginings of the Wind Instrument -Society had not reached to such a contingency as a Londoner offering -money at the doors to hear classical chamber music played upon -bassoons, clarionets, and horns; for I was told that it was impossible -to entertain my application, as the building had no licence. I -suggested sending out for a licence; but this, for some technical<span class="pagenum" id="Page_377">[377]</span> -reason, could not be done. I offered to dispense with the licence; but -they said it would expose them to penal servitude. Perceiving by this -that it was a mere question of breaking the law, I insisted on the -secretary accompanying me to the residence of a distinguished Q.C. in -the neighbourhood, and ascertaining from him how to do it. The Q.C. -said that if I handed the secretary five shillings at the door in -consideration of being admitted to the concert, that would be illegal. -But if I bought a ticket from him in the street, that would be legal. -Or, if I presented him with five shillings in remembrance of his last -birthday, and he gave me a free admission in celebration of my silver -wedding, that would be legal. Or, if we broke the law without witnesses -and were prepared to perjure ourselves if questioned afterwards (which -seemed to me the most natural way), then nothing could happen to us. I -cannot without breach of faith explain which course we adopted; suffice -it that I was present at the concert.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I went to the Prince of Wales’ Theatre on Wednesday afternoon to hear -the students of the Royal College of Music.... I am sorry to say that -the bad custom of bouquet-throwing was permitted; and need I add that -an American <i>prima donna</i> was the offender? What do you mean, -Madame——, by teaching the young idea how to get bouquets shied? After -the manner of her countrymen this <i>prima donna</i> travels with -enormous wreaths and baskets of flowers, which are handed to her at the -conclusion of her pieces. And no matter how often this happens, she is -never a whit the less astonished and delighted to see the flowers come -up. They say that the only artist who never gets accustomed to his part -is the performing flea who fires a cannon, and who is no less dismayed -and confounded by the three-hundredth<span class="pagenum" id="Page_378">[378]</span> report than by the first. Now, -it may be ungallant, coarse—brutal even; but whenever I see the fair -American thrown into raptures by her own flower-basket, I always think -of the flea thrown into convulsions by his own cannon. And so, dear -but silly American ladies, be persuaded, and drop it. Nobody except -the very greenest of greenhorns is taken in; and the injury you do -to your own artistic self-respect by condescending to take him in is -incalculable. Just consider for a moment how insanely impossible it is -that a wreath as big as a cart-wheel could be the spontaneous offering -of an admiring stranger. One consolation is, that if the critics cannot -control the stars, they can at least administer the stripes.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Last Saturday evening, feeling the worse for want of change and country -air, I happened to voyage in the company of an eminent dramatic critic -as far as Greenwich. Hardly had we inhaled the refreshing ozone of -that place ninety seconds when, suddenly finding ourselves opposite -a palatial theatre, gorgeous with a million gaslights, we felt that -it was idiotic to have been to Wagner’s Theatre at Bayreuth and yet -be utterly ignorant concerning Morton’s Theatre at Greenwich. So we -rushed into the struggling crowd at the doors, only to be informed that -the theatre was full. Stalls full, dress circle full; pit, standing -room only. As the eminent dramatic critic habitually sleeps during -performances, and is subject to nightmare when he sleeps standing, the -pit was out of the question. Was there room anywhere? we asked. Yes, in -a private box or in the gallery. Which was the cheaper? The gallery, -decidedly. So up we went to the gallery, where we found two precarious -perches vacant at the side. It was rather like trying to see Trafalgar -Square from the knife-board of an omnibus half-way up St. Martin’s -Lane; but by<span class="pagenum" id="Page_379">[379]</span> hanging on to a stanchion, and occasionally standing with -one foot on the seat and the other on the backs of the people in the -front row, we succeeded in seeing as much of the entertainment as we -could stand.</p> - -<p>The first thing we did was to purchase a bill, which informed us that -we were in for “the entirely original pastoral comedy-opera in three -acts, entitled ‘Dorothy,’ which has been played to crowded houses in -London 950, and (still playing) in the provinces 788 times.” This -playbill, I should add, was thoughtfully decorated with a view of the -theatre showing all the exits, for use in case of a reduction to ashes -during performing hours. From it we further learnt that we should be -regaled by an augmented and powerful orchestra; that the company was -“No. 1”; that—— believes he is now the only HATTER in the county -of Kent that exists on the profits arising solely from the sale of -<span class="allsmcap">HATS</span> and <span class="allsmcap">CAPS</span>; and so on. Need I add that the eminent -one and I sat bursting with expectation until the overture began. -I cannot truthfully say that the augmented and powerful orchestra -proved quite so augmented or so powerful as the composer could have -wished; but let that pass; I disdain the cheap sport of breaking a -daddy-long-legs on a wheel (butterfly is out of the question, it -was such a dingy band). My object is rather to call attention to -the condition to which 788 nights of Dorothying have reduced the -unfortunate wanderers of “No. 1 Company.” I submit to the manager of -these companies that in his own interest he should take better care of -No. 1. Here are several young persons doomed to spend the flower of -their years in mechanically repeating the silliest libretto in modern -theatrical literature, set to music which must pall somewhat on the -seven hundred and eighty-eighth performance.</p> - -<p>As might have been expected, a settled weariness of life, an utter -perfunctoriness, an unfathomable inanity pervaded<span class="pagenum" id="Page_380">[380]</span> the very souls of -“No. 1.” The tenor, originally, I have no doubt, a fine young man, but -now cherubically adipose, was evidently counting the days until death -should release him from the part of Wilder. He had a pleasant speaking -voice; and his affability and forbearance were highly creditable to him -under the circumstances; but Nature rebelled in him against the loathed -strains of a seven-hundred-times repeated <i>rôle</i>. He omitted the -song in the first act, and sang “Though born a man of high degree,” -as if with the last rally of an energy decayed and a willing spirit -crashed. The G at the end was as a vocal earthquake. And yet methought -he was not displeased when the inhabitants of Greenwich, coming fresh -to the slaughter, encored him. The baritone had been affected the other -way; he was thin and worn; and his clothes had lost their lustre. He -sang “Queen of my heart” twice in a hardened manner, as one who was -prepared to sing it a thousand times in a thousand quarter-hours for -a sufficient wager. The comic part, being simply that of a circus -clown transferred to the lyric stage, is better suited for infinite -repetition; and the gentleman who undertook it addressed a comic lady -called Priscilla as “Sarsaparilla” during his interludes between the -<i>haute-école</i> acts of the <i>prima donna</i> and tenor, with a -delight in the rare aroma of the joke, and in the roars of laughter -it elicited, which will probably never pall. But anything that he -himself escaped in the way of tedium was added tenfold to his unlucky -colleagues, who sat out his buffooneries with an expression of deadly -malignity. I trust the gentleman may die in his bed; but he would be -unwise to build too much on doing so. There is a point at which tedium -becomes homicidal mania.</p> - -<p>The ladies fared best. The female of the human species has not yet -developed a conscience: she will apparently spend her life in artistic -self-murder by induced Dorothisis without a pang of remorse, provided -she be praised and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_381">[381]</span> paid regularly. Dorothy herself, a beauteous -young lady of distinguished mien, with an immense variety of accents -ranging from the finest Tunbridge Wells English (for genteel comedy) -to the broadest Irish (for repartee and low comedy), sang without the -slightest effort and without the slightest point, and was all the more -desperately vapid because she suggested artistic gifts wasting in -complacent abeyance. Lydia’s voice, a hollow and spectral contralto, -alone betrayed the desolating effect of perpetual Dorothy; her figure -retained a pleasing plumpness akin to that of the tenor; and her -spirits were wonderful, all things considered. The chorus, too, seemed -happy; but that was obviously because they did not know any better. -The pack of hounds employed darted in at the end of the second act, -evidently full of the mad hope of finding something new going on; and -their depression when they discovered it was “Dorothy” again, was -pitiable. The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals should -interfere. If there is no law to protect men and women from “Dorothy,” -there is at least one that can be strained to protect dogs.</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>George Bernard Shaw</i> (1856).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_382">[382]</span></p> - -<h2 class="smaller">FROM PORTLAW TO PARADISE.</h2> - -<p>Wance upon a time, an’ a very good time it was too, there was a dacent -little man, named Paddy Power, that lived in the parish of Portlaw.</p> - -<p>At the time I spayke of, an’ indeed for a long spell before it, most -of Paddy’s neighbours had wandhered from the thrue fold, an’ the sheep -that didn’t stray wor, not to put too fine a point on it, a black lot. -But Paddy had always conthrived to keep his last end in view, an’ he -stuck to the ould faith like a poor man’s plasther.</p> - -<p>Well, in the coorse of time poor Paddy felt his days wor well-nigh -numbered, so he tuk to the bed an’ sent for the priest; an’ thin he -settled himself down to aise his conscience an’ to clear the road in -the other world by manes of a good confession.</p> - -<p>He reeled off his sins, mortial an’ vanyial, to the priest by the yard, -an’ begor he felt mighty sorrowful intirely whin he thought what a -bad boy he’d been, an’ what a hape of quare things he’d done in his -time—though, as I’ve said before, he was a dacent little man in his -way, only, you see, bein’ so close to the other side of Jordan, he tuk -an onaisy view of all his sayin’s and doin’s. Poor Paddy—small blame -to him—was very aiger to get a comfortable corner in glory in his old -age, for he’d a hard sthruggle enough of it here below.</p> - -<p>Well, whin he’d towld all his sins to Father McGrath, an’ whin Father -McGrath had given him a few hard rubs by way of consolation, he bent -his head to get the absolution, an’ lo an’ behold you! before the -priest could get through the words that would open the gates of glory -to poor Paddy, the life wint out of the man’s body.</p> - -<p>It seems ’twas a busy mornin’ in heaven, an’ as soon as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_383">[383]</span> Father McGrath -began to say the first words of the absolution, down they claps Paddy -Power’s name on the due-book. However, we’ll come to that part of the -story by-an’-by.</p> - -<p>Anyhow, up goes Paddy, an’ before he knew where he was he found himself -standin’ outside the gates of Paradise. Of coorse, he partly guessed -there ’ud be throuble, but he thought he’d put a bowld face on, so he -gives a hard double-knock at the door, an’ a holy saint shoves back the -slide an’ looks out at him through an iron gratin’.</p> - -<p>“God save all here!” says Paddy.</p> - -<p>“God save you kindly!” says the saint.</p> - -<p>“Maybe I’m too airly?” says Paddy, dhreadin’ all the time that ’tis the -cowld showlder he’d get.</p> - -<p>“’Tis naither airly nor late here,” says the saint, “pervidin’ you’re -on the way-bill. What’s yer name?” says he.</p> - -<p>“Paddy Power,” says the little man from Portlaw.</p> - -<p>“There’s so many of that name due here,” says the saint, “that I must -ax you for further particulars.”</p> - -<p>“You’re quite welcome, your reverence,” says Paddy.</p> - -<p>“What’s your occupation?” says the saint.</p> - -<p>“Well,” says Paddy, “I can turn my hand to anything in raison.”</p> - -<p>“A kind of Jack-of all-thrades?” says the saint.</p> - -<p>“Not exactly that,” says Paddy, thinkin’ the saint was thryin’ to make -fun of him. “In fact,” says he, “I’m a general dayler.”</p> - -<p>“An’ what do you generally dale in?” axes the saint.</p> - -<p>“All’s fish that comes to my net,” says Paddy, thinkin’, of coorse, -’twould put Saint Pether in good humour to be reminded of ould times.</p> - -<p>“An’ is it a fisherman you are, thin?” axes the saint.</p> - -<p>“Well, no,” says Paddy, “though I’ve done a little huckstherin’ in fish -in my time; but I was partial to scrap-iron, as a rule.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_384">[384]</span></p> - -<p>“To tell you the thruth,” says the saint, “I’m not over fond of general -daylin’, but of coorse my private feelin’s don’t intherfere wud my -duties here. I’m on the gates agen my will for the matther of that; but -that’s naither here nor there so far as yourself is consarned, Paddy,” -says he.</p> - -<p>“It must be a hard dhrain on the constitution at times,” says Paddy, -“to be on the door from mornin’ till night.”</p> - -<p>“’Tis,” says the saint, “of a busy day—but I must go an’ have a look -at the books. Paddy Power is your name?” says he.</p> - -<p>“Yis,” says Paddy; “an’, though ’tis meself that says it, I’m not -ashamed of it.”</p> - -<p>“An’ where are you from?” axes the saint.</p> - -<p>“From the parish of Portlaw,” says Paddy.</p> - -<p>“I never heard tell of it,” says the saint, bitin’ his thumb.</p> - -<p>“Sure it couldn’t be expected you would, sir,” says Paddy, “for it lies -at the back of God-speed.”</p> - -<p>“Well, stand there, Paddy <i>avic</i>,” says the holy saint, “an’ I’ll -have a good look at the books.”</p> - -<p>“God bless you!” says Paddy. “Wan ’ud think ’twas born in Munsther you -wor, Saint Pether, you have such an iligant accent in spaykin’.”</p> - -<p>Faix, Paddy was beginnin’ to dhread that his name wouldn’t be found on -the books at all on account of his not havin’ complate absolution, so -he thought ’twas the best of his play to say a soft word to the keeper -of the kays.</p> - -<p>The saint tuk a hasty glance at the enthry-book, but whin Paddy called -him Saint Pether he lifted his head an’ he put his face to the wicket -again, an’ there was a cunnin’ twinkle in his eye.</p> - -<p>“An’ so you thinks ’tis Saint Pether I am?” says he.</p> - -<p>“Of coorse, your reverence,” says Paddy; “an’ ’tis a rock of sense I’m -towld you are.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_385">[385]</span></p> - -<p>Well, wud that the saint began to laugh very hearty, an’ says he—</p> - -<p>“Now, it’s a quare thing that every wan of ye that comes from below -thinks Saint Pether is on the gates constant. Do you raley think, -Paddy,” says he, “that Saint Pether has nothing else to do, nor no way -to pass the time except by standin’ here in the cowld from year’s end -to year’s end, openin’ the gates of Paradise?”</p> - -<p>“Begor,” says Paddy, “that never sthruck me before, sure enough. Of -coorse he must have some sort of divarsion to pass the time. An’ might -I ax your reverence,” says he, “what your own name is? an’ I hopes -you’ll pardon my ignorance.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t mintion that,” says the saint; “but I’d rather not tell you my -name, just yet at any rate, for a raison of my own.”</p> - -<p>“Plaize yourself an’ you’ll plaize me, sir,” says Paddy.</p> - -<p>“’Tis a civil-spoken little man you are,” says the saint.</p> - -<p>Findin’ the saint was such a nice agreeable man an’ such an iligant -discoorser, Paddy thought he’d venture on a few remarks just to dodge -the time until some other poor sowl ’ud turn up an’ give him the chance -to slip into Paradise unbeknownst—for he knew that wance he got in by -hook or by crook they could never have the heart to turn him out of it -again. So says he—</p> - -<p>“Might I ax what Saint Pether is doin’ just now?”</p> - -<p>“He’s at a hurlin’ match,” says the deputy.</p> - -<p>“Oh, murdher!” says Paddy, “couldn’t I get a peep at the match while -you’re examinin’ the books?”</p> - -<p>“I’m afeard not,” says the saint, shakin’ his head. “Besides,” says he, -“I think the fun is nearly over by this time.”</p> - -<p>“Is there often a hurlin’ match here?” axes Paddy.</p> - -<p>“Wance a year,” says the saint. “You see,” says he, pointin’ over his -showldher wud his thumb, “they have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_386">[386]</span> all nationalities in here, and -they plays the game of aich nation on aich pathron saint’s day, if you -undherstand me.”</p> - -<p>“I do,” says Paddy. “An’ sure enough ’twas Saint Pathrick’s Day in -the mornin’ whin I started from Portlaw, an’ the last thing I did—of -coorse before tellin’ my sins—was to dhrink my Pathrick’s pot.”</p> - -<p>“More power to you!” says the saint.</p> - -<p>“I suppose Saint Pathrick is the umpire to-day?” says Paddy.</p> - -<p>“No,” says the saint. “Aich of us, you see, takes our turn at the gates -on our own festival days.”</p> - -<p>“Holy Moses!” shouts Paddy. “Thin ’tis to Saint Pathrick himself I’ve -been talkin’ all this while back. Oh, murdher alive, did I ever think -I’d live to see this day!”</p> - -<p>Begor, the poor <i>angashore</i> of a man was fairly knocked off his -head to discover he was discoorsin’ so fameeliarly wud the great Saint -Pathrick, an’ the great saint himself was proud to see what a dale the -little man from Portlaw thought of him; but he didn’t let on to Paddy -how plaized he was. “Ah!” says he, “sure we’re all on an aiquality -here. You’ll be a great saint yourself, maybe, wan of these days.”</p> - -<p>“The heavens forbid,” says Paddy, “that I’d dhrame of ever being on an -aiquality wud your reverence! Begor, ’tis a joyful man I’d be to be -allowed to spake a few words to you wance in a blue moon. Aiquality, -<i>inagh</i>!”<a id="FNanchor_52" href="#Footnote_52" class="fnanchor">[52]</a> says he. “Sure what aiquality could there be between -the great apostle of Ould Ireland and Paddy Power, general dayler, from -Portlaw?”</p> - -<p>“I wish there was more of ’em your way of thinkin’, Paddy,” says Saint -Pathrick, sighin’ deeply.</p> - -<p>“An’ do you mane to tell me,” says Paddy, “that any craychur inside -there ’ud dar’ to put himself an an aiqual footin’ wud yourself?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_387">[387]</span></p> - -<p>“I do, thin,” says Saint Pathrick; “an’ worse than that,” says he, -“there’s some of ’em thinks ’tis very small potatoes I am, in their -own mind. I gives you me word, Paddy, that it takes me all my time -occasionally to keep my timper wud Saint George an’ Saint Andhrew.”</p> - -<p>“Bad luck to ’em both!” said Paddy, intherruptin’ him.</p> - -<p>“Whisht!” says Saint Pathrick. “I partly admires your sintiments, but I -must tell you there’s no rale ill-will allowed inside here. You’ll feel -complately changed wance you gets at the right side of the gate.”</p> - -<p>“The divil a change could make me keep quiet,” says Paddy, “if I heard -the biggest saint in Paradise say a hard word agen you, or even dar’ to -put himself on a par wud you!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Paddy!” says Saint Pathrick, “you mustn’t allow your timper to get -the betther of you. ’Tis hard, I know, <i>avic</i>, to sthruggle at -times agen your feelin’s, but the laiste said the soonest mended.”</p> - -<p>“An’ will I meet Saint George and Saint Andhrew whin I get inside?”</p> - -<p>“You will,” says Saint Pathrick; “but you mustn’t disgrace our counthry -by makin’ a row wud aither of ’em.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll do my best,” says Paddy, “as ’tis yourself that axes me. An’ is -there any more of ’em that thrates you wud contimpt?”</p> - -<p>“Well, not many,” says Saint Pathrick. “An’ indeed,” says he, “’tis -only an odd day we meets at all; an’ I can tell you I’m not a bad hand -at takin’ my own part—but there’s wan fellow,” says he, “that breaks -my <i>giddawn</i> intirely.”</p> - -<p>“An’ who is he? the bla’guard!” says Paddy.</p> - -<p>“He’s an uncanonised craychur named Brakespeare,” says Saint Pathrick.</p> - -<p>“A wondher you’d be seen talkin’ to the likes of him!” says Paddy; “an’ -who is he at all?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_388">[388]</span></p> - -<p>“Did you never hear tell of him?” says Saint Pathrick.</p> - -<p>“Never,” says Paddy.</p> - -<p>“Well,” says Saint Pathrick, “he made the worst bull——”</p> - -<p>“Thin,” says Paddy, interruptin’ him in hot haste, “he’s wan of -ourselves—more shame for him! Oh, wait till I gets a grip of him by -the scruff of the neck!”</p> - -<p>“Whisht! I tell you!” says Saint Pathrick. “Perhaps ’tis committin’ -a vaynial sin you are now, an’ if that wor to come to Saint Pether’s -ears, maybe he’d clap twinty years of Limbo on to you—for he’s a hard -man sometimes, especially if he hears of any one losin’ his timper, or -getting impatient at the gates. An’ moreover,” says Saint Pathrick, -“himself an’ this Brakespeare are as thick as thieves, for they both -sat in the same chair below. I had a hot argument wud Nick yesterday.”</p> - -<p>“Ould Nick, is it?” says Paddy.</p> - -<p>“No,” says Saint Pathrick, laughin’. “Nick Brakespeare, I mane—the -same indeveedual I was tellin’ you about.”</p> - -<p>“I beg your reverence’s pardon,” says Paddy, “an’ I hopes you’ll excuse -my ignorance. But you wor goin’ to give me an account of this hot -argument you had wud the bla’guard whin I put in my spoke.”</p> - -<p>Begor, Saint Pathrick dhrew in his horns thin, an’ fearin’ Paddy might -think they wor in the habit of squabblin’ in heaven, he says, “Of -coorse, I meant only a frindly discussion.”</p> - -<p>“An’ what was the frindly discussion about?” axes Paddy.</p> - -<p>“About this bull of his,” says Saint Pathrick.</p> - -<p>“The mischief choke himself an’ his cattle!” says Paddy.</p> - -<p>“Begor,” says Saint Pathrick, “’twas choked the poor man was, sure -enough.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_389">[389]</span></p> - -<p>“More power to the man that choked him!” says Paddy. “I hopes ye -canonised him.”</p> - -<p>“’Twasn’t a man at all,” says Saint Pathrick.</p> - -<p>“A faymale, perhaps?” says Paddy.</p> - -<p>“Fie, fie, Paddy,” says Saint Pathrick. “Come, guess again.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, I’m a poor hand at guessin’,” says Paddy.</p> - -<p>“Well, ’twas a blue-bottle,” says St. Pathrick.</p> - -<p>“An’ was it thryin’ to swallow the bottle an’ all he was?” says Paddy. -“He must have been ‘a hard case.’”</p> - -<p>Begor, Saint Pathrick burst out laughin’, an’ says he, “You’ll make -your mark here, Paddy, I have no doubt.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll make my mark on them that slights your reverence, believe me,” -says Paddy.</p> - -<p>“Hush!” says Saint Pathrick, puttin’ his finger on his lips an’ lookin’ -very solemn an’ business-like. “Here comes Saint Pether,” he whispers, -rattlin’ the kays to show he was mindin’ his duties. “He looks in -good-humour too; so it’s in luck you are.”</p> - -<p>“I hope so, at any rate,” says Paddy; “for the clouds is very damp, an’ -I’m throubled greatly wud the rheumatics.”</p> - -<p>“Well, Pathrick,” says Saint Pether, comin’ up to the gates—Paddy -Power could just get a sighth of the pair inside through the bars of -the wicket—“how goes the enemy? Have you had a hard day of it, my son?”</p> - -<p>“A very hard mornin’,” says Saint Pathrick. “They wor flockin’ here -as thick as flies at cock-crow—I mane,” says he, gettin’ very red in -the face, for he was in dhread he was afther puttin’ his fut in it wud -Saint Pether, “I mane just at daybreak.”</p> - -<p>“It’s sthrange,” says Saint Pether, in a dhramey kind of a way, “but -I’ve noticed meself that there’s often a great rush of people in the -airly mornin’; often I don’t know whether it’s on my head or my heels -I do be standin’ wud the noise<span class="pagenum" id="Page_390">[390]</span> they kicks up outside, elbowin’ wan -another, an’ bawlin’ at me as if it was hard of hearin’ I was.”</p> - -<p>“How did the match go?” says Saint Pathrick, aiger to divart Saint -Pether’s mind from his throubles.</p> - -<p>“Grand!” says Saint Pether, brightenin’ up. “Hurlin’ is a great game. -It takes all the stiffness out of my ould joints. But who’s that -outside?” catchin’ sighth of Paddy Power.</p> - -<p>“A poor fellow from Ireland,” says Saint Pathrick.</p> - -<p>“I dunno how we’re to find room for all these Irishmen,” says Saint -Pether, scratchin’ his head. “’Twas only last week I gev ordhers to -have a new wing added to the Irish mansion, an’ begor I’m towld to-day -that ’tis chock full already. But of coorse we must find room for the -poor sowls. Did this chap come <i>viâ</i> Purgathory?” say he.</p> - -<p>“No,” says Saint Pathrick. “They sint him up direct.”</p> - -<p>“Who is he?” says Saint Pether.</p> - -<p>“His name is Paddy Power,” says St. Pathrick. “He seems a dacent sort -of craychur.”</p> - -<p>“Where’s he from?” axes Saint Pether.</p> - -<p>“The Parish of Portlaw,” says Saint Pathrick.</p> - -<p>“Portlaw!” says Saint Pether. “Well, that’s sthrange,” says he, rubbin’ -his chin. “You know I never forgets a name, but to my sartin knowledge -I never heard of Portlaw before. Has he a clane record?”</p> - -<p>“There’s a thrifle wrong about it,” says Saint Pathrick. “He’s down on -the way-bill, but there are some charges agen him not quite rubbed out.”</p> - -<p>“In that case,” says Saint Pether, “we’d best be on the safe side, an’ -sind him to Limbo for a spell.”</p> - -<p>Begor, when Paddy Power heard this he nearly lost his seven sinses wud -the fright, so he puts his face close up to the wicket, an’ he cries -out in a pitiful voice—</p> - -<p>“O blessed Saint Pether, don’t be too hard on me. Sure even below, -where the law is sthrict enough agen a poor<span class="pagenum" id="Page_391">[391]</span> sthrugglin’ boy, they -always allows him the benefit of the doubt, an’ I gives you my word, -yer reverence, ’twas only by an accident the slate wasn’t rubbed clane. -I know for sartin that Father McGrath said some of the words of the -absolution before the life wint out of my body. Don’t dhrive a helpless -ould man to purgathory, I beseeches you. Saint Pathrick will go bail -for my good behaviour, I’ll be bound; an’ ’tis many the prayer I said -to your own self below!”</p> - -<p>Faix, Saint Pether was touched wud the implorin’ way Paddy spoke, an’ -turnin’ to Saint Pathrick he says, “’Tis a quare case, sure enough. I -don’t know that I ever remimber the like before, an’ my memory is of -the best. I think we’d do right to have a consultation over the affair -before we decides wan way or the other.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, give the poor <i>angashore</i> a chance,” says Saint Pathrick. -“’Tis hard to scald him for an accident. Besides,” says he, brightenin’ -up as a thought sthruck him, “you say you never had a man before from -the parish of Portlaw, an’ I remimber you towld me wance that you’d -like to have a represintative here from every parish in the world.”</p> - -<p>“Thrue enough,” says Saint Pether; “an’ maybe I’d never have another -chance from Portlaw.”</p> - -<p>“Maybe not,” says Saint Pathrick, humourin’ him.</p> - -<p>So Saint Pether takes a piece of injy-rubber from his waistcoat-pocket, -an’ goin’ over to the enthry-book he rubs out the charges agen Paddy -Power.</p> - -<p>“I’ll take it on meself,” says he, “to docthor the books for this -wance, only don’t let the cat out of the bag on me, Pathrick, my son.”</p> - -<p>“Never fear,” says Saint Pathrick. “Depind your life on me.”</p> - -<p>“Well, it’s done, anyhow,” says Saint Pether, puttin’ the injy-rubber -back into his pocket; “an’ if you hands me<span class="pagenum" id="Page_393">[393]</span> over the kays, Pat,” says -he, “I’ll relaise you for the day, so that you can show your frind over -the grounds.”</p> - - - -<p>“’Tis a grand man you are!” says Saint Pathrick. “My blessin’ on you, -<i>avic</i>!”</p> - -<p>“Come in, Paddy Power,” says Saint Pether, openin’ the gate; “an’ -remimber always that you wouldn’t be here for maybe nine hundred an’ -ninety-nine year or more only that you’re the only offer we ever had -from the Parish of Portlaw.”</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>Edmund Downey</i> (1856).</p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_392"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_392.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“‘COME IN, PADDY POWER,’ SAYS SAINT PETHER, OPENIN’ THE GATE.”</p> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>THE DANCE AT MARLEY.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Murtagh Murphy’s barn was full to the door when eve grew dull,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">For Phelim Moore his beautiful new pipes had brought to charm them;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">In the kitchen thronged the girls—cheeks of roses, teeth of pearls—</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">Admiring bows and braids and curls, till Phelim’s notes alarm them.</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Quick each maid her hat and shawl hung on dresser, bed, or wall,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">Smoothed down her hair and smiled on all as she the <i>bawnoge</i> entered,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Where a <i>shass</i> of straw was laid on a ladder raised that made</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">A seat for them as still they stayed while dancers by them cantered.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Murtagh and his <i>vanithee</i><a id="FNanchor_53" href="#Footnote_53" class="fnanchor">[53]</a> had their chairs brought in to see</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">The heels and toes go fast and free, and fun and love and laughter;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_394">[394]</span></div> - <div class="hangingindent">In their sconces all alight shone the tallow candles bright—</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">The flames kept jigging all the night, upleaping to each rafter!</div> - <div class="hangingindent">The pipes, with noisy drumming sound, the lovers’ whispering sadly drowned,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">So the couples took their ground—their hearts already dancing!</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Merrily, with toe and heel, airily in jig and reel,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">Fast in and out they whirl and wheel, all capering and prancing.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">“Off She Goes,” “The Rocky Road,” “The Tipsy House,” and “Miss McLeod,”</div> - <div class="hangingindent">“The Devil’s Dream,” and “Jig Polthogue,” “The Wind that Shakes the Barley,”</div> - <div class="hangingindent">“The First o’ May,” “The Garran Bwee,” “Tatther Jack Welsh,” “The River Lee,”—</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">As lapping breakers from the sea the myriad tunes at Marley!</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Reels of three and reels of four, hornpipes and jigs <i>galore</i>,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">With singles, doubles held the floor in turn, without a bar low;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">But when fun and courting lulled, and the dancing somewhat dulled,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">The door unhinged, the boys down pulled for “Follow me up to Carlow.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Ned and Nelly, hand in hand, footed in a square so grand,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">Then back the jingling door they spanned, and swept swift as their glances;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Nell, indignant-like, retired, chased by Ned until he tired,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">Her constancy so great admired, that he soon made advances.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_396">[396]</span></div> - <div class="hangingindent">But young Nell would not be won, and a lover’s chase came on—</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">The maidens laughed to see the fun, till she surrendered fairly:</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Hands enclasped in rosy pride, tripping neatly side, by side,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">They turned and bowed most dignified to all the folk of Marley!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Poorly pen of sage or scribe could such scenes of joy describe,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">Or due praises fair ascribe, where all were nearly equal!</div> - <div class="hangingindent">The love-making I’ve forgot in each cosy <i>saustagh</i><a id="FNanchor_54" href="#Footnote_54" class="fnanchor">[54]</a> spot—</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">Yet now I think I’d better not go tell, but wait the sequel.</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Everything must have an end, and the <i>girshas</i><a id="FNanchor_55" href="#Footnote_55" class="fnanchor">[55]</a> home did wend,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">With guarding brother and a friend—this last was absent rarely!</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Late the Murphys by the hearth talked about the evening’s mirth—</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">Ne’er a dance upon the earth could match that one at Marley.</div> - <div class="right"><i>Patrick J. McCall</i> (1861).</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_395"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_395.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“FAST IN AND OUT THEY WHIRL AND WHEEL, ALL CAPERING AND PRANCING.”</p> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_397">[397]</span></p> - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>FIONN MACCUMHAIL AND THE PRINCESS.</i></h2> - -<p>Wance upon a time, when things was a great’le betther in Ireland than -they are at present, when a rale king ruled over the counthry wid four -others undher him to look afther the craps an’ other industhries, there -lived a young chief called Fan MaCool. Now, this was long afore we gev -up bowin’ and scrapin’ to the sun an’ moon an’ sich like <i>raumash</i> -(nonsense); an’, signs an it, there was a powerful lot ov witches an’ -Druids, an’ enchanted min an’ wimen goin’ about, that med things quare -enough betimes for iverywan.</p> - -<p>Well, Fan, as I sed afore, was a young man when he kem to the command, -an’ a purty likely lookin’ boy, too—there was nothin’ too hot or too -heavy for him; an’ so ye needn’t be a bit surprised if I tell ye he was -the mischief entirely wid the <i>colleens</i>. Nothin’ delighted him -more than to disguise himself wid an ould <i>coatamore</i> (overcoat) -threwn over his showlder, a lump ov a <i>kippeen</i> (stick) in his -fist an’ he mayanderin’ about unknownst, <i>rings around</i> the -counthry, lookin’ for fun an’ <i>foosther</i> (diversion) ov all kinds.</p> - -<p>Well, one fine mornin’, whin he was <i>on the shaughraun</i>, he was -<i>waumasin</i>’ (strolling) about through Leinster, an’ near the -royal palace ov Glendalough he seen a mighty throng ov grand lords -an’ ladies, an’, my dear, they all dressed up to the nines, wid their -jewels shinin’ like dewdrops ov a May mornin’, and laughin’ like the -tinkle ov a <i>deeshy</i> (small) mountain strame over the white rocks. -So he cocked his beaver, an’ stole over to see what was the matther.</p> - -<p>Lo an’ behould ye, what were they at but houldin’ a race-meetin’ -or <i>faysh</i> (festival)—somethin’ like what the quality calls -<i>ataléticks</i> now! There they were, jumpin’, and runnin’, and -coorsin’, an’ all soorts ov fun, enough to make the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_398">[398]</span> trouts—an’ -they’re mighty fine leppers enough—die wid envy in the river benaith -them.</p> - -<p>The fun wint on fast an’ furious, an’ Fan, consaled betune the -<i>trumauns</i> an’ <i>brushna</i> (elder bushes and furze), could -hardly keep himself quiet, seein’ the thricks they wor at. Peepin’ out, -he seen, jist forninst him on the other bank, the prencess herself, -betune the high-up ladies ov the coort. She was a fine, bouncin’ -<i>geersha</i> (girl) with goold hair like the furze an’ cheeks like -an apple blossom, an’ she brakin’ her heart laughin’ an’ clappin’ -her hands an’ turnin’ her head this a-way an’ that a-way, jokin’ wid -this wan an’ that wan, an’ commiseratin’, <i>moryah</i>!<a id="FNanchor_56" href="#Footnote_56" class="fnanchor">[56]</a> the poor -<i>gossoons</i> that failed in their leps. Fan liked the looks ov her -well, an’ whin the boys had run in undher a bame up to their knees an’ -jumped up over another wan as high as their chins, the great trial ov -all kem on. Maybe you’d guess what that was? But I’m afeerd you won’t -if I gev you a hundhered guesses! It was to lep the strame, forty foot -wide!</p> - -<p>List’nin’ to them whisperin’ to wan another, Fan heerd them tellin’ -that whichever ov them could manage it wud be med a great man intirely -ov; he wud get the Prencess Maynish in marriage, an’ ov coorse, wud be -med king ov Leinster when the ould king, Garry, her father, cocked his -toes an’ looked up through the butts ov the daisies at the skhy. Well, -whin Fan h’ard this, he was put <i>to a nonplush</i> (considering) to -know what to do! With his ould <i>duds</i> (clothes) on him, he was -ashamed ov his life to go out into the open, to have the eyes ov the -whole wurruld on him, an’ his heart wint down to his big toe as he -watched the boys makin’ their offers at the lep. But no wan ov them -was soople enough for the job, an’ they kep on tumblin’, wan afther -the other, into the strame; so that the poor prencess began to look -sorryful whin her favourite, a big hayro wid a <i>coolyeen</i> (curls) -a yard long—an’ more be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_399">[399]</span> token he was a boy o’ the Byrnes from -Imayle—jist tipped the bank forninst her wid his right fut, an’ then -twistin’, like a crow in the air scratchin’ her head with her claw, he -spraddled wide open in the wather, and splashed about like a hake in a -mudbank! Well, me dear, Fan forgot himself, an’ gev a screech like an -aigle; an’ wid that, the ould king started, the ladies all screamed, -an’ Fan was surrounded. In less than a minit an’ a half they dragged me -bould Fan be the collar ov his coat right straight around to the king -himself.</p> - -<p>“What ould <i>geochagh</i> (beggar) have we now?” sez the king, lookin’ -very hard at Fan.</p> - -<p>“I’m Fan MaCool!” sez the thief ov the wurruld, as cool as a frog.</p> - -<p>“Well, Fan MaCool or not,” sez the king, mockin’ him, “ye’ll have -to jump the strame yander for freckenin’ the lives clane out ov me -ladies,” sez he, “an’ for disturbin’ our spoort ginerally,” sez he.</p> - -<p>“An’ what’ll I get for that same?” sez Fan, <i>lettin’ on</i> -(pretending) he was afeerd.</p> - -<p>“Me daughter, Maynish,” sez the king, wid a laugh; for he thought, ye -see, Fan would be drownded.</p> - -<p>“Me hand on the bargain,” sez Fan; but the owld chap gev him a rap on -the knuckles wid his <i>specktre</i> (sceptre) an’ towld him to hurry -up, or he’d get the <i>ollaves</i> (judges) to put him in the Black Dog -pres’n or the Marshals—I forgets which—it’s so long gone by!</p> - -<p>Well, Fan peeled off his <i>coatamore</i>, an’ threw away his -<i>bottheen</i> ov a stick, an’ the prencess seein’ his big body an’ -his long arums an’ legs like an oaktree, couldn’t help remarkin’ to her -comerade, the craythur—</p> - -<p>“Bedad, <i>Cauth</i> (Kate),” sez she, “but this beggarman is a fine -bit ov a <i>bouchal</i> (boy),” sez she; “it’s in the arumy he ought to -be,” sez she, lookin’ at him agen, an’ admirin’ him, like.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_400">[400]</span></p> - -<p>So, Fan, purtendin’ to be fixin’ his shoes be the bank, jist pulled two -<i>lusmores</i> (fox-gloves) an’ put them anunder his heels; for thim -wor the fairies’ own flowers that works all soort ov inchantment, an’ -he, ov coorse, knew all about it; for he got the wrinkle from an owld -<i>lenaun</i> (fairy guardian) named Cleena, that nursed him when he -was a little stand-a-loney.</p> - -<p>Well, me dear, ye’d think it was on’y over a little <i>creepie</i> -(three-legged) stool he was leppin’ whin he landed like a thrish jist -at the fut ov the prencess; an’ his father’s son he was, that put his -two arums around her, an’ gev her a kiss—haith, ye’d hear the smack -ov it at the Castle o’ Dublin. The ould king groaned like a corncrake, -an’ pulled out his hair in hatfuls, an’ at last he ordhered the bowld -beggarman off to be kilt; but, begorrah, when they tuk off his weskit -an’ seen the collar ov goold around Fan’s neck the ould chap became -delighted, for he knew thin he had the commandher ov Airyun for a -son-in-law.</p> - -<p>“Hello!” sez the king, “who have we now?” sez he, seein’ the collar. -“Begonnys,” sez he, “you’re no <i>boccagh</i> (beggar) anyways!”</p> - -<p>“I’m Fan MaCool,” sez the other, as impident as a cock sparra’; “have -you anything to say agen me?” for his name wasn’t up, at that time, -like afther.</p> - -<p>“Ay, lots to say agen you. How dar’ you be comin’ round this a-way, -dressed like a playacthor, takin’ us in?” sez the king, lettin’ on to -be vexed; “an’ now,” sez he, “to annoy you, you’ll have to go an’ jump -back agen afore you gets me daughter for <i>puttin’ on</i> (deceiving) -us in such a manner.”</p> - -<p>“Your will is my pleasure,” sez Fan; “but I must have a word or two -with the girl first,” sez he, an’ up he goes an’ commences talkin’ soft -to her, an’ the king got as mad as a hatther at the way the two were -<i>croosheenin</i>’ an’ <i>colloguin</i>’ (whispering and talking), an’ -not mindin’ him no more than<span class="pagenum" id="Page_401">[401]</span> if he was the man in the moon, when who -comes up but the Prence ov Imayle, afther dryin’ himself, to put his -pike in the hay, too.</p> - -<p>“Well, <i>avochal</i> (my boy),” sez Fan, “are you dry yet?” an’ the -prencess laughed like a bell round a cat’s neck.</p> - -<p>“You think yourself a smart lad, I suppose,” sez the other; “but -there’s one thing you can’t do wid all your prate!”</p> - -<p>“What’s that?” sez Fan. “Maybe not,” sez he.</p> - -<p>“You couldn’t whistle an’ chaw oatenmale,” sez the Prence ov Imayle, in -a pucker. “Are you any good at throwin’ a stone?” sez he, then.</p> - -<p>“The best!” sez Fan, an’ all the coort gother round like to a -cock-fight. “Where’ll we throw to?” sez he.</p> - -<p>“In to’ards Dublin,” sez the Prence ov Imayle; an’ be all accounts he -was a great hand at <i>cruistin</i> (throwing). “Here goes pink!” sez -he, an’ he ups with a stone, as big as a castle, an’ sends it flyin’ in -the air like a cannon ball, and it never stopped till it landed on top -ov the Three Rock Mountain.</p> - -<p>“I’m your masther!” sez Fan, pickin’ up another <i>clochaun</i> (stone) -an’ sendin’ it a few perch beyant the first.</p> - -<p>“That you’re not,” sez the Prence ov Imayle, an’ he done his best, an’ -managed to send another finger stone beyant Fan’s throw; an’ shure, the -three stones are to be seen, be all the world, to this very day.</p> - -<p>“Well, me lad,” says Fan, stoopin’ for another as big as a hill, “I’m -sorry I have to bate you; but I can’t help it,” sez he, lookin’ over -at the Prencess Maynish, an’ she as mute as a mouse watchin’ the two -big men, an’ the ould king showin’ fair play, as delighted as a child. -“Watch this,” sez he, whirlin’ his arm like a windmill, “and now put on -your spectacles,” sez he; and away he sends the stone, buzzin’ through -the air like a peggin’-top, over the other three <i>clochauns</i>, and -then across Dublin Bay, an’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_402">[402]</span> scrapin’ the nose off ov Howth, it landed -with a swish in the say beyant it. That’s the rock they calls Ireland’s -Eye now!</p> - -<p>“Be the so an’ so!” sez the king, “I don’t know where that went to, at -all, at all! What <i>direct</i> did you send it?” sez he to Fan. “I had -it in view, till it went over the say,” sez he.</p> - -<p>“I’m bet!” sez the Prence ov Imayle. “I couldn’t pass that, for I can’t -see where you put it, even—good-bye to yous,” sez he, turnin’ on his -heel an’ makin’ off; “an’ may yous two be as happy as I can wish you!” -An’ back he went to the butt ov Lugnaquilla, an’ took to fret, an’ I -undherstand shortly afther he died ov a broken heart; an’ they put a -turtle-dove on his tombstone to signify that he died for love; but -<i>I</i> think he overstrained himself, throwin’, though that’s nayther -here nor there with me story!</p> - -<p>“Are you goin’ to lep back agen?” sez ould King Garry, wantin’ to see -more sport; for he tuk as much delight in seein’ the like as if he was -a lad ov twenty.</p> - -<p>“To be shure I will!” sez Fan, ready enough, “but I’ll have to take the -girl over with me this time!” sez he.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, Fan!” sez Maynish, afeerd ov her life he might stumble, an’ -that he’d fall in with her; an’ then she’d have to fall out with -him—“take me father with you,” sez she; an’, egonnys, the ould king -thought more about himself than any ov them, an’ sed he’d take the -will for the deed, like the lawyers. So the weddin’ went on; an’ maybe -that wasn’t the grand <i>blow out</i>. But I can’t stay to tell yous -all the fun they had for a fortnit; on’y, me dear, they all went into -<i>kinks</i> (fits) ov laughin’, when the ould king, who tuk more than -was good for him, stood up to drink Fan’s health, an’ forgot himself.</p> - -<p>“Here’s to’ards your good health, Fan MaCool!” sez he, as grand as you -like—“an’ a long life to you, an’ a happy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_403">[403]</span> wife to you—an’ a great -many ov them!” sez he, like he’d forgot somethin’.</p> - -<p>Well, me dear, every one was splittin’ their sides like the p’yates, -unless the prencess, an’ <i>she</i> got as red in the face as if she -was churnin’ in the winther an’ the frost keepin’ the crame from -crackin’; but she got over it like the maisles.</p> - -<p>But I suppose you can guess the remainder, an’ as the evenin’s gettin’ -forrad I’ll stop; so put down the kittle an’ make tay, an’ if Fan and -the Prencess Maynish didn’t live happy together—that we may!</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>Patrick J. McCall.</i></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>TATTHER JACK WELSH.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Did you e’er meet a boy on the road to the fair,</div> - <div>With his merry blue eyes and his curly brown hair,</div> - <div>With his hands in his pockets, and whistling a jig,</div> - <div>To humour the way for himself and his pig?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh, that was the boy who has won my fond heart,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Whose eyes have sent through me a dangerous dart;</div> - <div>And cut out my sweetheart of old, Darby Kelsh—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Oh, my blessing attend you, my Tatther Jack Welsh!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Well, he lives up the lane, by the side of Lug Dhu,</div> - <div>And the dickens a ha’porth in life does he do,</div> - <div>But breaking the hearts of the girls all around—</div> - <div>Not a single one, whole and entire, can be found.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_404">[404]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>For he is the boy that can lilt up a tune—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Troth, you’d think ’twas the fairies were singing “Da Luan.”</div> - <div>Oh! your feet would go jigging in spite of yourself</div> - <div>If you heard the fife played by that musical elf.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">One fine evening young Darby came up to our house,</div> - <div>And indeed the poor boy was as mute as a mouse,</div> - <div>Till my Jacky came in, and says he, “Darby Kelsh,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Shure you can’t court at all—look at Tatther Jack Welsh!”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>So up the rogue rushes, and gave me a <i>pogue</i>,<a id="FNanchor_57" href="#Footnote_57" class="fnanchor">[57]</a></div> - <div>And Darby ran out, like he’d got a <i>polthogue</i>,<a id="FNanchor_58" href="#Footnote_58" class="fnanchor">[58]</a>—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">“Arrah, what can be ailing,” says he, “Darby Kelsh?”</div> - <div class="hangingindent">“Haith, you know well enough,” says I, “Tatther Jack Welsh!”</div> - <div class="right"><i>Patrick J. McCall.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_405">[405]</span></p> - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>THEIR LAST RACE.</i></h2> - - -<h3>I.—<span class="smcap">The Faction Fight.</span></h3> - -<p>In the heart of the Connemara Highlands, Carrala Valley hides in a -triangle of mountains. Carrala Village lies in the comer of it towards -Loch Ina, and Aughavanna in the corner nearest Kylemore. Aughavanna is -a wreck now: if you were to look for it you would see only a cluster -of walls grown over by ferns and nettles; but in those remote times, -before the Great Famine, when no English was spoken in the Valley, -there was no place more renowned for wild fun and fighting; and when -its men were to be at a fair, every able-bodied man in the countryside -took his <i>kippeen</i>—his cudgel—from its place in the chimney, and -went out to do battle with a glad heart.</p> - -<p>Long Mat Murnane was the king of Aughavanna. There was no grander sight -than Mat smashing his way through a forest of <i>kippeens</i>, with -his enemies staggering back to the right and left of him; there was -no sweeter sound than his voice, clear as a bell, full of triumph and -gladness, shouting, “Hurroo! whoop! Aughavanna for ever!” Where his -<i>kippeen</i> flickered in the air his followers charged after, and -the enemy rushed to meet him, for it was an honour to take a broken -head from him.</p> - -<p>But Carrala Fair was the black day for him. That day Carrala swarmed -with men—fishers from the near coast, dwellers in lonely huts by -the black lakes, or in tiny ragged villages under the shadow of the -mountains, or in cabins on the hill-sides—every little town for miles, -by river or seashore or mountain-built, was emptied. The fame of the -Aughavanna men was their ruin, for they were known to fight so well -that every one was dying to fight them. The Joyces sided against them; -Black Michael Joyce had a farm<span class="pagenum" id="Page_406">[406]</span> in the third corner of the Valley, just -where the road through the bog from Aughavanna (the road with the cross -by it) meets the high-road to Leenane, so his kin mustered in force. -Now Black Michael, “Meehul Dhu,” was Long Mat’s rival; though smaller -he was near as deadly in fight, and in dancing no man could touch him, -for it was said he could jump a yard into the air and kick himself -behind with his heels in doing it.</p> - -<p>The business of the Fair had been hurried so as to leave the more -time for pleasure, and by five of the afternoon every man was mad for -the battle. Why you could scarcely have moved in Callanan’s Field out -beyond the churchyard at the end of the Village, it was so packed -with men—more than five hundred were there, and you could not have -heard yourself speak, for they were jumping and dancing, tossing their -<i>caubeens</i>, and shouting themselves hoarse and deaf—“Hurroo for -Carrala!” “Whoop for Aughavanna!” Around them a mob of women, old men -and children, looked on breathlessly. It was dull weather, and the -mists had crept half-way down the dark mountain walls, as if to have a -nearer look at the fight.</p> - -<p>As the chapel clock struck five, Long Mat Murnane gave the signal. Down -the Village he came, rejoicing in his strength, out between the two -last houses, past the churchyard and into Callanan’s Field; he looked -every inch a king; his <i>kippeen</i> was ready, his frieze coat was -off, with his left hand he trailed it behind him holding it by the -sleeve, while with a great voice he shouted—in Irish—“Where’s the -Carrala man that dare touch my coat?” “Where’s the cowardly scoundrel -that dare look crooked at it?”</p> - -<p>In a moment Black Michael Joyce was trailing his own coat behind him, -and rushed forward, with a mighty cry, “Where’s the face of a trembling -Aughavanna man?” In a moment their <i>kippeens</i> clashed; in another, -hundreds of <i>kippeens</i> crashed together, and the grandest fight -ever<span class="pagenum" id="Page_407">[407]</span> fought in Connemara raged over Callanan’s Field. After the first -roar of defiance the men had to keep their breath for the hitting, so -the shout of triumph and the groan as one fell were the only sounds -that broke the music of the <i>kippeens</i> clashing and clicking on -one another, or striking home with a thud.</p> - -<p>Never was Long Mat nobler: he rushed ravaging through the enemy, -shattering their ranks and their heads, no man could withstand him; Red -Callanan of Carrala went down before him; he knocked the five senses -out of Dan O’Shaughran of Earrennamore, that herded many pigs by the -sedgy banks of the Owen Erriff; he hollowed the left eye out of Larry -Mulcahy, that lived on the Devil’s Mother Mountain—never again did -Larry set the two eyes of him on his high mountain-cradle; he killed -Black Michael Joyce by a beautiful swooping blow on the side of the -head—who would have dreamt that Black Michael had so thin a skull?</p> - -<p>For near an hour Mat triumphed, then suddenly he went down under foot. -At first he was missed only by those nearest him, and they took it for -granted that he was up again and fighting. But when the Aughavanna men -found themselves out-numbered and driven back to the Village, a great -fear came on them, for they knew that all Ireland could not out-number -them if Mat was to the fore. Then disaster and rout took them, and -they were forced backwards up the street, struggling desperately, till -hardly a man of them could stand.</p> - -<p>And when the victors were shouting themselves dumb, and drinking -themselves blind, the beaten men looked for their leader. Long Mat was -prone, his forehead was smashed, his face had been trampled into the -mud—he had done with fighting. His death was untimely, yet he fell as -he would have chosen—in a friendly battle. For when a man falls under -the hand of an enemy (as of any one who<span class="pagenum" id="Page_408">[408]</span> differs from him in creed or -politics), revenge and black blood live after him; but he who takes his -death from the kindly hand of a friend leaves behind him no ill-will, -but only gentle regret for the mishap.</p> - - -<h3>II.—<span class="smcap">Their Last Race.</span></h3> - -<p>When the dead had been duly waked for two days and nights, the burying -day came. All the morning Long Mat Murnane’s coffin lay on four chairs -by his cabin, with a kneeling ring of dishevelled women <i>keening</i> -round it. Every soul in Aughavanna and their kith and kin had gathered -to do him honour. And when the Angelus bell rang across the Valley from -the chapel, the mourners fell into ranks, the coffin was lifted on the -rough hearse, and the motley funeral—a line of carts with a mob of -peasants behind, a few riding, but most of them on foot—moved slowly -towards Carrala. The women were crying bitterly, <i>keening</i> like an -Atlantic gale; the men looked as sober as if they had never heard of a -wake, and spoke sadly of the dead man, and of what a pity it was that -he could not see his funeral.</p> - -<p>The Joyces too had waited, as was the custom, for the Angelus bell, and -now Black Michael’s funeral was moving slowly towards Carrala along -the other side of the bog. Before long either party could hear the -<i>keening</i> of the other, for you know the roads grow nearer as they -converge on Carrala. Before long either party began to fear that the -other would be there first.</p> - -<p>There is no knowing how it happened, but the funerals began to go -quicker, keeping abreast; then still quicker, till the women had to -break into a trot to keep up; then still quicker, till the donkeys -were galloping, and till every one raced at full speed, and the rival -parties broke into a wild shout of “Aughavanna <i>abu</i>!” “Meehul Dhu -for ever!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_409">[409]</span></p> - -<p>For the dead men were racing—feet foremost—to the grave; they were -rivals even in death. Never did the world see such a race, never was -there such whooping and shouting. Where the roads meet in Callanan’s -Field the hearses were abreast; neck to neck they dashed across the -trampled fighting-place, while the coffins jogged and jolted as if the -two dead men were struggling to get out and lead the rush; neck to neck -they reached the churchyard, and the hearses jammed in the gate. Behind -them the carts crashed into one another, and the mourners shouted as if -they were mad.</p> - -<p>But the quick wit of the Aughavanna men triumphed, for they seized -their long coffin and dragged it in, and Long Mat Murnane won his last -race. The shout they gave then deafened the echo up in the mountains, -so that it has never been the same since. The victors wrung one -another’s hands; they hugged one another.</p> - -<p>“Himself would be proud,” they cried, “if he hadn’t been dead!”</p> - -<p class="r2"><i>Frank Mathew</i> (1865).</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>IN BLARNEY.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div><i>He</i>—Be the fire, <i>alanna</i>, sittin’,</div> - <div class="i3">Purty ’tis you look and sweet,</div> - <div class="i2">Wid yer dainty fingers knittin’</div> - <div class="i3">Shtockin’s for yer daintier feet.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div><i>She</i>—It’s yer tongue that has the blarney,</div> - <div class="i3">Yis, and impudence <i>galore</i>!</div> - <div class="i2">Is it me to thrusht ye, Barney,</div> - <div class="i3">When yer afther half-a-score?<span class="pagenum" id="Page_410">[410]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div><i>He</i>—Shure, I ne’er, in all I thravelled,</div> - <div class="i3">Found at all the likes o’ you.</div> - <div><i>She</i>—Now my worsted all is ravelled</div> - <div class="i3">And whatever will I do?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div><i>He</i>—Might I make so bould to ask it,</div> - <div class="i3">Shure I know the girl o’ girls;</div> - <div class="i2">And I’d make me heart the casket,</div> - <div class="i3">And her love the pearl o’ pearls.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div><i>She</i>—Ah, thin, Barney dear, I’m thinkin’</div> - <div class="i3">That it’s you’re the honied rogue.</div> - <div><i>He</i>—Faix, I’d be the bee a-dhrinkin’</div> - <div class="i3">From yer rosy lips a <i>pogue</i>.<a id="FNanchor_59" href="#Footnote_59" class="fnanchor">[59]</a></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div><i>She</i>—Is it steal a colleen’s kisses,</div> - <div class="i3">When it’s all alone she’s left?</div> - <div><i>He</i>—Wor they all as sweet as this is,</div> - <div class="i3">Troth, I’d go to jail for theft.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div><i>She</i>—Barney! Barney, shtop yer foolin’!</div> - <div class="i3">Or I’ll soon begin to scould.</div> - <div class="i2">Sure, I’d like to know what school in</div> - <div class="i3">Did ye learn to be so bould?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div><i>He</i>—Och! it’s undher Masther Cupid</div> - <div class="i3">That I learned me A, B, C.</div> - <div><i>She</i>—That the scholar wasn’t stupid,</div> - <div class="i3">Faith, is very plain to see.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div><i>He</i>—Ah, then Eily, but the blush is</div> - <div class="i3">Most becomin’ to ye, dear!</div> - <div class="i2">Like the red rose on the bush is——</div> - <div class="i3"><i>She</i>—Sir I you needn’t come so near!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_411">[411]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div><i>He</i>—Over lane and road and <i>boreen</i>,</div> - <div class="i3">Troth, I’ve come a weary way,</div> - <div class="i2">Jusht to whisper ye, <i>asthoreen</i>,</div> - <div class="i3">Somethin’ that I’ve longed to say.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i2">I’ve a cosy cottage, which is</div> - <div class="i3">Jusht the proper size for two——</div> - <div><i>She</i>—There, I’ve tangled all me stitches,</div> - <div class="i3">And it’s all because av you!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div><i>He</i>—And, to make a sthray suggestchun,</div> - <div class="i3">Maybe you me wish might guess?</div> - <div><i>She</i>—Sure, an’ if ye pressed the question,</div> - <div class="i3">Somehow—I—might answer—<span class="smcap">Yes</span>!</div> - <div class="right"><i>Patrick J. Coleman</i> (1867).</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_412"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_412.jpg" - alt="" /> - <p class="p0 sm center">“GATHERIN’ UP THE GOLDEN GRAIN.”</p> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h2 class="smaller"><i>BINDIN’ THE OATS.</i></h2> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Bindin’ the oats in sweet September,</div> - <div class="i1">Don’t you remember</div> - <div class="i2">That evening, dear?</div> - <div>Ah! but you bound my heart complately,</div> - <div class="i1">Fair and nately,</div> - <div>Snug in the snood of your silken hair!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Swung the sickles, you followed after</div> - <div class="i1">With musical laughter</div> - <div class="i2">And witchin’ eye.</div> - <div>I tried to reap, but each swathe I took, love,</div> - <div class="i1">Spoiled the stook, love,</div> - <div>For your smile had bothered my head awry!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_413">[413]</span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Such an elegant, graceful binder,</div> - <div class="i1">Where could I find her</div> - <div class="i2">All Ireland through?</div> - <div>Worn’t the stout, young, strappin’ fellows</div> - <div class="i1">Fairly jealous,</div> - <div>Dyin’, <i>asthore machree</i>, for you?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Talk o’ Persephone pluckin’ the posies,</div> - <div class="i1">Or the red roses,</div> - <div class="i2">In Henna’s plain!</div> - <div><i>You</i> wor sweeter, with cheeks so red, love,</div> - <div class="i1">And beautiful head, love,</div> - <div>Gatherin’ up the golden grain.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Bindin’ the oats in sweet September,</div> - <div class="i1">Don’t you remember</div> - <div class="i2">The stolen <i>pogue</i>?<a id="FNanchor_60" href="#Footnote_60" class="fnanchor">[60]</a></div> - <div>How could I help but there deliver</div> - <div class="i1">My heart for ever</div> - <div>To such a beautiful little rogue?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Bindin’ the oats, ’twas there you found me,</div> - <div class="i1">There you bound me</div> - <div class="i2">That harvest day!</div> - <div>Ah! that I in your blessed bond, love,</div> - <div class="i1">Fair and fond, love,</div> - <div>Happy, for ever and ever, stay!</div> - <div class="right"><i>Patrick J. Coleman.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_414">[414]</span></p> - -<h2 class="smaller"><i>SELECTED IRISH PROVERBS, ETC.</i></h2> - -<p>A man ties a knot with his tongue that his teeth will not loosen.</p> - -<p>Honey is sweet, but don’t lick it off a briar.</p> - -<p>The doorstep of a great house is slippery.</p> - -<p>The leisure of the smith’s helper (<i>i.e.</i>, from the bellows to the -anvil).</p> - -<p>You have the foal’s share of the harrow.</p> - -<p>Laziness is a heavy burden.</p> - -<p>You’d be a good messenger to send for death—(said of a slow person).</p> - -<p>Better be bald than have no head at all—but the devil a much more than -that.</p> - -<p>Better the end of a feast than the beginning of a fight.</p> - -<p>Let him cool in the skin he warmed in.</p> - -<p>A man is shy in another man’s corner.</p> - -<p>The pig in the sty doesn’t know the pig going along the road.</p> - -<p>’Tis on her own account the cat purrs.</p> - -<p>Cows far from home have long horns.</p> - -<p>A black hen lays a white egg (<i>i.e.</i>, do not judge by appearances).</p> - -<p>’Tis a good story that fills the belly.</p> - -<p>A drink is shorter than a story.</p> - -<p> -The man that’s up is toasted, -The man that’s down is trampled on. -</p> - -<p>He knows more than his “Our Father.”</p> - -<p>A mouth of ivy and a heart of holly.</p> - -<p>A soft word never broke a tooth yet.</p> - -<p>He comes like the bad weather (<i>i.e.</i>, uninvited).</p> - -<p>Who lies down with dogs will get up with fleas.</p> - -<p>The eye of a friend is a good looking-glass.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_415">[415]</span></p> - -<p>’Tis the fool has luck.</p> - -<p>What the Pookha writes, he himself can read.</p> - -<p>A blind man can see his mouth.</p> - -<p>To die and to lose one’s life are much the same.</p> - -<p>Don’t leave a tailor’s remnant behind you.</p> - -<p>’Tis a wedge of itself that splits the oak.</p> - -<p>The three sharpest things at all—a thorn in mire, a hound’s tooth, and -a fool’s retort.</p> - -<p>When it goes hard with the old hag, she must run.</p> - -<p>The jewel most rare is the jewel most fair.</p> - -<p>He that loses the game, let him talk away.</p> - -<p>A heavy purse makes a light heart.</p> - -<p>He is like a bag-pipe—he never makes a noise till his belly’s full.</p> - -<p>Out of the kitchen comes the tune.</p> - -<p>Falling is easier than rising.</p> - -<p>A woman has an excuse readier than an apron.</p> - -<p>The secret of an old woman scolding (<i>i.e.</i>, no secret at all).</p> - -<p>A bad wife takes advice from every man but her own husband.</p> - -<p>The daughter of an active old woman makes a bad housekeeper.</p> - -<p>Never take a wife who has no faults.</p> - -<p>She burnt her coal and did not warm herself (<i>i.e.</i>, when a woman -makes a bad marriage).</p> - -<p>A ring on the finger and not a stitch of clothes on the back.</p> - -<p>A hen with chickens never yet burst her craw.</p> - -<p>A big belly was never generous.</p> - -<p>One bit of a rabbit is worth two of a cat.</p> - -<p>There is hope from the sea, but no hope from the cemetery.</p> - -<p>When the hand ceases to scatter, the mouth ceases to praise.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_416">[416]</span></p> - -<p>Big head and little sense.</p> - -<p>The tail is part of the cat (<i>i.e.</i>, a man resembles his family).</p> - -<p>A cat’s milk gives no cream (said of a stingy person).</p> - -<p>Butter to butter’s no relish (said when two men dance together, or two -women kiss each other).</p> - -<p>One cockroach knows another.</p> - -<p>A heavy load are your empty guts.</p> - -<p>The young thorn is the sharpest.</p> - -<p>Sweet is wine, bitter its payment.</p> - -<p>Whoever drinks, it is Donall that pays.</p> - -<p>An alms from his own share, to the fool.</p> - -<p>Better a wren in hand that a crane promised.</p> - -<p>The man on the fence is the best hurler (against critics and idle -lookers-on).</p> - -<p>A closed hand gets but a shut fist.</p> - -<p>It is not all big men that reap the harvest.</p> - -<p>Easy, oh woman of three cows! (against pretentious people).</p> - -<p>Fair words won’t feed the friars.</p> - -<p>Never poor till one goes to hell.</p> - -<p>Not worried till married.</p> - -<p>Brother to Donall is Theigue (= <i>Arcades ambo</i>).</p> - -<p>Three without rule—a wife, a pig, and a mule.</p> - -<p>When your hand is in the dog’s mouth, draw it out gently.</p> - -<p>Better a drop of whisky than a blow of a stick.</p> - -<p>After their feeding, the whelps begin to fight.</p> - -<p>The four drinks—the drink for thirst, the drink without thirst, the -drink for fear of thirst, and the drink at the door.</p> - -<p>A woman is more obstinate than a mule—a mule than the devil.</p> - -<p>All the world would not make a racehorse of a jackass.</p> - -<p>When the goat goes to church he never stops till he goes up to the -altar.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_417">[417]</span></p> - -<p>A strip of another man’s leather is very soft.</p> - -<p>’Tis a bad hen that won’t scratch for herself.</p> - -<p>Better riding a goat than the best marching.</p> - -<p>Death is the poor man’s doctor.</p> - -<p>If ’tis a sin to be yellow, thousands will be damned.</p> - -<p>There’s no good crying when the funeral is gone.</p> - -<p>Buttermilk is no milk, and a pudding’s no meat.</p> - -<p>Though near to a man his coat, his shirt is nearer (<i>i.e.</i>, blood -is thicker than water).</p> - -<p>Better a fistful of a man than a basketful of a woman.</p> - -<p>What cannot be had is just what suits.</p> - -<p>An unlearned king is a crowned ass.</p> - -<p>’Tis the end of the little pot, the bottom to fall out of it.</p> - -<p>A woman’s desire—the dear thing.</p> - -<p>Twelve things not to be found—four priests not covetous, four -Frenchmen not yellow, and four cobblers not liars.</p> - -<p>Nora having a servant and herself begging (shabby gentility).</p> - -<p>A man without dinner—two for supper.</p> - -<p>The man without a resource is hanged.</p> - -<p>Poor women think butter-milk good.</p> - -<p>Harsh is the poor man’s voice—he speaks all out of place.</p> - -<p>A wet mouth does not feel a dry mouth (<i>i.e.</i>, plenty does not -understand want).</p> - -<p>’Tis a fine horse that never stumbles.</p> - -<p>Take care of my neck and go on one side (<i>i.e.</i>, do not lean -altogether on one).</p> - -<p>A man loses something to teach himself.</p> - -<p>A hen carried far is heavy.</p> - -<p>The day of the storm is not the day for thatching.</p> - -<p>Winter comes on the lazy.</p> - -<p>A crow thinks its own young white.</p> - -<p>Putting on the mill the straw of the kiln (<i>i.e.</i>, robbing Peter -to pay Paul).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_418">[418]</span></p> - -<p>Truth is bitter, but a lie is savoury at times.</p> - -<p>’Tis a bad hound that is not worth whistling for.</p> - -<p>Better to-day than to-morrow morning.</p> - -<p>Patience is the cure of an old complaint.</p> - -<p>Have your own will, like the women have.</p> - -<p>It is not the same thing to go to town (or to court) and to come from -it.</p> - -<p>An old cat does not burn himself.</p> - -<p>A foolish woman knows the faults of a foolish man.</p> - -<p>The man that’s out his portion cools (<i>i.e.</i>, out of sight, out of -mind).</p> - -<p>That’s great softening on the butter-milk.</p> - -<p>The law of lending is to break the ware.</p> - -<p>No heat like that of shame.</p> - -<p>A candle does not give light till lit.</p> - -<p>Don’t praise your son-in-law till the year’s out.</p> - -<p>It is not a sheep’s head that we wouldn’t have another turn at it -(there being only one meal in a sheep’s head).</p> - -<p>The glory the head cannot bear, ’twere better not there.</p> - -<p>He that does not tie a knot will lose his first stitch.</p> - -<p>The fox never found a better messenger than himself.</p> - -<p>Better a little fire that warms than a large fire that burns.</p> - -<p>Better a short sitting than a long standing.</p> - -<p>Better be idle than working for nothing.</p> - -<p>Do not show your teeth when you cannot give a bite.</p> - -<p>Better come empty than with bad news.</p> - -<p>Trust him as far as you can throw a cow by the tail.</p> - -<p>Praise the end of it.</p> - -<p>To know one since his boots cost fourpence (<i>i.e.</i>, from an early -age).</p> - -<p>Never was door shut but another was opened.</p> - -<p>The heaviest ear of corn bends lowliest.</p> - -<p>He who is bad at giving lodging is good at showing the road.</p> - -<p>The husband of the sloven is known amongst a crowd.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_419">[419]</span></p> - -<p>Where there’s women there’s talk, and where there’s geese there’s -cackling.</p> - -<p>More beard than brains, as the fox said of the goat.</p> - -<p>A bad reaper never got a good reaping hook.</p> - -<p>A trade not learned is an enemy.</p> - -<p>An empty house is better than a bad tenant.</p> - -<p>He knows as much about it as a dog knows of his father.</p> - -<p>He’d say anything but his prayers.</p> - -<p>A vessel will only hold the full of it.</p> - -<p>Blow before you drink.</p> - -<p>Better fame (<i>i.e.</i>, reputation and character) than fortune.</p> - -<p>A blind man is no judge of colours.</p> - -<p>Fierceness is often hidden under beauty.</p> - -<p>When the cat is out, the mice dance.</p> - -<p>There is often anger in a laugh.</p> - -<p>A fool’s gold is light.</p> - -<p>No one claims kindred with the homeless.</p> - -<p>An empty vessel makes most sound.</p> - -<p>The lamb teaching her dam to bleat.</p> - -<p>Both hard and soft, like the cow’s tail.</p> - -<p>He that gets a name for early rising may sleep all day.</p> - -<p>Talk is cheap.</p> - -<p>When the hand grows weak, love gets feeble.</p> - -<p>If you have a cow you can always find somebody to milk her.</p> - -<p>Long-lived is a man in his own country.</p> - -<p>Forgetting one’s debts does not pay them.</p> - -<p>Nearer is God’s aid than the door.</p> - -<p>Bad is the walk that is not better than rest.</p> - -<p>Diseases without shame are love and thirst.</p> - -<p>It is hard to dry a rush that has been dipped in tallow (<i>i.e.</i>, -it is hard to break off a habit).</p> - -<p>Might is not lasting.</p> - -<p>Wrath speaketh not true.</p> - -<p>A bribe bursts the rock.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_420">[420]</span></p> - -<p>What goes to length goes to coldness.</p> - -<p>Better the good that is than the double good that was.</p> - -<p>Often a mouse went under a cornstack.</p> - -<p>A good retreat is better than a bad stand.</p> - -<p>Not better is food than sense at time of drinking.</p> - -<p>The idiot knows the fault of the fool.</p> - -<p>Thy complexion is black, says the raven.</p> - -<p>Better be sparing at first than at last.</p> - -<p>Whoever escapes, the peacemaker won’t.</p> - -<p>I would take an eye out of myself to take two out of another.</p> - -<p>A hedge on the field after the trespass.</p> - -<p>Melodious is the closed mouth.</p> - -<p>A spit without meat is a long thing.</p> - -<p>Alas for a house that men frequent not.</p> - -<p>It’s many the skin that sloughs off youth.</p> - -<p>Time is a good story-teller.</p> - -<p>The quills often took the flesh with them.</p> - -<p>One debt won’t pay another.</p> - -<p>There never came a gatherer but a scatterer came after him.</p> - -<p>There’s none for bad shoes like the shoemaker’s wife.</p> - -<p>No man ever gave advice but himself were the better for some of it.</p> - -<p>A man of learning understands the half-word.</p> - -<p>O’Brien’s gift and his two eyes after it (<i>i.e.</i>, regretting it).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_421">[421]</span></p> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_421"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_421.jpg" - alt="" /> - </div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_423">[423]</span></p> - -<h2>BIOGRAPHICAL INDEX OF WRITERS.</h2> -</div> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_423"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_423.jpg" - alt="" /> - </div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Barrett, Eaton Stannard.</span>—Satirist and poet, and one of -the wittiest of writers. Born in Cork in 1786, he graduated at -Trinity College, Dublin, and became a barrister in London. Some -of his satires had great vogue, especially “All the Talents,” -which was directed against a ministry still known by that -description. He was the author of various burlesque novels, -plays, and poems, but could write well on serious topics. -Barrett died in Glamorganshire, Wales, on March 20th, 1820, -through the bursting of a blood-vessel.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Boucicault, Dion.</span>—The real name of this popular -dramatist and actor was Dionysius Lardner Bourcicault. He was -born in Dublin on December 26th, 1822, and wrote the comedy of -“London Assurance,” when only nineteen years old. His Irish -dramas are well known, and are still considered the best of -their kind. He was an admirable comedian, as well as dramatic -writer. He spent many years in the United States, and died there -in September 1890.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Bourke, James Joseph.</span>—Born in Dublin on September -17th, 1837. His poems are very widely known and appreciated -among Irish people. Over the signature of “Tiria” he wrote -largely for the Irish newspapers of the last thirty years. He -died on April 28th, 1894.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Boyle, William.</span>—There are few Irish authors whose -writings are more racy than his. He was born in 1853 at -Dromiskin, co. Louth, and was educated at St. Mary’s College, -Dundalk. He entered the Inland Revenue department in 1874, and -is now stationed in Glasgow.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Canning, George.</span>—Born in London on April 11th, 1770. -His father and mother were Irish, and he insisted that he was an -Irishman born out of Ireland. After a brilliant Parliamentary -career he became Prime Minister in 1827, but only held the -position about three months, his death occurring on August 8th -of that year. His witty essays were written in early life for -<i>The Microcosm</i> and <i>Anti-Jacobin</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_424">[424]</span></p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Cannings, Thomas</span>.—A private soldier, who published at -Cork in 1800, or thereabouts, a volume of <i>Detached Pieces in -Verse</i>. He belonged to the 61st Regiment.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Carleton, William.</span>—Author of the <i>Traits and Stories -of the Irish Peasantry</i>, and recognised as one of the -greatest delineators of Irish character. Born at Prillisk, co. -Tyrone, in 1794, he was the son of a peasant. His best-known -work, already mentioned, appeared in 1830, and after that date -scarcely a year passed without a new work of his appearing. -He wrote largely for the <i>Dublin University Magazine</i>, -etc., and was granted a Civil List pension of £200 by Lord John -Russell. He died near Dublin on January 30th, 1869.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Coleman, Patrick James.</span>—A native of Ballaghadeerin, -co. Mayo, where he was born on September 2nd, 1867. He -matriculated in London University, and in 1888 went to -America. He now occupies a position in the journalistic -world of Philadelphia, and is regarded as one of the rising -Irish-American poets.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Curran, John Philpot.</span>—This noted orator and wit was -born at Newmarket, co. Cork, on July 24th, 1750. His patriotism -has endeared him to his countrymen, and his eloquence and humour -have made his name widely familiar. He became Master of the -Rolls in Ireland in 1806, and died in London on October 14th, -1817.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Dawson, Arthur.</span>—A Baron of the Exchequer in Ireland, -was born about 1700, and graduated B.A. at Dublin University. He -was appointed Baron of the Irish Court of Exchequer in 1742, and -died in 1775.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">De Quincey, J.</span>—A solicitor’s clerk in Limerick, who -wrote a little humorous verse in the Irish papers some years ago.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Downey, Edmund.</span>—Author of the well-known stories -signed “F. M. Allen,” such as “Through Green Glasses,” etc. -These richly humorous Irish stories are perhaps better known, -but can hardly be considered superior to his excellent -sea-stories. “Anchor-Watch Yarns” and kindred tales by Mr. -Downey place him in the front rank of writers of sea-stories. -He was born in Waterford in 1856, and is the son of a shipowner -and broker. He came to London in 1878, and was for a time in the -office of Tinsley the publisher. He afterwards became a partner -in the firm of Ward & Downey, from which he has now retired.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Dufferin, Lady.</span>—Born in 1807, the daughter of Thomas, -son of Richard Brinsley Sheridan. She and her two sisters were -noted for personal beauty; one of them, the Hon. Mrs. Norton, -was also well known as a poetess. She married first the Hon. -Pryce<span class="pagenum" id="Page_425">[425]</span> Blackwood (afterwards Lord Dufferin), and afterwards the -Earl of Gifford. The present Marquis of Dufferin is her son. She -died on June 13th, 1867. Her poems are often exquisite in their -pathos, humour, or grace.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Ettingsall, Thomas.</span>—A fishing-tackle manufacturer of -Wood Quay, Dublin, and was born about the close of last century. -He wrote only a few sketches and stories for <i>The Irish Penny -Journal</i> (1840) and <i>Dublin Penny Journal</i> (1832). It -was in the last-named magazine, on December 15th, 1832, that -the story here given appeared. He was concerned with H. B. -Code in the authorship of <i>The Angling Excursions of Gregory -Greendrake</i>, which was published in Dublin in 1824. He was -“Geoffrey Greydrake” of that work, which was reprinted from -<i>The Warder</i>. He died in poor circumstances about 1850.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Fahy, Francis Arthur.</span>—One of the raciest and most -humorous of Irish poets. Born in Kinvara, co. Galway, on -September 29th, 1854, and came to London as a Civil Service -clerk in 1873. He wrote many poems for the Irish papers, signed -“Dreoilin” (the wren), and in 1887 published a collection of -<i>Irish Songs and Poems</i> in Dublin. He is represented -by a few pieces in the recently-issued <i>Songs of the Four -Nations</i>, and some of his later songs have been admirably set -to music by Mrs. Needham.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Farquhar, George.</span>—This noted dramatist was born in -Derry in 1678, and was the son of a clergyman. He studied at -Dublin University and did not graduate. He went on the stage -in 1695, but though successful as an actor, he left the stage -and wrote plays, of which his most important are “The Beaux -Stratagem,” “The Inconstant,” and “The Recruiting Officer.” He -died in April 1707.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Ferguson, Sir Samuel.</span>—Is regarded as one of the -greatest of Irish poets. Was born on March 10th, 1810; graduated -at Dublin University, and was called to the Bar. He was one of -the leading contributors to <i>Blackwood’s Magazine</i>, his -“Father Tom and the Pope” (often attributed in error to others) -appearing in its columns, and also his fine poem, “The Forging -of the Anchor.” He published several volumes of very admirable -poetry, and some graphic stories of ancient Ireland. He died on -August 9th, 1886.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">French, William Percy.</span>—Born at Clooniquin, co. -Roscommon, on May 1st, 1854, and graduated at Dublin University. -He is one of the cleverest of living Irish humorists, and is the -author of many verses, stories, etc., most of which appeared in -a small Dublin comic, <i>The Jarvey</i>, edited by himself. Some -of his songs have become very popular, and he is also the author -of the <i>libretti</i> of one or two operas.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_426">[426]</span></p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Goldsmith, Oliver.</span>—The leading facts of Goldsmith’s -career are almost too well known to need even bare mention. He -was born at Pallas, near Ballymahon, co. Longford, on November -10th, 1728. He entered Dublin University, and graduated B.A. -there in 1749. After wandering about the Continent he settled -down in London to a literary life, his first experiences being -those of a badly-paid hack. He died on April 4th, 1774, and was -buried in the Temple.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Graves, Alfred Perceval.</span>—The author of “Father -O’Flynn” is decidedly the most popular, after Lover, of the -humorous Irish song-writers. He has not only produced many good -songs in the lighter vein, but has also written excellent ones -of a pathetic character. He is the son of the present Bishop -of Limerick, and was born in Dublin in 1846. He is a graduate -of Dublin, and holds the position of Inspector of Schools. He -resided for some years in Taunton, but now lives in London. It -would have been easy to extract a dozen inimitable pieces from -his several volumes. He has done much to make Irish music and -the Irish character better known.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Griffin, Gerald.</span>—Born in Limerick on December 12th, -1803, came to London in youth to carve out his fortune. He wrote -some admirable Irish stories and some beautiful poems, as well -as a tolerable play, but just as he was succeeding in literature -he withdrew from the world, joining the order of the Christian -Brothers. He died in Cork on June 12th, 1840. His best-known -book is <i>The Collegians, or, the Colleen Bawn</i>.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Halpine, Charles Graham.</span>—Author of one or two volumes -of verse, some of which is occasionally very humorous. He was -born at Oldcastle, co. Meath, in 1829, and was the son of a -Protestant clergyman. He went to the United States in the -fifties and fought through the Civil War, gaining the rank of -colonel. He died through taking an overdose of chloral to induce -sleep, on August 3rd, 1868.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Hyde, Douglas, LL.D.</span>—Is the son of Rev. Arthur Hyde -of Frenchpark, co. Roscommon, and was born at Kilmactranny, co. -Sligo, somewhere about 1860. Graduated at Dublin University, and -had a brilliant career there. Is one of the foremost of living -Irish writers, and a master of the Gaelic tongue. He is well -known as a scholar and an enthusiast in folk-lore studies, and -has published fine collections of Irish folk-tales and popular -songs of the West of Ireland. He is also a clever writer of -verse, both in Irish and in English.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Kenealy, Edward Vaughan Hyde, LL.D.</span>—Born in Cork -on July 2nd, 1819, and graduated LL.D. at Dublin University -in 1850. Was called to the English Bar in 1847, and had a -somewhat<span class="pagenum" id="Page_427">[427]</span> stormy career as a member, being finally disbarred on -account of his conduct in the famous Tichbourne case. He wrote -a good deal for <i>Fraser’s Magazine</i> in its early years, -as also for <i>Bentley’s Miscellany</i>, and published various -collections of poetry. He was a vigorous journalist, and a man -of undoubtedly great ability, and entered Parliament in 1875. He -died on April 16th, 1880.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Kickham, Charles Joseph.</span>—A poet of the people, and -a novelist of some power. To get a genuine impression of -the home-life of the Munster people, his stories, <i>Sally -Cavanagh</i> and <i>Knocknagow, or the Homes of Tipperary</i>, -should be read. He was born at Mullinahone, co. Tipperary, in -1828, and became a Fenian. He was connected with <i>The Irish -People</i>, the Fenian organ, and in 1865 was arrested and -sentenced to fourteen years’ penal servitude. He lost his sight -during his imprisonment, and was much shattered in health. He -died on August 22nd, 1882.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Lefanu, Joseph Sheridan.</span>—Born in Dublin on August -28th, 1814, and graduated B.A. at Dublin University in 1837. He -was called to the Bar, but devoted himself to literature and -journalism. He owned two or three Dublin papers, and was editor -of <i>The Dublin University Magazine</i>, also his property, -where most of his novels and poems appeared. He is one of the -most enthralling of novelists, his <i>Uncle Silas</i>, <i>In a -Glass Darkly</i>, etc., being very powerful. His poems, such as -“Shamus O’Brien,” are also very well known. He died on February -7th, 1873.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Lever, Charles James.</span>—This most widely read of Irish -novelists was born in Dublin on August 31st, 1806, and graduated -M.B. at Dublin University in 1831. He took his M.D. degree at -Louvain, and became a dispensary doctor in Ireland, but also -practised abroad for a time with success. He was editor of -<i>The Dublin University Magazine</i> from 1842 to 1845, and -wrote much for it, for <i>Blackwood’s Magazine</i> and other -leading periodicals. There is no necessity to name any of his -novels. He acted as English Consul in Italy, and died at Trieste -on June 1st, 1872. His life has been admirably told by Mr. W. J. -Fitzpatrick (1879; 2nd ed. 1882).</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Lover, Samuel.</span>—Poet, painter, musician, dramatist, and -novelist—and successful in all departments. His work in each -was excellent, and he might have been considered great if he -had confined himself to any one of them. He was born in Dublin -on February 24th, 1797, and was first notable as a miniature -painter. His weak eyesight, however, compelled him to give up -the art. He wrote several clever plays, one or two tremendously -popular novels, and some hundreds of songs, most of which he set -to music himself. He died in Jersey on July 6th, 1868.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_428">[428]</span></p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Luttrell, Henry.</span>—At one time Luttrell was one of the -most popular men in London society, and known far and wide for -his powers of repartee. He was born in 1766 or 1767, in Dublin, -and was for a time a member of the Irish Parliament. After -the Union he came to England, and was a frequent guest at the -brilliant social functions of Holland House. He died in Brompton -Square on December 19th, 1851. His “Advice to Julia” and -“Crockford House” are clever verse of the light satirical order.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Lysaght, Edward.</span>—One of the most famous of Irish -wits, born at Brickhill, co. Clare, on December 21st, 1763, -and educated at Cashel, co. Tipperary, and at Oxford, where he -graduated M. A. in 1788. He became a barrister, but was too much -of a <i>bon vivant</i> to succeed greatly in his profession. His -reputation as a wit is not sustained by his collected poems. He -has been accredited with the authorship of “Kitty of Coleraine,” -“The Sprig of Shillelagh,” “Donnybrook Fair,” and “The Lakes -of Mallow,” not one of which was written by him (<i>vide</i> -“The Poets of Ireland, a biographical dictionary,” by D. J. -O’Donoghue). He died in Dublin in 1810.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Maginn, William, LL.D.</span>—One of the greatest scholars -and humorists Cork has produced. He was born in that city on -July 10th, 1793, and graduated LL.D. at Dublin University -in 1819. He was, from its commencement, the most brilliant -contributor to <i>Blackwood’s Magazine</i>, and also edited -<i>Fraser</i> on its appearance in 1830. His fatal propensity to -liquor prevented his doing himself justice, though he wrote many -inimitable pieces, which have mostly been collected. He was one -of the most lovable of men. He died on August 21st, 1842.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Maher, William.</span>—A Waterford clothier, who is -considered the most likely author of “The Night before Larry -was Stretched.” One thing is certain, Dean Burrowes of Cork -did <i>not</i> write it, as has often been claimed. Walsh’s -<i>Ireland Sixty Years Ago</i> (1847) gives it to Maher, who -flourished about 1780.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Mahony, Rev. Francis Sylvester.</span>—Better remembered as -“Father Prout,” the name he took as his pseudonym in writing. -He was of Kerry family, but was born in Cork in 1804—not 1805, -as is frequently said. He was educated for the priesthood at -Amiens and Paris, and joined the Jesuit order. After some -years, however, he practically gave up his functions, and led -a Bohemian life. He was one of the most admired contributors -to <i>Fraser</i>, where his “Reliques” appeared. In later life -he acted as Paris correspondent of <i>The Globe</i> (which -he partly owned) and as Roman correspondent of <i>The Daily -News</i>. Before his death, which occurred in Paris on May 18th, -1866, he repented of his disregard for his sacred calling. He -was buried in his native city. It is extremely difficult to -make extracts from his prose, on account of the superabundant -classical allusions and references which it contains. He was not -a very agreeable man, personally.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_429">[429]</span></p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Mangan, James Clarence.</span>—One of the first of Irish -poets, and held to be the greatest of them by many of his -countrymen. He was born in Dublin on May 1st, 1803, and was -the son of a grocer. He wrote innumerable poems to the Irish -periodicals of his time, notably <i>The Nation</i> and <i>Dublin -University Magazine</i>. He knew various languages, but his -pretended translations from Turkish, Coptic, Hebrew, Arabic, and -Persian are so many elaborate jokes. He was most unfortunate -in life, mainly through his addiction to drink. His was a -wonderful personality, which has attracted many writers, and -his great poetical gifts are gradually becoming evident to -English critics. He was greatly encouraged by his admirers, but -to little purpose. His poems have been collected into several -small volumes, but there is no complete edition, though it is -badly wanted. He died in a Dublin hospital on June 20th, 1849. -See John McCall’s <i>Life of J. C. Mangan</i> for further -particulars of his interesting career.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Mathew, Frank.</span>—Is a solicitor and a nephew of the -eminent English judge, Sir James Mathew. Was born in 1865, and -his first literary work was his biography of his illustrious -relative, Father Mathew, “The Apostle of Temperance.” His -admirable Irish stories, which appeared in <i>The Idler</i>, -have been collected in a volume called <i>At the Rising of the -Moon</i>. They are very graphically told.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">McCall, Patrick Joseph.</span>—A genuinely Irish poet, -whose original poems and translations from the Irish are very -characteristic. He is the son of a Dublin grocer (the author -of a memoir of Mangan), and was born in Dublin on March 6th, -1861. Was educated at the Catholic University School in his -native city, and for some years has been a frequent and welcome -contributor to the Dublin Nationalist press. A good selection of -his poems has just been published under the title of <i>Irish -Noinins</i>. His stories have mostly appeared in <i>The -Shamrock</i> of Dublin.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">McKowen, James.</span>—Born at Lambeg, near Lisburn, co. -Antrim, on February 11th, 1814. He received only an elementary -education, and was first employed at a thread manufactory, -afterwards working as a linen-bleacher for many years. He wrote -principally for North of Ireland papers, and was exceedingly -popular with Ulster people, but one or two of his songs have -found a much wider audience. He died on April 22nd, 1889.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Moore, Thomas.</span>—Son of a Dublin grocer, and born in -that city on May 28th, 1779. He graduated at Dublin University, -and studied law in London. He began to woo the muse, as the -saying goes, at a very early age, but his first great success -was occasioned by his <i>Irish Melodies</i>, which began to -appear in parts in 1806. He died on February 26th, 1852.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">O’Conor, Charles Patrick.</span>—Born in co. Cork in or -about 1837, and came to England in his youth. He has written -some good<span class="pagenum" id="Page_430">[430]</span> verse, and was granted a Civil List pension of £50 a -year. To Irish papers he contributed very largely, and published -several small collections of verse. His complete works were -published by himself, and are to be obtained from him at Hither -Green, Lewisham.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">O’Donnell, John Francis.</span>—An Irish writer who is best -known to his countrymen as a poet. He was born in Limerick in -1837, and began to write for the press at the age of fourteen. -In 1861 he came to London, and wrote largely for various -journals, including those of Charles Dickens. He died on May -7th, 1874. A selection from his poems was published in 1891, -through the exertions of the Southwark Irish Literary Club.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">O’Flaherty, Charles.</span>—Born in 1794, in Dublin, where -his father was a pawnbroker in Ross Lane, and was apprenticed -to a bookseller, eventually turning to journalism. He was on -the staff of the Dublin <i>Morning Post</i>, and afterwards -edited the <i>Wexford Evening Post</i>. He died in May 1828. He -published three volumes of verse, and some of his songs enjoyed -great popularity, especially “The Humours of Donnybrook Fair,” -which is taken from his <i>Trifles in Poetry</i>, 1813.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">O’Keeffe, John.</span>—This popular dramatist was born in -Dublin on June 24th, 1747, and was at first intended as an -artist, as he was very deft with the pencil. But he preferred -the stage, and was a successful actor for a time. Removing to -London, he began to earn repute as a dramatist, writing numerous -plays, chiefly operas and farces, which had great vogue. His -“Wild Oats,” a comedy, still keeps the stage, and other pieces -of his are still remembered. He lost his sight many years before -his death, which occurred at Southampton on February 24th, 1833.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">O’Leary, Joseph.</span>—Author of <i>The Tribute</i>, a -collection of prose and verse, published anonymously at Cork in -1833. He was born in Cork about 1790, and was a contributor to -the scurrilous <i>Freeholder</i> and other papers of his native -city and of Dublin. He came to London in 1834, and acted as -parliamentary reporter for the <i>Morning Herald</i>. Between -1840 and 1850 he disappeared, and is said to have committed -suicide in the Regent’s Canal. “Whisky, Drink Divine” first -appeared in The <i>Freeholder</i> about 1820.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">O’Leary, Patrick.</span>—One of the foremost writers in -Irish at the present day. He is a resident of West Cork, and is -probably a native of that locality. The original of the sketch -quoted appeared in <i>The Gaelic Journal</i>, and was translated -by himself for the present collection.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">O’Ryan, Jeremiah.</span>—Born near Bansha, co. Tipperary, -about the close of last century, and died in March 1855. He is -generally known as “Darby Ryan of Bansha.” Some of his songs -were collected and published in Dublin in 1861.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_431">[431]</span></p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Porter, Rev. Thomas Hamblin, D.D.</span>—Born about 1800, and -died some years ago, but little is known about him. He graduated -D.D. at Dublin University in 1836, and wrote a few pieces, which -were published in Dublin magazines. “The Nightcap” appeared -about 1820.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Roche, Sir Boyle.</span>—Born probably in the south of -Ireland about 1740. Was a soldier, and distinguished himself -in the American War. He entered the Irish Parliament, and was -created a baronet in 1782 by the Government for his unwavering -support. He was pensioned for his service in voting for the -Union, and died in Dublin on June 5th, 1807. He was noted for -his very carefully prepared blunders in speech.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Shalvey, Thomas.</span>—A market-gardener in Dublin, who -wrote some amusing poems for James Kearney, a vocalist who used -to sing at several music-halls and inferior concert-rooms in -Dublin a good many years ago. Kearney was very popular, and some -of his best songs were written for him by Shalvey.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Shaw, George Bernard.</span>—Born in Dublin in 1856, is now -recognised as one of the most brilliant of musical critics in -London. He was for a time a land agent in the West of Ireland, -but was always a musical enthusiast, and belongs to a musical -family well known in Dublin. He has a profound knowledge of -music, but a somewhat flippant way of showing it. He has written -several clever novels, and literary, art, and musical criticisms -for leading London papers. He was the caustic “Corno di -Bassetto” of <i>The Star</i>, and is now the musical critic of -<i>The World</i>. He is also a brilliant speaker, and has quite -recently come to the front as a dramatist.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Sheridan, Richard Brinsley.</span>—Born in October 1751, in -Dorset Street, Dublin, and son of a noted actor and manager. -As dramatist, orator, and spendthrift, Sheridan’s name figures -very prominently in the memoirs of his time. His wit was -squandered in every direction as well as his cash, and he has -been reproached for making every one of the characters in his -plays as witty as himself. He was an important personality in -the politics of his day, and sat in the English Parliament for -many years. He died in debt and poverty on July 7th, 1816, and -was accorded a grand burial in Westminster Abbey.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Steele, Sir Richard.</span>—Born in Dublin in 1671 or 1672, -and educated at the Charterhouse School, London, and at Oxford. -In 1709 he commenced the publication of <i>The Tatler</i>, and -followed it up by <i>The Spectator</i>, etc. He also wrote -several comedies, and other works. He entered Parliament in -1713, and held one or two Government offices. He died in Wales -on September 1st, 1729.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Sterne, Rev. Laurence.</span>—Born at Clonmel, co. Tipperary, -on November 24th, 1713, and graduated M.A. at Cambridge in -1740.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_432">[432]</span> His father was an officer in the army. He was ordained -about 1740, and after some years of inactivity at home and -travel abroad, wrote his great work, <i>Tristram Shandy</i>, -which appeared at intervals between 1759 and 1767. <i>His -Sentimental Journey</i> appeared in 1768. He died on March 18th, -1768.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Sullivan, Timothy Daniel.</span>—This well-known politician -is one of the most widely read of the Irish verse-writers, and -has written a few songs which have deeply impressed themselves -on Irish memories. But he excels in the writing of political -skits, which at one time formed one of the chief features of the -<i>Nation</i> newspaper, then edited by him. Several volumes of -his poetical work have been published. He was born at Bantry, -co. Cork, in 1827.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Swift, Rev. Jonathan, D.D.</span>—This greatest of satirists -in the English tongue was born in Hoey’s Court, Dublin, on -November 30th, 1667, and graduated B. A. at Dublin University -in 1686, and afterwards at Oxford. He was ordained in 1694, -and published The <i>Tale of a Tub</i> in 1705. <i>Gulliver’s -Travels</i> followed in 1726–27, and innumerable other works -came from his pen. He was one of Ireland’s champions, and had -an extraordinary popularity with the people. He died on October -19th, 1745.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Wade, Joseph Augustine.</span>—An unfortunate Irish genius, -born in Dublin in 1796, and the son of a dairyman in Thomas -Street. As a poet and musician Wade has been highly praised. He -composed some excellent songs. He made large sums of money by -his writings and music, but was very erratic in his career. He -died in poverty on September 29th, 1845.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Waller, John Francis, LL.D.</span>—Born in Limerick in 1809, -and connected with the Wallers of co. Tipperary. He graduated -LL.D. at Dublin University in 1852, and held an important -Government position in Dublin for many years. He was editor -of The <i>Dublin University Magazine</i> for some time, and -published several volumes of clever prose and verse. He is one -of the best of Irish song-writers. Died on January 19th, 1894.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Williams, Richard Dalton.</span>—Born in Dublin, of Tipperary -family, on October 8th, 1822. Was one of the earliest and one of -the leading contributors to <i>The Nation</i>, writing generally -over the signature of “Shamrock.” His writings are often very -fierce and intense, but his true power lay in the humorous vein, -some of his parodies being almost unrivalled. He was implicated -in the ’48 rising and was arrested, but was soon released, -and went to America, where he became a professor of English -literature at Mobile, Alabama. He was a medical student when he -wrote for <i>The Nation</i>. He died in Louisiana on July 5th, -1862.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">Winstanley, John.</span>—A Fellow of Trinity College, Dublin. -He was born in 1678, and died in 1750. His poems first appeared -in 1742, a second series being published after his death by his -son.</p> -</div> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_433">[433]</span></p> - -<h2>NOTES</h2> -</div> - - <div class="figcenter" id="i_433"> - <img - class="p0" - src="images/i_433.jpg" - alt="" /> - </div> - -<p><i>The Monks of the Screw</i>, p. 102.—Curran belonged to a small -convivial society in Dublin known by this name in the latter part of -the last century. It included some of the most famous Irishmen of the -time, and Curran was prior, and called his residence at Rathfarnham -“The Priory” on that account.</p> - -<p><i>To a Young Lady, etc.</i>, p. 132.—From <i>The Shamrock, or -Hibernian Cresses</i>, 1772, a collection of poems edited and largely -written by Samuel Whyte, the schoolmaster of Moore, Sheridan, etc.</p> - -<p><i>Daniel O’Rourke</i>, p. 175.—This was written for Crofton Croker by -Dr. Maginn, together with other stories, and as they were included in -the former’s <i>Fairy Legends</i> without a signature, they have been -always assigned to Croker.</p> - -<p><i>Kitty of Coleraine</i>, p. 188.—This very popular song is based -on an old story, of which one version will be found in “La Cruche” by -M. Autereau, a contemporary of La Fontaine, the fabulist, which is -included in some editions of the latter’s works.</p> - -<p><i>Brian O’Linn</i>, p. 198.—This version is made up from several in -the possession of Mr. P. J. McCall, of Dublin.</p> - -<p><i>Bellewstown Hill</i>, p. 228.—An inferior song on the same subject -was written by Richard Sheil, a Drogheda printer and poet.</p> - -<p><i>The Peeler and the Goat</i>, p. 231.—This famous song, thought -written at the time of, or very soon after, the establishment of the -Irish police force, is still popular in Ireland. A version of it will -be found in Gerald Griffin’s <i>Rivals</i>, 1835.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_434">[434]</span></p> - -<p><i>Nell Flaherty’s Drake</i>, p. 239.—Many versions of this ballad -are to be found in the Irish ballad-slips. They are all corrupt and -generally very gross.</p> - -<p><i>Father Tom’s Wager with the Pope</i>, p. 267.—This is extracted -from the story of “Father Tom and the Pope,” which, though attributed -to Dr. Maginn, John Fisher Murray, and others, was really written -by Sir Samuel Ferguson. It appeared anonymously, in May 1838, in -<i>Blackwood’s Magazine</i>, at the time of a famous controversy -between a Father Maguire and the Rev. Mr. Pope.</p> - -<p><i>Molly Muldoon</i>, p. 273.—This poem was written about 1850, and -its authorship has always been a mystery. An American journal once -ascribed it to Fitzjames O’Brien, the Irish-American novelist.</p> - -<p><i>Lanigan’s Ball</i>, p. 306.—A version made up from several, and as -near absolute correctness as seems possible.</p> - -<p><i>The Widow’s Lament</i>, p. 308.—This piece is of comparatively -recent origin. It appeared in an Irish-American paper some years ago, -and attempts to find its author have proved futile.</p> - -<p><i>Whisky and Wather</i>, p. 310.—Taken from a song-book published -in Dublin, and there attributed in a vague way to “Zozimus” (Michael -Moran), the once celebrated blind beggar of Dublin. He, however, could -not have written it, any more than the other matters assumed to be his -compositions because he recited them.</p> - -<p class="center xs">THE WALTER SCOTT PUBLISHING CO., LIMITED, FELLING-ON-TYNE.<br /> -<span style="float: right">12-07</span></p> - - -<div class="footnotes"><h2>FOOTNOTES:</h2> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> <i>I.e.</i>, Wexford, the natives of which are nicknamed -“yellow bellies,” from a legend current amongst them. Queen Elizabeth -first gave them the name (so they say) on witnessing a hurling match -when the Wexford men, with yellow scarves round their waists, won. -Said the queen, “These Yellow Bellies are the finest fellows I’ve ever -seen.”</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> Mourn.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">[3]</a> Forsooth.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="label">[4]</a> Law commentators of the time.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="label">[5]</a> A celebrated and noisy French singer.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="label">[6]</a> A noted French actress.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="label">[7]</a> Hanged.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8" class="label">[8]</a> Generous, satisfying.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9" class="label">[9]</a> Fool.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10" class="label">[10]</a> My boy.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_11" href="#FNanchor_11" class="label">[11]</a> O’Connell’s.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_12" href="#FNanchor_12" class="label">[12]</a> Lament.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_13" href="#FNanchor_13" class="label">[13]</a> Catholic.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_14" href="#FNanchor_14" class="label">[14]</a> Anything eaten with potatoes.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_15" href="#FNanchor_15" class="label">[15]</a> A pig.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_16" href="#FNanchor_16" class="label">[16]</a> Be it so.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_17" href="#FNanchor_17" class="label">[17]</a> Hat.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_18" href="#FNanchor_18" class="label">[18]</a> A draw, a whiff.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_19" href="#FNanchor_19" class="label">[19]</a> Short pipe.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_20" href="#FNanchor_20" class="label">[20]</a> Darling of my heart.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_21" href="#FNanchor_21" class="label">[21]</a> Friend.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_22" href="#FNanchor_22" class="label">[22]</a> A forked stick.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_23" href="#FNanchor_23" class="label">[23]</a> Cudgel.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_24" href="#FNanchor_24" class="label">[24]</a> Come hither.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_25" href="#FNanchor_25" class="label">[25]</a> Evidently <i>sprissaun</i>, a diminutive, expressing -contempt.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_26" href="#FNanchor_26" class="label">[26]</a> Blockhead.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_27" href="#FNanchor_27" class="label">[27]</a> Puppy.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_28" href="#FNanchor_28" class="label">[28]</a> Lout.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_29" href="#FNanchor_29" class="label">[29]</a> Child.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_30" href="#FNanchor_30" class="label">[30]</a> Devil.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_31" href="#FNanchor_31" class="label">[31]</a> <i>Knapawns</i>, a huge potato.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_32" href="#FNanchor_32" class="label">[32]</a> <i>Knasster</i>, a big potato.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_33" href="#FNanchor_33" class="label">[33]</a> A seat made of straw or hay ropes.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_34" href="#FNanchor_34" class="label">[34]</a> <i>Casoge</i>, a coat.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_35" href="#FNanchor_35" class="label">[35]</a> Reclaimed mountain-land.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_36" href="#FNanchor_36" class="label">[36]</a> A species of diver.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_37" href="#FNanchor_37" class="label">[37]</a> The small toe.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_38" href="#FNanchor_38" class="label">[38]</a> <i>Gom</i> or <i>Gommach</i>—a fool.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_39" href="#FNanchor_39" class="label">[39]</a> Bard.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_40" href="#FNanchor_40" class="label">[40]</a> Harped.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_41" href="#FNanchor_41" class="label">[41]</a> Cudgels.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_42" href="#FNanchor_42" class="label">[42]</a> <i>Beimedh a gole</i>—Let us be drinking.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_43" href="#FNanchor_43" class="label">[43]</a> The “American wake” is the send-off given to people the -night before their departure for America.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_44" href="#FNanchor_44" class="label">[44]</a> A hundred thousand welcomes—pron. <i>cade meelya -falltha</i>.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_45" href="#FNanchor_45" class="label">[45]</a> <i>Canavaun</i>—blossom of the bog.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_46" href="#FNanchor_46" class="label">[46]</a> <i>Floohool</i>—generous.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_47" href="#FNanchor_47" class="label">[47]</a> Kindliest.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_48" href="#FNanchor_48" class="label">[48]</a> Woman of the house.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_49" href="#FNanchor_49" class="label">[49]</a> <i>Doreen</i>—small drop.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_50" href="#FNanchor_50" class="label">[50]</a> <i>Colleen dhas</i>—pretty girl.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_51" href="#FNanchor_51" class="label">[51]</a> Overcoat.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_52" href="#FNanchor_52" class="label">[52]</a> Indeed.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_53" href="#FNanchor_53" class="label">[53]</a> Woman of the house.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_54" href="#FNanchor_54" class="label">[54]</a> Suitable.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_55" href="#FNanchor_55" class="label">[55]</a> Girls.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_56" href="#FNanchor_56" class="label">[56]</a> Forsooth.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_57" href="#FNanchor_57" class="label">[57]</a> A kiss.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_58" href="#FNanchor_58" class="label">[58]</a> A blow.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_59" href="#FNanchor_59" class="label">[59]</a> Kiss.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_60" href="#FNanchor_60" class="label">[60]</a> Kiss.</p> - -</div> -</div> - - -<p class="transnote">Transcriber’s Notes:<br /> - -1. Obvious printers’, punctuation and spelling errors have been -corrected silently.<br /> - -2. Some hyphenated and non-hyphenated versions of the same words have been -retained as in the original.<br /> - -3. Where appropriate, the original spelling has been retained.</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HUMOUR OF IRELAND ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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