hrough he 
 
 urf moke
 
 Through the Turf Smoke
 
 Through 
 the Turf Smoke 
 
 THE LOVE, LORE, AND LAUGHTER, 
 OF OLD IRELAND 
 
 BY 
 
 SEUMAS MAC MANUS 
 
 ("MAC") 
 
 AUTHOR or " 'TWAS IN DHROLL DONEGAL," 
 " THE LEADIN' ROAD TO DONEGAL," ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DOUBLEDAY & McCLURE CO. 
 1899
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1899, BY 
 DOUBLEDAY & McCLURE CO.
 
 To 
 
 ETHNA CARBERY 
 
 Your fond heart throbbed for our country s 
 
 story, 
 Your great heart glowed for our 
 
 country's glory : 
 Because it -was so, O Banbha's 
 
 daughter, 
 My tribute take o'er the 
 
 far, far, water. 
 
 2060577
 
 To My American Readers: 
 
 TRAGEDY and pathos go leor there are in 
 our lives, toilsome struggle and patient suf- 
 fering; but when we gather around the turf 
 fire old and young, boys and girls Care 
 slips like a cloak from our shoulders, the 
 oldest is for the hour a child, gaiety crowds 
 the cabin, and merriment fills all hearts. 
 The wand of wit is laid upon us: the joke, 
 the banter, and the merry story, pass; and 
 the folk-tale, old as the babble of our 
 streams, and still as fresh and sweet, is lis- 
 tened to by ears that hearken for the hun- 
 dredth time as fondly as they did for the 
 first. Alike, grey old pows and yellow little 
 curly locks shake in sympathy for the sor- 
 rows of the hero, and wag with delight for 
 his devilment and drollery. The same hearts 
 that rang out a little peal of childish laugh- 
 ter beneath a smoke-blacked Irish roof-tree, 
 have, afterwards, on red fields, often raised
 
 x Introduction 
 
 a rann that fluttered the folds of the defiant 
 and triumphant flag. 
 
 In my remote and mountain-barred Done- 
 gal, the people, for a niggard living, strive 
 with a surly sea and wrestle with a stubborn 
 soil; they are poor as paupers and hospitable 
 as millionaires. But the wit, the imagina- 
 tion, the poetry, the virtues, the soul, of the 
 most miserable amongst them the wealth of 
 Cro3sus couldn't purchase. Civilization (with 
 its good and its ills) has not yet quite felt 
 itself at home amongst us; books are few; 
 so, there, the shanachy, the teller of tales 
 and the singer of songs, still gathers in his 
 old time glory; on long winter nights the 
 world comes and seats itself, spell-bound, at 
 his feet. From early childhood I, with my 
 little tribute of admiration, sat by his feet. 
 The glory of him dazzled me, and I dreamt 
 of one day faring forth and conquering 
 worlds for myself. 
 
 I was a child, I said, and dreamt dreams. 
 
 MAC. 
 NEW YORK, OicMhe Brighde, 1899.
 
 Contents 
 
 THE LEADIN' ROAD TO DONEGAL i 
 
 THE BOYNE WATER 21 
 
 THE QUAD-DHROOP-EDS ..... 45 
 THE PRINCE OF WALES' OWN DONEGAL MILITIA Co 
 BARNEY KODDY'S PENANCE . . 89 
 
 DINNY MONAGHAN'S LAST KEG . . . .113 
 BILLY BAXTER ....... 141 
 
 THE COUNSELLOR 167 
 
 THE MASTHER AND THE BOCCA FADH . . 189 
 FATHER DAN AND FIDDLERS FOUR . . .211 
 JACK WHO WAS THE ASHYPET .... 231 
 JACK AND THE LORD HIGH MAYOR , 251
 
 The Leadin' Road to Donegal
 
 The Leadin' Road to Donegal* 
 
 'TWAS this was the way 
 
 Thady Eooney was a tailyer be trade, and 
 Molly Maguire was as purty a hand at the 
 spinnin' wheel as ye'd meet in the five par- 
 ishes. Thady was a clane, stout, sthrappin', 
 fine, ecktive fellow, and as daicent as his 
 father afore him and that's sayin' a dale 
 for him. Molly was a brave, sonsy, likely 
 lassy, that knew how to get the blind side of 
 the boys, and as clane-stepped a gissach as 
 thripped to Mass on a Sunday. Now, Thady 
 was on the lookout for a bit of a naybour's 
 daughter that would be shootable to take 
 care of him; and Molly well, throgs, Molly 
 had no sort of objections to takin' care of 
 a naybour's son, purvided she got one to her 
 likin'. So, as might be expected, Thady 
 
 * The skeleton of this tale is traditional, and to be 
 met with in many parts of the North of Ireland, 
 applied to various towns.
 
 4 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 yocked,* and he put his comether on Molly, 
 and Molly, she blarneyed Thady to his 
 heart's content, till the end of it was as was 
 nath'ral they both marrid an' settled down, 
 to stick to one another for betther or worse, 
 through fair an' through foul. An' Thady, 
 who was as industhrus a man as ivir laid 
 down his two hands, set to work, an' he built 
 as tight an' snug a bit of a cabin as ye'd may- 
 be ax to see, jist on a bit of waste ground 
 at a cross-roads where five roads met, and 
 himself and Molly moved intil it; an' Thady 
 went on with his tailyerin', and Molly with 
 her spinnin', and him whistlin' and her sing- 
 in' with wee inthervals of love-makin' as 
 merry as the larks and as happy as the day 
 was long. And for nearly twelve months 
 that pair was held up as a moral for the 
 counthry for miles about, and it was a de- 
 light to pass by their door and listen to their 
 light-heartedness. In all that time an awk- 
 'ard word nivir crossed the lips of the one or 
 the other of them. But, as ill-luck would 
 have it, the divil for it was no other 
 tempted them to agree one night that they 
 * Began.
 
 The Leadin' Road to Donegal 5 
 
 could do worse nor buy a slip of a pig. 
 Which of them was so misfortunate as to in- 
 therduce the subject I can't tell, but anyhow 
 the bit of a sucker pig was bought and 
 fetched home, an' a snug wee bed of nice, 
 clane, oat sthraw Molly spread for it in the 
 one corner in the tother end of the house 
 from their own bed. And that night Thady 
 had a bad dhraim. He dhraimt that the 
 goose an' the lap-boord, afther doin' a couple 
 of very lively hornpipes an' a single reel on 
 the floor, sat down on the bed to make love, 
 plantin' themselves right atop of his stom- 
 ach. And with that he wakened up, and be 
 the powdhers of war, what does he find lyin' 
 across him on the bed but the sucker pig! 
 
 "Husthee! husthee!" says Thady, givin' 
 the pig a couple of smart slaps that sent it 
 skurryin' an' gruntin' away to its own corner 
 again. 
 
 " Molly," says Thady, " I seen pigs in me 
 day with more modesty than that wee pig of 
 ours." 
 
 "Arrah, Thady," says Molly, says she, 
 " sure what great wit could ye be afther ex- 
 pectin' of the lakes of it, the crathur? Sure,
 
 6 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 it's what it felt lonely, jist lake a Christian 
 would, an' hearin' you snorin' as ye know 
 ye do, Thady, in yer sleep, the crathur come 
 up to ye, thinkin' it was maybe its mother 
 was in it." 
 
 "Well, I'm sure, Molly," says Thady, 
 "that I feel ondher a mighty great favour 
 to it intirely for the compliment it done me; 
 but all the same, mother or no mother, I'd 
 thank it to keep its distance, and know its 
 place for the time to come." 
 
 Well, that fared well till the nixt night 
 wore round, an' Thady had the very self- 
 same oncommon, wondherful dhraim about 
 the lap-boord and the goose; and wakenin' 
 up lake the night afore, there was me brave 
 sucker pig settlin' himself for a sleep atop 
 of Thady, as much at home as an alderman 
 in an aisy-chair! 
 
 "Husthee! husthee! Molly Maguire, I'm 
 sorry to say that sucker pig of yours has 
 very small manners." 
 
 "Arrah, Thady Eooney," says Molly, 
 " can't ye not be reflectin' on the bit of an 
 orphan pig, that isn't come to the time of 
 day to have sinse? Maybe, Thady avour-
 
 The Leadin' Road to Donegal 7 
 
 neen, whin ye were lake it yerself, ye might 
 put yer manners in yer weskit pocket, and 
 no one miss them much." 
 
 " No odds for that, Molly Maguire," says 
 Thady. "Ye mind the ould copy-book 
 headline that said, ' Too much familiarity 
 breeds contimpt,' and I considher that 
 sucker pig is pushin' his familiarity on me 
 rather farther than I wish for. I put cor- 
 rackshin on him on'y last night for the same 
 dhirty action, and I thought it was a lesson 
 to him, but it saims he can't take a hint 
 onless ye impress it on him, with a stout 
 stick; an' throth, Molly, an' I'm tellin' 
 it to ye now, if I have to dhraw me 
 hand over him again, he'll know what it's 
 for." 
 
 " Faith, Thady Kooney," says Molly, " it's 
 well it becomes ye to talk that way of the 
 poor baste that didn't know, no more than 
 that bed-post there, what ye were layin' the 
 corrackshin on it for. If the crathur only 
 gets time it'll gather sense yet." 
 
 " That's all very good, Molly," says Thady, 
 "but if I don't corrackt it I'm sure you'll 
 not, and a nice pig we'll make of it then,
 
 8 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 won't we, without breedin' or daicency; it'll 
 scandalise us over the parish, that's what it'll 
 do. If it has a mind to pick up sense it had 
 betther be quick about it, or my patience 'ill 
 wear out, and I'll be tempted to do somethin* 
 that 'ill make it regret it didn't pick itself 
 up in time." 
 
 Well, as they say in the stories, that fared 
 well that night again, and it didn't fare ill, 
 and the nixt night wore round. And me 
 bould Thady dhraimt the very same dhraim 
 that third night again, and he bounced 
 up in the bed, tumblin' the pig off ontil 
 the floor, and it run away gruntin' to its 
 corner. 
 
 " Great Goghendies! but it's me's the suf- 
 f erin' man," says Thady. " Molly Maguire," 
 says he, " get up and put breedin' on yer 
 pig!" 
 
 " Nobbut, Thady Kooney," says Molly, 
 "get you up and put breedin' on your own 
 
 Pig!" 
 
 "Ye lie!" says Thady. 
 
 "Thanky, Misther Eooney," says Molly, 
 "it's only a well-wisher would tell me my 
 faults."
 
 The Leadin' Road to Donegal 9 
 
 " The pig's none of mine, or he'd know 
 betther," says Thady. 
 
 "The pig is yours, andjeo signs on him, 
 he's as conthrairy as his masther," says 
 Molly. 
 
 " Throth, then, if I'm conthrairy," says 
 Thady, " I could blow me breath on them 
 smit me." 
 
 " Maybe, then, that same wouldn't be cov- 
 eted, for it was the ill day for some people 
 when yer onlucky breath come about them 
 first." 
 
 " I wish to the Lord them people had 
 thought that twelve months ago! If they 
 had, I could have been a happy man this 
 night, an' own for a wife the pick of the 
 parish, instead of bein' the miserable divil 
 I am, with the ugly, good-for-nothin' 
 cross-grained spitfire of a woman that the 
 priest makes me call me own now," says 
 Thady. 
 
 " Well, Thady Rooney, I wisli to the Lord 
 the same! " says Molly. " An' as regards 
 yer bein' a miserable divil, I agree with ye 
 there, too. No one ivir accused Thady 
 Rooney, or one belonging to him, of bein'
 
 io Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 anything else all their lives but miserable 
 divils an' miserable, lazy divils, too. About 
 the pick of the parish ye got that ivery 
 one give in ye got that and sure it was the 
 nine days' wondher how such a miserable, 
 spavined, ill-formed, yallow rickle of skin 
 and bone, with a countenance as forbiddin' 
 as ould Nick's himself, with a hump on his 
 back and a halt in his step, and his two eyes 
 watchin' each other like murdher across his 
 snub nose, for fear one of them would be 
 af ther takin' the advantage of the other 
 sure I say it was the nine days' wondher what 
 the dickens she could see in ye that made her 
 take ye, barrin' it was bekase she knew ye 
 would be so safe on her hands that no one 
 but the divil would think of runnin' away 
 with ye, and even him atself would be only 
 too glad to fetch ye back as not worth yer 
 room. And throth, I may tell ye, that that 
 eame nine days' wondher to them has been 
 a nine months' wondher to me, an' if the 
 divil curses me with ye much longer, I'm 
 misdoubtin' me but the wondher 'ill wear 
 me out me life." 
 
 "Ay, there she goes now," says Thady,
 
 The Leadin' Road to Donegal 11 
 
 " there she goes. Jist set her tongue agoing 
 and Boneyparty himself, at the head of all 
 his rajiments, couldn't stop it." 
 
 " Faix, and it's no wondher, for it's sorely 
 fetched out of me, when I have a skin-flint 
 such as you to dale with," says Molly. " But 
 at the same time, maybe I could hould me 
 tongue with you, Thady Kooney." 
 
 " I doubt it, Molly Maguire," says Thady, 
 says he. 
 
 " Do ye, throgs? " says Molly. 
 
 " I do, medam," says Thady. 
 
 " Well and good then," says Molly. " I'll 
 thry ye out for it; and let it be that the first 
 spaiks a word, bad, good, or ondifferent, 'ill 
 have to mind the pig." 
 
 " Done," says Thady, and he slaps his 
 knee. 
 
 Well, be the hokey, that was the quan- 
 dharry. The conthrariness begun to work 
 Molly, an' up she bounces, though it wasn't 
 more nor the middle of the night, and put- 
 tin' on a good rousin, blazin' fire, and boilin' 
 as sthrong a dhrap of tay as iver come out 
 of the black pandy, to rise her heart, she sits 
 herself down to her spinnin' wheel and starts
 
 12 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 spinning at the same time humming " The 
 Geese in the Bog/' this way* 
 
 at such a rate that Thady, poor man, might 
 as well think of sleeping in a beeskep. But 
 TEady wasn't going to allow himself to be 
 aggerivated into spaiking so aisy as that. So 
 up me brave Thady jumps, and afther a pit- 
 cher of tay that was enough to lift a man's 
 heart up through the riggin', he crosses his 
 legs on the table, and dhrawin' a pair of half- 
 finished trousers that he was doin' for Father 
 Luke to him, he stharts sewing the trousers 
 and whistlih' " The Black Joke," lake this 
 
 m ^ *^ * 
 
 1 Phew-ew-ew-ew-ew ew-w - ew-evr-w . ev-ew-ew 
 
 ew-ew-ew.ew-cw.eiT . ew-rw-ew-ew-ew-ew - w.w.w.w" 
 
 And there the two of them pegged away, 
 and lilted and whistled away like a pair of 
 thrushes; and, if ye'd believe their purtend- 
 
 * To be as effective as intended, parts of this story 
 must be acted rather than read.
 
 The Leadin' Road to Donegal 13 
 
 in', ye wouldn't know which of them had the 
 lightest heart. And whin Molly, the cra- 
 thur, got tired of " The Geese in the Bog," 
 she started on " Larry O'Gaff," and Thady, 
 poor man, whistled up " Go to the divil and 
 shake yerself " with a vingince that was 
 enough to loosen any woman's tongue. But 
 Molly was good grit, and she only spun 
 harder and put more life into the lilt. And 
 things went on this way till in the coorse of 
 a little time a pony and thrap dhruv up till 
 the door with a jintleman and his sarvint in 
 it. The jintleman was makin' the best of 
 his way for the town of Dinnygal, and bein* 
 a stranger in them parts, and not knowin* 
 the right road when he came to the cross, 
 and seein' the light in the wee cabin, he pulls 
 up his pony, and says he to his sarvint, says 
 he,- ' 
 
 " Go intil that house and ax them if they'd 
 kindly diract ye the leadin' road to Dinny- 
 gal." 
 
 So the sarvint lifts the latch of the door, 
 and ye'll be afther believin' he opened his 
 eyes purty wide when he seen Molly spinnin* 
 and liltin', and Thady sewin' and whistlin*
 
 14 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 with as much unconsarn as if it was twelve 
 o'clock in the day with them. 
 
 " God save all here," says he. " Isn't this 
 the purty night entirely? " 
 
 Molly lifted her head and looked at him, 
 and then went on with her spinnin' and 
 hummin/ and Thady lifted his head and 
 looked at him, and then went on with his 
 sewin' and whistlin' again, but naither of 
 them said dliirum or dliarum. 
 
 The sarvint was a trifle mismoved at this, 
 but he walked up closer to Thady, who was 
 now whistlin' " The girl I left behind me," 
 and he says, says he, 
 
 "It's benighted we are, meself and the 
 masther without, and we'd feel obligated to 
 ye if ye'd kindly put us on the leadin' road 
 to Dinnygal." 
 
 Thady wint on with his work unconsarned, 
 and says, 
 
 ^- r [ ,- PJ- J j | J j j j | j j fi fcrhHl 
 
 " Phew-ew-ew-ew-ew-ew - ew - ew cw-ew - ew-ew - evt-tw-ew-ew -ev-ea" 
 
 says Thady, says he, comin* down hard on 
 the last bar or so, an* without ivir movin' 
 his eyes off his work timin' it with three
 
 The Leadin' Road to Donegal 15 
 
 or four shakes of the head in the dirackshin 
 of Molly, as much as to say, "Ax her, and 
 sEe'll tell ye." 
 
 Then the sarvint turned to Molly, and 
 says he, 
 
 " Prosper the work, good woman, and 
 could ye oblige meself and the man without 
 he puttin' us on the leadin' road to Dinny- 
 gal?" 
 
 Me hrave Molly was spinnin' away and 
 hummin' away at " There's nae gude luck 
 about the house," and she wint on with her 
 work, but makes answer, 
 
 "Him* ira im 1m tiu - im Ira im t'm . <nt . fan . <ra iro - <ra " 
 
 says Molly, says she, hummin' away, an* 
 without liftin' lier eyes off her work, only 
 jist like Thady comin' down hard on the 
 last bar or two, and timin' it with three or 
 four shakes of her head in the dirackshin of 
 Thady, as much as to say, " Jist let his lord- 
 ship himself tell ye." 
 
 Faix, at this the poor man made for the 
 door, as if there was a rajiment at his heels, 
 and goin' up to his masther says,
 
 16 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 " We'd betther be takin' the first road 
 come handiest to get out of this, for it's a 
 branch office of the asylum for oncurable 
 lunatics, is that cabin there." 
 
 " Get out, ye omadhaun," says the jintle- 
 man. " Did ye not make out the leadin' 
 road to Dinnygal ? " says he. 
 
 " No, I made out the leadin' road to the 
 door," says the sarvint, "thanks be to Pro- 
 vidince for his marcy; and it was the speed 
 of me heels carried me out of it. I seen 
 mad men and mad weemen," says he, " in 
 me time, but the lake of what's goin' on in 
 thondher I nivir rested me eyes on afore and 
 trust I nivir may again." 
 
 " Confound ye for a numskull," says the 
 jintleman, jumpin' down and throwin' the 
 sarvint the reins. " Hould them things till 
 I find out the road." 
 
 " God bliss ye and send ye safe back," says 
 the sarvint, as the jintleman wint in of the 
 door. 
 
 The jintleman marched up to Thady, who 
 was sewin' away and whistlin' away without 
 ivir liftin' his head, and, says he, 
 
 "Could ye tell me, good man," says he,
 
 The Leadin' Road to Donegal 17 
 
 " or give me the dirackshins of the leadin* 
 road to Dinnygal ? " 
 
 Thady went on with his work, and re- 
 plied, 
 
 Phe w- w . *W4W ew-e w . w - e w w - ew - 
 
 says Thady, says he, indycatin' him for to 
 ax Molly as afore. 
 
 Then the jintleman wint up to Molly, who 
 was as busy at her work as what Thady was 
 at his. 
 
 " Prosper the work, good woman/' says 
 he, " and could ye dirackt me on the leadin* 
 road to Dinnygal?" 
 
 Molly nivir lifted her head, but answers 
 him, 
 
 "Ilim . im.tan-fan.fan im.bn.im.to -< -<m- <m-to - <"" 
 
 says Molly, says she, sendin* him back the 
 same way to Thady for information. 
 
 And there he was in the quandharry. 
 
 " Ah, be this and be that," says he to him- 
 self at last, " Til bait the biggest button on
 
 18 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 my coat that I make ye spake, ye ould hay- 
 thin', ye," says he to himself, refarrin' to 
 Thady. 
 
 So with that he thurns to Molly again, 
 and says, 
 
 "Well, in throth, me good woman, ye 
 mightn't be ashamed to open that purty 
 little mouth o' yours to reply to a sthranger, 
 for though it's afore yer face I say it I'd 
 thravel far afore I'd see another mouth as 
 coaxin'," says he. 
 
 *= 
 
 "Him . im -lin- Ipi-im lm-lm-lm.fcn.<m-<m.<m-<m-<m~ 
 
 says Molly, says she, hack to him, but this 
 time she did look up from her work, throwin' 
 the most sootherin', deludhrin', coaxin', sly 
 look at him sideways, an' noddin' her head 
 to him on the last notes, mainin', " Throth, 
 ye spake thrue there, good man, but how do 
 ye lake me now? " 
 
 "I think, good man," says he, then, 
 thurning to Thady "I think, good man," 
 says he, " ye would hardly refuse a sthranger 
 jist the laste little taste of a kiss from that 
 purty little wife o' yours," says he.
 
 The Leadin' Road to Donegal 19 
 
 lew-w^w-ew^w-ew-ew-w.ew.ew.ew.*w-a.n---e" 
 
 says Thady, says he, gettin' as black in the 
 countenance as a thurf, an* shakin' his fist 
 three times on the last notes, right in the 
 sthranger's face. 
 
 " Now, what do ye say to that yerself, me 
 purty little woman? " says the jintleman, 
 thurnin' to Molly. 
 
 J | J- J W- J I rf- J I 
 
 ' Him 1m - Im-lm - to - la tm-lra <m ta^iat tm-in in" 
 
 says Molly, says she, givin' him another of 
 her sootherin' looks, an' waggin' him on with 
 three wags of her forefinger an' her head, 
 as she come out with the last notes. 
 
 " Oh, ye natarnal hussy, ye, I knew it was 
 in ye," says Thady, jumpin' off the boord 
 in a thimdherin' rage. 
 
 "All right, Thady," says Molly, says she, 
 jumpin' up and clappin' her hands with de- 
 light. " All right, Thady," says she, " You 
 
 MIND THE Pio! "
 
 The Boyne Water
 
 The Boyne Water 
 
 WILLIAM SCOTT and Liz'anne were not ac- 
 counted exemplary citizens in our little re- 
 public of Knockagar. Very far from it. 
 Independent of the civil feuds which dis- 
 turbed the Scott household, they were hard- 
 ened sinners against society at large in that 
 they never visited either church or chapel 
 the unpardonable sin with us. Though the 
 young people, the waggish, and the less seri- 
 ous-minded, enjoyed William and Liz'anne, 
 their irreligious conduct continually kept all 
 the gray pows in the parish shaking. 
 
 William's own father and mother had been 
 of different religious persuasions, and they 
 had spent their life squabbling over whether 
 William should be a Catholic or a Protestant, 
 with the result that, though William earned 
 his father's grudge and his mother's good- 
 will by lustily professing himself "a thrue 
 Roman," he practised no religion.
 
 24 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 It might well have been thought that, with 
 the unhappy results of a mixed marriage so 
 vividly before his eyes, William would steer 
 clear of the danger. But, as Donal a-Thoor- 
 isk said, mixed marriages, like wooden legs, 
 ran in the blood. William, noisy Catholic 
 as he always was, began early to show a par- 
 tiality for the daughters of the Heretic, and, 
 to nobody's surprise, wound up by a run- 
 away marriage with Liz'anne, whose own 
 people immediately cut her off. 
 
 But all things considered, William made a 
 promising start. He had succeeded in in- 
 ducing Liz'anne to submit to a Roman Cath- 
 olic marriage. At this there were many 
 optimists among us, willing to suspend judg- 
 ment till we'd see further. But again many 
 others would not take a roseate view of mat- 
 ters. They prophetically said, " You'll see 
 what you'll see! " then closed their mouths 
 hard, and shook their heads. And, I regret 
 to say, events justified this prophecy. 
 
 For six months William and Liz'anne got 
 on agreeably as well as comfortably. Wil- 
 liam was a weaver, and famed for good 
 workmanship. And Liz'anne was as good,
 
 The Boyne Water 25 
 
 as tidy, and as clean a housekeeper as any 
 of the most religious women at the Bocht. 
 When she had her house trigged up for the 
 day, and she had sat down in the front win- 
 dow to her sprigging, while "William worked 
 the loom close by the back window, and two 
 spotlessly white cats for Liz'anne was fond 
 of cats and always kept two big ones sitting 
 on their haunches on either side of the swept 
 hearth dreamily dropped their eyelids, and 
 purred at each other across the fire, it was a 
 pleasure to go into William's and have a 
 chair, and be soothed with the comfort 
 that filled the cabin. For six months, Wil- 
 liam and Liz'anne kept their religious opin- 
 ions under due restraint, and their happy 
 content was uninterrupted. There was no 
 danger of dispute about going to church or 
 chapel, for neither of the pair had any de- 
 cided penchant for visiting either. 
 
 Now William was not a drinking man in 
 the usual acceptation of the term; he had no 
 craving for drink, but he seemed to feel that 
 he owed himself and society the duty of get- 
 ting gloriously drunk two or three times a 
 year. And when William got drunk, his
 
 26 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 religious enthusiasm came uppermost, all the 
 religious sentiment that had accumulated in 
 his soul since he was previously on the spree 
 suddenly began to boil, and William, quite 
 indifferent to the religious susceptibilities of 
 neighbours of a different way of thinking, 
 threw open the safety-valve, when any who 
 didn't choose to get out of the way were wel- 
 come to their scalding. William was now 
 rampantly and aggressively Catholic, eager 
 to let his blood colour the sod in the cause 
 of his beloved Faith. His antithesis was 
 Orange Watty a weaver likewise who 
 lived under Dhrimanerry hill, not far dis- 
 tant. And hither, when the religious out- 
 burst seized him, was William wont to betake 
 himself, creating a hostile demonstration in 
 front of poor Watty Farrell's: "Whoop! 
 Hurroo! To *** with King William, an' 
 God bliss the Pope! " 
 
 Watty Farrell was spare and small of 
 frame; he had a short temper, and was an 
 ardent, fiery Orangeman, who gloried in 
 being standard-bearer on " the Great 
 Twelfth," and defiantly flaunted the flag in 
 the face of the exasperated enemy al-
 
 The Boyne Water 27 
 
 though, "the Twelfth" being past and no 
 other burning religious feeling being in the 
 air, his Catholic neighbours had not a more 
 cordial or a more esteemed friend than 
 Orange "Watty. Let Watty, though, be in 
 what frame of mind he might, the instant 
 he heard William Scott's defiant voice raised 
 without, blaspheming his idol, and invoking 
 a blessing on Anti-Christ, he bounded from 
 his loom, all the Orange valour within him 
 surging through his blood, and insignificant 
 as he was in size, it always gave his big burly 
 sister, Bella, enough ado to hold in her clasp 
 his squirming form, until by some means or 
 other she had got the door barred and bolted, 
 and the danger of little Watty going out to 
 commit homicide thus considerably lessened. 
 And when William, waxing yet more inso- 
 lent, sang loudly, 
 
 Wor ye iver in Glenties fair ? 
 
 Says the Shan Van Vocht. 
 Wor ye iver in Glenties fair ? 
 
 Says the Shan Van Vocht. 
 Wor ye iver in Glenties fair, 
 Where (HuRROo!) they clip the Orange mare, 
 And make stockin's of her hair ? 
 
 Says the Shan Van Vocht,
 
 28 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 Watty, like a caged tiger, screamed and 
 raged within and felt anything but soothed 
 when William added him of a good stomach- 
 ful of personal abuse, ere he left. 
 
 About six months after his marriage with 
 Liz'anne, William let himself out on one of 
 these royal sprees, and went through his 
 usual programme, including the customary 
 visit to Watty's and outpouring of bile there- 
 at. But, as the fates would have it, big Bella 
 being from home, and so no restraint upon 
 Watty, the little fellow had come out, and 
 for William was too drunk for defence 
 " hammered the papish sowl-case out of 
 him " so Watty eloquently described it, 
 after and chased him for his life! 
 
 When William came home after his igno- 
 minious defeat at the hands of such a miser- 
 able little droich as Orange Watty, he was 
 not in the sweetest temper and the animus 
 he bore King William was much intensified. 
 He tried to steady himself in the middle 
 of the floor, and to look the haughty 
 papist to perfection. He fixed his gaze on 
 Liz'anne, who, in the window-seat, sprigged 
 away industriously " To (hie) *** with
 
 The Boyne Water 29 
 
 him, I say! To (hie) *** with him! To 
 (hie hie) *** with King Bi(hic)-Bil-hil- 
 ly! " That was too much for Liz'anne's 
 militant Protestantism to tolerate. She got 
 up instantly, and to the utter consternation 
 of the already well-abused William, seized a 
 creepy-stool and whacked him out of his own 
 house. " ISTow, to *** with yerself, an' the 
 Pope, an' with every dhirty papish from 
 Connaught to Guinealand! an' a necklace o' 
 red-hot mill-stones roun' yer necks to keep 
 yez there when yez are down!" and the justly 
 inHignant Liz'anne, casting a last contempt- 
 uous look at her poor amazed husband 
 where he sat on the street vaguely feeling for 
 his sores, slammed out, and bolted, the door. 
 And when at length William felt collected 
 enough to gather himself together, he stood 
 a good while gazing at the inhospitable door, 
 which coldly stared him back; then he shook 
 his head with grievous meaning, and turning 
 away felt it very hard that, owning a house, 
 and a comfortable one, he was compelled to 
 go and petition the Bummadier (the village 
 pensioner) for the favour of a night's 
 lodging.
 
 30 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 It took ten days probably for William and 
 Liz'anne to consent to forget this, their first 
 little disagreement. But it remembered 
 them that they had each a faith to defend, 
 and henceforward they were slow to let pass 
 without doing their duty any opportunity 
 offered. Of course I do not mean that they 
 attended to the outward observances their 
 religions required of them they were not 
 guilty of going to church and chapel, nor 
 did they commit themselves to prayer, any 
 more than formerly, but they were hence- 
 forth staunch advocates of their respective 
 faiths, and waxed great in polemics. 
 
 " Well, for the life o' me," on a day when 
 polemics raged, William would say from his 
 seat at the loom, "I can't tell for what did 
 they curse me with the name they did! Wil- 
 liam! Och, to *** with it! Hard feedin* 
 to them, an* my left-handed blissin' be on 
 them done it! " 
 
 " Ha! ha! " Liz'anne would sarcastically 
 laugh, throwing back her head. " No more 
 do I know why they give such a name to 
 the lakes (like) o' ye. Hard feedin' to them, 
 say I, an' conshumin' to them! an' my left-
 
 The Boyne Water 31 
 
 handed blissin' be on them lakewise! " Liz'- 
 anne was very bitter, and in debate had that 
 sort of a triumphant crow with her, which 
 exasperates. 
 
 "It's a name for a jackass," William would 
 angrily retort. 
 
 "If that's so, they fitted ye well. But I 
 say it's Pathrick you should have been called 
 that's the proper name for a jackass." 
 
 " HouF yer tongue, ye barge ye! " and 
 William would stamp his foot. " Ye varago 
 ye, houl' yer tongue! If ye can," he would 
 add, tauntingly. 
 
 " Yis, Pathrick it should 'a' been," and 
 Liz'anne would calmly move about her work, 
 " for any jackass called other than Pathrick 
 is miscalled." 
 
 " Sent Pathrick was a jintleman, ye targer 
 ye! What you, or wan belongin' to ye, nivir 
 was, nor niver 'ill be. Don't dar* for to even 
 a word again' Sent Pathrick! " 
 
 " Make yer min' aisy I wouldn't soil me 
 spoon on him if I met him in the stirabout 
 pot." 
 
 " Ha-ha-ha! Yez haven't got the lakes of 
 him any how among yer baratics."
 
 32 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 " Ha! ha! In throth an' if I thought they 
 suffered the lakes of him among them, I'd 
 turn Turk the morra." 
 
 "Ho, ye natarnal vag ye! Ye would, 
 would ye? Faith an' the Thurks, if they 
 knew ye as well as I do, would prefer yer 
 room to yer company. An' didn't I tell ye 
 hundhreds o' times not for to go for to abuse 
 Sent Pathrick don't do it! " 
 
 "Then don't you be throwin* the dhirty 
 spalpeen in my face." 
 
 "Oh Lord! Oh Lord!" poor William 
 would exclaim in agony. 
 
 " The dhirty spalpeen, indeed! " Liz'anne 
 would repeat, seeing the sore spot. 
 
 "Ye will dhrive me mad, woman! Oh, 
 Lord! " 
 
 " Hagh! ye've put that out o' me power 
 for it's long since ye went mad. I niver met 
 that papish yet hadn't the mad touch in him. 
 What did they disgrace the good an' holy 
 name of King William puttin' it on you for, 
 anyhow? " 
 
 " It's me was disgraced by gettin' it." 
 
 " Get out, ye papish beggar! Don't say 
 it!"
 
 The Boyne Water 33 
 
 "Hagh! ye Orange tar-maj-ent ye, I'm 
 disgraced." 
 
 " Ha! ha! disgraced! The divil himself 
 couldn't disgrace you no more nor soot 
 might disgrace a chimbley-sweep." 
 
 " Ma'am, ye're goin' too far. Ye'd temp' 
 the Pope." 
 
 "The Pope, moryali! To the divil with 
 you an' the Pope. The Pope! Och, short 
 daith to Mm! If I owned a pig I had any 
 respect for I wouldn't let him carry ~broc (re- 
 fuse) to it." 
 
 " Oh Lord! Lord! Will ye let the Holy 
 Pope alone atself that's not intherfairin' 
 with ye! " 
 
 " An' didn't I tell ye afore to keep yer ill 
 company to yerself? If ye don't want him 
 abused don't go for to he throwin' the vaga- 
 bone in my face." 
 
 "Vagabone! The Holy Pope o' Rome! 
 Marcy look down on us! Are ye not afeerd, 
 woman? Are ye not thrimblin'? " 
 
 " Och then the divil a thrimble's ailin' 
 me, I thank you." 
 
 "Vagabone! Vagabone! I'll tell ye what 
 it is, me good woman, if, be hook or be 
 3
 
 34 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 crook, them words o' yours reached him, 
 there'd be an ass's head on ye in five minutes 
 time! " 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha, ha! An ass's head, indeed! 
 An' throth I'm afeerd there's too few of his 
 own sort could spare the wan he'd give me. 
 An ass's head! Ha, ha, ha! " 
 
 Poor William wasn't nimble-witted 
 enough for the sarcastic Liz'anne. He 
 never entered into argument with her that 
 he, somehow or other, didn't come out sec- 
 ond best, for she could, metaphorically, twist 
 him around her finger, and cast him over her 
 shoulder with an ease that was gall to Wil- 
 liam's soul. To William's credit, be it said, 
 no matter how much she enraged him, he 
 never dreamt of physical force as a good 
 argumentative agent. 
 
 Of course these theological disputes were 
 not perpetual. Very fax from that. A day 
 or two of each month might be set apart for 
 them; during the remainder of the month, 
 Liz'anne was a dutiful wife and William a 
 loving husband, and to all appearance, whilst 
 they consented to forget their religions both 
 enjoyed more happiness and content than
 
 The Boyne Water 35 
 
 could easily be expected of such unregener- 
 ate ones. 
 
 When a young generation of Scotts were 
 growing up, additional causes of disagree- 
 ment entered into the lives of William and 
 Liz'anne. There might, indeed, have arisen 
 serious difference of opinion over the bap- 
 tising of the children only that William, 
 who, when he saw a material advantage could 
 be thereby gained, was possessed of a share 
 of policy, and taking the easy way of Liz'- 
 anne the only way in which she could be 
 thwarted had them christened as he de- 
 sired. True, on the occasion of her first, the 
 Bocca Fadh* (with William's connivance) 
 gave it a hurried private baptism intending 
 thus to have the foreway of Liz'anne if with 
 returning strength of body should come 
 stubbornness of mind. But the moment he 
 had finished the snatch-ceremony in Wil- 
 liam's kitchen, it would be difficult to say 
 whether his pain or his amazement was the 
 greater at the stout blow that took him over 
 the head, and set a squadron of stars doing 
 intricate evolutions before his eyes, for Liz'- 
 
 * Long Beggarman.
 
 36 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 anne, in her bed in the room, suspected 
 something, and arriving on the scene robed 
 in a manner not quite appropriate to the 
 kitchen, and for which the exigency of the 
 occasion was her excuse, had seized hold of 
 Shan a-Phiopa's (who had come to the chris- 
 tening) stick, laid on the Bocca Fadh with 
 a precision and effectiveness of stroke very 
 creditable indeed for a woman whom the 
 conventionalities of society require to be 
 hovering between death and life. Anyhow, 
 on this occasion there was more of life than 
 death dealing with Mistress Scott's arm and 
 tongue, for she very quickly cleared the 
 Bocca Fadh out of the house, loaded with a 
 sore load of both physical and moral abuse 
 and the other trembling revellers who had 
 assembled to enjoy the christening had grat- 
 itude in their hearts when she let them es- 
 cape with a tongue-thrashing. The Bocca 
 Fadh paraded his wounds around the parish, 
 and made much capital from a humble com- 
 parison of himself with those good and re- 
 nowned men of the early church who were 
 martyred in the same cause in which he had 
 so sorely suffered.
 
 The Boyne Water 37 
 
 But a time came, and the neighbours told 
 William it was a shame that he wasn't send- 
 ing the children out to chapel; and it forced 
 itself on William that it was part of his duty, 
 as a good Catholic, to do so. He wove for 
 them some of his best tweeds, and John 
 Burns carefully took the measure of the eld- 
 est, and, making necessary allowances for 
 variation in size, cut out the making of nice 
 suits for all of them after this standard. 
 Liz'anne found what was going on; she did- 
 n't say much, but began making little neces- 
 saries for them, also, resolved they should go 
 to church. As the day of the children's 
 debut approached relations became strained, 
 the tension gradually increased, and, on the 
 eventful morning both William and Liz'anne 
 joined in dressing the children, vieing which 
 should do most, and heartily abusing each 
 other's religion all the time. But, alas! Wil- 
 liam was faultlessly dressed himself and 
 sporting his Sunday shoes on which Liz'anne 
 had, the night before, bestowed a magnifi- 
 cent polish and so prepared to go with the 
 children. Here he had poor Liz'anne, whose 
 wardrobe neat and clean and plentiful
 
 38 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 enough for housewear boasted no holiday 
 garments. Eventually, when she had with 
 infinite pains fitted the children up in their 
 neatest, and saw that William stood by the 
 door waiting to guard the flock into the 
 proper fold, she lost at once her resolve and 
 her temper; she huddled the children out of 
 the door, pitched poor William out on top of 
 them, " Here, an' away to *** now, you an' 
 them! " she said, and slammed the door. 
 
 But, of their five children, Liz'anne won 
 to her church the allegiance of four. The 
 fifth and eldest hoisted William's colours, 
 and was very proud to proclaim himself "a 
 jiggered papish." Keligious disagreements 
 were now no less rife. But William had 
 long since tired of the monotony of being 
 beaten, and had given up trying on such oc- 
 casions to return Liz'anne word for word, 
 and he schooled the son who had shown him- 
 self worthy of him, to express his feelings 
 rather by looks than words though he him- 
 self still employed words. When, occasion- 
 ally, a religious difference would now arise, 
 William without any delay laid down what 
 he styled the Boyne Wather, a shaft of alder-
 
 The Boyne Water 39 
 
 wood about twenty feet long, which from the 
 hearth passed down the centre of the floor, 
 dividing the house equally. "When the 
 Boyne Wather was laid down it was a mutu- 
 ally understood and respected rule that Liz'- 
 anne and her following were to keep to the 
 front half of the kitchen, while "William and 
 his small but staunch support kept the other 
 half. Insulting words and looks flung across 
 the Boyne Wather were of course quite with- 
 in the rules of war, but on none but the most 
 urgent account could either party trespass on 
 hostile territory whereby this Boyne Wather 
 surpassed its original. The waggish ones of 
 the Bocht, who took a sinful delight in the 
 religious controversies which troubled the 
 lives of William and Liz'anne, were fond of 
 quizzing the former when they got him at 
 wake or other gathering where fun was the 
 order. 
 
 "Well, William, is the Boyne Wather 
 down or up, this weather?" and the inter- 
 rogator, with a twinkling eye, appealed to 
 the humour of the house. 
 
 " Och it's down, down," with a mournful 
 shake of the head. " I had to fetch it from
 
 4-O Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 behind the house" (the customary resting 
 place of the Boyne Wather when peace 
 reigned) "yistherday evenin', an* glory be 
 to Goodness! " with a sigh, " it's down yet, 
 an' small signs of thon woman lettin' me 
 take it up." 
 
 When William had got the Boyne Water 
 safely laid, and got to his loom again amid 
 a hail of abuse from Liz'anne, he wrought 
 harder than was his wont, and he made the 
 shuttle fly to an unending accompaniment 
 of " No wondher! No wondher! No won- 
 dher! No wondher! " his sole, and very ex- 
 asperating reply, now, to Liz'anne's abusive 
 arguments. As long as Liz'anne continued 
 bestowing hurtful epithets on William and 
 William's church, so long would William, in 
 a doleful voice, continue the Jeremiad "No 
 wondher! No wondher! No wondher! " 
 thus stinging Liz'anne into protracting her 
 unedifying discourse, which, by reaction, 
 lengthened in turn William's mournful 
 chant. And let happen what domestic 
 events might, or let who would come in or 
 go out, whilst the Boyne Wather was down, 
 and the fit on William, he went on with his
 
 The Boyne Water 41 
 
 loom and his plaint, the shuttle swinging to 
 and fro, his head nodding to it in a mourn- 
 ful manner, and he proclaiming " No wond- 
 her! No wondher! No wondher! No wond- 
 her! No wondher! " 
 
 On a Twelfth of July William's second 
 son, who had been honouring the occasion 
 not wisely but too well, came swaggering up 
 through the Bocht, eliciting from the echoes 
 lusty cheers for the pious, glorious, and im- 
 mortal King William, and right heartily and 
 boisterously abusing all the enemies of the 
 said William and of his church. The Wil- 
 liam who had fallen away from the traditions 
 of his name, to wit, the enthusiast's own 
 father, heard him with deep mortification, 
 and slunk in a convenient door till the son 
 who shamed him had passed. He felt called 
 upon to apologize for the conduct of his un- 
 worthy offspring; he shook his head deject- 
 edly " I don't know how that is," poor Wil- 
 liam said, " for that boy comes of wan of the 
 d d best Catholic stocks in Dinnygal! " 
 
 The children of William and Liz'anne dis- 
 appointed us all pleasingly disappointed us 
 by the good turn-out they made, for we
 
 42 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 had ever had our forebodings about their 
 future. They went to America one by one, 
 prospered, and never forgot the old couple. 
 
 When the children had disappeared the 
 Boyne Wather began to be requisitioned less 
 often. Very probably it had got to be laid 
 down on Patrick's Day and the Twelfth of 
 July but William and Liz'anne would be 
 more than human if this wasn't so. During 
 the remainder of the year it lay behind the 
 house in merited neglect. It was not that 
 either had got any less zealous in their re- 
 ligion. William remained, what always he 
 had been, one of the staunchest Catholics 
 that never attended chapel and Liz'anne, 
 in like manner, and to the like extent ten- 
 dered unabated loyalty to her church. But 
 old Time had softened the asperities of both 
 tongue and temper, and strengthened that 
 regard for each other, which, despite their 
 disputes, William and Liz'anne had ever 
 maintained. For years it had been a stand- 
 ing joke for the countryside, how, Watty 
 Farrell having once happened into William's 
 when the Boyne Wather was down and the 
 wordy artillery in full play across it, and
 
 The Boyne Water 43 
 
 having had the temerity to join Liz'anne in 
 her abuse of William, Saint Patrick, and the 
 Pope, Liz'anne had without more ado emp- 
 tied a bucket of water over the audacious 
 little weaver, and then emptied him, drip- 
 ping, out of the house. 
 
 And when William got "the sthroke"* 
 and every one thought him dying, Liz'anne, 
 despite the bitter, sleety, awful night it was, 
 dashed out, unshawled and unhooded, and 
 off to Father Dan's at the top of her speed, 
 and, not finding Father Dan at home, ran 
 again, breathless, four sore Irish miles to 
 Corameenlusky where he was attending 
 Hughy Shan's old mother, and carried him 
 off with her, to give to William the consola- 
 tions of his religion. And William received 
 these as hopefully as many a more regular 
 Catholic. 
 
 William lingered for several weeks, and 
 Liz'anne's concern and attentions were 
 touching. For all of that morning upon 
 which he died, William kept repeating one 
 word " Liz'anne, Liz'anne, Liz'anne, Liz'- 
 anne," as unceasingly and persistently as he 
 
 * Paralysis.
 
 44 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 had ever chanted "No wondher! No worl- 
 dlier! No wondher! " over his loom. It was 
 the ravin' of death, they said, was on him. 
 Despite the heart-whole prayers of the good 
 old women of the Bocht, assembled in his 
 room beseeching God to give him a happy 
 and sudden release, William's dying moments 
 were protracted. It was at length agreed 
 that the presence of a heretic was the cause. 
 The weeping Liz'anne, poor woman, agree- 
 ing with this opinion, quitted it, and, accord- 
 ing to expectation, William soon closed his 
 eyes in peace. 
 
 The Boyne Wather was laid down, for the 
 last time, at William's wake but this time 
 across the hearth, making several very warm 
 and cheery fires for the comfort of the wak- 
 ers. They all knew its history, yet the boys 
 who had so often made merry about it, joked 
 not on the occasion.
 
 The Quad-dhroop-eds
 
 The Quad-dhroop-eds 
 
 A TRUE TALE OF THE CRUCKAGAR DEATH 
 OR GLORY DEVOTED SONS OF WILLIAM 
 L.O.L. 19,019. 
 
 THE Cruckagar Death or Glory Devoted 
 Sons of William L.O.L., 19,019, had long 
 been a shining light amongst the Loyal 
 Orange Lodges of the North. The burning 
 eloquence of the rhetoric that from it flowed 
 and the dazzling brilliancy of the brave and 
 dauntless deeds the Death or Glory Boys 
 threatened to perform if only opportunity 
 offered, marked them and their lodge as the 
 worthiest inheritors to whom had descended 
 the glorious traditions of stubborn fights and 
 bloody fields, the heritage of Aughrim and 
 the Boyne. 
 
 The Cruckagar Death or Glory Devoted 
 Sons of William L.O.L., 19,019, had been, 
 we said, the shining light amongst its sister
 
 48 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 lodges. But alas and alas, that we have to 
 relate it! that light which shone so long, so 
 brightly, and so steadily, the Pole Star of all 
 who worshipped at the shrine of Civil and 
 Eeligious Freedom and Equality, and de- 
 tested Pope and Popery, Base Bigotry, Brass 
 Money and Wooden Shoes alas and alas! 
 that light was, to the extreme concern of all 
 true, peaceful, and law-abiding subjects 
 subjects whose excess of loyalty and burning 
 love of law and order prompted them to kick 
 even her Most Gracious Majesty's Crown 
 into the Boyne if she obeyed not their man- 
 dates that light, again we repeat, was 
 eventually dimmed and finally obscured for- 
 ever. 
 
 And in this way the lamentable catas- 
 trophe came about. 
 
 One of the fundamental rules of the 
 Cruckagar Death or Glory Devoted Sons of 
 William L.O.L., 19,019, was that the toast 
 of " The glorious pious and immortal mem- 
 ory " of William who freed us from the neck- 
 collar of Rome and the wooden shoes and 
 other impositions of France, might be 
 pledged as frequently as the members chose
 
 The Quad-dhroop-eds 49 
 
 during the first half-dozen toasts, but for a 
 very good reason, gathered from experience, 
 was not to he attempted after the sixth 
 round. This wise ordinance was strictly and 
 piously observed till the cloak of Worshipful 
 Grand Master fell upon the shoulders of 
 Billy M'Carter, one of the most militant 
 members of a most militant lodge, and cer- 
 tainly one of the most sincerely devoted chil- 
 dren that ever worshipped the memory of his 
 illustrious namesake of the Boyne. Billy's 
 unmasterable, unrestrainable enthusiasm 
 prompted him to toast his regal namesake's 
 memory first of the toasts, and second of the 
 toasts, and then third of them, fourth of 
 them, fifth of them, sixth of them, and 
 seventh of them; the eighth toast was to 
 the memory of William, as were likewise the 
 ninth and tenth. The intelligent reader has, 
 of course, foreseen the result, and the reason 
 why the children of William, as children of 
 many other parents, disputed, disagreed, sep- 
 arated, and the lustre of family records was 
 dimmed. Yes, about, or after, the sixth 
 toast, Mister M'Carter's voice lost its dis- 
 tinctness of utterance, with the alarming re- 
 4
 
 50 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 suit that henceforward he was toasting " The 
 glorious pies (hie), and immor'al mem'ry " of 
 King William! And finding the martial- 
 spirited Billy unamenable to reason, Murray 
 M'Clure led the revolt. The adhesion to his 
 side of the Eev. Simon M'Whan, too, inten- 
 sified matters, and swelled the numbers of 
 the rebels. The more ardent spirits among 
 them stood fast and firm by their Worship- 
 ful Grand Master and the lodge. The ex- 
 citement was great. Informal meetings of 
 both parties took place nightly, the Eev. 
 Simon M'Whan harbouring the insurgents. 
 Active hostilities were quickly instituted, 
 and the great guns of both parties were 
 wrought to bursting, hurling deadly dis- 
 charges of rhetoric across the way at the en- 
 campment of the enemy, and evoking as 
 thundering, as death-dealing, volleys in re- 
 turn. Both sides had submitted their case 
 to the higher authorities with the least pos- 
 sible delay, each claiming for itself to be the 
 True Devoted Sons of William. The higher 
 authorities found themselves unable to de- 
 cide the delicate and complicated question, 
 and referred it back to the claimants for mu-
 
 The Quad-dhroop-eds 51 
 
 tual settlement. But the breach was now too 
 wide, and their respective principles had, ere 
 this, burned themselves into the breasts of 
 either party. Billy hurled Anathema at 
 Murray and Simon. Murray and Simon, 
 hurled deepest and direst Anathema at Billy. 
 And lo, the excitement in Cruckagar got 
 a new impetus! On a morning Billy M'Car- 
 ter astonished Cruckagar by producing a 
 sympathetic letter from no less famous, 
 no less renowned a brother of the most zeal- 
 ous and prominent brethren of the North, 
 than the great William Aughrim Koarin'- 
 Meg Walker, Governor of the Apprentice 
 Boys, Worshipful Grand Master of the Lon- 
 donderry Glorious Memories of Bloody 
 Fields L.O.L., 99,942, stating his opinion 
 that Mister M'Cart-er was a worthy sufferer 
 in the good cause, that he and his faithful 
 followers were undoubtedly the True and the 
 only True, Sons of William; that they re- 
 flected honour upon their Order, glory upon 
 the Cause, and renown upon Ireland, and 
 that furthermore, he, William Aughrim 
 Eoarin'-Meg Walker, Governor of the Ap- 
 prentice Boys, and Worshipful Grand Master
 
 52 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 of the Londonderry Glorious Memories of 
 Bloody Fields L.O.L., 99,942, should take 
 an early opportunity of going down to 
 Cruckagar to strengthen the hands of Mister 
 M'Carter, and make his unworthy enemies 
 humble them in the dust before him! 
 
 There was joy in Israel! In Gath was 
 wailing and weeping and gnashing of teeth!
 
 II. 
 
 Paddy Monaghan's " Bush " was richly de- 
 serving of its intended title of Omnibus. Its 
 uses were, indeed, varied and manifold. 
 There was a happy appropriateness in Mas- 
 ther Whorisky's expressed opinion that 
 Paddy's Bush was "a versatile arrange- 
 ment." The Bush had been superannuated 
 at the Major's, when Paddy got it for the 
 taking away. Then in the summer time 
 Paddy had it brushed up and ornamented, 
 when it answered alike to drive a child to be 
 christened, or a pair to be married, or an 
 " impromptu hearse " the Masther put it a 
 corpse to the grave. One day it drove out a 
 party of merry pleasure seekers, next day 
 a group of wailing mourners. On Sunday it 
 drove the Major to church, and on Monday 
 it took " a crathur in the faiver (God save us 
 all!) " to the hospital; on Tuesday it took 
 the sheriff to the courthouse, and on Wed-
 
 54 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 nesday it took poteen to Donegal; on Thurs- 
 day the magistrate sat in it; on Friday it had 
 a load of eggs and butter, and it finished up 
 the week by going to the town for drunken 
 Mat, trundling him home and dropping him 
 at his own door. Then, in the winter time, 
 when trade was dull, Paddy's Bush made a 
 most admirable combination dog kennel and 
 fowl house; for, whilst Mrs. Monaghan's 
 roosters and three turkeys perched on the 
 rack above, and the ducks, with one grey 
 goose the others were stole from Shusie, 
 good woman, at Hallowday by the card 
 players, bad luck to them squatted under 
 the seats, the terrier and the brown colley 
 slept comfortably on the cushions. Yes, it 
 was a versatile arrangement. 
 
 On a certain day Paddy's Bush trundled 
 to Londonderry with a (very) general cargo. 
 It was fair day in Londonderry. When 
 Paddy had discharged the cargo he took a 
 stroll through the fair. There were on view, 
 in addition to the other animals common at 
 fairs, horses, mules, jennets, and quad- 
 dhroop-eds a quad-dhroop-ed being Pad- 
 dy's nomenclature for what the practical
 
 man who now reads these pages would simply 
 and straightforwardly call a jackass. 
 
 Now Paddy bethought him that as the 
 Ware-day was on him he required, as in pre- 
 vious years, a quad-dhroop-ed for the pur- 
 pose of back-loading manure up to the 
 broken ground in the nor*-aist park, and con- 
 sequently, prices being suitable, a quad- 
 dhroop-ed he bought. Then the question 
 arose how was he to get it home. He 
 searched the fair, but didn't find a man from 
 the neighbourhood of Cruckagar who might 
 lead the quad-dhroop-ed home for him. 
 What was he to do? He consulted with 
 Aaron M'Clay, for Aaron, now a Derry mer- 
 chant, hailed from Cruckagar, and still took 
 a lively interest in his native place, and a 
 friendly interest in any person therefrom. 
 Paddy Monaghan was a particular favourite 
 with him, for Paddy carried him the weekly 
 budget of doings and sayings at Cruckagar. 
 Paddy, we say, in his perplexity, consulted 
 with his friend Aaron; and his friend Aaron 
 suggested why not take it home in the coach? 
 The idea was a good one. Paddy had neither 
 parcel nor passenger to take back, barrin* a
 
 56 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 new skillet for Nancy, Father Dan's house- 
 keeper, to boil Father Dan's spuds in, and 
 a new Dolly Varden hat for Kitty Shinag- 
 han, of Sheskin, that was trying to catch Pat 
 the Widower, that intended takin' another 
 wife, they were sayin', afore Lent; and easily 
 he could carry these items on top of the 
 coach, lodging the quad-dhroop-ed inside, 
 and pulling down the blinds, so that man or 
 mortial wouldn't know whether it was the 
 Sheriff of the county or the Lord Lieutenant 
 himself, was within. A bright idea it was. 
 So with Aaron's help, in Aaron's yard, 
 quietly and quickly, the quad-dhroop-ed was 
 coerced into the Bush, the blinds drawn, and 
 the door fastened; and Paddy Monaghan 
 started on his return journey. No sooner 
 did Aaron see him safely off than he went to 
 the Post Office, and for he was a wag, and 
 moreover owed one to Billy M'Carter tele- 
 gramed to Seshaballymore office, the tele- 
 gram office nearest Cruckagar, that William 
 Aughrim Eoarin'-Meg Walker, Governor of 
 the Apprentice Boys, and Worshipful Master 
 of the Londonderry Glorious Memories of 
 Bloody Fields L.O.L., 99,942, had taken his
 
 The Quad-dhroop-eds 57 
 
 departure from Londonderry en route to 
 Cruckagar, and that he would arrive at his 
 destination at or after 11 p.m. in Mr. Patrick 
 Monaghan's coach, and it was to be hoped 
 that Mr. M'Carter and Mr. M'Carter's friends 
 would give him a royal Donegal wel- 
 come! 
 
 The Postmaster at Seshaballymore was a 
 loyal Orangeman, was a warm friend and 
 partisan of Billy M'Carter's, moreover. So, 
 an equestrian messenger he despatched 
 Jimmy the Post on the Dapple, with the 
 good news to Billy. Then was the furor in 
 Cruckagar, and the rush and the push, and 
 the scouting and scurrying, till the great 
 news was dispersed to the extremities of the 
 parish, and the copy of the telegram itself 
 went round, the fiery cross to bid Billy 
 M'Carter's legions in. And by half-past ten 
 o'clock that night there wasn't a true 
 Orangeman within the bounds of the parish 
 who still owned allegiance to Billy and his 
 cause, that didn't stand on the street of 
 Cruckagar with colours displayed awaiting 
 the bold Billy's behest. Band and banner 
 were quickly paraded to head the procession,
 
 58 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 and torches being lighted and music struck 
 up, a gallant body of not less than three hun- 
 dred brave and dauntless brethren of the 
 Cruckagar Death or Glory Devoted Sons of 
 William, L.O.L., 19,019, marched gallantly 
 forward on the Deny road. 
 
 Three miles out, Paddy Monaghan's Bush 
 was sighted, trundling along the moonlit 
 road. A wild cheer rent the air, the band 
 quickly struck up "See! the Conquering Hero 
 Comes," and rapidly they advanced. Paddy 
 was looking behind him, surmising to him- 
 self who might be coming after, that they 
 were going out to meet, when he found the 
 Bush surrounded by the hoarsely howling 
 excited multitude, his mare unloosed from 
 the vehicle, himself unceremoniously hauled 
 from his seat and hustled aside. He en- 
 deavoured to ask two or three, by shouting 
 into their ears at the top of his voice, what it 
 all meant; but even if he could shout loud 
 enough to make himself intelligible in the 
 midst of the deafening cheers that continu- 
 ously rolled up, no one had time to listen to 
 him, much less answer his questions. In an- 
 other minute, six Death or Glory Devoted
 
 The Quad-dhroop-eds 59 
 
 Sons of William, getting within the shafts, 
 had started the Bush, and the triumphal pro- 
 cession, leaving Paddy and his old mare a 
 dumbfounded, not to say ill-used, pair. 
 Though from thence to Cruckagar the drum- 
 mer drummed, and the fif ers fifed for all they 
 were worth, they drummed and fifed in vain, 
 for volley on volley of cheering unintermit- 
 tent, drowned their drumming and their fif- 
 ing as completely as though they had only 
 made a pretence to drum and fife. Into 
 Cruckagar the procession rolled, gathering 
 volume as it went, and through Cruckagar 
 and up to the door of their lodge, which 
 stood right opposite the Eectory, in which 
 they were quickly made aware the Eev. 
 Simon with Murray M'Clure, and their par- 
 tisans, had assembled to sympathise with 
 each other, and to watch the proceedings op- 
 posite. Eight in front of the Eeetory par- 
 lour window, where the base ones and the 
 deserters could, to their gall, get a full view 
 of the proceedings, the six Death or Glory 
 Devoted Sons of William within the shafts 
 of the Bush rested from their labours by 
 command of Billy, and three ringing, defiant
 
 6o Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 cheers were given which, like daggers, 
 pierced the very souls of the M'Clurites 
 within the Kectory. William Aughrim 
 Boarin'-Meg Walker, who had not hitherto 
 as indeed became one so illustrious among 
 his people chosen to acknowledge the ova- 
 tion in his honour, nor yet even drawn the 
 blinds, would now, on opening the door of 
 the Bush, and ere yet he had stepped down 
 from it, be asked to stand full front towards 
 the shrinking foe (in the Eectory), and there 
 with scathing tongue lash the treacherous 
 ones till they writhed again! Joy of joys to 
 Billy, the moment of sweet retribution 
 long looked forward to, was now at hand! 
 
 But there was still a slight, unaccountable 
 delay. The blinds were still undrawn, the 
 door of the Bush unopened. Surely the oc- 
 cupant had not, could not, have fallen asleep, 
 nor yet remained asleep during the proceed- 
 ings of the past half -hour, proceedings which 
 might have called the dead out of the grave- 
 yard? Billy knocked a respectful knock at 
 the door of the Bush. A painful pause. 
 " Three cheers for Misther Walker an' King 
 William." With all the power of their lungs
 
 The Quad-dhroop-eds 61 
 
 this was responded to. Billy knocked again. 
 Another painful pause. " Three cheers for 
 Darry walls." This demand, too, was well 
 and loudly honoured. Billy gave a third 
 knock a bold one this time. During the 
 pause, now, a batch of eager faces were dis- 
 cerned pressed against the panes of the Rec- 
 tory parlour window. " Three more cheers, 
 boys, for Simon an* his sarpints." Re- 
 sponded to with enthusiastic venom. There 
 was nothing for it now but to open the door 
 of the Bush and find what was the matter. 
 Open Billy had it in a jiffey. Yes, there was 
 a noise inside as if of some one gathering 
 himself together for the purpose of emerg- 
 ing. Billy and the crowd fell back a pace 
 at this to give him room, and at a signal from 
 Billy, to greet William Aughrim Roarin'- 
 Meg Walker, Worshipful Grand Master of 
 the Londonderry Glorious Memories of 
 Bloody Fields L.O.L., 99,942, on his emer- 
 gence, the crowd as one man set up " The 
 Battle of the Boyne " : 
 
 "July the First, in Oldbridge town 
 
 There was a grievous battle, 
 Where many a man lay on the ground 
 
 By cannons that did rattle : 
 King James he pitched his tents between "
 
 62 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 And at this instant the inmate of the Bush, 
 from the door projected a head adorned with 
 two enormous lugs, and, jealous that they 
 should have all the music to themselves, 
 forthwith lifted up his voice in one long, 
 loud, and most harrowingly unmelodious 
 bray! Those people who write fiction, find- 
 ing their imaginations unable to cope with 
 a crisis they have created, have a shallow 
 trick of slinking from their duty by saying, 
 " Here we drop the curtain." Now, willy 
 nilly, I am constrained to make use of the 
 shabby subterfuge of these fellows. 
 Here I drop the curtain!
 
 III. 
 
 Eaise it again, and behold it is Sunday 
 morning. And we are in Church Cruck- 
 agar Church, too; for there you see many of 
 our old friends. Billy M'Carter, with mel- 
 ancholy mien is below; Murray M'Clure, with 
 something akin to a gleam of malignant tri- 
 umph on his face, sits well to the front; the 
 Eev. Simon M'Whan, with a meek expression 
 on his face, is just entering the pulpit. 
 
 " Dearly beloved," the good man said, ad- 
 justing his glasses and taking up the large 
 Bible, " for my text this day you will turn 
 to Numbers, twenty-second chapter, twenty- 
 eighth and twenty-ninth verses there we 
 read 
 
 " * And the Lord opened the mouth of the 
 ass, and she said: "What have I done to 
 thee? Why strikest thou me, lo, this third 
 time?" 
 
 "' Balaam answered: "Because thou hast
 
 64 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 deserved it, and hast served me ill: I would 
 I had a sword that I might kill thee." ' " 
 
 On the Sunday following, a little flock, 
 with Billy M'Carter as pastor, met for Divine 
 worship in one of Billy's barns, and from 
 that time forward constituted an indepen- 
 dent congregation in themselves. As they 
 assumed no name, a name was sought for 
 them, and one for their pastor. Balaam, his 
 enemies gave to Billy, and the Quad-dhroop- 
 eds to his congregation. Their first collec- 
 tion, be it noted, was lifted to compensate 
 Paddy Monaghan for a slaughtered animal.
 
 The Prince of Wales' Own 
 Donegal Militia
 
 The Prince of Wales' Own 
 Donegal Militia 
 
 THE P. W. 0., or Prince of Wales' Own 
 Donegal Militia, was, in the year of our tale 
 (some fifty years since), one of the finest bod- 
 ies of men that ever outflanked a beefsteak, 
 or stormed a breakfast-table; whilst the cool 
 and dauntless audacity with which half a 
 dozen of the heroic fellows would attack a 
 solid square of porter bottles, and carry a 
 magazine of beers at the point of the cork- 
 screw, has ever been alike the envy and the 
 admiration of every other body of military 
 in the Green Isle the famous North Corks 
 not even excepted. True, their enemies 
 urged that in point of discipline they were 
 not quite what would have been expected of 
 a martial body sporting the proud colours of 
 Britain, and that their courage in time of 
 trial would not be of the mould to reflect
 
 68 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 eternal honour on the proud flag, under 
 whose glorious shadow it was their envious, 
 unpurchasable, etc., privilege to march. But 
 very evidently the malicious grumblers, who 
 would so slander the Prince of Wales' Own, 
 never saw those gallant troops marching to 
 dinner hay foot, straw foot, right foot, left 
 or each struggling manfully in the last 
 ditch with his seventeenth bottle, else the 
 lips of the vile slanderers had on those points 
 been sealed et in secula seculorum. It must 
 indeed be admitted that in the Prince of 
 Wales' Own Donegal Militia the undue famil- 
 iarity which, we are told in the proverb, is 
 apt to breed contempt, obtained rather much 
 between the non-commissioned officers and 
 the privates for the three-quarters of the 
 year during which they were gentle and 
 peaceable civilians, waxing their ends, knot- 
 ting their threads, philosophising at street 
 corners, pedestrianising for for health, I 
 suppose, and profit; collecting bric-a-brac 
 and antiques in exchange for pins and 
 needles; bird-fancying a pleasant and 
 gentle vocation which they usually followed 
 by the silvery light of the horned moon; and
 
 Prince of Wales' Donegal Militia 69 
 
 the other multifarious pursuits in which the 
 soldier-civilian during his long vacation 
 takes a part. As a consequence of the fa- 
 miliarity so begotten, when they donned the 
 uniform they unfortunately did not sink the 
 civilian in the soldier, and the respect paid 
 by the private to his sergeant was in many 
 instances just not such as was due to a mili- 
 tary superior. Indeed, if the truth must be 
 told, perhaps the sergeant or the corporal did 
 not always preserve that dignity and .hauteur 
 towards his subordinates which is usually of 
 necessity affected by men of rank to inspire 
 those beneath them with respect and awe. 
 As pray listen: 
 
 " Number Twinty-wan, will ye hould yer 
 gun erackt don't think it's a hatchet ye 
 have in yer hand goin' to knock down a pig. 
 Do ye hear me, Dolan? " 
 
 " Troth, I do hear ye, Sarjint; it isn't hard 
 to hear ye this wee while; ye make more 
 noise lately than ye used to do leapin' off the 
 table." 
 
 A hearty subdued laugh ripples along the 
 line. 
 
 " Number Twinty-wan, I'll make it
 
 70 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 hot for ye afore ye go home to Susy 
 again." 
 
 " No need, Sarjint, avic, makin' it hot for 
 me it's not a goose ye have in it. I'm not 
 frettin' about gettin' back to Susy, aither; I 
 know she can live rightly, for I left plinty of 
 callage behind for her." 
 
 "Ye're a deep scoundhril, Dolan." 
 
 "Not as deep as a taityer's thimble, Sar- 
 jint." 
 
 "I'll thrash the eowl out of ye some 
 day." 
 
 " Baste it out of me, ye mane? " 
 
 "Yer onsobordinate, sir." 
 
 "Say that one again, Sarjint; it's a 
 thumper, wherever ye come by it." 
 
 Then elsewhere 
 
 " Stand at aise, Three-an'-thirty." 
 
 " I am at aise." 
 
 "Thurn out yer right toe," curtly. 
 " That's not yer right toe, ye omadhaun ye; 
 do ye know the toe ye bliss yerself with 
 the hand, I mane. Thurn out the toe of 
 that hand the toe of that fut." 
 
 "But I don't bliss meself with me fut, 
 Corplar."
 
 Prince of Wales' Donegal Militia 71 
 
 " Number Three-an'-thirty, thurn out the 
 right toe of yer right fut immaijetly." 
 
 " Have a bit of raison with ye, Corplar 
 Muldoon; sure, haven't I five toes on me 
 right fut, an' I'm blowed if I know which of 
 the five ye want me to thurn out." 
 
 " Thurn out yer right fut immaijetly, 
 M'Guiggan, or I'll have ye drum-headed, ye 
 scoundhril." 
 
 " There's me right foot out now. I didn't 
 like for you to go an' reflict on me foot by 
 evenin' to me that I had only the one toe on 
 it." 
 
 " Hould yer tongue, sir." 
 
 " I'll have to let go the gun if I do." 
 
 "I'll take the uniform off ye, M'Guig- 
 gan." 
 
 " Ye couldn't." 
 
 "Couldn't I?" 
 
 "No, for ye haven't got yer pins* about 
 
 ye." 
 
 " I'll take the uniform off ye, sir, an' I'll 
 give ye " 
 
 " Twelve rows of pins, at laist; divil a toe 
 
 * Rag-pickers give rows of pins in exchange for the 
 wares they receive.
 
 J2 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 it 'ill go into yer bag this day for less, Cor- 
 plar." 
 
 " Ye're a low-lif ed scrub, M'Guiggan." 
 
 " Thankee, Misther Muldoon; ye can keep 
 that yerself." 
 
 Also 
 
 '" Shouldher arms! " 
 
 " Shouldher arms, Three-score! " 
 
 " Sure I am shoulderin' them as fast as I 
 can/' 
 
 " It takes ye the divil of a long time to 
 do it, then; an* yer as awkward-lookin' at it 
 as a monkey playin' the piano. Numbers 
 Two-score-an'-nineteen, an' Three-score-an'- 
 wan, plaise shouldher arms to show Three- 
 score how to do it with grace. Do ye ob- 
 sarve that, Three-score? " 
 
 " Och, I obsarve it; but do you obsarve 
 that I don't thank aither of them boys to do 
 it with grace. Two-score-an'-nineteen is 
 used at shouldhering his budget; an' Three- 
 score-an'-wan is a butcher, an' sure ye nivir 
 yit knew a butcher that wasn't graise from 
 the sole of his head to the crown of his 
 foot from the crown of his sole, I mane, 
 to the head of I mane from the foot of
 
 Prince of Wales' Donegal Militia 73 
 
 his crown to to Ye know what I 
 mane." 
 
 "Faix, it would be afther takin' a purty 
 smart man to know what you mane barrin' 
 when yer hungry; ye make people undher- 
 stan' that quick enough." 
 
 " Ay, Sarjint, avic, it's ' like masther like 
 man/ ye know." 
 
 " Shouldher yer arms, sir, and keep that 
 extinsive mouth of yours closed, or I'll be 
 able to see nothing behind it." 
 
 " Closed it is, sir; an' I'd always oblige ye 
 by keeping it out of yer light if I could only 
 know when ye're lookin' this way but that 
 same isn't aisy, troth, from the deuced con- 
 thrairy way them purty pair of eyes of yours 
 has of lookin' across aich other." 
 
 " I'll have ye removed out of yer ranks, 
 sir, and put undher guard." 
 
 " Well, I'll thank Providence an* you for 
 the happy relaise." 
 
 It happened on one sunny day in a sunny 
 June of the time heretofore hinted at, that 
 Colonel Bloodanfire, having distinguished 
 guests, resolved to entertain them by a field 
 day and general review of his gallant Done-
 
 74 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 gals. In his cups, on the previous night, he 
 had committed himself to several compre- 
 hensive and sweeping statements regarding 
 the discipline and courage of his beloved 
 regiment statements which, viewed in the 
 cold and searching light of day, rather aston- 
 ished the gallant colonel himself, presenting 
 as they did a somewhat different aspect from 
 that which they bore when only the red 
 glamour of the wine fell upon them. But 
 Bloodanfire was a man of his word; with him 
 there was no retrospection when once he had 
 put his hand to the plough, or even to the 
 bow the long one. His character and the 
 character of his regiment were at stake, and 
 he was resolved all should put their best foot 
 foremost be the same either the foot dec- 
 orated with the hay-band, or the one orna- 
 mented with the straw; for so were his intel- 
 ligent and courageous fellows ingeniously 
 aided in distinguishing respectively the right 
 foot and the left. Accordingly, a council of 
 war, alike of the commissioned and the non- 
 commissioned officers, was called on the 
 morning of the great, the eventful day, at 
 which the Colonel laid before his subordi-
 
 Prince of Wales' Donegal Militia 75 
 
 nates the state of affairs, and urged upon 
 them the pressing need of making on that 
 day a special effort to far excel all their 
 brightest records of the past, and with 
 united will, by a long pull, a strong pull, 
 and a pull all together, at once pull the 
 regiment through the ordeal satisfactorily, 
 and pull him out of his dilemma. By a 
 judicious use of corkscrews, he screwed 
 their courage to the sticking point, and each 
 man became loud, in fact very loud, not to 
 say noisy, in his protestations and declara- 
 tions of using his every endeavour to make 
 that a red-letter day in the annals of the 
 Prince of Wales' Own Donegal Militia. And 
 they kept their word, only too well. 
 
 It was well advanced in the forenoon, al- 
 most bordering on the afternoon, when the 
 regiment, which had been under arms all 
 morning, was marched out to an extensive 
 plain a short distance from the Barracks. 
 The Colonel's guests, both ladies and gentle- 
 men, were there to witness the celerity and 
 the extraordinary military talents, of which 
 they had heard so much, of the boasted 
 regiment. The Colonel, informing his
 
 ' 76 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 friends that this was his strong point, kept 
 his men for some hours marching and coun- 
 termarching, forming and wheeling; and 
 going through again and again the element- 
 ary drill, which they did with fclat. At 
 least the Colonel said it was with eclat; an 
 enemy to the Colonel, and to the fair fame 
 of this gallant body of men, who happened 
 to be on the ground, however, said that eclat 
 must in that case be French for noise. The 
 Colonel had, so far, been nervously endeav- 
 ouring to stave off, as far as possible, the 
 event of the day, a sham battle between two 
 sections of his men, the probable result of 
 which he could only anticipate with fear and 
 trembling; and he thought if he could only 
 keep it back, the sky might fall, or the earth 
 open, or fire and brimstone come down and 
 consume the whole dodgasted concern, any- 
 thing, anything he was careless and reck- 
 less as to their mode of final and complete 
 extinction only let them be annihilated 
 somehow, and his credit saved. But, unfor- 
 tunately, after he had kept off the critical 
 action till his guests had begun to upbraid 
 him with delay, and his stomach to reproach
 
 Prince of Wales' Donegal Militia 77 
 
 him with neglect, and his men to grumble 
 audibly, asking to have even a bit of dinner 
 carried out to them in a red handkerchief, 
 for that their bellies were bidding their 
 backs "good-morrow" after he had thus 
 earned ill-will on all hands, and the fates 
 and elements had successfully failed to 
 perform a diversion on his account, such as 
 he piously prayed for, and both earth and 
 sky still doggedly remained unmoved, he was 
 at length compelled to give the dreaded 
 order for the division of the regiment into 
 two sections, for the purpose of engaging in 
 the bloodless encounter, one section standing 
 motionless to receive and repel the charge 
 of the other. The brave fellows on each 
 side, goaded by the cravings of their stom- 
 achs, feeling far more deadly enmity towards 
 the Colonel than towards each other, al- 
 though about to engage in mortal conflict, 
 now raised their voices in noisy protest 
 against the inhumanity of making them fight 
 on empty stomachs. The battle must go on 
 though. The Colonel determined to meet 
 his fate like a man. A hurried whispering 
 might have been observed going on amongst
 
 78 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 the Colonel's friends. One of them, a young 
 fellow, with a humorous twinkle in his eye, 
 slipped away, unobserved by the Colonel, and 
 left the field. The two divisions, not indeed 
 very blood-thirsty looking, but porter-and- 
 beer-thirsty enough, faced each other at a 
 respectful distance. The order, so long 
 withheld, was at length given to the attack- 
 ing party; forward they moved, first at the 
 quick, then at the double quick. Things be- 
 gan to get exciting. The attitude of the 
 approaching columns did now certainly be- 
 gin to look threatening to those who awaited 
 their attack, with growing trepidation and 
 indecision, in front. Very evidently the on- 
 coming party, being in a bad humour, were 
 resolved to make some one pay the piper; 
 the motionless party saw this and quailed. 
 The space between them was short, and rap- 
 idly diminishing; another minute, and the 
 crash would come, and 
 
 Ding ! Dong ! Ding ! 
 The party to a man came to an instantaneous 
 halt! It was the great dinner-gong whose 
 surprising tones rang out so suddenly and 
 unexpectedly! Now! what
 
 Prince of Wales' Donegal Militia 79 
 
 DING!! DONG!! DING!! 
 Both parties glanced instinctively towards 
 the Barracks, and then towards each other, 
 and 
 
 DING!!! DONG!!! DING!!! 
 
 The imperative tones of that last overcame 
 any little scruples that might have existed 
 in their minds. The order of the dinner- 
 gong was the first order that the Prince of 
 Wales' Own Donegal Militia had learnt to 
 obey with alacrity. However dilatory they 
 may have been in performing other, as 
 simple, manoeuvres, that consequent upon 
 the sound of the mid-day gong was picked 
 up and gone through with a readiness and 
 tact which verily astounded the drill-ser- 
 geants. Never had the sound of the gong 
 been so welcome to their ears. Would they 
 disobey? Decidedly not! With a " Hip! " 
 "Whoop!" and "Hurroo!" they fled and 
 they sped, helter-skelter, quick and quicker, 
 over ditch and dyke, hedge and fence, with- 
 out stay or pause, till pell-mell they tumbled 
 into the Barrack-yard, panting and gasping 
 and struggling for breath. 
 
 Poor Bloodanfire had to affect joining in
 
 80 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 the hearty and rapturous peal of laughter 
 that burst from his friends, and accompanied 
 them to dinner, having nothing else for it. 
 When dinner was over his guests lost no time 
 in urging upon him the necessity of getting 
 out his flying squadron (at whose atrocious 
 breach of discipline he determined to merely 
 wink) once more for the promised encounter. 
 So after they had ravenously devoured their 
 meal, the Prince of Wales' Own Donegal 
 Militia were again marched out for the dread 
 encounter. The Colonel and his friends 
 took up a commanding position on the field, 
 the offensive and defensive ranks faced each 
 other, word was passed along the lines that 
 Colonel Bloodanfire expected every man that 
 day to do his duty. The command was at 
 length given, and the attacking party now 
 started at the double quick. The effects of 
 a hearty dinner and a bottle of porter had 
 produced a reaction, exalting their spirits; 
 so they soon increased their pace to the 
 treble quick, every man of them itching for 
 the chance of lathering the sowl out of an 
 opponent. But their opponents, having to 
 stand cold-bloodedly awaiting the attack, had
 
 Prince of Wales' Donegal Militia 81 
 
 not that stimulant to courage which a hot 
 race at an enemy ever begets; on the con- 
 trary, they fidgeted and murmured, and what 
 courage they had been possessed of, began to 
 ooze out, like Bob Acres'. The other party 
 neared them; misgivings, many and serious, 
 took hold of them; they looked behind them, 
 looked at the Colonel, finally once more at 
 the oncoming whirlwind, and with one im- 
 pulse, as one man, they executed a right- 
 about-face movement with a promptitude 
 and expedition that they had seldom exhib- 
 ited on the parade ground, and fled! Yes, 
 they fled, with even a swifter pace than what 
 they had shown in obedience to the dinner- 
 gong. They fled far, far away, over the 
 field, over a crowd of loungers who had come 
 to see the day's sport, over hedge and over 
 ditch, till they had got well out of the battle- 
 field. The Colonel, seeing this, boiled over, 
 his friends got hysterical with laughter; then 
 the Colonel got scarlet, and white, and 
 purple, and black. He swore loudly, and the 
 officers of the retreating division swore 
 loudly in sympathy, and halloed and shouted 
 after their fast retreating forces, who, how- 
 6
 
 82 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 ever, had neither time nor inclination to lis- 
 ten to orders. I intimated that the whole 
 division fled, which was not exactly correct; 
 for one valiant private, Donal M'Glanaghy, 
 Number Two-score-and-five, held his ground 
 dauntlessly like a man and a soldier, and by 
 repelling (with the sole aid of his soldierly 
 bearing) the attacking force, which retreated 
 from the attack in high good humour, thus 
 earned for himself the glory which other- 
 wise had been distributed over half a regi- 
 ment. 
 
 When the flying squadron had been over- 
 taken by their officers, and by the Colonel, 
 who pursued them hotly also, and sur- 
 rounded and brought back to the field for 
 the Colonel was determined now to have the 
 manoeuvre out, at any cost and hotly and 
 roundly rated, and their deep disgrace, and 
 the disgrace they had brought upon their 
 regiment and their Colonel, and even their 
 country, in the eyes of the satirical strangers, 
 had been painted to them in very glowing, or 
 I might plainly say in red hot, words, by 
 their naturally enraged Colonel, they were 
 told that now, under pain of the severest
 
 Prince of Wales' Donegal Militia 83 
 
 penalties court-martial could inflict on them 
 severally, they must receive and repel the 
 attack. The two divisions were again 
 formed, the order given, and the attackers 
 came on a third time. 
 
 " Holy Moses! " said one of the defensive 
 party, as the others swiftly approached, " do 
 ye ohsarve the look of mischief in Condy 
 M'Garry's eye?" referring to one of the 
 attacking party. 
 
 " Throth an' I do," said a neighbour of the 
 speaker's. " I see a look of murder in his 
 eye; an' the same lad isn't to be thrusted. Be 
 the same token he has the ould spite into 
 you since the night of the shindy down at 
 Monaghan's, when ye gave him the nate 
 little bit of a dinge on the skull. Look at 
 the eye he has in his head now; as sure as 
 there's powder in Darry he manes to give ye 
 a knock look out for yourself! " 
 
 " Be the powdhers, then, he'll not have it 
 all for nothing! he'll get the same sauce that 
 he gives, with, maybe, more spices in it. 
 Here's at ye, M'Garry, ye sowl ye! Whir- 
 roo! " And he hereupon sprang forward 
 from the ranks to meet the attack, and with
 
 84 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 clubbed musket levelled the wholly-innocent 
 Condy. 
 
 "A-hoo!" "Hip!" "Hurroo!" "Fag-a- 
 ballagh! " That, and not the officers' orders, 
 was the real signal for the attack. There 
 was now some motive to fight for, and some 
 real tangible benefit to accrue from thus 
 fighting, far better than a mock affair in 
 which poor fellows playing at acting on the 
 defensive could only experience dread and 
 uncertainty at the formidable and armed 
 host hurled against them, and who might 
 mean sham or reality just as circumstances 
 would, on the spur of the moment, prompt. 
 Besides, here was an opportunity, a grand 
 opportunity, for them to cover their late dis- 
 grace. Providentially, the means of vindi- 
 cating their fame is thrown in their way, and 
 they must take advantage of it. They hesi- 
 tated not, but threw themselves at once, with 
 their muskets clubbed, on their opponents, 
 who in their turn entered as warmly and 
 heartily into the spirit of the thing as could 
 be desired. It was utterly useless for the 
 Colonel to go about raging and stamping and 
 swearing, with the officers bawling, and haul-
 
 Prince of Wales' Donegal Militia 85 
 
 ing, and pulling, and striking right, left, and 
 centre all was quite useless. Both sides 
 pitched into each other with a spirit that 
 left not the strangers in a moment's doubt 
 as to whether or not there was courage in 
 the Prince of Wales' Own Donegal Militia. 
 They slashed and smashed, struck, prodded, 
 parried, and crashed, yelled, and shrieked, 
 bellowed, cheered, and halloed, giving every 
 evidence of being engaged in one of the fierc- 
 est encounters witnessed on a European 
 battlefield since memorable "Waterloo. And 
 after a long and stiff struggle the " defen- 
 sive" party drove their attackers clear out 
 of the field, and in a deep ditch beyond they 
 pommelled, till they were tired and wearied, 
 at all who could not succeed in escaping. 
 
 On the following morning there was as- 
 sembled on parade a highly picturesque, 
 motley, and vagrant-looking crew, with the 
 value of a little fortune in sticking-plaster 
 ornamenting their broken features, listening 
 to a severe harangue from a highly-enraged 
 Colonel. 
 
 " And now, Number Forty-five," said the 
 Colonel, when he had used up all the threat-
 
 86 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 ening, as well as vituperative, language the 
 English tongue vouchsafed; "and now, Num- 
 ber Forty-five, Donal M'Glanaghy," said the 
 Colonel, " kindly step forward." 
 
 Donal the hero who had valiantly held 
 his ground on the previous day at the second 
 attack, when the remainder of his comrades 
 had so disgracefully fled Donal now stepped 
 forward with one arm in a sling, one eye 
 closed and black, and a ridge of sticking- 
 plaster extending from his nose to his right 
 ear. He raised his sound arm in salute. 
 
 "Private Donal M'Glanaghy," said the 
 Colonel, " when your unworthy comrades on 
 yesterday disgraced themselves, their regi- 
 ment, and me, you alone held your ground 
 in a manner of which I was proud, in a man- 
 ner which reflected the greatest credit upon 
 your training and upon yourself, and which" 
 and here the Colonel stamped and threw 
 a fierce look at the dilapidated ranks before 
 him " and which can not be permitted to 
 go unrewarded. Say what would you wish 
 as a recognition of your sterling manliness." 
 
 Donal blushed, touched his cap, and 
 said,
 
 Prince of Wales' Donegal Militia 87 
 
 "Well, yer honour, Colonel, I'm thinkin' 
 maybe ye'd be afther givin' me the Victhory 
 Crass. I b'lieve it's given in reward for such 
 actions." 
 
 "What! the Victoria Cross!" said the 
 Colonel, taken aback. " The Victoria Cross! 
 Oh, but you know, my good man, that is an 
 honour only given as the very highest and 
 greatest reward for the most daring and 
 valiant action a British soldier could per- 
 form. The Victoria Cross! Oh, no, no, my 
 good man, that is far beyond my power. 
 You will have to ask something else, some- 
 thing more moderate, something more in 
 reason." 
 
 "Well, then, Colonel, yer honour," said 
 Donal, touching his cap again and standing 
 erect, " if ye couldn't give me the Victhory 
 Cross, maybe, Colonel, yer honour, YE COULD 
 
 GIVE ME AN" OULD HALF-WORN PAIR O' 
 THRO USERS YE'D HAVE NO MORE USE FOR ! "
 
 Barney Roddy's Penance
 
 Barney Roddy's Penance 
 
 BABNEY was not naturally bad. Take him 
 in the round, and, I daresay, he had full as 
 many virtues as the average Irishman. But 
 the fact is, he was inveterately addicted to 
 fibbing. Still, his stories were invented with 
 the very laudable object of entertaining his 
 listeners. If Barney could not invite you to 
 his own home, there to help him partake of 
 a good dinner or a warm supper simply be- 
 cause he had no home he did the next best 
 thing in his power, and strung a good thump- 
 ing lie into a rather enjoyable yarn, and 
 then and there treated you to it. I cannot 
 say I never could find out whether Bar- 
 ney expected you, in return for his kindness, 
 to put any degree of faith in these yarns. 
 Some held that he did. But, be Barney's 
 wishes what they might on that subject, I 
 am certain that no one ever did believe one
 
 92 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 of his stories unless, indeed, it was some 
 innocent stranger whom Barney got into his 
 hands. "It's as thrue as one of Barney 
 Roddy's yarns," passed into a proverb in that 
 part of Donegal which Barney honoured with 
 his residence, and signified that the state- 
 ment in question was a forty o. p. lie. 
 
 "Barney," said I, one evening in harvest 
 as I took my seat on the whin ditch beside 
 which he was digging potatoes for Mickey 
 Roarty " Barney, it's a great wonder to me 
 you never married." 
 
 " Is it, faix? " And Barney dug on with 
 seemingly increased energy for the space of 
 five minutes, during which time I was care- 
 ful not to disturb him. 
 
 " Is it, faix? " he queried again, as he 
 crossed his arms on the spade and looked me 
 equarely in the face. "Maybe it's me that 
 was married! an' well married, too! Hagh! 
 Ay, it wasn't to one I was married at all, 
 but to a dozen of them! To a dozen divils, 
 an' ivery one of them worse nor the other! " 
 saying which he plunged his spade viciously 
 into the ridge, and resumed his digging in 
 a fierce manner.
 
 Barney Roddy's Penance 93 
 
 "What do you mean, Barney ?" said I, 
 for I saw that he now only wanted the invi- 
 tation to commence spinning a yarn; " sure, 
 if you married a dozen you would be trans- 
 ported for polygamy." 
 
 " I nivir had anything to say to the girl, 
 thanks be to Providence! " 
 
 "Never had anything to say to what 
 girl?" 
 
 "Polly Gammer/' 
 
 " Oh! Barney, you mistake me. Poly- 
 gamy means the marrying of a great number 
 of wives. How do you mean to say that 
 you could marry a dozen?" 
 
 "I don't know if there was a dozen. There 
 was eight of them anyhow, I daresay; but 
 I nivir counted them." 
 
 " And what tempted you to marry eight 
 wives?" 
 
 " It was pinance for my sins." 
 
 "I should say that was a severe penance. 
 I have known men who had only one wife, 
 and they allowed their life was a burthen to 
 them." 
 
 " Throth, then, them men's life was a 
 Garden of Aiden compared to mine for the
 
 94 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 ten days I was in the blissed state of 
 matthermony. I married my wife out of 
 purgathory St. Pathrick's purgathory* 
 and I had to take all her sisthers an' aunts, 
 for sivin jinnyrations back into the bargain, 
 an* be me socks I got me fill of them. It 
 was a sevair pinance! " 
 
 " Tell me all about it, Barney." 
 " Give us a shough of that pipe. Thanky. 
 Keep yer eye about ye for fear ye'd find 
 Micky Koarty comin', an' give me warnin'; 
 for he's a dhirty bear, an' thinks if he gives 
 a man a shillin' a day with praties an' point, 
 he thinks you should make a black neygar 
 of yerself an' work the very sowl out through 
 yer body for him; if he sees ye liftin' yer 
 head to say l God save ye ' to a naybour 
 passin' the way, ye'd think he'd jump down 
 yer throat." Here Barney seated himself 
 comfortably on a head of cabbage, and puff- 
 ing the pipe like a steam engine, he com- 
 menced. 
 
 " Well, to yock at the beginning ye see it 
 was the time I lived in Tyrone, afore I come 
 into this counthry, a party of us, naybours, 
 
 * Lough Derg.
 
 Barney Roddy's Penance 95 
 
 was comin' back from the fair of Dhrimore, 
 an' be the same token, there wasn't a man 
 in the party that wasn't rather gay; an when 
 we come as far as Nancy Hannigan's my 
 throat was as dhry as a lime-burner's hat, 
 an' I said we wouldn't pass it till we'd know 
 what sort of stuff Nancy had in the wee keg. 
 No sooner said nor done. We knocked up 
 Nancy in a gintale way be puttin' in the door 
 with a rock, an' afther Nancy thrated us for 
 our kind attintions, we got into a wee bit of 
 verrins (variance) as regards which of us was 
 the best man. There was a weeny bit of a 
 tailyer, the size of two good thurf an' a clod, 
 an' he got up on the table, whin the argy- 
 mint was at its highest, an' he commenced 
 abusin' ivery man of the party with langidge 
 a dog wouldn't take off his hands, an' he 
 said if he had only his own lapboord he'd 
 clear the house of ivery mother's sowl of us, 
 while he'd be sayin' Jack Eobinson. Troth, 
 the impidence of the wee rascal put us to a 
 stan' for a minute, an' when I got me breath 
 agane, I took the wee brat by the scroof of 
 the neck an' threw him out of the door, an' 
 as he was flyin' out I give him just a nate
 
 96 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 little nap with me stick that happened to 
 crack his skull. But we did what we could 
 for him ordhered a nice coffin, an' ex- 
 pended tuppence-ha'penny to have it painted 
 black; give him a rousin' wake; an' then the 
 funeral was somethin' to open yer eyes! We 
 got six other tailyers to carry him on lap- 
 boords, an' berred him with a goose at his 
 head. It was more than the wee divil de- 
 earved; but seein' that he met with the wee 
 mistake in our company, we thought we 
 would do things square by him, an' we knew 
 the display would be a consolation to his 
 widda. "Well, of coorse, I thought it was all 
 over an' past; but what would ye have iv it, 
 but Father Luke kicked up such a shindy 
 over the affair, that he'd almost laive ye 
 ondher the impression there was nivir a 
 man's skull cracked in the North of Irelan' 
 for a hundred years afore. An' it would be 
 enough, too, if it was a man's skull that was 
 cracked, and not sich a dawny wee sickly 
 droich of a thing. Howan'ivir, the upshot 
 of the whole thing was that Father Luke 
 ordhered me to Lough Dharrig (Derg) to do 
 pinance.
 
 Barney Roddy's Penance 97 
 
 " Well, when the time come round, I spit 
 on me stick, an' made for the Lough. An' 
 maybe I hadn't a high ould time of it there. 
 Finance! Throgs ye'd niver know what 
 pinance is till ye'd go to Lough Dharrig. 
 The Lord forgive me, it's often when I 
 should be sayin' a mouthful of prayers for 
 the sowl of the wee tailyer, it's often I'm 
 afeard it was inventin' new curses for him 
 I was. Sweet good luck to him if I didn't 
 suffer in Lough Dharrig that tarm for him! 
 Thundher and thumps, I had a corn on my 
 feet fornenst ivery day of the week, an' it's 
 as careful I was about them corns, as I would 
 be about my own mother; but the usage 
 they met in Lough Dharrig, throttin' thim 
 Stations on me bare feet, was enough to 
 dhraw tears from a stone. Ye'd think ivery 
 pebble on the path was spayshally sharpened 
 agane my arrival, an' whin wan of me corns 
 would come down atop of a pebble that had 
 a corner on it as sharp as a fish-hook, I 
 would give a yell, an' jump the height of 
 meself, jist landin' down with another corn 
 atop of the next stone! Between the yellin' 
 and the skippin' I'm thinkin' that ye might
 
 98 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 put my prayers in yer weskit pocket without 
 much throuble to ye. There was one ould 
 voteen, an' he had a skin to the sole of his 
 own foot that was as tough as a donkey's 
 hoof, an' when I jumped, an' yelled, an' come 
 down maybe atop of some of me naybours, 
 he would say the infarnal scoundhril! 
 that I was a disgrace to the place, an' that 
 I should be put out. Then, the night I had 
 to sit up in the chapel och, that was the 
 tarror intirely! Whin I was bobbin' over 
 me head, an' f oun' I couldn't houl' out any 
 longer, I said to meself I would jist close 
 me eye for three winks; but the words were 
 scarcely out of me mouth when, by Jimminy! 
 the same ould voteen gives me a rap over the 
 skull with a crosshin of a stick that I thought 
 he lifted the top of the head clane off me. 
 I thurned on him an' I gave him a look that 
 would split a stone wall. ' It's for the good 
 of yer sowl,' siz he. * Throth,' siz I, ' it may 
 be for the good of me sowl, but it's not for 
 the good of me crown. An' me good man/ 
 siz I, 'if it was any other place but the 
 groun' ye're in, maybe ye wouldn't be so 
 handy with yer stick. For three fardins/
 
 Barney Roddy's Penance 99 
 
 siz I, 'I would take it from ye an' give ye 
 tlie father an' mother of a good soun' blaich- 
 inV siz I, <ye snivelling ugly-lookin' scare- 
 crow ye! ' But all the norrations I could 
 praich to him wasn't a bit of use; he'd just 
 turn up his eyes lake a duck in thunder, an' 
 no surer would I thry to close an eye agane 
 but he lit on me with his crosshin; an' he 
 stuck to me all night, an' no matther what 
 part of the chapel I moved to, to get out of 
 his way, he was at me shouldher agane in a 
 jiffey, with the whites of his eyes thurned 
 on me, an' he waggin' the crosshin at me 
 iviry time he caught me eye. Be me socks, 
 my sowl seemed to be of far more consarn 
 to him than his own. Well, in the mornin', 
 glory be to Providence, I had nallions on me 
 head the size of yer two fists, an' I swore that 
 if ivir I'd meet the natarnal vagabond out- 
 side of the island, I would give the poorhouse 
 carpenther a job on his coffin. The sarra 
 saize me, but I had murdher in me heart! 
 an' little wondher for me head wasn't 
 sound for three-quarthers of a year afth'er. 
 
 "Howan'ivir, I soon got into betther 
 humour, an' forgot all about me head, be-
 
 10O 
 
 kase I got an intherduction to Nelly Mori- 
 arty, a widdy woman, with a snug sittin' 
 down not far from me own townlan' at home. 
 Nelly, as I thought poor deludhered fool 
 that I was! Nelly was purty good to look 
 at. She had cheeks as red as fresh-painted 
 cart-wheels, an' ivery other accomplishment 
 accordin' to that. But there's no denyin' it, 
 the three cows' grass that I knew her to have 
 made her look a long sight purtier in my 
 eyes, an' the short an' the long of it was, 
 that afore I left the island I put me cometlier 
 on Nelly, an' afther blarneyin' her up, I puts 
 the word to her, an' faix we settled it all up 
 square. 
 
 "Holy St. Pathrick! but I was the on- 
 common great ass! I thought we'd be as 
 happy as the days were long; an* I said to 
 meself, 'Barney, me boy,' siz I, 'yer jist 
 settled for life; and it's nivir a hand's thurn 
 ye'll have to work more, but jist put yer two 
 hands in yer pockets and go about like a 
 gintleman. Nelly, be coorse/ siz I, 'with 
 her three cows' grass 'ill support ye lake a 
 Prence o' Wales, an' the longest day in sum- 
 mer ye can throw yerself on the back of the
 
 Barney Roddy's Penance 101 
 
 hill on the three cows' grass an' lie there 
 in the sun, whistlin' jigs agane the larks, an' 
 snappin' yer fingers at the worl' an' the 
 divil.' But och, it's little I knew what was 
 ' in store for me. An' Nelly Moriarty, it's 
 mistaken I was in you intirely! An' I soon 
 foun' that out when I married into the fam- 
 ily. When she fetched me home afther the 
 weddin', the sarra saize me if I could a'most 
 make my way in of the door, for it was 
 crammed from the hearth to the threshel 
 (threshold) with sisthers, an' aunts, an* 
 mothers, an' gran'mothers, an' the divil him- 
 self only knows how many other faymale re- 
 lations, all subsistin' on the three cows' 
 grass! 'Be the hokey,' thinks I to meself, 
 when I seen the congregation c be the 
 hokey, I'll soon make a scattherment on the 
 nest.' But it was all the other way roun'. 
 For the first week I couldn't complain much, 
 barrin' that I had too many masters; but I 
 didn't grumble much at that yet, for I flat- 
 thered meself that I would thurn the tables, 
 as soon as I'd get me footin' made, an' I'd 
 make them go packin' in detachmints. In 
 another week, I sayed to meself, if they did-
 
 1O2 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 n't stop their jaw, I would show them the 
 hole the mason made which is the door. 
 But movrone, what would ye have of it but 
 poor Barney's plans went ashaughrin. Ye 
 see, just to oblige the wife, I used to get 
 up first in the mornin' an' put on the fire 
 for them, an' make the wee drap of tay; an' 
 throth if there had been a bit of rat-poison 
 any way handy I would have sweetened a 
 good many of the bowls with it. But in the 
 coorse of a week, I thought I would com- 
 mence to show I was masther of the house 
 an' the three cows' grass. So, next mornin', 
 when Nelly hilloes in my ear, 
 
 " t Barney! ' siz she. 
 
 "'What? 'siz I. 
 
 "'Are ye awake?' siz she. 
 
 "'I'm not,' siz I. 
 
 ? ' ' Ye're a liar,' siz she. 
 
 '" ' I'm as soun' asleep as a bull-frog,' siz I. 
 
 " ' Come,' siz she, ' none of yer nadiums, 
 but get up and put on the fire.' 
 
 "'I think I hear you, ma'am,' siz I. 
 
 "'What?' siz she, 'ye lazy, good-for- 
 nothin' scrub ye, do ye mane to say ye're 
 not goin' to do as ye're bid?'
 
 Barney Roddy's Penance 103 
 
 " ' Throgs,' siz I, ' there'll be two moons 
 in the sky, an' one in the du'ghill, when ye 
 get me to put on a fire for ye.' 
 
 " Faix the word wasn't fairly out of me 
 mouth, when, without sayin' dhirum or 
 dharum, she ups with her fist an' the next 
 minnit there was more stars dancin' afore me 
 eyes than ivir I seen on a frosty night she 
 left me as purty a black eye as ye'd maybe 
 ax to look at. Well, I didn't argy the quis- 
 tion with Nelly, but got up an' put on the 
 fire. 
 
 " Nixt mornin' the praties was to be dug 
 for the brakwus. 
 
 " * Barney,' siz she, ' throw the spade over 
 your shouldher, an' go out an' dig a basket 
 of tatties.' 
 
 " ' Why,' siz I, that way f or I was just 
 what ye'd know afeared ' why,' siz I, ' whin 
 me mother was alive long ago (rest her 
 sowl!),' siz I, ' she used to go out an' dig the 
 brakwus for me herself. Seein' that I was 
 always a delicate sort of boy, she allowed the 
 mornin' air didn't agree with me goin' out 
 on the bare stomach.' 
 
 " ' An' she sayed that? ' siz Nelly, raichin'
 
 104 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 her han' for the beetle. 'Ye're a delicate 
 boy, throth except at male times and we 
 must harden ye a bit/ an* with that she let 
 fly the beetle at me head, as I was makin' for 
 the door; an' do ye see that mark?" said 
 Barney, exhibiting to me the track of a 
 wound over one eye, which, to my own 
 knowledge, he got in a drunken squabble 
 only a fortnight before. 
 
 " Yes," said I, " I see that. But I was of 
 opinion it was Harry Hudy gave you that 
 the night you had the little scrimmage below 
 at Inver." 
 
 " Oh, were ye of that opinion, faix? " 
 returned Barney, slightly nonplussed. 
 " There's many an opinion you have it's a 
 pity they're not worth much. Harry Hudy 
 did give me a blow there, but then it was the 
 ould wound he opened." 
 
 " Oh, that explains it/' said I. 
 
 " Well, Nelly hadn't to ax me the second 
 time to dig the tatties. I went out an' done 
 it as soon as I got meself gathered up again, 
 an' I went afterwards to Dr. M'Clintock an' 
 got thirteen stitches in the split she made in 
 me head. Throth, the doctor could tell ye,
 
 ye could ram yer two fists into the hole was 
 in it! Howan'ivir, I seen there was two 
 sides to the quistion, an* that Nelly was 
 detarmined to be master in her own 
 house. 
 
 " The very nixt day there was to be a 
 caman match between two townlan's, an' I 
 was axed to be one of the players. I tould 
 Nelly so the night afore. She tould her 
 aunts an' the rest of the congregation that 
 they would all go early to see the match. 
 * But plaise Providence,' siz she to me, ' it's 
 no place for the lake of you, that should be 
 doin' for yer sowl, instead of makin' a tom- 
 fool of yerself with a crooked kippeen; an' 
 ye'll lie in yer bed all day the morra! ' I 
 was wise enough to keep me tongue in me 
 jaw, an' say nothin'; but in the mornin', sure 
 enough, she packed one of her gran'-aunts 
 away with me breeches, to hide them in a 
 naybour's, and tould me lie in bed all day 
 and say me baids. Hirsilf an' the thribe of 
 divils she had about her, thricked themselves 
 out with ribbands, an' they stharted away 
 for the day's sport, for all the world lake a 
 dhraper's shop goin' out for an airin'. I lay
 
 106 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 up in bed with no betther amusement than 
 countin' the rafthers above me; an' when I'd 
 have them all counted, I'd sthart them agane 
 in the new, jist to keep me mind occupied; 
 but I'm blissed if I didn't soon get tired of 
 the same amusement, an' I sayed to meself 
 that it was scarcely as good as caman playin'; 
 an' I begun to get a trifle restless an' to 
 yawn lake as if I wanted to swally the bed- 
 posts; an' I sayed, come what might, come 
 what may, I would get up an' make meself 
 a dhrop of tay. So I jumped out of bed, an' 
 for want of betther I hauled myself into a red 
 flannel petticoat of Nelly's och! the sorra 
 take me if I'm tellin' ye a word of a lie 
 an' but that was the dear petticoat to me. 
 I dhrew on me coat an' waistcoat, an' puttin' 
 on me brogues an' socks, I thought to meself 
 that I could manage to cuffufle about 
 through the house rightly for half an hour, 
 in case no one come in. But the red petti- 
 coat didn't more nor reach me knees, an' I 
 laughed hearty at meself, the purty figure I 
 cut, but at the same time I was thrimblin' 
 for 'fraid any of the good boys would catch 
 me in the John Heelan'-man kilts; so I de-
 
 Barney Roddy's Penance 107 
 
 tannined to make for the room if I foun' 
 anyone comin'. An', be the holy poker, it's 
 not long I had to wait till I heard the thramp 
 marchin' up to the dure. In the hoppin' 
 of a sparrow I was in the room, with the 
 dure closed. 
 
 "'Barney Eoddy? Where are ye, Bar- 
 ney?' was shouted from the kitchen next 
 minnit, an* the heart jumped into me mouth, 
 for I foun' that it was a party of the caman 
 players who come to see what was keepin* 
 me. I nivir let on I heard them. 
 
 " * It's in his bed asleep the lazy blaguard 
 must be yet, when he should be in his place 
 in the fiel*. Come, to see if we could waken 
 him up/ says one of them. Och! sweet 
 seventy-nine! Here was I in a purty pickle 
 intirely! 'My blessin' on you, Nelly Mori- 
 arty, an* if the divil had his own/ siz I to 
 meself, 'it's not showing off yer foldherols 
 an* fineries ye'd be in a caman fiel' the 
 day/ 
 
 "'Barney Eoddy!' agane one of them 
 shouts, givin' the room dure a rattle that I 
 thought I'd have it in a-top of me ' Barney 
 Eoddy, are ye there? or what's wrong with
 
 108 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 ye at all, at all, that ye're not out with yer 
 caman an hour ago? ' 
 
 " I hauls a blanket off the bed, an' rowlin' 
 it about me for feard of the worst, I plants 
 me back to the room dure, an' thinkin' to 
 frighten them away, I shouts back, 
 
 " * Och, there's nothing much wrang with 
 me, barrin' that I'm in bed with a touch of a 
 bed fever I have cotched.' 
 
 " ' Come now/ siz they, f none of your 
 skeegwaggin', but open the dure an' get out 
 here to the caman, before we burst the ould 
 consarn in on ye/ 
 
 "Ah, the sweat begun to come down me 
 face in dhrops the size of a pigeon's egg. 
 
 " ' Can't yez go away like Christians/ siz 
 I, ' an' let a poor man die in paice.' 
 
 "But it was no airthly use. They were 
 detarmined to have me, an' have me they 
 would. So then ivery man put their 
 shouldhers to the dure, an' the next minnit 
 they were in a-top of me. An' there I stood 
 thrimblin' in the middle of the flure, pullin' 
 the blanket closer about me. But as me ill 
 fortune would have it, doesn't one of the 
 lads there was a whole half-a-dozen of them
 
 Barney Roddy's Penance 109 
 
 in it doesn't one of them eye my brogues 
 peepin' out from undher the blanket! 
 
 " ' Ah/ siz he, ' here's a go! Does Barney 
 Koddy go to bed in his brogues! Ha, ha! 
 he was thryin' to play us a thrick; but we 
 know one worth two of that.' 
 
 " * Ay/ an' siz another blaguard, ' does he 
 usually go to bed with his waistcoat an' coat- 
 hamore on him?' pullin' open the blanket 
 at the breast. 
 
 "'It must be a new midicine for faver 
 patients/ siz another. 
 
 " * No, but Barney wants to die an' be 
 berrid in his brogues, sooner nor let any 
 other lucky dog step into his shoes, an* get 
 the widow/ siz another. 
 
 " ' Ay, an' her twinty-nine aunts/ siz an- 
 other. 
 
 " Then they got a hoult of the blanket to 
 pull it off me, but I held on to it like grim 
 death. 
 
 " ' Niver mind/ siz the ringleader of the 
 gang, Archy Magee, 'when he's so fond of 
 the blanket we'll laive it with him. Up with 
 him on yer shouldhers, boys, just as he is, 
 an' give him the frog's march to the caman
 
 no Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 fiel'; then let him pride out of the good 
 colour of his blankets there, if he likes he'll 
 have a repreciative audience/ 
 
 "An' before they give me time to open 
 me mouth they had me on their shouldhers, 
 wrapped up like a corp in the blanket, an' 
 away to the caman fiel' hot foot. They 
 joulted the sowl out of me so, that purshuant 
 to the one of me could get a word out of me 
 mouth till we got to the fiel', with them 
 hilloain' an' the crowd cheerin', an' all the 
 worl' in commotion to see what they had 
 rowled up in the blanket. Down they 
 planked me with a hearty cheer in the middle 
 of all the spectathors; an' when they pulled 
 the blanket off me by main force, och, holy 
 Moses, but that was the consthernation! It 
 would be hard to tell whether it was them 
 or me or the crowd was the most thundher- 
 struck, to see Barney Eoddy come out to play 
 caman in a red flannen petticoat that come 
 down to his knees! 
 
 " I took to me scrapers, an' the crowd just 
 only then got their tongues loosed, an' they 
 sent up a roar that would make the dead 
 play hop-scotch in their coffins, an* they
 
 Barney Roddy's Penance ill 
 
 stharted afther poor Barney, hilloain' an* 
 shoutin' an* laughin'; but, be me boots, I 
 soon distanced them, an' when I got out of 
 their sight I made for the nearest house, 
 scarin' all the childer was in it clane out of 
 the townlan'. I helped meself to the long 
 loan of the best pair of throwsers I could 
 screenge up in the house; an* shakin' the dust 
 of that counthry off me feet, I thurned an* 
 bequaithed my left-handed blessin' to Nelly 
 Moriarty an' her breed, seed, and jinnyra- 
 tion, and left for iver a counthry where I 
 could niver more hould up me head to look 
 a man sthraight in the face. 
 
 " An' be all that's good there comes that 
 misardly scandaverous villain, Mickey 
 Eoarty, an' the neygar 'ill be afther makin* 
 me hop for losin' me day sittin' here spinnin* 
 lies I mane to say tellin' histhory passages 
 of me life to you. I wish all the crows in 
 Connaught would pick that rascally eye out 
 of his head, an* the dickens fly away with the 
 remaindher of him, for it's him is the bla- 
 guard has the bad tongue. God save ye, 
 Misther Eoarty, but this is the purty evenin' 
 intirely, isn't it? "
 
 Dinny Monaghan's Last Keg
 
 Dinny Monaghan's Last Keg 
 
 " DINNY MONAGHAN'S, of Keelogs, that's 
 where we're bound for; and Hazelton, my 
 boy, if you only mind your points it's maybe 
 a sergeant you'll be made for this night's 
 work. The ould spite between himself an' 
 Brannigan, you see, is at work still more 
 power to it an' we're goin' to reap the 
 fruits. Brannigan come in the whole way 
 to tell me that they brewed last night, an' 
 a mighty big brewin' it was, too but un- 
 knownst to him: but he says they have one 
 of the kegs still in the house, an' they're 
 goin' to have a jorum with some invited nay- 
 bours to-night; so we'll just give them a bit 
 of a pleasant surprise, an' deil's good cure to 
 Monaghan, he's the biggest rascal ever was 
 born to stretch hemp. The fox runs long, 
 Hazel, my boy you mind the ould sayin'. 
 Many's the thramp he give us for nothin',
 
 ii6 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 but we'll nip his career, the villain, to-night, 
 an' pay him back with compound inthrust. 
 Come, Murphy, Short, Hazelton are ye all 
 ready? Mount your big coats, for it's an 
 ugly raw night as ivir fell from the heavens. 
 Thramp! " 
 
 It was Sergeant M'Golrick, better known 
 as " the Black Sergeant," that addressed his 
 subs, in the Ballynapooka police station, situ- 
 ated among the Donegal hills, upon what 
 the sergeant very aptly described as "an 
 ugly raw night" in March, 185 . And 
 now, as the four cloaked and armed figures 
 disappear from the station in the thick dark- 
 ness of the night, I will take the story-teller's 
 convenient privilege of whisking my readers 
 direct to Dinny Monaghan's cottage in Kee- 
 logs, whence, as we come up to the door, 
 shouts of mirth and hilarity are heard to 
 ring out, as the inmates, all unconscious of 
 the impending danger, are commemorating 
 the successful brewing of the last " run " of 
 mountain dew. As we glide in, and close 
 the door upon the chill, foggy night-air with- 
 out, a scene meets our view that charmingly 
 contrasts with the rank unpleasantness that
 
 Dinny Monaghan's Last Keg 117 
 
 reigns outdoors. The peat and fir piled high 
 upon the hearth shoot upwards merry, play- 
 ful, dancing tongues of flame, that send fan- 
 ciful shadows wavering over the soot-stained 
 rafters aloft, and appear like some blithe, 
 shadowy beings looking down upon the revels 
 below, with restless delight. There is no 
 other light in the cottage, nor is any other 
 needed; the remotest corners of the big 
 kitchen are sufficiently enlightened by the 
 blazing fir, and the merry faces of those who 
 form a wide circle round the big, open 
 hearth are lit up by the red blaze in a pict- 
 uresque manner. You see that short, black- 
 whiskered man, with the merry twinkle in 
 his eye, who is seated at the upper corner, 
 and is now looking side-wise at the half-filled 
 glass (with the stem broken off) which he 
 holds betwixt his eye and the fire-light that 
 is no other than the redoubtable Dinny him- 
 self, the renowned distiller of forbidden liq- 
 uors, the "marked man" of innumerable 
 generations of peelers, and the inveterate and 
 unflinching denouncer and renouncer of Ex- 
 cise, Excisemen, magistrates, peelers, and 
 police courts, with all their pomps and vani-
 
 ii8 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 ties. But I daresay you know Dinny and 
 all his characteristics without my descrip- 
 tion. Who does not? And you must know, 
 too, most all the " old, familiar faces " that 
 circle around Paddy Teague and Charley 
 the Kooshian, and Billy M'Cahill a lad who 
 could run a dhrop of the rale stuff as well 
 as the next Murty Meehan, Mickey Ruadh, 
 and the rest of them, not forgetting Mrs. 
 Monaghan Dinny's plump little wife who 
 is making herself so busy drawing from the 
 "ten-gallon" (that is in the corner above 
 her, just behind an unoccupied cradle), and 
 replenishing the glasses as they are emptied. 
 So we'll just turn our attention to what they 
 are saying. 
 
 "Why, Jimmy M'Groarty, did ye get the 
 parrylitics in yer arm, or what's the matther 
 with ye? You same to have forgot the r'yal 
 road to yer mouth; an' throgs if ye have it's 
 a bit change come over yer mother's son. 
 Tip that dhrop over, avic, and don't be mak- 
 in' mouths at it; ye're nursin' it for the last 
 half-hour like a sick doll that had caught 
 the maisles. Sure ye're not afeard of it? 
 It can't be that it's so ill-tasted; I think I
 
 Dinny Monaghan's Last Keg 119 
 
 made worse dhrops in my career. Over with 
 it, man, an' give us a song." 
 
 " Faix, Dinny, you're right there here's 
 may we niver dhrink worse! Hem! Dinny, 
 ye did make worse. With due respects I say 
 it. At the same time the worst iver you 
 made would earn a repitition (reputation) 
 for any honest distiller. But it's seldom ye 
 were able to coax anything out of the worm 
 to aiqual that. It's for all the worl' like me 
 fren' there beyant, Paddy Teague's blarney 
 ha! ha! it goes down aisy." 
 
 " Throth, Jimmy," replies Paddy, " little 
 wondher it goes down aisy with ye ye're 
 payin' nothin' for it." 
 
 This repartee is received with a chorus of 
 laughter. 
 
 " By the boots, Paddy, an' it differs from 
 your blarney, then." 
 
 " How is that?" 
 
 " Why, Paddy Teague nivir blarneyed a 
 man yet no matther it was his own mother 
 but that man had to pay through the nose 
 for it." 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha! ha!" 
 
 " Boys, Jimmy's gettin' witty, wherever
 
 12O 
 
 he lamed it. It wasn't at school, anyhow; 
 I know that, for ye mind, Jimmy, the 
 masther turnin' ye out be the lug, an* 
 warnin' ye niver to let him see yer purty 
 face again." 
 
 " Ha! ha! What was he thurned out for, 
 Paddy? " 
 
 " Och, the ould complaint." 
 
 "What was that?" 
 
 " Why, atin' too much! I'm sorry, 
 Jimmy, avic, to fetch the flush to yer face, 
 but" 
 
 " Paddy, dhaisge, ye don't see any flush 
 on my face." 
 
 " Throth, Jimmy, I know we don't see it 
 on yer face, but if it was washed we would. 
 Ye see, boys, it was the time the relief stir- 
 about was givin' out in the bad times, an* 
 Jimmy's father, poor man, sent him to school 
 to gradyate; but Jimmy, the villain, not 
 content with the stirabout, took to atin' the 
 numbers off the noggins.* So the masther 
 give him siveral public riprimands, but it 
 was all no use; he had to turn him out in 
 the rear. Indade, it went again the mas- 
 
 * Noggin, a wooden vessel used instead of a bowl.
 
 Dinny Monaghan's Last Keg 121 
 
 ther's grain to do it, as he said; an' so long 
 as Jimmy confined himself to lickin' the nog- 
 gins it was of coorse right enough, he said, 
 an' saved the expinses of washin' them; but 
 he had to be responsible to the Gover'ment 
 for the noggins, an' that bein' the case, he 
 said he couldn't permit a cannyball to re- 
 main in his school you'll excuse me, 
 Jimmy, for rememb'rin' this. Keep an eye 
 to Billy M'Cahill there, boys, for I'm afeard 
 he'll go into fits, he's laughin' that hearty 
 at Jimmy." 
 
 " No, Paddy asthore, I know what Billy 
 is laughin' at; he's thinkin' of the day your 
 gran'uncle got invested with the hemp collar 
 the day he danced the double shuffle with- 
 out a door anondher his feet, ye mind, an' 
 all bekase some of the naybour's sheep took 
 a likin' to go to the fair with his own, and 
 to get sould among them be mistake. That's 
 what Billy's laughin' at. He's thinkin', too, 
 how his own gran'father was refused the 
 honour of pullin' the cord an' earnin' a 
 couple of pounds in the mornin'." 
 
 "Thrue as gospel, Jimmy," Billy inter- 
 poses; "but your gran'father was too able
 
 122 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 for mine that mornin'. He offered the 
 shariff to take the job at half-price, an' 
 got it." 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha!" laughs Dinny, with the 
 tears actually streaming down his cheeks in 
 thorough enjoyment of the fun he had un- 
 consciously started. "Ha! ha! ha! Jimmy, 
 I'm afeard they'd get too many for ye, ha! 
 ha! ha! Yez 'ill ha^e to give over the 
 sconsin'* till we have a song. Jimmy, clear 
 yer throat, like a man, an' rattle us up a 
 song." 
 
 " Jimmy M'Groarty's song! Jimmy 
 M'Groarty's song! " now resounds from all 
 sides. 
 
 " Hould on yez! " interjects Dinny. 
 "Mrs. Monaghan, would ye be so kind as 
 to replinish our empty glasses with a little 
 more goat's milk? We'll relish Jimmy's song 
 the betther of it. That's you, thank ye! 
 Now, boys, here's Jimmy's health, an' long 
 life an' an aisy death to him! " 
 
 " An' may I nivir die in the air, ha! ha! " 
 with a significant look at Paddy Teague. 
 
 " An' may he nivir pull the rope at half 
 
 * Chaffing.
 
 Dinny Monaghan's Last Keg 123 
 
 price, though it is in the blood! " retorts 
 Paddy. 
 
 This is received with another good- 
 humoured laugh all round, in which 
 Jimmy, of course, takes part. The glasses 
 are emptied with a delightful rapidity, lips 
 are smacked, throats cleared, and Jimmy in- 
 forms them that he is going to give them 
 " Paddy Shinaghan's Cow." 
 
 " Bully for ye, Jimmy! " 
 
 Jimmy immediately proceeds to assume 
 the regular orthodox singing attitude. A 
 man attempting to sing without having a 
 voice would scarcely be less unfavourably 
 received than a man singing without the 
 proper attitude. So, in order to acquire 
 this attitude let us attentively observe 
 Jimmy. He first crosses the legs, then in- 
 sinuates his thumbs into his waistcoat at 
 the armpits, leans well back on his chair, 
 prospects in the roof for a proper rafter 
 at which to pitch his voice this rafter 
 likewise serves for reflectively swaying the 
 head, and making appropriate gestures at, 
 as well as (apparently) reading the words 
 off and having found a fitting rafter,
 
 124 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 Jimmy commences amid an all but breath- 
 less silence: 
 
 " There's a man in Ardaghey both proper an' tall; 
 Och, he's wan Paddy Shinaghan, we do him call, 
 For he brews the cordial that does exceed all 
 Sure he bates all the docthers aroun' Dinnygal. 
 
 " For if ye were gaspin' and ready to die, 
 The smell of it fastin' would lift yer heart high ; 
 So hoist it up farther, quite near to your nose 
 Sure an Inver man loves it wheriver he goes ! 
 
 " We can't have a christ'nin' without it at all, 
 We dhrink an' sing chorus, shake hands an' sing all. 
 Your health now, dear gossip, as I may you call 
 Sure if this be's a ghost, that it may meet us all I 
 
 " Now, Paddy, the rascal of late it has been 
 With steam an' hot wather he brewed his poteen ; 
 He left it in barrels, as I hear them say, 
 But his cow took a notion of dhrinkin' that day I 
 
 " Wirrasthrue ! when the cow, sure, the notion did 
 
 take, 
 She first broke the boroch* and then pulled the 
 
 stake, 
 Then she dhrunk at the barrels till she dhrunk 
 
 her fill- 
 Holy Nelly! she didn't leave much of the still I" 
 
 " The sarra take her, but she was fond of 
 the sperrits." 
 * The rope by which a cow is secured to the stake.
 
 Dinny Monaghan's Last Keg 125 
 
 "Whisht! whisht! BedhaJiosth! Go on, 
 Jimmy, ma l)ouchal!" 
 
 " But when she got dhrunk she began to feel shame, 
 An' she says, ' Paddy Shinaghan ' call'n' him by 
 
 name 
 
 ' I'm as dhrunk as a beggar, with juice of the malt, 
 But Paddy, avourneen, it isn't my fault.' 
 
 " Then she hiccoughed and staggered an' axed Pat 
 
 to fight, 
 An' she threatened that through him she'd let in 
 
 the daylight ; 
 That his breed was all cowards she tould him to 
 
 note, 
 An' dared him to tramp on the tail of her coat. 
 
 " Next day she woke up with a bad broken horn, 
 And begun for to curse the day she was born ; 
 She cursed barley, an' kilty, an' poteen likewise, 
 An' cursed all the still-tinkers anondher the skies. 
 
 " She warned all good cows to mind their fair name, 
 An' to niver taste dhrink that would fetch them 
 
 to shame, 
 
 An' she whispered to Paddy, an' said in his ear, 
 ' Sure ye will not tell Oonah I went on the beer ? 
 
 " ' An' Paddy, ahaisge, if mercy you'll have, 
 I'll bring ye each year a fine heifer calf, 
 For I am right honest, though found of a spree, 
 An' sure, Paddy, ma touched, ye're as fond of 't 
 as me ! ' 
 
 " An' Paddy had marcy (we give him renown); 
 But when Oonah did milk her, her milk it was 
 brown.
 
 ' Poor cow, then,' says Oonah, ' it's yer heart's 
 
 blood ye give, 
 For ye won't see us wantin' milk while you do live.' 
 
 " Now, we'll dhrink an' be merry, an' forgiye the 
 
 cow ; 
 Here's a health to bould Shinaghan, whither or 
 
 how ; 
 
 Let us pray may he never lose head, worm, or still 
 On that sanctified place they call Keelog's Hill. 
 
 " Here's a health to myself, an' God save Ireland's 
 
 King! 
 
 Sure it's me makes the valleys of Keelogs to ring, 
 It's me makes the valleys an' taverns to roar 
 Without a dhrop of whisky I can sing no more ! " 
 
 "Bravo! bravo! Bully, ye are! Hurroo!" 
 is echoed from all quarters. 
 
 "Mrs. Monaghan Biddy fill his glass, 
 for he deserves it, in throgs. Fill all our 
 glasses when ye're at it, an' we'll dhrink 
 Paddy Shinaghan's health. Here's to him, 
 boys good fortune." 
 
 " Throth, an' it's no mane song," says 
 Charley the Eooshian, up-ending his glass to 
 see that he has drunk it clean. 
 
 " Throth no, Charley; nor he was no mane 
 man made it either. It's as purty a rhyme 
 as I came acrass for a considherable time," 
 says Paddy Teague.
 
 Dinny Monaghan's Last Keg 127 
 
 " Thrue for ye, Paddy," adds Jimmy; " he 
 knew how to make rhymes, that man did." 
 
 " Oh, he was a shupayrior poet." 
 
 " Shupayrior? " 
 
 " It's very few of yer * come all ye's ' ye'd 
 get to touch up to it." 
 
 " Thry that for a thrick." 
 
 " Ay, an' the cow, the poor baste, she acts 
 so nathural like, just for all the worl' like a 
 daicent Christian, axin' Paddy to thramp on 
 the tail of her coat, an' all that, an' then 
 repintin' next mornin'." 
 
 "Ay; but," interposed Dinny, "meself 
 wouldn't like to be a barrel of poteen in her 
 way the nixt night again. Ha! ha! " 
 
 " Och, jist like the Christian again, 
 Dinny, avourneen." 
 
 " Ha! ha! ha! " 
 
 " Dinny, aliaisge, take you warnin' from 
 that song, an' rair up yer cows in the way 
 daicent cows should be raired. Don't lay 
 timptation, in the shape of a barrel of 
 poteen, in their way. There's a brinley cow 
 ye have, wid no eyes only one, an' that one 
 lookin' crossways with pure divilment, an' I 
 wouldn't thrust but she'd go on the spree
 
 128 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 in a minnit. She has a rascally bad look 
 about her." 
 
 " Nivir fear ye, Mickey, agrah, when I hide 
 me poteen he'll be cleverer than a brinley 
 cow that 'ill fin' it." 
 
 " Throth, then, the Black Sargint, they 
 say, has swore that he'll make ye pay the 
 piper yet." , 
 
 " Well, maybe it wouldn't be the first false 
 oath he swore, if we'd believe all people say. 
 Ha! ha! " 
 
 " He's a born divil. There's no being up 
 to his thricks. Dark an' dhirty as the night 
 is, I woudn't at all be very much surprised 
 to see him openin' the door an* marchin' in." 
 
 " Is it him? He's measlin' his purty shins 
 at the barrack fire, plottin' some new mis- 
 chief with the divil. He'd think twicet be- 
 fore he'd come out such a night as that. 
 Biddy, fill us the glasses again; I have one 
 other toast to give before I let yez go, boys 
 a toast that I'm sure yez'll all do honour 
 to. I'm goin' to toast thank ye, Biddy! 
 to toast a man whose kindness or whose mor- 
 tial great cliverness, or whose love for all 
 poteen-makers, I don't know which yez'll
 
 Dinny Monaghan's Last Keg 129 
 
 most admire. Now, boys, yez'll have to take 
 off yer glasses cliverly to it here's 'The 
 Black Sargint.' " 
 
 " Here's the Black Sargint! " was shouted 
 it almost seemed echoed from the door, 
 which was suddenly burst open, and a breath- 
 less youngster leaped into the house. 
 
 At the sudden ejaculation from the door, 
 every man present experienced a shock that 
 fetched him instantaneously to his feet, and 
 the mouths that had just opened to laugh at 
 the first mention of the epithet were still 
 held open in consternation at the second un- 
 looked-for, astounding shout of it. 
 
 " Here's the Black Sargint! " the lad re- 
 peated. " He's on the top of yez. When I 
 seen him an' his men passin' our door, takin* 
 the short cut for here, I got out the back 
 way, an' off to warn ye; but, bad luck to him, 
 he cotched sight of me, an' he didn't let me 
 gain much groun' on him. Holy Moses! 
 that's the thramp comin' roun' the house." 
 
 " No way of consailin' the keg! " muttered 
 Dinny, now as pale as a ghost. " Caught 
 at long last, boys! the jewel are ye, Biddy! 
 there's a chance for Dinny, yet, boys!
 
 130 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 There he is, may the dickens take him, the 
 black rascal! Off, hoys, with every dhrop! " 
 
 During the utterance of the last few 
 sentences, the door is repeatedly and loudly 
 battered at, and a gruff voice without is 
 angrily demanding admittance. It is no 
 other than the dreaded "Black Sargint." 
 Mrs. Monaghan, you may observe, is, with 
 great coolness, wrapping up and paying 
 much attention to what appears to be a 
 child in the cradle; though hitherto, we feel 
 assured, there did not seem to be any child 
 in it, nor did she pay the slightest attention 
 to the cradle throughout the night. As 
 Dinny proceeds to the door, the men, having 
 emptied their glasses, cast an anxious look 
 in the direction of the keg, but are amazed 
 to see no keg in it. Then, observing Mrs. 
 Monaghan's motions, their faces brighten 
 somewhat. 
 
 " Arrah, be aisy would ye at the door, 
 whoiver ye are," says Dinny, as he applies 
 his hand to undo the bolt. " Why, sargint, 
 avic, ye don't mane to say its yerself's in it? 
 Why, I didn't know what sort of a 
 moroder (marauder) was batin' the divil's
 
 Dinny Monaghan's Last Keg 131 
 
 own tindherary on the door wantin' to pull 
 down an honest man's house. Why, it's 
 yerself's heartily welcome an' yer fren's, 
 too one, two, three of them. Gintlemen, 
 this is an unexpected plisure. Now, who'd 
 have thought yez would take it into yer head 
 to come out for a moonlight sthroll sich a 
 night! Mrs. Monaghan, agrah, would ye 
 lave the Eooshian in charge of the wean for 
 a minnit, an' look if ye'd have ever another 
 dhrop in the cubbard for the daicent gintle- 
 men? You haven't a dhrop? Wirrastlirue, 
 I'm sorry for that. If yez had had just hon- 
 oured us by dhroppin' in five minnits sooner, 
 gintlemen, I would have give yez a dhrop 
 would warmed yez down to the exthraym- 
 ities of yer big toes. Movrone! but I'm un- 
 lucky! " 
 
 " Come, Monaghan, none of yer pala- 
 verin'; stan' aside, an' I'll sarch the cubbard, 
 an' a few other places for meself. You've 
 had things purty near long enough yer own 
 way; but Dinny, ould boy, it's my turn now 
 time about, ye know, is fair play." 
 
 " Why, sargint, darlin', sure it's welcome 
 ye are to take a peep into the cubbard, an'
 
 132 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 pick an' choose for yerself. It's a kindly 
 heart ye have. It's few would lave their 
 warm fire sich a night, and plod four mile, 
 through cowld an' wet, mud and muck, to 
 their fren's. Poor divils! yez are stharved 
 an* drownded, that's what yez are. Push 
 forrid to the fire; don't feel backward. That 
 glass, sargint, jewel, is emp'y, as ye observe. 
 Och, it's no good in ye thryin' any of them 
 they're all emp'y as yer own skull." 
 " They are emp'y, I see, but" 
 " Och, no ' buts ' at all about it, sargint, 
 avic. I'll jus' sen' the youngsther over to 
 Paddy Neddy's, of the back of the hill he's 
 makin' a runnin' the night (may he have 
 luck with it!), and I'll jist get ye a dhrop of 
 the first shot." 
 
 " Come, come, Monaghan," says the ser- 
 geant, whose ( dandher ' is commencing to 
 rise at Dinny's jokes, "give us no more of 
 your blarney, but tell me where's the poteen 
 you run last night? " 
 
 "Where's the poteen I run last night?" 
 
 "Yes, where's the poteen you run last 
 
 night? You have a keg of it in the house 
 
 you know you have; an* you'd betther not
 
 Dinny Monaghan's Last Keg 133 
 
 get yer house pulled upside down, but hand 
 it out at oncet, for I'll have it with me, 
 should I pull down yer house to get at 
 it." 
 
 "Well, sargint, avic, I daresay the aisiest 
 way is the best, so, if ye promise not to sthir 
 anything else lookin' for more bekase 
 there's no more in it I'll tell ye where that 
 dhrop is." 
 
 " That's right, Dinny; I see you have some 
 sense afther all. Where is it?" 
 
 " Why, sargint, it's av coorse ye promise 
 what I axed ye?" 
 
 " Of coorse, of coorse, man." 
 
 " Honour bright." 
 
 " Honour bright, Dinny." 
 
 "Why thin, sargint, yer a daicent fellow 
 as iver stepped in shoe-leather, so I'll tell ye. 
 It's if s in the Jceg ! " 
 
 " The divil take ye! I'll overhaul yer 
 whole house." 
 
 " Och, sargint, yer promise! Honour 
 bright, ye know." 
 
 " Go to the deuce! When ye won't tell 
 me where the keg is, I'm goin' to find it. 
 Come on, men! "
 
 134 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 " Aisy, sargint, aisy, ye didn't ax me where 
 the keg was." 
 " Stan' aside." 
 
 " So you'll pull down a man's house." 
 " Tell me, then, where is the keg? " 
 " I will, if you give me that promise." 
 "I'll give ye the promise; an' more than 
 that, I'll stick to it, if ye tell me the very 
 place the keg is." 
 
 " The very place I'll tell ye it." 
 " All right, then, ye have my promise." 
 " Well, the keg, sargint the very place the 
 keg is, is about the poteen!" 
 
 This is greeted by a loud roar from all 
 sides of the house, while Mrs. Monaghan, 
 who has been industriously rocking the 
 cradle all the time, protests, 
 
 " Billy M'Cahill, I would thank ye to not 
 thramp over the wean. Yez have it awake, 
 yez have, with yer jokin' an' laughin'. I'll 
 thurn yez out, ivery mother's sowl, if yez 
 can't have behaviour," and she stoops over 
 the cradle to soothe her charge, whilst the 
 sergeant and his men proceed at once, in 
 mighty wrath, to search for the keg. 
 
 " Bad scran to yez, I say again, an' will yez
 
 Dinny Monaghan's Last Keg 135 
 
 not fall over the cradle an' smother the chile! 
 Paddy Teague, isn't it near time ye wor 
 thinkin' of goin' home to Norah? I think 
 it's purty near time yez were all thrampin', 
 an' leave a weeny bit of room for the gintle- 
 men to get sarchin' the house," says Mrs. 
 Monaghan. 
 
 " Now, Hazelton, try you the room there 
 below, an' meself an' Murphy 'ill thry this 
 other room. Short, throw you your eye 
 about the kitchen here don't leave a mouse- 
 hole you won't sarch. Hazelton, my boy, 
 ye were long lookin' for the sthripes now's 
 yer chance." 
 
 " Is it Misther Hazelton get the sthripes?" 
 from one in the crowd, who are now com- 
 mencing to enjoy the thing. " Throth, he 
 will get them but, I'm afeard, it 'ill be on 
 the wrong place, ha! ha! " 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha! Now, Misther Short, ye 
 boy ye, 'arn you the sthripes." 
 
 " Och, be the holy poker, he'll rise in the 
 worl' yet, the same man will." 
 
 "How high?" 
 
 "Och, meself can't tell that it all de- 
 pends on the taste of the hangman."
 
 136 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 " Why then, Charley, I dar'say it'll be the 
 short dhrop they'll thrate him to, no matther 
 who gets the privilege of pullin' the cord." 
 
 " I'm thinkin' for the Lord's sake, Mis- 
 ther Short, take care of yer prayshus self, ye 
 were a'most down, there I'm thinkin', boys, 
 it'll be a very short drop he'll get to-night, 
 anyhow." 
 
 " Throth, then, it'd be a shame to thrate 
 the daicent man so, afther him comin' so far 
 to see yez." 
 
 " Ay, an' on such a divil's own wet, dhirty 
 night, too." 
 
 "Ay, an' see there's a river of wather 
 runnin' from him, poor man, that would 
 nearly wash a policeman's conscience." 
 
 "Ay, if he had it about him. But they 
 say that when they go on duty they have 
 got spayshill ordhers from Dublin Castle to 
 leave their conscience at home behin' them, 
 for fear they would get injured." 
 
 " Or maybe lost I heerd tell of a peeler 
 losin' his conscience when on duty." 
 
 " The Lord help the poor man f oun' it. I 
 wouldn't like to be in his shoes." 
 
 " Why, eargint, avic, is it out of the room
 
 Dinny Monaghan's Last Keg 137 
 
 ye are, an' widout the keg? Ye must have 
 been crassed by a red-haired man to-night 
 ye have no luck." 
 
 " Faix, sargint, darlin', it's cowld an' wet 
 an' I dar'say hungry an' thirsty ye are. Pull 
 up to the fire dhaisge, an' take a shin-heat." 
 
 " The poor man is too fond of his counthry 
 an' it's workin' himself to death he is. Look, 
 he's disappearin' inside his clothes, for all 
 the worl' like a haporth of tibbacky in a 
 sack." 
 
 " An' there's poor Hazelton, too, has given 
 up the lower room; an' he's desarvin' of his 
 counthry, if iver a man was he's shiverin' 
 like a dhrownded cat, an' the teeth in his 
 head's rattlin' like a workhouse cart. Cheer 
 up, oul' fellow, the sthripes is before ye yet." 
 
 " Oh, they are before him maybe now, but 
 they'll be behind him, plaise the Lord, some 
 day." 
 
 " Now, Mickey Eoe, don't be hard on the 
 poor man; maybe it's enough he's sufferin' 
 this minnit in his own heart, bein' disap- 
 pointed of the warm dhrop of the crathur 
 he was expectin'." 
 
 "In his own heart! It's the first time I
 
 138 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 iver heerd him accused of havin' one. Where 
 might he carry the article? " 
 
 " In his stomach." 
 
 " Or in his heels? It was in his heels he 
 had it the day that Peggy M'Glanaghan 
 ducked him in the du'ghill pit, an' then 
 chased him for his life." 
 
 Whilst this running commentary was kept 
 up amid peals of laughter hy the crowd 
 around the fire, the poor peelers were ran- 
 sacking and rummaging the house in all 
 directions, and receiving the chaff with a 
 very bad grace indeed; which fact, of course, 
 made it still the more enjoyable to the jest- 
 ers, and held out the stronger incentive for 
 them to pepper the four unfortunate poor 
 fellows still more unmercifully. Mrs. Mon- 
 aghan, all the time, was industriously at- 
 tending to the slumbers of "the crathur" 
 in the cradle, hushing its restless spirit to 
 repose, and crooning a lullaby to aid the 
 good object. Occasionally, too, she would 
 stoop down, say a few soothing words, bestow 
 a kiss apparently on its little brow, and cover 
 it up snugly. This she would sometimes 
 vary, by addressing a pettish remonstrance
 
 Dinny Monaghan's Last Keg 139 
 
 to the men to keep their tongues at rest, and 
 not disturb " the crathur's " slumbers. She 
 sat between the cradle and the fire, with her 
 deep shadow cast upon it. The police are 
 now getting thoroughly tired of their search, 
 the evidence of their own eyes, coupled with 
 the coolness and fearless tone of Dinny and 
 his party, inducing them to believe that 
 there cannot possibly be a keg in the house 
 whatever little they had within, they must 
 have just finished as they (the invaders) en- 
 tered. Of course they could not sustain a 
 prosecution upon the strength of the smell 
 (or the smell of the strength) of the glasses. 
 They are about to depart, but Hazelton 
 the stripes still floating in his mind's eye 
 must search the top of the dresser. For this 
 purpose, he leans upon the shoulder of the 
 sergeant, and stepping on the rim of a tub 
 of dirty water which had been used for wash- 
 ing roots in, he succeeds in satisfying him- 
 self that there is no contraband material on 
 it, when, unluckily, his weight on the one 
 side of the tub upsets it, and tumbles him 
 flat just in time to receive its contents. In 
 the act of falling he has fetched down his
 
 140 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 worthy sergeant beneath him, who acts as a 
 buffer between Hazelton and the floor, and 
 comes in for half the contents of the tub. A 
 shout of laughter that seems almost to shake 
 the old roof greets this ludicrous denouement, 
 and the sergeant and Hazelton get up, glare 
 at each other for a moment, shake themselves 
 like spaniels, and then take their solemn 
 departure in rather a crestfallen manner, and 
 are slowly followed by their two companions 
 with arms unconsciously reversed, all fol- 
 lowed by the jeers and hilarious merriment 
 of the inmates. We will not undertake to 
 describe the scene that followed inside the 
 praises loudly lavished on Mrs. Monaghan, 
 the fondling " the crathur " got, the mutual 
 congratulations and exultations, the drink- 
 ing of Mrs. Monaghan's health, the drink- 
 ing of Dinny's health, the drinking of the 
 company's health, the drinking of every- 
 body's health not neglecting the Black 
 Sergeant's and the drinking of the dock an 
 dorrish, and the final dispersion of the com- 
 pany, which ended the eventful night. It 
 was a night to be remembered.
 
 Billy Baxter
 
 Billy Baxter 
 
 Now, Billy wasn't a religious man. That's 
 certain. He was, I fear, a wicked, worldly- 
 minded sinner; too frequently the cause of 
 distress and of much spiritual anxiety to the 
 righteous among his Cruckagar neighbours. 
 He had a sinful habit of weighing all actions, 
 even the most edifying religious ones, in a 
 worldly scale of his own that was the cause 
 of much scandal and many heart-burnings 
 to those good ones around him whose 
 thoughts ran upon the world which has its 
 hither boundary in the silent churchyard. 
 Within the memory of our dogmatic Oldest 
 Inhabitant, Billy had only been twice to his 
 church one of which occasions was at his 
 marriage to Jane. Whenever the 0. I. had 
 occasion to bear sorrowful testimony to 
 Billy's laxity, he invariably shook his head, 
 and, in half an hour after, there were not
 
 144 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 three heads unshaken in all Cruckagar for 
 "Billy Baxther, the Lord forgive him! no 
 better nor the black haithen! " When re- 
 monstrated with on the point Billy was un- 
 consciously quite innocently satirical: 
 " Sure where anondher the sun is the good 
 of me goin' to prayer or meetin', that never, 
 since I was no bigger nor me knee, was mas- 
 ther of a shoot of clothes that me naybour 
 'ud turn on his heel to look at? " Billy, in 
 short, looked upon church as a luxury and 
 a frivolity intended for the idle and the vain, 
 and altogether out of the sphere of a hard- 
 working poor man, who, willy nilly, must 
 take life seriously. "By right/' as we put 
 it, Billy should be a Presbyterian; which is 
 to say that his parents were understood to 
 have belonged to that Church. 
 
 The Eev. Ezekiel M'Cart was the Presby- 
 terian pastor of Cruckagar. He was a typi- 
 cal minister of the Gospel pious as a saint, 
 learned as a doctor, simple as a babe, humble, 
 and, withal, poor as the poorest of his small 
 and miserably poor congregation. Mr. 
 M^Cart, notwithstanding an innate esthetic 
 dread of his free-thinking parishioner, con-
 
 Billy Baxter 145 
 
 sidered that it would be a shirking of his 
 duty if he didn't remonstrate with Billy. He 
 did so, asking him to quit the ways of the 
 unrighteous and come back to his church 
 and his spiritual duties. For Mr. M'Cart 
 alone, of all the clergymen he knew, Billy 
 had a huge esteem the humility and simple- 
 mindedness and unobtrusive goodness of the 
 man had secretly won him. So, with pro- 
 foundest respect, he lent a most attentive 
 ear to the good man's exhortations, and when 
 he had finished, Billy said: 
 
 " Now, yer reverence, out of regards to ye, 
 I'll put me foot in the fire if ye bid me do 
 it, but I'll not go to Meetin'. I have been 
 there afore, expectin' to hear somethin* 
 might do me good for God knows I'm in 
 black need of 'mendment! but I heerd noth- 
 in' only scouldin' the divil. I heerd Misther 
 Mahon praich wanst, an' he did nothin' only 
 scould the divil. I listened for two hours 
 to the Methodist praicher, an' it was bally- 
 raggin' the divil from commencement to end. 
 Twicet I went to hear Father Dan, an' it was 
 pitchin' in to the poor divil with him, too, 
 
 as hot as he could pepper him. That gave 
 10
 
 146 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 me my fill of church, chapel, an' meetin*. 
 The divil may be bad an' I'm not denyin' 
 but he is but the poor fellow's not gettin' 
 half a chance. An' if he's as bad as yez 
 make him out, small blame to him, say I, 
 for if he had the spirit of a dog, he couldn't 
 take off yer hands all yez give him from June 
 to January, an' be otherwise nor bad, an' the 
 worst of bad." 
 
 After that conversation, the good Mr. 
 M'Cart, shocked beyond expression, let Billy 
 go his way in peace, for he saw well that 
 counsel was lost on him. 
 
 I said Mr. M'Cart was poor. Father Dan 
 was the lucky owner of a jaunting car and 
 a mare, Forgiveness, both of which, if neither 
 dashing nor handsome, were useful. Mr. 
 Mahon, the rector, richly dressed, invariably 
 drove an extremely smart turn-out. Even 
 the Methodist preacher had to confess to a 
 conveyance of a certain primitive and homely 
 character. Mr. M'Cart alone had to trot the 
 length and breadth of a tedious parish on 
 Shanks' mare, which is to say, his own two 
 feet, with the added luxury of a stout stick. 
 This was not as it should be. His little
 
 Billy Baxter 147 
 
 flock, who loved the man dearly, saw this, 
 and said it shouldn't be. Nixon Beattie and 
 Andy Kitchie were appointed to take their 
 mites from their poor brethren that their 
 pastor might be lifted out of the mud, and 
 on horseback hold up his head with his fel- 
 lows. Should they, the collectors asked 
 themselves, call upon the black sheep? 
 They would though in all probability 
 they'd get small thanks and less money. 
 But grievously they mistook their man. 
 Billy was overjoyed at being enabled to con- 
 tribute towards the well-being and the ease 
 of him whom he so much admired. From 
 his hoard in the old stocking in the chimney 
 a hoard of silver and coppers amounting 
 probably to not less than five and twenty 
 shillings he drew forth a shining white 
 shilling, and ringing it on the table to them, 
 wished from his soul that it had been a sov- 
 ereign, " For," Billy said, " we must try to 
 buy him somethin' worthy of him, an' a 
 credit to us." He already felt the pride of 
 part ownership. 
 
 Ten days later a deputation, each member 
 of which was, in solemn conclave, elected on
 
 148 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 the strength of his knowledge of horseflesh, 
 proceeded to the great horse fair of The Moy, 
 and therefrom led back, and proudly pre- 
 sented to their worthy pastor, a comely and 
 very spirited young pony. The good man's 
 sincere protestations that he wished not to 
 accept their too handsome present that he 
 had not the slightest experience of riding 
 horseback, and that anyhow he thought he 
 should feel ever so much more at home 
 among them travelling to their doors with 
 only his stick were all of no avail. He was 
 compelled to accept the gift, by none more 
 warmly, more noisily, or more prominently 
 than by Billy Baxter, who, in his folded shirt 
 sleeves for he had left his spade standing 
 in the ridge arrived at the Manse just as 
 Adam Lindsay, who kept a grocery, and had 
 oratorical ambitions, was opening up the sub- 
 ject in a very rhetorical, carefully prepared 
 speech. For a few minutes Billy had list- 
 ened to Adam in a puzzled fashion; he then 
 asked a neighbour, rather audibly, " What 
 the divil is Adam bletherin' about? " and 
 without waiting for answer, stepped in front 
 of the orator and apologetically said:
 
 Billy Baxter 149 
 
 "Adam, yer reverence, manes to say that 
 we've put our heads together an' bought a 
 bit of a baste for ye, an' there he is " here 
 Billy gave the pony a smart slap that caused 
 the beast to rear and prance to the imminent 
 danger of the frightened assembly "an* 
 may the Lord give ye good of him! That's 
 all." 
 
 Whilst the self-denying poor man was pro- 
 testing, the pony was led away and safely 
 stabled. Billy hadn't got time to view the 
 animal to his content and put his merits to 
 the test. He was impatient to satisfy him- 
 self. Ten days later, as he dug in his potato 
 field, he saw on the road, which was a few 
 fields distant, his minister ride by upon the 
 new pony; for Mr. M'Cart had with much 
 trouble, mental and physical, mastered the 
 feat of keeping a fairly good seat in the 
 saddle as the pony jogged. 
 
 "Hi! hi!" Billy hailed, motioning with 
 his finger that he wished the minister to 
 await him. 
 
 He drew rein, wondering what Billy 
 wanted with him. As Billy neared, he 
 found his eye was upon the beast scrutinis-
 
 150 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 ingly, not on himself. When Billy came on 
 the road he folded his arms and surveyed the 
 animal's points with the eye of a connoisseur, 
 his head poised on one side. He walked all 
 round the horse so, at a distance of a few 
 yards, breathing a subdued half whistle as 
 he did so. He came forward and lifted one 
 of the fore feet, saying sternly, "Hold up, 
 sir! Hold up sirrr! " and having satis- 
 fied himself that there wasn't a stone in it, 
 laid it down, and retrograded till he had the 
 animal at the proper angle of observation 
 again. 
 
 " Go ahead! " he said abruptly. 
 
 Mr. M'Cart said, " Good day, Billy! " and, 
 not without some wonder, went ahead. 
 
 " That'll do! " Billy said as abruptly, when 
 the pony had progressed about twenty 
 yards. 
 
 Still puzzled, the reverend rider obeyed 
 Billy's terse behest, and stopped short. 
 
 "Head him round an' come back. Off 
 you! off you! There don't jibe him! 
 don't jibe him! for the sake of the Lord 
 don't jibe the baste, yer reverence! Walk 
 him quicker. That's you. Very good very
 
 Billy Baxter 151 
 
 good, by the powdhers," he remarked to him- 
 self. 
 
 Taking him by the head when the pony 
 came up, he asked 
 
 "How does he lead?" 
 
 But without waiting for an answer he had 
 started off, hauling the pony to a canter, 
 which caused the inexperienced rider to 
 hump himself for safety and tightly press 
 his knees against the beast's sides. He was 
 jolted and thrown about, sometimes on the 
 saddle, but oftener off it, altogether, alas! 
 forming a cruelly undignified picture. Sev- 
 eral times he essayed to request Billy to stop, 
 but the words were snapped in his mouth; 
 besides, he almost bit off his tongue in the 
 attempt. Billy, observing his fright, tried 
 to encourage him. As he ran he spoke over 
 his shoulder in a sympathetic voice. He said: 
 
 " Dammit, yer reverence, don't be narvous. 
 Don't be narvous, man alive. Grip like the 
 divil, an' houl' on like grim death. That's 
 you," he said, as Mr. M'Cart just narrowly 
 escaped coming down where the horse was 
 not, "ye'll soon be a thunderin' fine rider 
 a bully rider."
 
 152 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 Then when Billy had trotted the horse far 
 enough in that direction to satisfy himself, 
 he drew up, to the great relief of the breath- 
 less and frightened equestrian. Billy turned 
 the pony's head, with the intention of ex- 
 perimenting back again to their starting 
 point. But the pony evidently had a will 
 of his own, and he now chose to show it. 
 Instead of starting back with Billy, he threw 
 up his head and pulled in the other direc- 
 tion. 
 
 "Oh, ye would, would ye? ye divil ye!" 
 Billy said, as he gave him a sounding whack 
 on the ribs, the good minister's left leg com- 
 ing in for share of it. 
 
 When the pony had thrown up his head 
 and sprung backwards, Mr. M'Cart found 
 himself seated on the animal's neck, very 
 nearly; and when, in acknowledgment of 
 Billy's little remonstrance on his ribs, he 
 sprang forward, the worthy man found him- 
 self sitting in uncomfortable proximity to 
 the beast's tail. The third spring brought 
 the saddle under him; the horse had come 
 to a dead pause, and for the first time Mr. 
 M'Cart was enabled to speak.
 
 Billy Baxter 153 
 
 "William, William, my dear friend," he 
 appealed, " do leave the animal to himself 
 and he'll go like a lamb/' 
 
 "Ho-o-o! Misther M'Cart," Billy said, 
 "ye're early beginnin' to spoil the baste. 
 ' Spare the rod,' ye know. No, no," and 
 Billy gave the beast another vigorous blow 
 on the ribs; "no, no, we must taich him 
 breedin' or atween us we'll make a purty 
 baste of him." Another whack and another 
 spring, and Mr. M'Cart enclasped the ani- 
 mal's neck in a firm embrace. " No, no, we 
 must taich him who's masther, an* who's 
 man, we must. Houl' on, ye sowl ye houP 
 on, Misther M'Cart; I'll soon" (whack! 
 whack!) " take the tanthrums out of him! " 
 
 "William! William! I do appeal to 
 you " 
 
 " Damn it, yer reverence, ye have no grit 
 in ye. Aisy, ye divil ye! Ha-a-a, take that! 
 Lord, man, ye're as 'feered as fire! " 
 
 "William, let me dismount, I beseech 
 you! " 
 
 " Och, the divil a wan o* ye is goin* to 
 dismount the day, to plaise him. Take that, 
 ye conthrairy schoundril ye! I'm sure, that's
 
 154 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 what would spoil him out an' out. Take yer 
 time till (whack! whack!) till I'm finished 
 with him. I houl' ye for the biggest button 
 on yer frock, he hasn't as many (whack! 
 whack!) as many 'nadiums' in his head 
 when I'm done." 
 
 The animal was now prancing around and 
 around in a circle, Billy coolly holding on, 
 endeavouring to magnetise the animal by his 
 eye, but assisting the action with a plentiful 
 shower of blows, most of which fell on the 
 horse, but an occasional one upon Mr. 
 M'Cart, in which case Billy always begged 
 pardon. The hat had fallen forward over 
 the good man's eyes, and as he could not 
 on peril of his life spare a hand to adjust it, 
 he was struggling in the dark. 
 
 " Ha-a-a! ye brute ye! Ha-a-a! Take 
 that, ye baste! Ye have the 'stiadh'* in 
 ye, but I'll take it out of ye, or my name 
 isn't Billy. Houl' on, Misther M'Cart, an' 
 don't be freckened ye're as safe as if ye 
 were in yer arm-chair." 
 
 It might be so, still at that instant Mr. 
 M'Cart would have preferred the arm-chair. 
 
 * The spirit of contrariness.
 
 Billy Baxter 
 
 At length Billy got the "nadiums" out 
 of the animal. He quieted down and went 
 along slowly and quietly with his victor, who 
 experienced not a little silent pride. Though 
 he still continued looking up at the animal 
 and saying " Ha-a-a! " through his teeth to 
 him, more surely to fasten the spell upon 
 him. When he had got him to the point 
 from which he had started, Billy let him go, 
 and said: 
 
 "Now, Mr. M'Cart, ye have ten poun* a 
 betther horse nor ye had twinty minutes ago. 
 Ye want to be firm ye want to be firm. 
 Throth I'm sore afeerd yer reverence would 
 V spoilt the baste in less nor no time spoilt 
 him! We'd never get no good o' him if ye'd 
 let him do his own biddin.' It was a 
 sthruggle to get the animal, yer reverence, 
 an' now we have him, we must take all the 
 care of him we can. I thrust yer reverence 
 sees he gets a warm mash every night; put 
 a thrifle o' bran through his corn, too 
 don't forget that; an* see he's properly 
 rubbed down, now, every time he comes in 
 off a journey. Throth, Misther M'Cart, I'm 
 afeerd ye have too many other matthers in
 
 156 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 yer head; an atween thinkin' of sinners an' 
 sarmons, ye'll let our little baste go to the 
 deuce. That'll not do that'll never do at all, 
 at all. I'll be keepin' my eye out, now, back 
 an' forrid, to see that he's properly looked 
 afther. Good mornin' good mornin', yer 
 reverence, an' good luck! An' don't neglect 
 our little animal, mind, whatsomiver ye do! " 
 
 Then Mr. M'Cart rode forward in per- 
 plexed meditation, whilst Billy crossed the 
 fields again to resume his work, often paus- 
 ing to cast an anxious glance after the ani- 
 mal, and thereupon invariably ohaking his 
 head, as doubtful of the care which should 
 be bestowed upon his property when he 
 wasn't there to see and direct. 
 
 Mrs. MTartlan was an extremely rich old 
 widow lady from Belfast, a pious Presby- 
 terian who had come down to Donegal with 
 the intention of finding out the state of her 
 poorer co-religionists there. Mr. M'Cart had 
 somewhere managed to borrow a phaeton 
 into which he received her off the mail coach 
 at Donegal. At first the pony had showed 
 too much mettle to suit her nerves, but he 
 soon quieted down, so that they got along
 
 Billy Baxter 157 
 
 smoothly, till at length, nearing their desti- 
 nation, Mr. M'Cart was not a little unnerved 
 seeing Billy Baxter at work in the same field 
 from which he had before sallied down upon 
 him. But there was a chance of getting 
 past unnoticed. He prayed in his heart that 
 he might. Mrs. MTartlan, besides being 
 nervous, was cold and hungry, and was 
 (under these conditions) more or less irrit- 
 able. Billy did not seem to notice their ap- 
 proach. They had already got opposite to 
 him past him, and the good man was 
 warmly congratulating himself on the nar- 
 row escape: but 
 
 "Hi! Hi! Hi! there, I say! 
 There was no use pretending not to hear 
 him. Billy was bounding over ditches in his 
 eagerness to catch up to them, and, being 
 fleet of foot, he could accomplish this with- 
 out difficulty. 
 
 "Good morra, yer reverence! Ye're wel- 
 come, good woman! Why, ye were near past 
 anonst* to me," Billy said breathlessly as he 
 got up, and with the sleeve of his vest began 
 rubbing off a few flecks of froth that lay on 
 
 * Unknown.
 
 158 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 the animal's side. "Ye didn't see me? I 
 was levellin' broo's in the fiel' beyant. How 
 is the powny doin', yer reverence? Did ye 
 do as I was Dammit! man, what manes 
 this? " and Billy proceeded to unhook a curb 
 from the bit. " Tare-an'-ouns! man, don't 
 do that don't desthroy the little animal's 
 mouth. Or what the divil put it in yer 
 head anyhow. There ye are," and Billy 
 tossed the curb into the phaeton. "Now, 
 that's the height o' nonsense, yer reverence, 
 an' can only give our baste a bad name." 
 Here he got down on one knee in front of 
 the horse and narrowly examined his fore- 
 feet. " Upon me sowl," he said, " I do be- 
 lieve he forges. If he does, we're taken in. 
 Just start him along a bit at an aisy canther 
 till I see for meself, an* " 
 
 "But, William, my dear friend, this is a 
 lady friend, Mrs. MTartlan, and " 
 
 " Yis, yis; sure I spoke to her," Billy said, 
 raising his caubeen, however, to acknowledge 
 the introduction. "How are ye, Mrs. 
 MTartlan? I suppose you've come over to 
 see Irelan'? Ye'll sec plenty o' hardships 
 and hard work. This is the back o' God-
 
 Billy Baxter 159 
 
 speed, ma'am. I'm plaised for the honour of 
 meetin' ye, ma'am. Now, yer reverence, ye 
 sowl ye," he continued in the tone of one 
 who had dutifully acquitted himself of a 
 task, "throt him out till I obsarve his 
 steps." 
 
 Mr. M'Cart resignedly did as he was 
 ordered. 
 
 When he had gone a hundred yards 
 
 " That'll do that'll do," Billy said. " He 
 just forges the slightest little taste imagin- 
 able. But with care we'll br'ak him off it 
 with care. Ye'll have to give him more 
 of his head, yer reverence ye'll have to give 
 him more of his head. If ye keep continu- 
 ally naggin' an' naggin', ye'll dhrive the 
 baste to the deuce. Lord, man, give him 
 rein give him rein, and don't be afeerd. 
 Let him go like blazes if he wants to. Now, 
 there's a great dale in turnin' a baste round. 
 I should like to see how yer reverence man- 
 ages in turnin' him. Just take him round 
 there, an' drive him back a score o' steps, 
 an' turn him again " 
 
 "But, William, my friencl Mrs. MTart-
 
 160 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 " Yis, yis," William said hastily; " ye made 
 the good woman known to me afore. I was 
 spaikin' to Mrs. MTartlan " 
 
 " She feels it so awfully cold " 
 
 "Yis, ma'am, that's Irelan' for ye. The 
 day we have it as cowl' as charity. Less nor 
 a month ago it was as hot as the hob of 
 the Bad-place, ma'am. Now, Misther 
 M'Cart " 
 
 "She feels both cold, William, and 
 hungry, and would like to get to the manse 
 with as little delay as possible. So, my good 
 friend, if you would " 
 
 " Oh! oh! Surely! surely! Why didn't ye 
 say that afore? Oh, to be sure, me good 
 woman to be sure! I'll be sayin' good day 
 to ye, Mrs. M'Partlan, an' take good care o* 
 yerself; but ye're in good hands, throth, 
 when ye're in Misther M'Cart's. Ye'll never 
 know how to be half thankful to him. Good 
 day to ye, ma'am. An' good day, Misther 
 M'Cart. Whip him up now, an' off like 
 blazes, both of ye. Good day, good day! " 
 
 Mr. M'Cart went off sorely vexed for his 
 peevish companion, who was in high ill 
 humour over the amazing scene.
 
 Billy Baxter 161 
 
 She was very soon to see their friend again, 
 however. Next day in the little dining-room 
 of the humble manse there sat down to din- 
 ner with Mr. M'Cart, Mrs. MTartlan and 
 her favourite clergyman from Belfast, who 
 was then in the neighbourhood (a solemn 
 dignitary), and a Presbyterian Doctor of 
 Divinity from an adjoining parish. After 
 dinner had begun there was a knock at the 
 door, and without awaiting a response the 
 door was shoved open, and, hat in hand, 
 bowing familiarly to the company, Billy 
 Baxter walked in. Billy was not dressed 
 for dinner either; he wore a sleeved waist- 
 coat, and there was more hayseed and other 
 such material upon his soft hat than eti- 
 quette countenances in polite company. But 
 he was nothing abashed. 
 
 " Oh, don't don't, gentlemen, disturb 
 yerselves at all, at all fire away! an' more 
 power to yer elbows. I only just dhropped 
 in, Misther How do you do, ouP woman? 
 Excuse me for not seein' ye. But there's 
 such a sight of quality present, I didn't no- 
 tice ye " 
 
 Here Billy drew himself a chair, and seat- 
 11
 
 162 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 ing himself on it, he reached his hat to the 
 table and placed it there, not far from the 
 plate of the startled Mrs. MTartlan. 
 
 "I hope, ma'am, ye have the appetite 
 good? There's nothing like the appetite. I 
 have a roarin' one. I can ate like a horse, 
 I'll tell ye " 
 
 "William," said Mr. M'Cart, endeavour- 
 ing to be as conciliating as possible, whilst 
 he removed the offending hat and placed it 
 elsewhere. "William, you wanted to see 
 me?" 
 
 " Oh, just, yer riverence, I have only half 
 a word to say to ye. It's about our little 
 powny. I wasn't Is that what ye call wine 
 now, that the oul' woman's dhrinkin'? It's 
 a dhirty wash, ma'am, no better nor ditch- 
 water, an' tarnation bad for the stomach. 
 There's nothin' better to yer vittils nor a 
 dhrop of prime whiskey. But, sure, I need- 
 n't tell you ye didn't live in the same town 
 of Belfast for a centhury without knowin' 
 that. Misther M'Cart never tastes it him- 
 self, ma'am, so ye must excuse him for not 
 havin' it on the table. I'll tell ye, ma'am, 
 where "
 
 Billy Baxter 163 
 
 "William, will you come with me, 
 till 
 
 "Oh, no, no, no, Misther M'Cart! Not 
 at all! Just keep yer sate, I only want half 
 a word, an' I'll be gone." 
 
 "Perhaps you'll have some wine, Wil- 
 liam?" 
 
 " No, yer reverence, none of yer slob- wash 
 for me no disparagement to yer reverence. 
 But, as I was sayin', havin' nothing much 
 else to do this evening I dhropped over to 
 have a peep at the powny. I stepped into 
 the stable, an' bad luck to the wan o' me 
 but was up to my knees in it. Yer reve- 
 rence should send that boy o j yours packin* 
 he has yon stable in a odious state there's 
 a ' ho-go ' in it would knock ye down. I 
 haven't got it out of my nose yet. Earn it, 
 yer reverence, it'll never do. Aither that 
 divil's kid of a boy ye've got 'ill be dismissed, 
 or else you an' I'll fall out. Then that 
 powny's not gettin' his mait I do believe 
 that. There wasn't as much hay as ye'd 
 wipe her nose with in the hay-rack, an' that 
 scoundhrill of a lad o' yours down pitchin' 
 buttons with all the blaguards of the conn-
 
 164 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 thry at the Cross Koads, when he should be 
 attendin' to the baste, an* givin' him some- 
 thin' to keep him from starvin'. An', more- 
 over Lord, ma'am, is there a bone in yer 
 throat? Clap her on the back, Misther 
 M'Cart! " 
 
 But the contortions of Mrs. MTartlan's 
 face were only the result of indignant amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 "An* besides, Misther M'Cart, I don't 
 b'leeve that little blaguard is mixin' bran 
 with the baste's corn as I allowed. Ye 
 should see to it yerself, man, that the little 
 powny gets a warm mash every night. Ye 
 should make it yer business to go down to the 
 kitchen an' Misther M'Cart, don't forget 
 yer company; here's a gintleman, an' his plate 
 wants renewin', I think go down, I say, to 
 the kitchen yerself, and see that the pratie 
 skins an' the other scran from the dinner is 
 mixed with it, an' rumble yer han' about 
 through it, too, to see that there's no fish 
 bones, nor the like, in it; an' to see that it's 
 the proper hait. Aisy, good man, or ye'll 
 flow over that tumbler an' spoil the table- 
 cloth, an' that'll fetch Shusan about yer lugs
 
 Billy Baxter 165 
 
 faith, don't fetch Shusan down on ye, or 
 she'll let ye know how many bains make five. 
 That's all I've got to say, yer reverence. 
 Only, ye'd betther see that the off-hind shoe 
 is fastened or ye'll lose it. Send the young 
 fellow over to the forge early in the mornin' 
 to have it fastened, or if ye let him go an- 
 other day he'll lose it, an' ye'll fetch the 
 powny home limpin' like a cripple. An* 
 don't forget to give that youngsther his 
 walkin' papers, an' let him go to the divil to 
 look for a masther. Good day to yez, gintle- 
 men, an' much good may it do yez! Good 
 day to yerself, oul' woman! Ye can send 
 Shusan give her fourteen pence, an' send 
 her, an' she knows where to go, an' she'll 
 fetch ye as good a dhrop of the rale stuff, 
 I'll stake me voracity, as ye were accustomed 
 to in Belfast. Good day, ma'am; good day! 
 Good day to yerself, Misther M'Cart! an' I 
 hope I didn't put ye about. Don't forget 
 the mash! Eumble yer hand through it yer- 
 self, for fear of bones. Send the young bla- 
 guard packin' to the divil about his business. 
 Oh, don't be annoyed, ma'am, that's only 
 hayseeds is fallin' off me oul' hat an' that's
 
 166 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 a sthraw let me take that sthraw out o' yer 
 wine. There ye are! Good day all! Good 
 day! I'll call roun' soon again till we have 
 a chat about the baste, yer reverence. Good 
 day, an' good luck! " 
 
 But Mr. M'Cart feared too much another 
 interview with Billy. The poorer Presby- 
 terians in the parish of Cruckagar sowed 
 their land that spring with seed purchased 
 by the sale price of the Subscription Horse, 
 whilst with renewed vigour and cheerfulness 
 Mr. M'Cart again trudged his parish on foot, 
 more than ever the idol of good-hearted Billy 
 Baxter.
 
 The Counsellor
 
 The Counsellor 
 
 I WOTJLD not venture to say decidedly 
 whether the Bummadier or Owen a-Slaivin 
 was the better story-teller. I feel quite in- 
 capable of pronouncing a definite opinion. 
 Of course we had our men who laughed to 
 scorn the idea of Owen daring to aspire to 
 comparison at all; whilst, likewise, we had 
 those who swore by Owen. Of course, the 
 Bummadier, for the benefit of his worship- 
 pers, had placed on record his fixed convic- 
 tion that a lie never choked Owen; but, as a 
 set-off against this, I may mention that Owen 
 had confidently stated to his intimates there 
 was not a bigger liar nor the Bummadier 
 from * * * (a certain locality I hesitate to 
 mention) to Guinealand. I suppose, how- 
 ever, that in story-telling mere truth is only 
 a matter of detail. 
 
 The style of the Bummadier's narratives
 
 170 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 was bright, brisk, and lively, and the pleas- 
 ing shades they presented somehow with- 
 held you from examining too closely into 
 their texture. 
 
 In Owen's cabin you would need to sit 
 some time before you discovered the features 
 of your fellow-rakers: the cabin was low, and 
 small, and smoky: his fire, without fir, aimed 
 only at warmth hence a good part of the 
 indistinctness which clothed the details of 
 the interior. Taking its tinge from the sur- 
 roundings, then, Owen's style was sombre; 
 and the more comical the story, the more 
 solemn was his manner. An eavesdropper 
 who knew not the man, hearing only the 
 droning tone of Owen, and seeing (through 
 the keyhole) the dim cluster of faces in the 
 dark room, might easily conclude that a 
 flesh-creeping ghost story was in progress 
 but he wouldn ? t eavesdrop for long until he 
 would be surprised out of his conclusion. 
 
 We would, on the wildest night in winter, 
 travel far and fare ill to hear a story of Dan 
 the Great Dan from the most indifferent 
 shanachy. But, to hear it from the lips of 
 Owen !
 
 The Counsellor 171 
 
 Och, the likes of Dan the heavens be his 
 bed! never was known afore, nor will his 
 likes ever be seen again as long as there's a 
 bill on a crow. He was the long-headedest 
 man glory be to God! ever stepped in 
 shoe-leather. 
 
 There was wanst and there was a poor boy 
 up for nrardher he fell foul of a friend in 
 a scrimmage, and he cracked his brain-box 
 for him without intendin' it, an' the poor 
 man died. An' the short an' the long of it 
 was this poor boy was taken up for the mur- 
 dher of his Men' with no chance whatsom- 
 iver for escape, bekase the evijence was 
 straight an' square that it was him, an' none 
 other, give him the dyin' blow. An' that 
 maint hangin', the poor boy knew well; for 
 in them days they'd sthring ye up for a 
 dickens sight smaller matther. 
 
 Well, lo and behould ye! it was the morn- 
 in* of the thrial, an' the poor boy, Heaven 
 knows, was down-hearted enough, an' his 
 friends all cryin' round him, thryin' to get 
 him to keep up his spirits, though they knew, 
 too, that it was a hopeless case. All at wanst, 
 it sthruck one of his friends, an' says he,
 
 172 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 " It's a bad case, no doubt, but what harm 
 to consult Counsellor O'Connell?" 
 
 Faith, the poor boy leaped at it. 
 
 " Consult the Counsellor," says he, " for 
 the Lord's sake! It's small's the chance; 
 but still-and-all, if there's a ghost of a chance 
 he'll see it." 
 
 No sooner sayed than done. They had 
 Dan on the spot in three hops of a sparrow, 
 an' explainin' the whole case to him. When 
 Dan heered the outs and ins of it, he shook 
 his head. 
 
 " It's a purty straight case," says Dan. 
 
 "Is there no chance at all, at all, Coun- 
 sellor? " says they. 
 
 " The Queen's son," says he, " couldn't be 
 saved on the evijence. In spite of all the 
 Counsellors in the counthry, an' if ye had 
 Sent Patrick himself to plead for ye, ye'd be 
 sentenced," says he. 
 
 This was the last blow for the poor pres'- 
 ner, an' ill he took it. 
 
 But all of a suddint, Dan looks him purty 
 hard in the face 
 
 " If I don't mistake me much," says Dan, 
 says he, "ye're a purty bould, fearsomless 
 fella?"
 
 The Counsellor 173 
 
 *' Oc h," says the poor fella, says he, " the 
 day was an' I was all that, but I'm thinkin' 
 that day 'ill never come again." 
 
 "Well," says Dan, says he, "I have con- 
 sidhered the whole question over, an' if ye're 
 a right boul' fella, and act right bouP, out 
 of nine hundher and ninety-nine chances 
 you have just wan half chance for yer life." 
 
 " What is it? " says the poor fella, jumpin' 
 at it. 
 
 " It's this I'm goin' to tell ye," says Dan. 
 " When your case is heerd, the jury without 
 lavin' the box 'ill return a vardict of ' Guilty, 
 me Lord! ' an' his Lordship 'ill then mount 
 the black cap for the purpose of condemnin' 
 ye. You're at that instant to have all the 
 wee narve ye can about ye, an' bavin' yer 
 brogue loose upon yer foot, ye're to stoop 
 down an' get a good grip of it in yer fist, an' 
 the minnit ye see his Lordship open his 
 mouth to sentence ye, take good sudden aim, 
 an' with all the veins of yer heart give him 
 the brogue fair atween the two eyes then 
 laive the rest to Providence." 
 
 Thrue enough, it was a quare advice, an' 
 maybe the poor lad didn't think so but then
 
 174 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 it was Dan O'Connell's advice, an* that put 
 another face on matthers. When Dan sayed 
 it, it was worth thryin'; so he obsarved it to 
 the letther; an' when the jury was bringin' 
 in their verdict of " Guilty, me Lord! " he 
 was gettin' his brogue loose on his foot; an' 
 when the Judge got on the black cap, he got 
 a good grip of the brogue, and gathered all 
 his narves, an' the very next minnit, as the 
 Judge opened his mouth to give him sen- 
 tence, he ups with the brogue, an' with all 
 the powers of his arm an' the veins of his 
 heart, let him have the full weight of the 
 brogue fair atween the two eyes, an' knocks 
 him over flat. An' a stor! a stor! up was the 
 Judge agin in an instant, an' him purple in 
 the face, an' he guldhers out, 
 
 "My vardict is that the scoundhril be 
 burned, beheaded, and hung! " 
 
 " Aisy, aisy, I beg yer pardon, me Lord," 
 says Dan O'Connell, jumpin' up in his place 
 in the coort. "I beg yer Lordship's par- 
 don," says he, " but I think ye have thrans- 
 gressed yer rights," and he handed up to 
 the Judge the book of the law that he might 
 see for himself. "Ye can't," says he, "ac-
 
 The Counsellor 175 
 
 cordin* to English law as prented in that 
 book in black and white, sentence a man to 
 be both burned, beheaded, an' hung. Pres'- 
 ner," says Dan, then says he, turning to the 
 dock, " pres'ner, you're at liberty to go free." 
 An' the sorra his mouth could the dumb- 
 founded Judge open, as the pres'ner stepped 
 out of the dock a free man, for he saw Dan 
 had him squarely. 
 
 Well, there was again, an' there was a poor 
 man, who had got some ha'pence, an' he 
 speculated on a dhrove of cattle, an' started 
 up to Dublin with them to sell them, an* 
 make profit on them. As me brave man was 
 dhrivin' the cattle down Dublin sthreet, 
 out comes a man that kep' a tibbacky shop, 
 a cliver lad, an' he saw his chance, an' sez 
 he to the man who owned the cattle, 
 
 "How much," sez he, "will ye take for 
 the best an' worst of them cattle of yours? " 
 
 Well, the poor man looked at the best 
 baste in the dhrove, an' at the worst baste, 
 an' he prices the two o' them in his own 
 mind, an' 
 
 " I'll take so-much," sez he, mentionin' it. 
 
 " All right," sez the other, " I'll give ye
 
 176 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 yer axin'." An' into his yard he had the 
 whole dhrove dhriven. It was no use what- 
 somiver for the poor man to object, for the 
 other said he bought the best an' the worst 
 of the cattle, which was all of the cattle, an' 
 he had witnesses to prove it. 
 
 Away the poor man, in spite of himself, 
 had to go with the price of barely two bastes 
 in his pocket in payment for his whole 
 dhrove, an' away he went lamentin', an' not 
 knowing how he'd face back to his family 
 again, with their wee trifle of money as good 
 as gone. That night he put up in a public- 
 house, an' the woman of the house comin* 
 to larn the poor fella's lament axed him why 
 he didn't go to the Counsellor, an' have his 
 advice on it. If it did him no good, she 
 said, it couldn't anyhow do him no harm, 
 an' if there was wan way in a thousand out 
 of it Dan would soon find that way. 
 
 Right enough, the very next mornin' to 
 the Counsellor the poor man set out, an' laid 
 a full programme of his case afore Dan, an* 
 axed him could anything be done. No an- 
 swer Dan give him, till first he took three 
 turns up an' down the parlour; and then,
 
 The Counsellor 177 
 
 " Yis," sez Dan, " somethin* can be done. 
 There's wan way you can get back yer cattle, 
 an' only wan." 
 
 " What's that? " sez the man. 
 
 "You'll," sez Dan, sez he, "have to cut 
 off the small toe off yer left foot, an' go an' 
 bury it on Spek Island,* an' when you've 
 done that come back to me." 
 
 As he was diracted he done with no loss 
 of time, an' back to Dan he comes for fur- 
 ther diractions. 
 
 l< Now," sez Dan, " come along with me." 
 
 An' off both of them started an' never 
 halted till they were in the tibbackinist's 
 shop. An' och, it was welcome Dan was 
 with the lad behind the counther, who was 
 bowin' an' scrapin' to him, an' thankin' him 
 for the honour he done him comin' into his 
 shop. 
 
 " Can ye sarve me," sez Dan, sez he, " with 
 a little piece of good tibbacky? " 
 
 " I can," sez the lad, " sarve yer honour 
 with as good tibbacky as ever ye put intil a 
 pipe-head." 
 
 " An* have ye much of it? " sez Dan. 
 
 * Spike Island, in Cork Harbour. 
 12
 
 178 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 "More nor you'd care to buy," sez the 
 lad. 
 
 " Now what," sez Dan, sez he, " would ye 
 be afther chargin' me for a sizable piece say 
 as much as would reach from me fren's nose 
 to the small toe of his left foot? " 
 
 The lad laughed at the quality of the 
 ordher, but he knew Dan's odd ways. So, 
 he sized the man up and sez he, 
 
 " I'll take so much," mentionin' some few 
 shillin's. 
 
 " It's a bargain," sez Dan. 
 
 But lo an' behould ye! when the lad went 
 to misure it he finds the toe gone. 
 
 " There's no toe here! " sez he. 
 
 " I know there isn't," sez Dan. " Me 
 frend buried it in Spek Island a few days 
 back. Ye'll have to carry on the tibbacky 
 till ye git there." 
 
 The lad laughed heartily at this, as bein* 
 wan of Dan's best jokes. 
 
 But Dan didn't laugh at all, at all. 
 
 But, " Troth, an'," sez he, " I hope ye'll 
 be laughin' when ye've finished misurin' me 
 out me bargain." 
 
 " Och, Counsellor, yer honour," sez the
 
 The Counsellor 179 
 
 lad, sez he, "but sure ye don't railly mane 
 it? Isn't it jokin' ye are." 
 
 " I tell ye what it is, me good man," sez 
 Dan back to him, "you misure me out me 
 bargain, an' be very quick about it, too; or, 
 if ye don't," sez he, "be all the books in 
 Chrissendom, I won't laive a slate on yer 
 roof, or a stick or stave on yer primises I 
 won't sell out till I have paid meself the 
 sum of five thousan' poun' for braich of con- 
 thract," sez he, " an' here's me witness." 
 
 " It's ruinated I am entirely, out an' out," 
 sez the lad. 
 
 " It's ruinated ye desarve to be," sez Dan. 
 " Ye thought little of ruinatin' this poor 
 sthranger here beside me, when he come up 
 to Dublin with his little grain of cattle, 
 sthrivin' to make a support for the wife an' 
 childre. It's ruinated ye ought to be, ye low- 
 lifed hang-dog ye! Turn the daicent man 
 out his cattle this instant, in as good condi- 
 tion as you got them, an' moreover nor that, 
 laive with him the price of the two baistes 
 which ye paid him, as a slight compinsation 
 for the mintal throuble you have caused the 
 poor fella. Then I'll forgive ye yer bargain,
 
 180 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 on condition that, as long as ye live in Dub- 
 lin, ye'll never again thry to take in the poor 
 an' the stranger, an' bring a bad name on the 
 town! " 
 
 An' with a light heart, an' a heavy pocket, 
 that poor man went home to his wife an' 
 childre afther all; an' all by raison of Dan's 
 cuteness. 
 
 But, I darsay, about the cliverest an' the 
 long-headest thrick ever poor Dan God be 
 good till him! wrought, it was on the land- 
 lord of the Head Inns in Dublin. An' it 
 was this way. 
 
 It seems there was a poor travellin' man, 
 a tinker be trade, goin' about, an' whatsom- 
 iver he had to do with the landlord of the 
 Dublin Head Inns, I don't rightly know, an' 
 can't tell for feerd to tell a lie; but anyhow 
 the landlord of the Head Inns both chaited 
 an' ill-thraited the poor man, an' kicked him 
 out of his house; an' howsomdiver it was the 
 landlord was within his rights be law for, 
 be the same token it's many's the wrong to 
 the poor, the forlorn, an' the friendless that 
 same law covers. And when the poor tinker, 
 bein' advised by the Dublin people, went an'
 
 The Counsellor 181 
 
 give in his case to Dan, Dan toul' him so in 
 as many words. 
 
 " An' can nothing be done to the oul' cur- 
 mudgeon, at all, at all?" says the tinker. 
 
 " Yis," Dan says, " something can be done, 
 if ye put yerself in my hands." 
 
 So, off Dan takes the poor tinker, an* had 
 him shaved an' washed, an' dhressed up in 
 wan of his own best shoots of clothes, till he 
 looked the very picthur of a grand gintle- 
 man, an' then, givin' him his diractions, Dan 
 sent him off. Straight he made for the 
 Head Inns, an' walkin' up to the counther as 
 bouP as ye plaise, he took the landlord's 
 curtshy, an' give him back a betther. 
 
 " Can ye commedate me with lodgin's 
 here, landlord," says he " bed an' boord for 
 the next six months?" talkin' the very 
 grandest English. 
 
 " Sartinly, we can," sez the landlord. 
 
 " I've just landed from Jarminy," sez he, 
 " an' I called on me fren' Counsellor O'Con- 
 nell, an' he recommended me here, as the 
 best Inns in town. N"ow," sez he, " I want 
 to hire yer front parlour all for meself, an' 
 I want ye to name the tarms for the same,
 
 182 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 an' use of yer hall for me parcels an' be- 
 longin's." 
 
 " The front parlour all to yerself," sez the 
 landlord, "'ill cost ye a gay penny, throth, 
 ye can't have the front parlour of the 
 Head Inns in Dublin all to yerself for a song, 
 an' the use of my hall for yer belongings 
 it'll cost ye," sez he, "let me see I can't 
 make it ye less nor four-an-sixpence a week, 
 bed and boord to be exthra " for ye know 
 in Dublin they don't know when to stop 
 chargin'. 
 
 Well an' good, the tanns was accepted, an* 
 papers dhrawn up on the agreement imme- 
 diately, the Counsellor himself comin' in to 
 put his han' to the pen in witness of it. Me 
 brave man gets in his thraps without any 
 more delay, an' takes possession of the front 
 parlour. 
 
 Next mornin', a'most afore the birds had 
 begun to call, the landlord was 'wakened out 
 of his sleep by hearin' the divil's own tind- 
 herary goin' on in the front parlour, right 
 beneath him. 
 
 " Paddy! " he shouts to the sarvint, 
 " Paddy! get up an' go down an' see what
 
 The Counsellor 183 
 
 the dickens is the matther with the chap in 
 the front parlour that he's risin' such a row 
 at this onraisonable hour of the mornin'l 
 Sweet sarra saize him for a vagabone! or what 
 the divil is he battherin' at, anyhow?" 
 
 Down Paddy went, an' he wasn't there till 
 he was back. 
 
 " Och, masther! " says he, " yon bates 
 crayation! " 
 
 "Why? why? what the norra's the mat- 
 ther? " 
 
 " Och, nobbut ax me what the norra isn't 
 the matther. It's open the door I did, an* 
 looked in, an' there I sees me brave lad that 
 hired yer front parlour, sittin' on the bare 
 floore in a shoot of clothes ye wouldn't 
 handle with a pair of tongs, a sotherin'* iron 
 one side of him, a kit of tools the other side, 
 as good as a barrow-load of ould sausspans 
 an' tin-cans scatthered all over yer parlour; 
 an' the buck himself with the anvil atween 
 his knees, an' he hammerin' away for the 
 bare life, puttin' a bottom in a kettle! Je- 
 roo-salem, such a sight, masther dear! Sez 
 I to him when I got my tongue with me, sez 
 
 * Soldering.
 
 184 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 I: 'Me masther sends his compliments an' 
 wants to know what are ye doin'?' 'An'/ 
 sez the lad, raichin' for a skillet to begin 
 secondly on, an' without as much as lookin' 
 up, sez he, ' tell yer masther that I send my 
 compliments, an' I'm doin' what it would be 
 fitther he was doin' mindin* me own busi- 
 ness.' There's for ye, masther! " 
 
 But his masther didn't wait to hear the 
 end. of it till he was below himself, an' 
 bouncin' intil the middle of the skillets, he 
 lets a tearin'-ouns out of him an' 
 
 "What? What? What's this tarnation 
 tomfoolery about?" sez he, "in my front 
 parlour? or what do ye mane at all, at all? " 
 
 But the lad was whistlin' like a mavis on 
 May-day, an' timin' himself makin' a new 
 tin on the anvil, an' the sorra a answer he 
 made him, but went on as unconsarned as 
 iver. 
 
 "I say, ye scoundhril ye," sez the land- 
 lord, kickin' one of the skillets clean out 
 through the window, "get up out of that, 
 an' clear out o' this yerself an' yer thrumpery 
 in double quick time, afore I call in the polis, 
 an' make them do their duty."
 
 The Counsellor 185 
 
 But the tinker got up, an' rowlin' up his 
 sleeves, sez he, 
 
 " Now, I'll tell ye what it is, ye oul' cur- 
 mudgeon ye, get away you out of here, in 
 double quick time, or I'll make these jintle- 
 men" referrin' to his fists "do their duty; 
 and that jintleman," sez he, plantin' his left 
 fist under the curmudgeon's nose, "that 
 jintleman," sez he, "is named Six-months-in- 
 hospital; and this wan here," plantin' his 
 right fist in the same position, "this jintle- 
 man is styled Sudden-daith. I was poor, an* 
 lone, an' fren'less the other day," sez he, 
 " an' ye oul' sinner ye, ye took me in, an' ye 
 had me abused an' ill-traited bekase ye knew 
 the law was on yer side. Now I have both 
 fren's an' law, an' I've writin's on this room 
 for six months to come, an' I'm detarmined 
 to make what'll pay me boord out of it, or 
 know the raison why. Out now, ye oul' im- 
 posther! Out o' my room, an' don't set yer 
 dhirty foot in it, nor show yer forbid- 
 din' countenance in it till this day six 
 months. Out now, ye oul' speciment ye! 
 Out! " 
 
 An' lo and behould! the next thing was,
 
 l86 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 there appears in the front parlour windy a 
 dhirty paper settin' off, 
 
 " To the enlightened Publick of Ireland, 
 England, Scotland, and the Isle of Man. 
 Old Pottes mended as good as ever, likewise 
 repaired. Likewise Eettals, including 
 Other Tin-cans and implements of a Like 
 nature. Alsoe Saucepans and Frinepans. 
 Not Forgettin' Skillets. P. S. You can 
 get In new bottammes while you wate. 
 P. S. You are requestioned to Leave All 
 instruments for repayr in the hall. P. S. 
 TJiis is the cheepest house in town for 
 gettin' in A new bottam." 
 
 An' that was the scene it bangs me to de- 
 scribe! But the notice wasn't half an hour 
 up, with the landlord goin' about through 
 his house, up an* down, ragin' and swearin' 
 and kicking every wan come in his way, till 
 half Dublin was round the house, readin' the 
 notice in the parlour windy, an' watchin' 
 the lad tinkerin' away an' whistlin' away in- 
 side, an' wondherin' what had come over the 
 landlord of the Dublin Head Inns to let his 
 front parlour to a tinker. An' then again,
 
 The Counsellor 187 
 
 when the customers begun to come roun' 
 for the Head Inns was pathronized by the 
 Lord Mayor himself, an' all the first genthry 
 in Dublin when they begun to come round 
 for their mornin' wet an* beared a tinker 
 tinkerin' in the parlour, an' saw the hall 
 panged up with footless pots, an' bottomless 
 skillets, an oul' vithiran tin-cans "Why," 
 they says, "it's a low-come-down day with 
 the Dublin Head Inns, when this is the 
 thrade's goin' on in it, an' it's betther for 
 us to push on an' find a daicent house to get 
 a dhrink in." An' afore night there wasn't 
 an oul' customer that hadn't disarted an' 
 taken up their quarters elsewhere, till the 
 landlord had to call in Counsellor O'Connell, 
 an' by his advice go on his two bare knees 
 to the tinker an' ax his pardon, an' his par- 
 don over again, an' promise to behave him- 
 self in future with daicency to the sthranger 
 an* the poor, an' give the tinker a good 
 round penny to give up the writin's he had 
 on the front parlour, an' clear out, himself 
 an' his kit, which he did the very next 
 mornin' with a fatter purse than when he 
 went in.
 
 i88 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 That was Dan for ye! 
 
 May the soft bed, an' the sweet wan, in 
 Paradise be his that nivir forsook the poor 
 an' the disthressed! God Almighty rest 
 him! an* Amen! Amen!
 
 The Masther and the Bocca 
 Fadh
 
 The Masther and the Bocca 
 Fadh* 
 
 HE was a specious villain, was the Bocca 
 Fadh, but resourceful, tactful clever, in the 
 narrowest sense of the word. Ignorant 
 though he was, a glib tongue and an auda- 
 cious almost brazen self-confidence made 
 him pass in the eyes of the neighbours for a 
 sage, a long-headed fellow, a knowledgable 
 man. He was a source of wonder some- 
 times of awe to the neighbours themselves, 
 and a source of terror to the neighbours' 
 childre, particularly to those of them who 
 were attending school. "Looking for his 
 share," as he was (though a stranger might 
 well be surprised to see such a fine fellow, in 
 the prime of life, looking for his living so), 
 he put up where he list, made himself at 
 home where he would, and by the fireside at 
 * Long Beggarman.
 
 192 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 night put the youngsters "through their 
 facin's," as he termed it that is, when he 
 had partaken heartily of the plentiful sup- 
 per placed before him, and carefully placed 
 his wallets and his staff in the chimney cor- 
 ner, and lit his pipe and crossed his legs, he 
 condescended to inquire, 
 
 " Well, Aillie, how is the childre advanc- 
 ing in their curriculum of secularity?" 
 
 "Well, musha, Jaimie" (the Bocca Fadh 
 was Jaimie), " the norra wan of meself well 
 knows how are they gettin' along at the larn- 
 in' for I know that's what you mane, only 
 you put it in a polite way the norra one of 
 me well knows how they do be gettin' on; 
 but wee Gracie and Johnnie they do have 
 the eyes sthrained out of their head o' nights, 
 lyin' down on the h'arthstone, and thryin' 
 to spell by the light of the grisiog* an' ques- 
 kinin' wan another on their books. It's often 
 I do be tellin' them that the first night you'd 
 be with us I'd get ye to try them to see what 
 speed are they comin'. Maybe ye'd be so 
 kind as to put a queskin or two on them, 
 just to satisfy yerself, an' to satisfy me." 
 * Smouldering peats.
 
 The Masther and the Bocca Fadh 193 
 
 " Yes, Aillie, I'll do that/' and he looks in 
 the direction of Gracie and Johnnie, who 
 have now hid themselves behind their 
 mother's skirts in mortal terror of the ordeal. 
 
 " Come out, Gracie, a leanbJi; an' Johnnie, 
 a theasge,* come out, an' go over there with 
 yer Spellin' Book till Misther Haraghey puts 
 queskins on yez. That's the childre hould 
 up yer wee heads now an' show him how 
 much ye lamed since the last time he thried 
 yez. That's the good childre; raich him the 
 book now." 
 
 And the Bocca Fadh takes the book from 
 the trembling hand of little Gracie with the 
 cynical air of one who, having taken all 
 knowledge for his province, feels naught but 
 the utmost repugnance to the touch of an 
 elementary spelling-book. In one hand he 
 takes the candle which Aillie has lighted for 
 him, and drawing it close to the book, which 
 is held wrong side up in the other, he dips 
 into the book here and there, muttering 
 " Imph! " at each dipping, with an easy non- 
 chalance deftly turning the leaves by means 
 of a few disengaged fingers, as one who had 
 
 * (Pron. a haisge) Treasure.
 
 194 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 spent his life among books. In a short few 
 minutes he seems to have got the gist of it, 
 and flings the book from him with a bored 
 air. 
 
 " Well, boy, what class are you locationed 
 in?" 
 
 " He's axin' ye, Johnnie, dear, what class 
 ye're in," the mother says in a deferential 
 undertone to the dumbfounded Johnnie. 
 
 " Please, sir, in the class next the heap of 
 thurf," Johnnie tremblingly replies. 
 
 "Imph! imph! imph! " and the Bocca 
 Fadh stretches his legs and knocks the ashes 
 out of his pipe as if preparing for serious 
 work " Imph! and, my good man, can you 
 or can your sisther consther to me, 
 
 'In mudeelis, in clanonis; 
 Infirtaris, in oaknonis' 9"* 
 
 " Oh, Misther Haraghey," the mother 
 pleads, "but ye know they haven't raiched 
 the Jarmin or the Latin yet. The chile's 
 but young. If God'll spare him to us, I 
 thrust he'll know them yet. Thry him on 
 somethin' in the Spellin* Book." 
 
 * In mud eel is, in clay none is ; 
 In fir tar is, in oak none is.
 
 The Masther and the Bocca Fadh 195" 
 
 " Haybrew, Aillie that was a thrifle of 
 Haybrew. If ye desire me to tackle him on 
 the Jarmin, or on any other of the dead 
 langidges, I'll be happy to obligate ye." 
 
 " Oh, no, no, Misther Haraghey, it's your- 
 self could do that same, but just thry him 
 on the Spellin' Book himself and wee 
 Gracie." 
 
 "Very well, Aillie, I'll start him a small 
 queskin in the Coney Sections at your re- 
 quist. As I was journeyin' to Sent Ives, I 
 met a man with seven wives, an' every wife 
 had seven sacks; in every sack there was 
 seven cats, an' every cat had seven kittens 
 now, kittens, cats, sacks, an' wives, how 
 many went to the fair of Sent Ives? That's 
 just a small thrifle, Aillie, to test the childre 
 in their Coney Sections." 
 
 " Now, Johnnie, a gradh"* the mother 
 whispered, encouragingly. 
 
 " Ah, mammy," Johnnie said grievingly, 
 "the Masther didn't put me on to Coney 
 Sections yet we're only at ' Stir the fire 
 and put on more coal.'" 
 
 " Imph! " said Misther Haraghey, as he 
 
 * (Pron. a gra) Lore.
 
 196 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 shook his snuff-box and helped himself lav- 
 ishly, without tendering a pinch to Aillie. 
 " Let me see, now, what ye know about Bo- 
 tan-nj me good little girl," but his man- 
 ner and tone implied, my very bad little girl. 
 " Me good little girl, can you tell me whether 
 was it Julius Csesar or Michael Augustinian 
 Angel-o that first discovered and explored 
 the Immortality of the Soul?" 
 
 Gracie tried her very best to be brave, but 
 the Bocca Fadh's ordnance was too heavy 
 for her. Her under lip quickly showed 
 signs of wavering it trembled perceptibly, 
 then two big tears dimmed the bright blue 
 of her eyes; they started out she gave way, 
 and beat a hasty retreat behind her mother. 
 
 "A mhilis, a mhilis!"* said the mother, 
 taking little Gracie in her arms and hugging 
 her. "Whisht! whisht! a stor: sure Misther 
 Haraghey wouldn't turn a hair on me own 
 darlin's yalla head. A learibh, a learibh mo 
 chroidhe!\ don't cry like that, or what are 
 you afeerd of at all, at all? " 
 
 " Oh, mammie, mammie, I'm afeerd of 
 
 * (Pron. a villish) My Sweet. 
 
 f (Pron. attaniv mo chree) Child of my heart.
 
 The Masther and the Bocca Fadh 197 
 
 the Bocca Fadh. He doesn't give queskins 
 like the Masther. Mammie, keep me 
 here." 
 
 Johnnie, a better soldier, still firmly held 
 his ground. 
 
 The Bocca Fadh looked calmly, indiffer- 
 ently, into the fire, and remarked to it, 
 
 "I have only two other questions to de- 
 nounciate, an' if ye answer me I'll have the 
 shupreme sensation of awardin' yer mother's 
 son shupairior markifications. Both queskins 
 is in Divine-ity. Can you dimonsthrate 
 or tell to me, me fine young man, what 
 is the connection between the Bloody Wars 
 an' the Comics seen in the sky refaxred to 
 in Holy Writ, eighteenth and nineteenth of 
 Eevolutions, thirteenth chapture, nine-an'- 
 twintieth an' following varses? Ye cannot? 
 Well, now for the next, a simplified one. 
 Can you prove from the canine laws of the 
 Holy Eoman Church (one Faith an' one Bap- 
 tism) that the time an' times an' half a time 
 preydicted by Columbkille for the landin* of 
 the Spaniards at Dinnygal must occur in the 
 present reign of the thirteenth King an' 
 Queen of harasy in England Victoria bein'
 
 198 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 both Bang and Queen Queen of England 
 and Emperor of Indiay? " 
 
 Brave as Johnnie was, this last assault was 
 too much for him, he felt. So he, in turn, 
 struck his flag and retreated rapidly also to 
 the shelter of his mother's skirts. Johnnie 
 did not cry; that would have heen unmanly. 
 But he could not deny to himself that he felt 
 a curious sort of choking in the throat, which 
 was only relieved by the gentle stroking of 
 his white head by his mother's disengaged 
 hand. 
 
 "Misther Haraghey," the mother said, 
 "it's you's the long-headed man. But I'm 
 afeerd ye're too deep for wee Johnnie an* 
 Gracie, that hasn't got on far with their 
 larnin' yet." 
 
 " Oh, Missis Gallagher," the Bocca, feel- 
 ing disposed to be generous under the influ- 
 ence of Aillie's sincere compliment, said, 
 "they're two brave smart childre, God bliss 
 them to ye! Of course they were a wee bit 
 nonplushed, but on the whole they've done 
 fairly well fairly well. I have great hopes 
 of them, though, of course, they don't yet 
 figure up to my iday-al. But they're only
 
 The Masther and the Bocca Fadh 199 
 
 young they're only young yet. An' to be 
 sure, too, any little short-comin's I have ex- 
 posed is more to be laid at their Masther's 
 door than at their own. Atween yerself an' 
 me, Missis Gallagher, my opinion of Masther 
 Whoriskey's tutorical abilities isn't just as 
 elevated as it might be. God knows the op- 
 portunities I got for the cultivation of my 
 intelligence was scanty enough; but thanks 
 be to Him for kind marcies, what little op- 
 portunities I got I made the most of, which 
 made me the scholart ye find me be that 
 good, bad, or ondifferent, it's not for me to 
 say." 
 
 " Well, / can say, what all the counthry- 
 side says, that one would walk long an' thra- 
 vel far an' not meet the bate of the Bocca 
 Fadh." 
 
 " Oh, now, ye make me blush, Missis Gal- 
 lagher. Ye do indeed. I'm afeerd I must 
 deny the allegation, it's too much entirely, 
 too much to say of a poor, neglected, forlorn, 
 orphan boy, that " 
 
 "An' more nor that, Misther Haraghey, 
 let me tell ye that the counthryside says it 
 was a blissin' from Providence ye didn't get
 
 2oo Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 more opportunities, for they say that, like 
 every other great jaynis that come afore ye, 
 ye're brain would have turned with the fair 
 dint of the larnin' ye would have lamed on 
 afore ye, they say, till yer very head would 
 burst open with it. As it is, they say, they 
 don't know how ye stand all ye do know. 
 There's for ye, now, if ye must know the 
 truth of it! " 
 
 " Oh, Missis Gallagher, Missis Gallagher, 
 this is too much entirely too much entirely. 
 I'll not deny, indeed, that Father Pat of fche 
 Cross-roads an' Father Edward, the curate, 
 both give expression to themselves to the 
 same effect a night they had me in to argue 
 Divine-ity an' Asthronomy again' the two of 
 them. I'll not deny it, I say, but as Father 
 Pat said about the whiskey they told him 
 there was no wather in, it's a resarvation of 
 conscience with me whether I believe it or 
 no. But as I was goin' to say, Aillie, it's my 
 desire to come in confliction with Master 
 Whoriskey where an' when he pleases, in the 
 presence of witnesses, an' I won't begrudge 
 to him all he'll be able to crow over the 
 Bocca Fadh when he's done with him."
 
 The Masther and the Bocca Fadh 201 
 
 The Bocca Fadh was sowing broadcast 
 these indirect challenges to the Masther. 
 Naturally, too, they were not without some 
 effect in the country. The neighbours en- 
 countered them so frequently that a deal of 
 fireside debating on the respective merits of 
 the Bocca Fadh and the Masther was the 
 natural result. The Masther himself, who 
 at first professed to treat with the most sub- 
 lime contempt " the lucubrations of that im- 
 pecunious vagrant," was at length compelled 
 to treat them seriously, and consented to 
 meet the Bocca Fadh in intellectual combat 
 on the Sunday night before Christmas in 
 the Bummadier's. Over the whole country- 
 side the news went like wildfire, causing 
 much commotion and excited debate. 
 Henceforward, till the great night arrived, 
 little else was spoken of, and though it was 
 generally believed that the Masther must 
 score a success, there was a large and grow- 
 ing section who championed the Beggarman, 
 and sturdily maintained "that the Masther 
 would have more nor a dish to wash" ere 
 he'd have done with his opponent. In the 
 meantime the Masther was in a very serious
 
 202 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 mood; the Bocca Fadh in his lightest, most 
 indifferent, most off-hand. The Masther had 
 everything to lose; the Bocca everything to 
 gain. 
 
 The eventful night came. The Bumma- 
 dier's was more than usually packed. The 
 Bocca Fadh, with his wallet and cudgel, oc- 
 cupied the corner. He was even more jaunty 
 than usual. He held deeper subjects in re- 
 serve; told his gayest stories, cracked his 
 driest jokes, and treated on any and every 
 subject save the intellectual one. The Bocca 
 had come to dinner; the Masther didn't ap- 
 pear till the arranged time of meeting after 
 night. Despite very apparent efforts to the 
 contrary, the Masther exhibited decided 
 tokens of nervousness in his look and man- 
 ner. When he entered, a subdued and re- 
 spectful murmur of salutation greeted him. 
 To the more prominent neighbours present 
 he nodded thanks, and took his seat in the 
 middle of the house. Then, his opportunity 
 being come, the Beggarman rose in his place 
 with a stiff grace, and making a low bow to 
 the Masther, said, 
 
 " Benediction with thee, Masther Whoris-
 
 The Masther and the Bocca Fadh 203 
 
 key, and I bid you welcome. But af ther his 
 nocturanial paramulation " here he ad- 
 dressed the company " from his residential 
 habitation to Cornelius Higerty's abode, 
 won't my lamed friend deign to approach in 
 more contagious proximity with the confla- 
 gration here provided for him by the luxuri- 
 ant bounty of the inhabitant? " 
 
 This was the first gun from the enemy. It 
 hacl been, doubtless, long loaded and primed; 
 but with such promptitude and unexpected- 
 ness did it go off, and with such address was 
 it delivered, that it caused more than mo- 
 mentary embarrassment almost consterna- 
 tion in the opposite, unalert camp. 
 
 But in a few moments the Masther had 
 got to his feet and returned the Bocca's bow, 
 in an infinitely more graceful and stately 
 fashion. He said, as he approached to take 
 the vacant seat in the opposite chimney 
 corner, 
 
 " To accede to the requisition of my itin- 
 erant friend, the object of our eleemosynary 
 regards, vouchsafes me more rapturous de- 
 light than is within the circumscribed com- 
 prehension of any bifurcated individual be-
 
 204 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 neath the status of a lexicographer to 
 express." 
 
 The return fire, through delay, was not 
 quite as damaging as it should have been. 
 The audience mentally scored one for the 
 Beggarman. 
 
 The brazen rascal, too, seeing the Mas- 
 ther's nervousness, saw therein material for 
 unfair advantage. During the delivery of 
 his next fire he had the cool audacity to take 
 out his pipe, knock the ashes out of it 
 against the chimney-brace, suck it to see if 
 it drew well interrupting his discourse for 
 that purpose, and proceeded to refill it. He 
 said, with the most villainous nonchalance, 
 
 "Joe-ology, Al-jay-brsL, Thrigonomethry, 
 Fluxions, Joe-ography, Jurie's Prudence, the 
 Confluxion of the Systems, Di-sectation, 
 Magne-^s-im, Sequesthrations, Disquisitions, 
 Mathematicians, or the Influential Carcas- 
 ses* on which of all is it your requisition 
 and prefermentation that I should test your 
 eruditional accomplishments, sir?" 
 
 The Beggar scored again, the scoundrel! 
 
 * The Beggar had evidently heard mention of the 
 Differential Calculus.
 
 The Masther and the Bocca Fadh 205 
 
 From the shaking of heads and whispering 
 with which this one was received around the 
 house, there was no mistaking it. 
 
 " Sir," the Masther replied with a magnifi- 
 cent scorn that regained him much of his 
 lost ground, " from my intellectual altitudes 
 I gaze down with the most inexpressible con- 
 tempt alloyed with disdainful commiseration 
 on the pitiable aggregation and accumulation 
 of unmitigated balderdash with which you 
 have the audacious temerity to address me. 
 Sir, of all subjects in the educational cur- 
 riculum of this or any other country in the 
 universe, from the Alpha to the Omega of 
 the same, select and indicate one, and I shall 
 instantaneously proceed to expose your unut- 
 terable ignorance to the gaze of a commiser- 
 ating public." 
 
 "Very well, then, on the Confluxions of 
 the Systems I'll take you." 
 
 " Avaunt, sirra! avaunt! " and the Masther 
 waived his hand disdainfully. 
 
 "Having maximum magnitudes granted, 
 how would you calculate for me the number 
 of jags in a cart of whins* in accordance 
 * Furze.
 
 206 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 with the fundamental principles of Joe- 
 ology?" 
 
 They were coming to close quarters. 
 
 " Sir, if I buy a horse at one farthing for 
 the first nail in his shoe, a halfpenny for the 
 second, one penny for the third, and hence 
 doubling till the thirty-second nail; how 
 much will defray the gross total cost of the 
 quadruped? " 
 
 But the Beggarman without a moment's 
 delay came along with his answer; and it was 
 this- wise, 
 
 "Adduce from Harry Stotle's* Common- 
 taries the proof regardin' who made Hiram's 
 breeches." 
 
 "My peregrinating itinerant, here's one to 
 stop your mouth: 
 
 ' It's down in yon meadow I tethered my ass, 
 Where lie fruitful acres well stored with grass ; 
 How long must the cord be when ' " 
 
 " Maybe it's on the Influential Carcasses 
 
 ye'd soonest be taken. Here's at ye, then 
 
 Are you prepared to paragonically dimon- 
 
 sthrate to this company how many yards of 
 
 * Aristotle's.
 
 The Masther and the Bocca Fadh 207 
 
 buttermilk would make a nightcap for Bin- 
 ban mountain?" 
 
 " 'How long must the, cord be when feeding all round, 
 He won't graze less or more than two acres of 
 ground t ' 
 
 Elucidate me that, sirra! " 
 
 w Being given the sacrificial contain- 
 ments/' the Bocca said, by way of elucida- 
 tion, " can you arrogate for my information 
 how many faddoms of wind went through 
 the chancel windy of Dinnygal Abbey last 
 Janiary?" 
 
 ("Faix," the breathless neighbours re- 
 marked, "the Bocca Fadh is givin' it hard 
 to the poor Masther.") 
 
 " Sirra," the Masther said, " can you en- 
 lighten us who wrote Caesar's Com-ment- 
 aries?" 
 
 " Now for a thrifle out of Asthronomy. 
 Taking our start from the paralysis of the 
 hypothenuse, can you calculate, enmerate, 
 an* dimonsthrate the number of bottles of 
 smoke in a cart of wet turf? " 
 
 (" Troth, the same Bocca has more in his 
 head nor a comb would take out. The poor 
 Masther's goin' to the back-han'.")
 
 208 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 " Sir, who or what was Cornelius Nepos? 
 and exemplify and illustrate for us the 
 Copernican System of the Universe, and like- 
 wise say who was the probable author of the 
 Odes of Horace (Smith's Translation)/* 
 
 "I shall now proceed to take you," said 
 the Beggarman calmly, as he wiped the stem 
 of the pipe upon his sleeve, and tendered it 
 across the fire to his opponent "I shall 
 now, I announce, proceed to take you upon 
 Biblical Commentation an' the elements of 
 Hydrophobia. Devolve the south an' cir- 
 cular sides of a three-year-old whinstone, an' 
 proove the same by the kibe an' square roots 
 of Joe-omethry an' Thrigonomethry." 
 
 " Sir, I hereby challenge and defy you to 
 Square the Circle, discover the Unknown 
 Quantity, and elucidate the theory of Per- 
 petual Motion." 
 
 ("The Masther's queskins is wonderfully, 
 clivir, no doubts, but they haven't in them 
 the same grit's in the Bocca's.") 
 
 " Can ye say for a sartinty whom was 
 Jinisis's* eldermost uncle on the mother's 
 
 * The Bocca is in all probability referring to Gen- 
 esis.
 
 The Masther and the Bocca Fadh 209 
 
 side, and prove the same by the totality of 
 Fluxions?" 
 
 " Ye can't do ' Good morrow to ye, naybour, 
 with yer twenty geese '" 
 
 "A small little queskin now to testify 
 your knowledge of horty-culture. How 
 many steps was in Jacob's laddher, calcu- 
 lated according to the mean solar distance 
 of the equinoctials? " 
 
 Yes, the Masther was no match for this 
 charlatan he was not possessed of enough 
 systematic ignorance blent with a good blend 
 of villainy. 
 
 He was somewhat tardy in coming on with 
 his reply. 
 
 "Do you adhere to the austere doctrines 
 promulgated by the learned Socrates, or the 
 more sensuous ones of Epicurus? Give your 
 reasons, and likewise state your opinion of 
 the respective merits of Sophocles and Da- 
 rius. From whom is the quotation ' a rara 
 avis in terra ' taken, and give a literal trans- 
 lation?" 
 
 " Another simple one out of Genufluxions. 
 Prove from the Scriptures, Ould an' New 
 Testymints, that Tobias's dog had a tail, an' 
 14
 
 2io Through tae Turf Smoke 
 
 propound the paragorical projection of the 
 same." 
 
 But the Masther was wiping the perspira- 
 tion from his hrow the mental tension was 
 at its utmost. He replied not. The Bocca 
 Fadh seized the opportunity, and rising to 
 his feet delivered himself of his carefully 
 prepared coup de grace. He said, with his 
 grandest, most rascally assumptive air, 
 
 " Let no charlatanical fop dare dispute the 
 atrocious voracity of my achromatical quali- 
 fications, for I am a heterogeneous cosmopo- 
 lite, perambulating and differentiating intri- 
 cate problematics throughout the extension 
 of the different localities which I have mes- 
 merized into a conglomerated catastrophe! " 
 
 And the scoundrel sat down in the lap of 
 victory!
 
 Father Dan and Fiddlers Four
 
 Father Dan and Fiddlers Four 
 
 AFTER his love for God, and his love for 
 his flock, Father Dan loved music. Good 
 music, that is; for he confessed he never 
 could listen to a scoundrel murdering music, 
 but his hand would be itching to give him 
 a dressing with his blackthorn staff. 
 
 Anyhow, once, on an old Lammas Day, 
 there had been a wedding above in Cora- 
 meen-lusk, a son of Ned Baccagh's with 
 Winny Neil Mhor, and the father and mother 
 of a good spree it was. Nothing less than 
 four fiddlers. Three houses under the party. 
 Whiskey go leor, and meat and drink to all 
 comers. As was only to be expected, a spree 
 on such a liberal scale had been prolonged 
 into the next afternoon. Coming on even- 
 ing the four fiddlers found themselves at the 
 Knockagar Cross the parting of their ways. 
 As was also only to be expected of fiddlers
 
 214 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 coming from a feast, their manner was effu- 
 sive. It was distressing to part. They al- 
 ternately cuffed and kissed each other, sang 
 and scolded. Finally, I regret to say, they 
 were surrounded by two peelers, who in the 
 Queen's name arrested them as disturbers of 
 the peace of the realm, and marched them 
 straight or at least as straight as the pecu- 
 liar circumstances would permit to Mr. 
 McClane's. This they accomplished by 
 means of their clever tactical skill. For 
 they seized upon the fiddles, not the men; 
 and where their fiddles went there would 
 the fiddlers follow. Arrived at Mr. Mc- 
 Clane's, and inveigled into his office, they 
 were arraigned and solemnly charged that 
 they, Michael Scanlan, of Meenauish-beg, 
 in the parish of Killymard; Thaddeus Mc- 
 Dermott, of Meenauish-more, in the parish 
 aforesaid, and Nail O'Byrne and Peter 
 Throwers, both of Throwerstbwn, in the 
 parish of Drimholm, and County of Done- 
 gal, were found drunk and behaving in a 
 riotous and disorderly manner at the cross 
 roads of Knockagar, in the parish of Inver, 
 to the great alarm, annoyance, and distress
 
 Father Dan and Fiddlers Four 215 
 
 of Her Gracious Majesty's most well-beloved 
 and dutiful subjects in the townland and 
 parish aforementioned or words to that 
 effect. Though the cold fact apart from 
 its legal aspect was that not a lone one of 
 the aforesaid dutiful and well-beloved sub- 
 jects was alarmed, annoyed, and distressed, 
 or would be alarmed, annoyed, and dis- 
 tressed, or anything but highly entertained, 
 had the four devoted disciples of Orpheus 
 prolonged their orgie till Christmas Day 
 dawned on them. But law is law, and, of 
 course, fact has got no raison d'etre within 
 its province. 
 
 Just then Father Dan jogged up to the 
 magistrate's door, on Forgiveness. The 
 name of Father Dan's old gray mare, his 
 faithful servant, day out, day in, in fair 
 and in foul weather, midday and midnight 
 for close upon thirty years was Forgiveness 
 whereby hangeth a tale not strictly within the 
 scope of this history. Father Dan jogged eas- 
 ily up on Forgiveness, and letting himself off, 
 he entered, while Forgiveness went to graze 
 soberly by the wayside. Going in and find- 
 ing four men there arraigned, and hearing
 
 216 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 the charge, he said, " Oh! these scoundrels 
 from Killymard and Drimholm coming into 
 my parish to disgrace it and to bring a bad 
 name on it with their drinking and their 
 squabbling like a parcel of thravelling tink- 
 ers ye must make an example of them, Mr. 
 McClane make an example of them! A 
 month in jail with a hammer in their fist 
 from cock-crow till bedtime will be a big 
 help to their manners, and to the manners 
 of every other villain of them coming into 
 my parish for the time to come. A month 
 in jail with hard labour and half rations 
 nothing less will be of any use, Mr. 
 McClane! " 
 
 Then the spoils of war, the four fiddles, 
 caught Father Dan's eye. 
 
 "What? Fiddles! Fiddlers? Ye but- 
 cher music, hey, do ye? Yer villainies 
 wouldn't be complete without that." 
 
 And he insisted on each displaying his 
 skill (or else), on his instrument. And, as 
 it proved, they were four of as sweet fiddlers 
 as tirrled a bow in the two baronies. And 
 they completely comethered good Father Dan, 
 whose inherent respect for good musicians
 
 Father Dan and Fiddlers Four 217 
 
 asserted itself, so that he said they were 
 good men gone wrong, gravely pointed out 
 to them the enormity of their crime, evoked 
 from them a hearty promise of amendment, 
 showed Mr. McClane that, after all, he be- 
 lieved the nominal fine of a shilling each and 
 costs would, on the occasion of this their 
 first offence, appease the offended dignity of 
 the law, out of his own pocket paid the 
 money down on the nail, and in front of 
 himself and Forgiveness marched them to 
 his house, " till he'd give the creatures a pick 
 to ate, and a wash and a brush and a heat 
 of the fire, and put the poor fellows on their 
 legs, and pack them for home." 
 
 And in spite of all old Kitty Byrne's 
 grumbling Kitty had been his housekeeper 
 since first he had a house to keep and Kitty 
 was the only tyrant, other than his boy Bar- 
 ney, whom Father Dan feared despite all 
 Kitty's grumblings against the house being 
 turned into a cow market, Father Dan in- 
 sisted on their washing and brushing, and 
 on Kitty's serving up at the kitchen-table 
 a plentiful meal of which, to tell truth, 
 they were sadly in need. And despite all
 
 218 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 Kitty's acrid personalities about making her 
 house the randyvoo for all the thramp fid- 
 dlers and thramp fluters from end to wind 
 of the county, with many other equally 
 pleasant remarks, and many very dismal pro- 
 phecies of where all this blather-skitin' was 
 going to end, her four guests made a right 
 hearty meal, for which they thanked God 
 when they had done; and then thanked 
 Father Dan; and finally, to Kitty's utter ex- 
 asperation, thanked her and wished her a 
 long ljfe and a sweet temper. 
 
 Finding they had finished their meal, 
 Father Dan ushered them into his own little 
 parlour, he going in front, laden with the 
 four fiddles and with as many bitter re- 
 proaches as Kitty could contrive to pile on 
 him ere he got all in and the door closed in 
 the enemy's face. Then Father Dan seated 
 the four and put his fiddle into the hands of 
 each, and took down his own fiddle (at which 
 he was no mean adept) from over the mantel, 
 and proceeded to get it into tune, keenly re- 
 joicing all the while in the prospect of a 
 long, pleasant evening. 
 
 But it took his guests an extraordinarily
 
 Father Dan and Fiddlers Four 219 
 
 long time to tune theirs, and divers myste- 
 rious looks and winks passed between them 
 which Father Dan was neither slow to receive 
 nor to interpret. The short and the long of 
 it was that the fiddlers wanted what they 
 themselves would have styled elbow grease, 
 but which in the plain man's dictionary is 
 spelled poteen. Musical preparations were 
 then temporarily suspended while Father 
 Dan produced a quart bottle three-quarters 
 filled, out of which after a bit of very serious 
 and very paternal advice against the abuse 
 of whiskey, to which the four lent a filial ear, 
 he gave them a glass apiece, which made 
 their eyes kindle; and they invoked blessings 
 on his head, informed him that it put a new 
 BOW! in them, and in token thereof gave a 
 particularly lively jig by way of flourish, the 
 manner of which promised well for an enjoy- 
 able night. 
 
 Then Father Dan got himself seated, and 
 all five of them gave "The Blackbird" so 
 excellently as to draw the tears to the good 
 man's eyes. Then there was less or more 
 friction, for whilst Father Dan wanted some 
 of Moore, his friends were loud for jigs and
 
 22O Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 strathspeys, favourites of their own. They 
 compromised on " An Sluadh Sidhe." 
 When things seemed again to be going 
 smoothly, everyone of the five putting his 
 soul into the music, the sound of wheels was 
 faintly heard by Father Dan; the sound 
 ceased opposite the door; he succeeded in 
 silencing the music in time to hear Kitty's 
 greeting at the door responded to in the well- 
 known voice of Dr. McGilligan, the Bishop! 
 Father Dan, in one awe-stricken glance, 
 took in the room with its five fiddlers four 
 of them as disreputable-looking as ever sat 
 in a priest's parlour nursing their fiddles 
 around a table on which was a stout quart 
 bottle and a glass, and inwardly he asked 
 himself why he was born! " The Bishop! " 
 was all he could ejaculate to his startled com- 
 panions. But that was enough. Quicker- 
 witted or perhaps less frightened than he, 
 the four musicians as with one accord popped 
 under the table, fiddles and all; and one of 
 them, seized with sudden presence of mind, 
 put up a long arm from the hiding-place and 
 bore off the bottle just one moment ere the 
 good old Bishop, in his own familiar way,
 
 Father Dan and Fiddlers Four 221 
 
 Balked in unannounced. The table-cloth of 
 generous amplitude let fall its ends to the 
 floor around the table; and so Father Dan 
 had half recovered himself, sufficiently re- 
 covered himself anyhow to greet his Bishop 
 warmly, and thanked him profusely for the 
 honour of this unexpected visit. The good 
 Bishop instantly made himself at home, seat- 
 ing himself in an arm-chair to one side of 
 the fireplace, his side to the fire and his face 
 to the room. The sight of a glass on the 
 table naturally turned the Doctor's discourse 
 on the subject of all others nearest his heart, 
 the cause of temperance. And as Father 
 Dan, with something very much akin to 
 twinges of conscience, gave him an encourag- 
 ing account of the progress of the cause in 
 his parish, his trial only properly com- 
 menced, for the table got a distinct knock 
 from below, such as would be caused by the 
 heel of an inverted bottle going up suddenly. 
 Father Dan conjectured this was but the first 
 of a series. And rightly. With a well pre- 
 pared cough he half drowned the next rap. 
 Proceeding with his discourse, he kept his 
 right heel in readiness by an opportune
 
 222 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 crack of which on the floor he confounded 
 the following one. A shuffle of his feet 
 fairly well confused the next succeeding one. 
 But it was getting a trying ordeal. Adroitly 
 punctuating his argument by a few raps of his 
 knuckles on the table neutralized a few more. 
 Thereat taking his cue, he became so demon- 
 strative in his argument and clinched his 
 points with such and so many blows on the 
 table, that he would soon have awaked con- 
 jectures in Dr. McGilligan's mind, but that 
 gentleman turned his face towards the fire 
 for a moment, and the bottle, to Father Dan's 
 utter consternation, was rapidly reached out 
 from under the table and deposited, of all 
 places in the world, under the heavy drap- 
 ings that hung from his Lordship's chair! 
 An old brown and bony hand, too, had gone 
 out from under the table at a few feet 
 distant from the rugged one that held the 
 bottle (yet quarter-filled), and made a rather 
 aimless grab for the bottle, and then retired 
 slowly, as it were disappointedly, beneath the 
 fringes of the table-cloth again. Though 
 this proceeding took barely a few seconds, 
 it seemed to Father Dan an hour. Distinct
 
 Father Dan and Fiddlers Four 223 
 
 beads of perspiration certainly did start on 
 his brow; he had not even presence of mind 
 to make a noise. But as the mysterious hand 
 missed its grab, something, which might be 
 a grumble or might be any indistinct sound 
 under the moon, was emitted from under the 
 table, and the Bishop's eye, Father Dan ob- 
 served, detected a swaying in the drapery 
 depending from the table. 
 
 Father Dan said " Scat! " and stamped his 
 foot. 
 
 " I suppose you are troubled with rats? " 
 Dr. McGilligan said, 
 
 " Oh, yes, sometimes sometimes annoy- 
 ing villains annoying villains. But as I 
 was saying about Father Hugh's parish " 
 and he had the discourse again reverted to 
 its proper channel, and was comparatively 
 at ease once more. 
 
 But not for long. He observed when the 
 Doctor looked any other way than straight 
 before him that brown, bony, big hand came 
 out on a rambling excursion, darting sud- 
 denly back to cover each time the Bishop's 
 eye threatened to come back. And he then 
 observed a bright eye glistening through a
 
 224 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 hole in the table-cloth, at about a foot from 
 the ground. And every time the ugly hand 
 came out, and grasped, and sprawled, he felt 
 an itching to give it a thundering good whack 
 of his staff that would cure it of its rambling. 
 He had to say " Scat! " several times, when 
 he fancied Dr. McGilligan's attention was 
 attracted by the slight noises, or by the shak- 
 ing of the table-cover. All his endeavours 
 to entice Dr. McGilligan to be shown to his 
 room, that he might brush himself up after 
 his journey, were unavailing, for his Lord- 
 ship would persist in having out his chat 
 first. 
 
 The hand had come out about the tenth 
 time, and had gone rambling and fumbling 
 in the direction of the Bishop's chair, and 
 had swiftly retreated on false alarms, and 
 slowly gone forth, and rapidly come back, 
 and hesitatingly gone pioneering again, until 
 just as Kitty Byrne appeared with a lapful 
 of turf for the fire, a second even uglier hand 
 and both were left hands had crept out, 
 and both were making ineffectual darts at 
 something unseen by Kitty. She suddenly 
 stopped short on first seeing them a few feet
 
 Father Dan and Fiddlers Four 225 
 
 before her, and across her passage. Then 
 she quickly took in half the situation: re- 
 venge was sweet, and Kitty laid down her 
 broad and heavy boot, with very much em- 
 phasis, plump on the back of the nearest 
 hand to her. There was a stifled cry, luckily 
 covered by the noise with which Father Dan 
 hitched his chair and coughed. Kitty's 
 ankle was immediately caught firmly by a 
 right hand, and viciously wrenched. She 
 swayed, staggered forward, and, first her load 
 of turf, then herself, was pitched into his 
 Lordship's lap, out of which Kitty narrowly 
 escaped rolling into the fire. In the com- 
 motion, three hands started out simulta- 
 neously from beneath the table, swooped 
 under his Lordship's chair, the bottle rapidly 
 passed back in one, the other two hands fol- 
 lowed, limp, and one might easily think half 
 disappointed. The spirit-rappings under- 
 neath the table set in again at once; sharp 
 and quick they were. But there was yet too 
 much commotion for them to be heard 
 amongst the party at the fire. Father Dan 
 sharply reprimanded Kitty for her clumsi- 
 ness in tripping, and begged a thousand par- 
 15
 
 226 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 dons of Dr. McGilligan, while Kitty was too 
 much overcome with horror of the situation 
 to do more than clasp her hands, and turn 
 up her eyes to heaven, and cluck her tongue 
 against the roof of her mouth, in attempted 
 expression of her inexpressible feelings. 
 
 Good Dr. McGilligan tried to reassure and 
 quiet them, and he repeated, " Tut! Tut! 
 Tut! " till he got them in a moderately calm 
 condition again. Then he consented that he 
 would look into his room while Kitty was 
 getting them a cup of tea. But as he would 
 have risen from his seat, he fell back again 
 slightly startled, for before his eyes, and ap- 
 parently none interfering with it, one end 
 of the table was suddenly tilted up some six 
 inches, and slowly descended again. Father 
 Dan could neither move nor speak. Kitty 
 Byrne collapsed on the sofa. Then the other 
 end of the table went up as mysteriously for 
 a foot, it swayed to right and left for a few 
 seconds, while some strange uncertain sounds 
 were heard from beneath; then the table sub- 
 sided once more, and for a momentary space 
 there was no sound. Father Dan strove to 
 reach for his blackthorn which rested against
 
 Father Dan and Fiddlers Four 227 
 
 the wall within a yard of him but on the 
 way his hand was paralyzed, and fell back to 
 his side. Now, the table bodily bounded, 
 sharply and suddenly to the height of a foot, 
 and as suddenly came down again. A dis- 
 tinct scuffling noise was heard. Then 
 
 " Tarnation saize ye; let go me throat! " 
 
 " Let go the bottle or I'll choke ye as dhry 
 as a whinstone rock! " 
 
 " Hish! " 
 
 " Hish, or I'll prod the ribs aff ye! " 
 
 " Let go the bottle, hatchet-face! let go the 
 bottle! " 
 
 " Not if it was to save yer sowl, cruked 
 mouth! " 
 
 " Ye natarnal veg ye! bad luck to ye, an* 
 his Lordship listenin'! " 
 
 "I don't care a thraneen if Sent Pether 
 himself was listenin', I'll have the bottle or 
 his ribs 'ill get what Paddy gave the 
 dhrum! " 
 
 " De'il's cure to you, spavin-feet, an' take 
 that! " 
 
 His Lordship sat terrified. Father Dan 
 sat terrified. Kitty Byrne lay astounded. 
 Beneath the table then arose a general hub-
 
 228 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 bub. One side the table then rose a couple 
 of feet and sank. Then rose again and 
 the other side followed. Luckily, Father 
 Dan kept his candle on the mantel. Before 
 the startled and staring prelate the table rose 
 up five or six feet from the ground, swayed, 
 shook there was a crackling noise such as 
 might be produced by trampling on and 
 bursting-in fiddles and then the table shot 
 over and lit on its side on the fender, and 
 thence tumbled over, exposing four big fel- 
 lows struggling and gasping, and punching 
 and grappling, and finally bellowing, trampl- 
 ing all the while on the debris of four fiddles, 
 to the utter and fearful consternation of 
 good Dr. McGilligan, and the unspeakable 
 mortification of poor Father Dan. 
 
 After Father Dan, with the substantial 
 help of his staff, had cleared out the four 
 arrant villains, and left them rubbing their 
 wounds far from his door, and pitched out 
 after them the sorry remains of their fiddles, 
 he threw himself on the Bishop's mercy, ex- 
 plained and apologized, apologized and ex- 
 plained; but the Bishop, when he had gath-
 
 Father Dan and Fiddlers Four 229 
 
 ered his meaning and purport as best he 
 could from a disjointed statement, went into 
 fit after fit of long, loud, and hearty laughter, 
 which seized him at intervals even in bed 
 that night. Father Dan affected to join, but 
 the poor man's laugh was distressingly me- 
 chanical, and in his heart he vowed to whale 
 and whack every fiddler from either Killy- 
 mard or Drimholm whom he'd find within, 
 the bounds of his parish from that sad night 
 forward. And certainly such were after- 
 wards very chary of trespassing on the for- 
 bidden region. 
 
 That is the story of Father Dan and the 
 Fiddlers Four.
 
 Jack Who was the Ashypet
 
 Jack Who was the Ashypet 
 
 WANST on a time when Kings and Queens 
 was as plenty in Ireland as good people, and 
 good people as plenty as Kings and Queens, 
 there was a poor widdy woman and she had 
 wan son they called Jack. Now this Jack 
 was a lazy, good-for-nothin' sthreel of an 
 ashypet, who sat round the fire with his heels 
 and his toes never out of the ashes all days 
 of the year, and all years of his life, till he 
 grew to he man-big, and he neither good for 
 King, country nor clippin' sheep. 
 
 Till wan day at long an' at last, he ups, 
 and he says, says he, 
 
 " Mother," says he, " it's the black shame's 
 on me to be hunkerin' in the ashes all days 
 o' me life, an' you puttin' the bone through 
 the skin thryin' to do for me. It has been 
 so long, but it'll not be so longer. Bake 
 me a bannock, cut me a callop, an' give me
 
 234 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 yer blissin* till I go away to push me for- 
 tune." 
 
 No sooner said nor done. 
 
 "Very well, Jack ahaisge," says the 
 mother. And she baked him his bannock, 
 cut him his callop, give him her blissin', an' 
 off went poor Jack to push his fortune. 
 
 And on and on afore him Jack walked, 
 till, in the hait of the day, haltin' to rest 
 himself, and to eat a bit of his bannock, he 
 obsarves on the flag he was goin' to seat him- 
 self down on, a flock of big black flies, an* 
 he ups with his stick an* kilt three-an'-thirty 
 of them, for he counted them, an' wan o' 
 them was a dale bigger nor the others. 
 
 " Now that's what I call a good blow," says 
 Jack; an' gettin' an old rusty nail he wrote 
 upon his stick 
 
 " With wan blow o' this stick I kilt a 
 clargyman an' two an' thirty of a congrega- 
 tion." 
 
 Afther that, Jack he thravelled on and on, 
 far further nor I could tell you, and twicet 
 further nor you could tell me, till at last he 
 come to a country where he found two Joy- 
 ants buildin' a bridge. Here Jack climbs
 
 Jack Who was the Ashypet 235 
 
 up a tree unbeknownst to the Joyants, an* 
 takin' a wee pebble-stone out of his pocket 
 he fires an' hits wan o' the Joyants that was 
 in front of the other, with it. 
 
 " Don't do that again, I tell ye! " says the 
 Joyant that was sthruck, says he, to his 
 brother Joyant. 
 
 Then he went on with his work, but he 
 wasn't right at it, till Jack the rascal threw 
 another small pebble-stone an' sthruck him 
 again. 
 
 " Be this an' be that," says the Joyant, 
 says he, as black as thunder, " if ye do that 
 again I'll throw ye over the bridge! " 
 
 But me brave Joyant had scarce yocked 
 his work the second time, when Jack rattles 
 another purty little pebble-stone off his skull. 
 
 " Melia murtker! " roars the Joyant. An' 
 afore givin' him time to bliss himself he had 
 his brother Joyant be the throat an' over the 
 bridge, an' kilt him cowl' dead on the rocks 
 below. 
 
 An' at this me poor Jack couldn't houl* 
 himself in no longer, but laughed an' 
 laughed till he rowled down out of the tree. 
 
 " Oh, ye vagabone! " says the Joyant, " so
 
 236 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 it was you that done it, an' made me kill me 
 poor brother. Oh ye vagabone ye! " says 
 he, "it's me'll make the short work o' ye!" 
 
 " Stan' off, stan' off," says Jack, says he, 
 wavin' his hand, "ye don't know who ye're 
 talkin' to. Are you aware," says Jack, says 
 he, " the wondherful fait that I parformed?" 
 
 "I'm not," says the Joyant, says he, 
 "what was that?" 
 
 "I kilt," says Jack, says he, "with wan 
 blow o' that stick, a clargyman an' his con- 
 gregation of two-an'-thirty." 
 
 "I don't believe a word of it," says the 
 Joyant. 
 
 " There, then," says Jack, handin' him 
 the stick " There, then," says he, " read it 
 for yerself." 
 
 " Thrue enough," says the Joyant, his jaw 
 dhroppin' all at wanst when he read what 
 was on the stick. " But sure ye'll not touch 
 me, Jack," says he, " an' I'll not say a word 
 to ye if I had fifty-five brothers, an' ye made 
 me kill every sowl o' them." 
 
 " Never fear," 'says Jack, " I have made it 
 a rule never to intherfere with the young or 
 the wake."
 
 Jack Who was the Ashypet 237 
 
 So, home with him the Joyant fetched 
 Jack; an' when Jack had got his fill of a 
 good supper an' gone to bed, an' left the 
 Joyant an' his oul' mother sittin' be the 
 fire 
 
 "Isn't this a nice how-do-you-do," says 
 the oul' mother, says she, " that ye kilt yer 
 poor brother all through this scoundhril's 
 thricks." 
 
 " Oh, whisht, whisht, whisht, mother! " 
 eays the Joyant, says he, "for feerd Jack 
 would hear ye, an' come down out o' the 
 room an' kill us all. Whisht, whisht, whisht, 
 mother! " says he, " ye don't know what ye're 
 talkin' about! " 
 
 " Go to pot," says she, " for a blatherskite. 
 I don't believe a word of it that he has the 
 sthrength he lets on."* 
 
 " Oh, whisht, whisht, whisht, mother! " 
 says the Joyant, " sure didn't me own two 
 eyes read it off the stick! " 
 
 " Botheration take you an' the stick," says 
 she, "for the edict ye are! Is that all the 
 proof ye have? I'll tell ye," says she, 
 " what ye'll do, to thry him out for it: just 
 
 * Pretends.
 
 238 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 ax him out to the meadow the morra-mornin' 
 for a sthroll; I'll lave in yer way the three- 
 ton sledge-head of yer brother's, an' the 
 seven-ton sledge-head of yer own, an' the 
 ten-ton wan of yer poor oul' father when he 
 was alive: yous 'ill come across them be ac- 
 cident, an' you purpose to thry him a throw 
 at them for fun. Then we'll soon see his 
 sthren'th, an' be the games, if he turns out 
 the imposthure I believe him to be, we'll 
 soon do for him then." 
 
 Well an' good; the mornin' come, an' me 
 boul' Jack was up with the lark. 
 
 " What do ye say, Jack/' says the Joyant, 
 says he, " to a turn in the meadow without, 
 to get up yer appetite? " 
 
 " I say it's no bad iday-a," says Jack. 
 
 So out the both o' them marches, Jack 
 cheek-be- jowl with the Joyant, an' through 
 the meadow they goes, an' it wasn't long till 
 they come across a sledge-head. 
 
 "I say," says Jack, "what's this?" 
 
 " Oh," says the Joyant, says he, turnin' it 
 over with his toe, " that's only a little sledge- 
 head belongin* to me poor brother: it's lyin' 
 here where himself an' me used to come out
 
 Jack Who was the Ashypet 239 
 
 of a mornin' an' throw it for exercise. What 
 do ye say, Jack, to a throw of it? " 
 
 " Oh, of course, of course, sartintly we'll 
 have a throw at it be all means," says Jack. 
 
 "Will you throw first, Jack?" says the 
 Joyant. 
 
 " Oh, not at all," says Jack, " that sort of 
 thing would be considhered very bad man- 
 ners o' me in my counthry." 
 
 So up with the sledge did the Joyant, an' 
 at wan throw he threw it eleven mile. 
 
 " Now, Jack," says he, " it's your turn." 
 
 " Oh, just when ye threw it away," says 
 Jack, " be good enough to lay it back again." 
 
 So, off went the Joyant an' fetched it back, 
 an' left it down at Jack's feet. 
 
 "Himph!" says Jack, says he, lookin' at 
 it. "What weight do ye call that?" 
 
 " Three ton," says the Joyant. 
 
 "Have ye any others?" says Jack. 
 
 " Yes," says the Joyant, says he, " there's 
 a seven-ton wan belongin' to me, an' a ten- 
 ton wan belongin' to me poor oul' father, 
 lyin' about." 
 
 " Get them," says Jack. 
 
 The Joyant, all wondherment, got them.
 
 240 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 " Get a rope an' tie the three together 
 now," says Jack. 
 
 The Joyant done this, too; his eyes growin' 
 bigger every minnit. 
 
 " Plaise to stand back out o' me road, now, 
 me good fella," says Jack, sthrippin' himself 
 of his coat, an' rowlin' up his sleeves, " an' 
 gimme room to wind me arms, or ye might 
 get hurted." 
 
 Back the Joyant stands, wondherin' more 
 an' more, an' ready to dhrop with the won- 
 dher. An' Jack, puttin' his two fingers in 
 his mouth gives a loud whistle. 
 
 "What do ye mane be that?" says the 
 Joyant. 
 
 " Oh, nothin," says Jack, " only it's a 
 blacksmith lives at home, an' naybours me 
 in Dinnygal, an' when I was comin' away he 
 put it on me if I'd meet any likely bits o' 
 scrap-iron on me way, to be sure an' mind 
 not to forget but pick them up an' take them 
 home to him. But do you think," says Jack, 
 says he, offended, "that I've got nothin' 
 whatsomiver to do only be cadgin' bits o' 
 scraps like these round with me? I'll pitch 
 them home to him now an' be done with
 
 Jack Who was the Ashypet 241 
 
 them. That whistle's to put him on the 
 lookout." 
 
 " Aisy, aisy," says the Joyant, " ye're not 
 surely goin' to throw our beautiful sledge- 
 heads home to a blacksmith for scrap-iron. 
 Melia murther, no! " 
 
 " Stand back," says Jack. " Stand back," 
 says he, making great sthrives entirely to get 
 1y the Joyant, an' get at the sledge-heads. 
 
 " No, no, no! " says the Joyant. " Mother, 
 mother, mother! he's goin' to throw our 
 purty sledge-heads home to a blacksmith for 
 scrap-iron. No, Jack, Jack," says he, " sure 
 ye wouldn't be as bad as that on us? " 
 
 "Arrah, bad win' to you an* yer little 
 sledge-heads," says Jack, rowlin' down his 
 sleeves again, an' gettin' intil his coat. " The 
 norra be with you an' them! for to go an' 
 for to raise such a phillalew about nothin! 
 Take them out o' me sight," says he, turnin' 
 an' marchin' home to his brekwuss. 
 
 An' that night again, when Jack had gone 
 to bed, the Joyant an' his mother was be- 
 moanin' to wan another over the fire. 
 
 " But now," says the Joyant's mother, 
 "afther all, he didn't throw the sledges home. 
 16
 
 242 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 There's no bein' up to the thricks o' them 
 people comes from Dinnygal, an' I can't get 
 it off me mind yet but he's maybe only an 
 imposther. Now, we must thry him out for 
 it; so, the morra-mornin' you put the hand- 
 sticks in the water-barrel without, that 
 houlds ten ton weight o' water, an' ax him 
 help ye to carry the full of it back from the 
 lough, an' then we'll soon see what stuff he's 
 made of." 
 
 Right enough, in the mornin' the Joyant 
 puts the hand-sticks into the emp'y wather- 
 barrel, that weighed three ton weight itself, 
 an' he says to Jack, 
 
 " Jack," says he, " me mother would like 
 to get a dhrop o' wather fetched over from 
 the lough beyant. This little stand only 
 holds ten tons, an' my brother an' I used to 
 carry her the full of it every mornin', but 
 I know you'll be kindly enough to help me 
 now." 
 
 " Is it help ye! " says Jack. " Oh, surely, 
 surely, sartintly I'll help ye." 
 
 "All right," says the Joyant, "I'll take 
 houP o' this end of the sticks, you of that 
 end. Are ye ready? "
 
 Jack Who was the Ashypet 243 
 
 "Keady/' says Jack. "Lift away, me 
 jewel! " 
 
 But the minnit the Joyant lifted, Jack lets 
 go his end, an' he brakin' his heart laughin'. 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha-ha-ha-a-a! " says Jack, says 
 he. "Do ye know what I'm laughin' at?" 
 says he; an' he yocks to tell the Joyant a 
 dhroll put-out. " Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha-a-a! " 
 says Jack, says he, " did ye ever hear a betther 
 wan nor that in yer born days? Ha! ha! ha! 
 ha-a-a! what's this to do at all, at all! " says 
 he, houldin' his sides with the laughin'. 
 " Ha! ha! ha! ha-a-a! that's no miss of a 
 joke," says Jack, " or did ye ever meet with 
 the bate of it! Ha! ha! ha! Anee, anee, 
 oh! " says Jack, says he, an' he lay down on 
 the grass an' he rowled with the laughin'. 
 " Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! Anee-oh! anee-oh! 
 anee-oh! " says he, " I'll never get over 
 this! " 
 
 Till at long an' at last, the Joyant had to 
 get his arms about the water-barrel an' hoise 
 it off to the lough himself. Then, when he 
 had it filled, he got the sticks intil it again, 
 an' told Jack to take hold of his end, till 
 they'd get it home.
 
 244 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 "Yis, me fine fella," says Jack, says he, 
 gettin' hold o' the sticks. 
 
 " Are ye ready? " says the Joyant. 
 
 "Ready!" says Jack; "lift away, me 
 jewel! " 
 
 But the minnit the Joyant went to lift, 
 Jack let go his end o' the sticks, nearly 
 br'akin' the Joyant's hack. 
 
 " Och, blatheration! " says Jack, as angry 
 as ye plaise, " what's the sense o' this way o' 
 workin', carryin' home water in wee dhribs 
 like this! Tell me," says he to the Joyant, 
 "have ye got any spades about the house? 
 an' what size are they?" 
 
 "We have," says the Joyant, wondherin' 
 what Jack was up to now; " there's a spade, 
 belongin' to me poor brother that's dead, that 
 lifts three acres at a time, an' wan belongin' 
 to me that lifts seven acres at a time, an' wan 
 belongin' to me poor father that lifts ten 
 acres." 
 
 " Take an' get them three little spades," 
 says Jack, says he, " knocked into wan mid- 
 dim' spade, an' fetch it to me, an' I'll soon 
 cut a way for the lough to get down round 
 yer house, so that yer oul' mother 'ill only
 
 Jack Who was the Ashypet 245 
 
 have to come to the door-step and lift what- 
 ever water she wants." 
 
 " Oh, vo! vo! vo! " says the Joyant. 
 " Melia murther! melia murther!" says he, 
 
 / * 
 
 runnin' home to his mother an' tellin' her all 
 how this Jack fella wanted to fetch the whole 
 lough down round the house, so that she 
 might fall in an' get dhrownded some 
 mornin'. 
 
 So even the Joyant's oul' mother had to 
 give in that Jack must be a tarrible fella, 
 entirely, out an' out, an' they must get rid 
 of him somehow or other. 
 
 An' that self-same night when Jack went 
 to T>ed, he didn't go to bed at all, only stayed 
 listenin' at the room door, an' heerd the 
 Joyant an' his mother discoorsin' how they'd 
 kill him. An' they agreed to take the ten- 
 ton sledge-head an' go up an' kill him with 
 it when he'd be asleep. So, me brave Jack 
 takes a calf they had tied in the room, an* 
 puttin' him lyin' in the bed, he put in a lot 
 of dry sticks along with him, an' covered 
 over the whole with the blankets, an' got 
 undher a lump of rubbish in the corner him- 
 self.
 
 246 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 After a while up comes the Joyant, an' he 
 whispers " Jack! " 
 
 But the sorra answer Jack made, only 
 snored from his corner. 
 
 " Come on, mother! " says the Joyant, 
 goin' back to the door, " he's as sound as a 
 top." 
 
 Up comes the mother with the ten-ton 
 sledge-head in her arms, an' the Joyant gets 
 behind her an' shoves her on tor'st the bed 
 where they seen the bulk lyin'. 
 
 " Now, mother," says the Joyant, from 
 behind her. "Now, mother," says he, 
 " strike! an' strike hard! " 
 
 An', with that, the oul' mother ups with 
 the sledge-head, an' fetches it down wan 
 sillendher on the bulk. An' the dhry sticks 
 cracked, an' the poor calf could only blurt 
 out "Boo-oo-oo! " 
 
 " Ha-a-a! ye scoundhril." says the Joy- 
 ant, lookin' over his mother's shoulder, 
 "ye got that. Did ye hear his bones 
 crackin', mother? Give him another to 
 aise him." 
 
 So the oul' mother ups with the sledge- 
 hammer, an' down she comes another sil-
 
 Jack Who was the Ashypet 247 
 
 lendher on the bed. An' the sticks cracked 
 again, an' the poor calf said " Boo-oo-oo! " 
 
 " Ha-a-a! " says the Joyant, " that's you, 
 mother, give the villain wan other to aise 
 him." 
 
 An' the oul' mother ups with the sledge- 
 head again an' down she comes another 
 sillendher on the bed. 
 
 But the poor calf said nothin' now, for 
 he was kilt dead. 
 
 " Ah, bully are ye, mother! " says the 
 Joyant, "now he's aised." 
 
 An' down both o' them goes to the kitchen, 
 an' sittin' down at the fire, went out of wan 
 fit o' laughin' intil another at how aisy they 
 had got rid of poor Jack. 
 
 But lo! an' behoul' ye, in the middle of it 
 all, the room-door opens, an' in steps me 
 brave Jack into the kitchen with his shoes 
 an' stockin's under his arm; and he dhraws 
 forrid a sait to the fire, and sat down atwixt 
 the Joyant an' his mother. 
 
 " Boys-a-boys! " says Jack, says he, an' 
 him thrimblin', "I couldn't lie in that bed 
 no longer," says he, "for a tarrible wild 
 dhraim I'm afther havin'."
 
 248 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 " A dhraim! " says the Joy ant. 
 
 " A dhraim! " says the Joyant's mother. 
 
 "Yis, a dhraim, an' a tarrible wan en- 
 tirely," says Jack. "I dhraimt," says he, 
 that I was out in a shower o' hailstones, an* 
 that three great, big, big wans struck me 
 right there on the stomach, an' a'most took 
 the breath from me. Oh, oh, oh! " says he, 
 rubbin' his stomach hard, " I think I feel it 
 smartin' still. Oh, oh, oh! " says he. 
 
 An' the Joyant looked at the oul' mother, 
 an' the oul' mother looked at the Joyant; 
 but naither o' them spoke only shuk their 
 heads at other, as much as to say, " There's 
 for ye! three ~big hailstones! " 
 
 "Jack," then says the Joyant's mother, 
 " don't ye think aren't ye a long time away 
 from yer home an' from yer mother now? 
 And don't ye think wouldn't it be a good 
 notion if ye made a push back for yer own 
 counthry again' mornin' ? " 
 
 " It would be ill me comin' to do anything 
 o 5 the sort," says Jack, " for to go for to disart 
 ye afther all the wee kindnesses ye've shown 
 me while I was here. No, no, no," says Jack, 
 " you've been both mother an' father to me,
 
 Jack Who was the Ashypet 249 
 
 an' this house is goin' to be my home, plaise 
 Providence, for the time to come. Oh, no, 
 no, no, don't think I'd be so small as for to 
 go for to disart ye that way," says Jack. 
 
 So, the lee an' the long of it was that they 
 had to offer Jack, if he'd return home, he'd 
 have all the goold he could carry with him. 
 An' at long an' at last Jack consented only, 
 he said, he wouldn't ax all the goold he could 
 carry, for that would rob them entirely, out 
 an' out; he'd only ax what goold the Joyant 
 could carry. So, off at length the Joyant 
 an' Jack started, an' the Joyant two-double 
 undher a great sack of goold, an' he left Jack 
 three days' journey on his way, puttin' him 
 over the bordhers intil his own counthry. 
 An' Jack soon found manes of fetchin' the 
 goold the remaindher of the way home, 
 where right hearty glad his poor oul' mother 
 was to see her own Ashypet come back. But 
 when she saw the sight o' the goold was 
 along with him, it's sartin sure ye may be 
 that she was beside herself with the delight. 
 There was an open house, an' faistin', 
 aitin', an' dhrinkin' for nine days an' nine 
 nights every day an' night betther nor the
 
 250 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 other an' the last day an' night the best of 
 all. 
 
 And Jack he built a great castle with a 
 window again' every day o' the year. An' 
 himself an' his poor oul' mother lived happy 
 iver afther.
 
 Jack and the Lord High 
 Mayor of Dublin
 
 Jack and the Lord High 
 Mayor of Dublin 
 
 IN the rare ould times, long, long, ago, 
 whin there was paice an' plinty in Irelan', 
 an' whin you'd meet with more humours an' 
 cracks in one day's journey than now in a 
 year an' a day, there was an aged widdy 
 woman, an' she had one son, an' they called 
 him Jack. An' Jack an' his ould mother 
 owned a wee hut of a house not a bit bigger 
 nor that ye might put yer han' down the 
 chimley an' take the boult off o' the door, 
 an' they had a stretch o' land behind the 
 house that supported one Nanny-goat in aise 
 an' comfort. An' moreover nor the Nanny- 
 goat, Jack owned two pet rabbits, for he had 
 that kindly sort of a way with him, that he 
 had a grah for little wee birds an' bastes, an* 
 the little wee birds and bastes, too, was jist 
 every bit as fond o* him. For, by the same
 
 254 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 token, Jack had a wee whistle on a runnin'- 
 string fastened into his weskit-pocket an* 
 buttonhole, same as you or me 'ud carry a 
 watch an' chain, an' whin Jack would put 
 the whistle into his mouth an' blow it, there 
 wasn't a bird of any sort or description 
 within a mile o' ground that wouldn't come 
 whish! flyin' in a sthring after the other like 
 a railway thrain, an' light all over him an' 
 about him, waitin' to be fed, for he had them 
 all as tame as chickens, feedin' them day an' 
 daily from he was no height; an' they'd perch 
 on his hands an' arms an' head, an' all roun' 
 him, without bein' in the laste taste afeerd. 
 The cabin that Jack an' his ould mother 
 lived in was built on the main road to Dub- 
 lin, where, of course, there was no end of 
 genthry an' nobility rowlin' by in their car- 
 riages day af ther day as sure as ever the sun 
 rose. An' it happened that wan day the 
 Lord High Mayor of Dublin an' his shoot 
 was passin' by Jack's an' his ould mother's 
 wee hut, on his way back to Dublin from a 
 visit he was afther payin' to a second an' 
 third cousin of his (by his mother's side) in 
 the Black North; an' just as he was passin'
 
 Jack and the Lord High Mayor 255 
 
 Jack's an' his ould mother's hut what would 
 ye have of it, but wasn't me hrave Jack just 
 at that very minnit puttin' the whistle in 
 his mouth to call the little wee birds to their 
 mait, an' when the Lord High Mayor he 
 hears the whistle he ordhers the coachman 
 to pull up, bethinkin' that it was on himself 
 Jack was whistlin'; but there, lo and behould 
 ye! afore ye could say " thrapsticks," there 
 the very sky itself was a'most darkened with 
 the dhroves of birds that come helther-skel- 
 ther from all the hedges an' ditches, woods 
 an' scrugs aroun', an' gathers roun' Jack, an' 
 lights atop o' him, an' atop o' everything 
 round about, some o' them even havin' the 
 very impidence to light on the Lord High 
 Mayor's own carriage. Faix, the Lord High 
 Mayor he opened his eyes at this, an' 
 
 " The top o' the mornin' to ye, Jack, me 
 man," sez the Lord High Mayor, sez he to 
 him, be raison there wasn't maybe a man, 
 woman, or child in Dublin didn't know Jack 
 like his own left han', bekase of his livin' 
 on the main road side, that way, where they 
 were always passin' back an' forrid. 
 
 " The tip-top o' the blissid mornin' to yer-
 
 256 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 self, me Lord High Mayorship," sez he, " it's 
 gran' yer honour's lookin' this mornin', an' 
 might I make bould to ax afther the health 
 o' the Missis Lord High Mayor? I hope 
 she's purty fine," sez Jack. 
 
 "The Missis Lord High Mayor, Jack," 
 sez he, "is as healthy as a throut, thank 
 you. Her lungs is as sthrong as ever, an' 
 so is her fist, an' atween yerself an' me an' 
 the wall, Jack," sez he, " ye may thank the 
 Lord you're not the Misther Lord High 
 Mayor," sez he, " or you'd know that to yer 
 cost. But about that whistle o' yours, Jack, 
 it's a wonderful one entirely, an' I'd like to 
 bargain with ye for it. How does it come 
 that it has that wondherful power over the 
 birds?" 
 
 " Och," sez Jack, sez he, seein' his oppor- 
 tunity o' turnin' a few pounds at the Lord 
 High Mayor's cost. " Och," sez he, " there's 
 a vartue in that whistle, that when I sound 
 it there's no feathered bird of any kind 
 within two-an'-twinty mile o' where it is 
 sounded but must come at the call. It was 
 a blin' beggarman," sez he, for Jack was 
 good at makin' histhories "it was a blin'
 
 Jack and the Lord High Mayor 257 
 
 beggarman," sez he, " that died in me 
 great-great-gran'father's house, an' left that 
 whistle to me great-great-gran'father as a 
 last bequist for lettin' him die undher their 
 roof, an' it has been handed down from 
 father to son since," sez he. " Och it's a 
 wondherful great cur'osity entirely," sez 
 Jack, "an' me father, whin he was dyin', 
 warned me nivir to part it." 
 
 " Oh, but," says the Lord High Mayor, 
 " ye're a poor man, Jack, an' money," sez he, 
 " would do ye betther good any day nor the 
 whistle. I'll give ye," sez he, "ten pounds 
 for it." 
 
 " I'm very thankful to yer Lord High 
 Mayorship," sez Jack, sez he, "but I 
 wouldn't part it on no tarms." 
 
 " Come, Jack, be manly," sez the Lord 
 High Mayor, "an' I don't care if I give ye 
 a score o' pounds for it," sez he. 
 
 "No use, me lord," sez Jack, "I don't 
 want to part it, an' less nor fifty pounds 
 wouldn't purchase it." 
 
 " Done then," sez the Lord High Mayor, 
 "I'll give ye fifty pounds for it," sez he, 
 openin' his weskit and pullin' the purse out
 
 258 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 of the inside pocket, an' countin' down on 
 the earraige sait two score an' ten shinin' 
 goold sovereigns. 
 
 " There ye are now, Jack," sez he, raiehin' 
 Jack the money, " an' that's the dearest 
 whistle," sez he, " ever I paid for." 
 
 " Ye're not half as loth to give it, let me 
 tell you," sez Jack, "as I am to part me 
 whistle, that has been a hair-loom in the 
 family for up'ards of two hundred years." 
 
 So the Lord High Mayor took the whistle 
 an' dhrove off to Dublin, chucklin' to him- 
 self at the dead chape bargain he got, an* 
 how he fooled Jack, an' he scarce let bite 
 or sup cross his lips when he got into Dublin 
 till he run round all the naybours' houses 
 showin' the whistle, an' tellin' the exthraor- 
 nary great vartue of it entirely. An' the 
 Lord High Mayor's wondherful whistle was 
 soon the whole talk o' Dublin from one end 
 o' the street to the other. An' then the 
 Lord High Mayor give out a great day for 
 showin' the merits o' the whistle, an' he 
 hired one o' the biggest lofts in Dublin for 
 the occasion, an' charged so much a head 
 for gettin' in, from tuppence up, accordin*
 
 Jack and the Lord High Mayor 259 
 
 to their size an' daicency, an' every one come 
 was to fetch their cage-birds with them be 
 raison there's no wild birds in Dublin to 
 practice on. So on that day an' a grate 
 day entirely it was you wouldn't think 
 there was one, gentle or simple, in Dublin 
 that didn't turn up there, every one with 
 his cage over his shoulder or under his arm, 
 an' when they were all in, an' the loft was 
 a'most crammed full, 
 
 " Now," sez the Lord High Mayor, sez he, 
 displayin' his whistle, " I'm goin' to show 
 
 
 
 yez the exthra-or-nary powers of this won- 
 dherful little article. Yez will kindly open 
 the windows, an' then openin' the doors of 
 your cages," sez he, " let yer birds go free. 
 Afther they have got time to be away a re- 
 spectable distance from the house, then I'll 
 blow this whistle, and yez 'ill behould the 
 astonishin' sight of every mother's sowl o* 
 them birds comin' back all together like 
 Brown's cows, an' crowdin' in o' the windows 
 again to yez, when they'll be every one o' 
 them as tame as tomcats, an' yez will then 
 kindly catch them an' put them back into yer 
 cages again, the people with ondifferent van-
 
 260 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 eties of birds takin' care not to get their 
 naybour's bird into their cages by mistake 
 for their own. Then yez can thank me an' 
 go home/' sez he, windin' up the norration 
 with a great bow. 
 
 Up then went the windies, an* open flew 
 the doors of the cages, an' out wint thrishes, 
 blackbirds, paycocks, parrots, larks, jinny- 
 wrans, an' canary-birds, besides siveral birds 
 of great value an' scarcity, with no names on 
 thim, that had come from furrin parts, an' 
 was rackoned worth their weight in goold. 
 Out they all flew, an' once away an' eye away, 
 they weren't long showin' a clean pair o' 
 heels over the roofs o' the houses, an' it 
 was long an' many a year since such a gath- 
 erin' o' birds darkened Dublin town afore. To 
 pass the time, then, an' give the birds time 
 to get off far enough afore he'd call them 
 back, the Lord High Mayor commenced 
 crackin' jokes an' reharsin' dhroll passages 
 that he fell in with when he was away on 
 his visit in the North, puttin' the company 
 into stitches laughin' for he was a dhroll 
 lad in his way, was the same Lord High 
 Mayor, an' was no miss at reharsin' a story.
 
 Jack and the Lord High Mayor 261 
 
 But well and good, the birds was long 
 enough away at last to show the wounderful 
 powers that he b'leeved to be in the little 
 whistle, so puttin' the whistle up to his lips, 
 
 " Now, boys," sez he, " will yez kindly 
 stand back a bit farther from the windies, 
 an' give the little animals room to get in. 
 There's a big body o' them, an' they must 
 get a little more room nor that, or they won't 
 be able to show in at all, at all," sez he, 
 "stand back, boys, stand back. Police- 
 man," sez he to a policeman was there, " do 
 you see an' keep ordher there, and help to 
 keep the crowd back a thrifle from the win- 
 dies. That's right that's you." 
 
 An' then he ins with the whistle into his 
 mouth and blew a good stout, strong blow o' 
 the whistle. "Now, boys," sez he, "now, 
 boys, prepare an' lookout, they'll be here in 
 a jiffey." 
 
 Then the crowd was all on their tip-toes, 
 an' houldin' in their breaths, an' shovin' out 
 their eyes to catch the first gleek o' the birds 
 comin' back. They were this way for full 
 two minnits, an' still no sign o' the birds. 
 The Lord High Mayor himself began to look
 
 262 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 a thrifle unaisy, ye would think, an' he looked 
 out iv the windy. 
 
 " I b'leeve, boys," sez he, " they'll be here 
 immaidiately. It's their time now; watch 
 hard and yez'll see them comin'." 
 
 So the boys watched harder than afore; an' 
 they'd see things in the distance, an' say, 
 "There they are!" "No." "What's yon 
 now?" "It's a dhirty shirt the wind's tos- 
 sin' over the house." " Here they come." 
 " Ay, this is them." " It's a lie." " It is." 
 "It is not." "You're a liar." "You're 
 another." "Do ye want ye're jaw splint- 
 hered?" " There they are at last." "It's 
 not them." " It is them." " I'll knock yer 
 two eyes into wan." " What's yon black 
 thing now?" "It's a lawyer's sowl that 
 died at the town end, last night." " Hur- 
 rooh! here they are now! " " Nobbut, is it 
 them? " " No, the divil a feather o' them 
 yet." " They're not goin' to come at all, 
 lads." "They are." " They're not." "Shut 
 yer mouth, or ye won't see them if they do 
 come." "They'll not come." "Our birds 
 is lost, boys." " We'll nivir see the sight o* 
 them more." " Give it up, boys, the Lord
 
 Jack and the Lord High Mayor 263 
 
 Mayor has made Tom-fools o' yez." 
 "Throth an' he'll pay for it if he has." 
 "Ruffian!" "Villain!" " Scoundhril! " 
 
 "Aisy, aisy, lads," sez the Lord High 
 Mayor, sez he, the colour o' the white wall 
 wit fright "Aisy, aisy, boys, an' I'll fetch 
 yez back yer birds, don't fear. Just let me 
 give one other whistle out o' the windy, an* 
 yez'll not be able to cage them as fast as 
 they fly in," sez he. "They mustn't have 
 heard that last whistle I gave. But, I'll en- 
 gage ye, they'll hear this one." An' puttin* 
 his head right out o' the windy, to give the 
 birds no excuse, he blew with a vingince. 
 
 " Now, me lads," sez he, dhrawin' himself 
 in, " look out for yer birds." 
 
 But, mavrone, he might as well have told 
 them to look out for the sky to fall, for the 
 sorra a sign o' the birds appeared. An' then 
 the Lord High Mayor whistled out o' every 
 other windy o' the house, laist there should 
 be spells on some o' them, an' then went out 
 an' whistled at the four corners o' the house, 
 but it was all o' no use, whatsomever. The 
 dickens a bird or bird would come next or 
 near him. The whole crowd b'leeved now
 
 264 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 that the Lord High Mayor had been thryin' 
 to get up a good laugh at their expense, an' 
 they got outragus entirely, an' small 
 wondher. 
 
 There was naither houldin' nor tyin j o* 
 them till they'd get at the Lord High Mayor, 
 an' not lave two pieces o' him together, an' 
 make him laugh at the wrong side o' his 
 mouth. An' there was got up the greatest 
 royot, that the likes o' it was niver seen in 
 Dublin afore or sence, an' only for the Lord 
 High Mayor's sojers an' polis sur-roundin' 
 him, an' convayin' him home, batin' off the 
 mob with their bare naked swords, there'd 
 hev' been a story to tell that day. An' then 
 the Lord High Mayor had to pay every man- 
 jack that their bird went away, for his bird, 
 an' a nice penny he was out o' his pocket 
 when all was settled. 
 
 "Well, be this an' be that, an' be the 
 crutch o' the cruked waiver," sez he, when 
 all was fixed up an' blown over, " if I don't 
 make that scoundhril Jack pay for this busi- 
 ness I'm not the man I took meself for," sez 
 he; an' ordherin' out a rajiment of his sojers, 
 off he starts with them to go an' take me
 
 Jack and the Lord High Mayor 265 
 
 brave Jack pres'ner. But, by the boots, as 
 they come along the main road torst Jack's 
 house, doesn't Jack eye them, an' well he 
 knew what was up with them. So Jack had 
 a little pet rabbit runnin' about the house, 
 an' he sez to his ould mother: " Mother," sez 
 he, " I notice the Lord High Mayor o' Dub- 
 lin an' his sojers comin' along the road there, 
 an' when they come this far, the Lord High 
 Mayor 'ill come in an' ax for me. Then 
 you're to say that I'm not at home that 
 I'm gone to Scotlan', but that if his business 
 is any way purtikler ye'll soon have me here. 
 Then ye'll catch the little rabbit," sez he, 
 " by the ear, an' tell it to fetch Jack home 
 from Scotlan'; give it a wee tig of a rod then 
 that'll make it run out o' the door, an' that's 
 all ye've got to do." Jack's ould mother 
 promised she'd do this, an' Jack went out 
 an' disappeared behind the house. Faix it 
 wasn't long his shadow was aff the threshel, 
 when who steps in as sthraight as a ribbon, 
 an' lookin' as proud as a prence, but me Lord 
 High Mayor, an' he sez, sez he, steppin* up 
 the floor like a drum-major, he sez, sez he: 
 " I'm very desirable, madam," he sez, usin'
 
 266 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 grate English " I'm very desirable," he sez, 
 " madam, to hould a few minutes' councilta- 
 tion with your son Jack. Is he inside, or 
 within?" sez he. 
 
 "My son Jack," sez Jack's ould mother, 
 sez she, " took a run over to Scotlan' two 
 days ago, an' isn't to be back for a week," 
 sez she; " but if it's very great business, sure 
 I can have him here in a couple of minutes." 
 
 " Well, I should say," sez he, " that it is 
 very grate business entirely no less than a 
 matter of life an' death. But it puts me 
 undher a puzzle all the same," sez he, "to 
 know, if yer son Jack wint to Scotland, how 
 ye could have him here in a couple of 
 minutes." 
 
 "Faix, then," sez she, "I'll soon take ye 
 out o' yer puzzle-atation. Jack has got a 
 little pet rabbit here that's very convanient 
 that way; an' no matther what quarther of 
 the known world the man's in that ye want, 
 even as far as Chanay or Connaught, the 
 little rabbit will have him here in a jiffey," 
 sez she. 
 
 An' with that, Jack's ould mother catches 
 the rabbit by the ear an' give it to undher-
 
 Jack and the Lord High Mayor 267 
 
 stand that she wanted it to fetch Jack out 
 of Scotland immediately without no delay, 
 for there was a jintleman here wantin' to see 
 him on very purtickler business. Then, she 
 gave the rabbit a tig of the rod, which, of 
 course, made the rabbit bounce an* away out 
 o' the house. Jack wasn't, maybe, more nor 
 three sparrow-hops away from the back of 
 the house, lying hid behind a knowe, with 
 his belly to the sun; an' the poor rabbit, as 
 it always did in its disthresses, made for Jack, 
 an' Jack started up an' walks into the house, 
 with the rabbit cantherin' at his heels. Well, 
 my sawnies, the Lord High Mayor was more 
 nor a bit surprised at this mericle, but he 
 held his tongue, for he said to himself that 
 little animal, if he only could come by him 
 cheap enough, would be an akisition that 
 he'd give a dale to have. 
 
 "Arrah, good mornin', me Lord High 
 Mayor," sez Jack. " It's proud I am to see 
 ye. How is the Missis Lord High Mayor, an' 
 the young Lord High Mayors? Ye'll have 
 to excuse me bein' a bit out of breath, for 
 that rabbit took me away in a hurry, just as 
 I was in the middle of a hearty good break-
 
 268 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 wist in Scotlan'. What might yer Lord High 
 Mayorship be wantin' o' me?" 
 
 So the Lord High Mayor, keepin' one eye 
 on Jack and two on the rabbit, starts an' 
 tells him the mess Jack landed him into re- 
 gardin' the whistle, an' axed him what he'd 
 got to say for himself, for he had the sojers 
 just outside ready to carry him off to be 
 hung. 
 
 " Me Lord High Mayor/' sez Jack, sez he, 
 " are ye quite positive sartain that ye said 
 ' Whistle, whistle, do yer work, for I com- 
 mand ye/ three times afore ye blew as I 
 tould ye, when I sold ye it? " 
 
 " Go long, ye blaguard," sez he. " Ye 
 nivir tould me nothin' of the sort, an', of 
 course, I didn't do it." 
 
 " I nivir tould ye nothin' o' the sort! " sez 
 Jack, all taken by surprise, if it was true for 
 him " I nivir tould ye nothin' o' the sort! 
 Well, plague on me, but it's just like the 
 misfortunate numbskull that I am, to nivir 
 tell ye that. Och, then, when ye didn't use 
 them words it was no more use nor a common 
 penny whistle. Plague take me, but I'm the 
 stupid omadhaun out an' out entirely! Any-
 
 Jack and the Lord High Mayor 269 
 
 thing in me power I can do to recompinsate 
 ye, me Lord High Mayor/' sez Jack, sez he, 
 " ye have only to mintion it an' it's done." 
 
 "Well, Jack," sez the Lord High Mayor, 
 " it would be next to onpossible to recompin- 
 sate me for all the vexation, not to mintion 
 the expince, at all, at all, that whistle cost 
 me. Stillan'ever, I'm not disposed to be too 
 harsh on ye, seem' ye have an' ould mother 
 to support, so I'll only ax ye make me a 
 present of that little rabbit ye have runnin* 
 about there. He might come in useful to 
 me." 
 
 "Oh, is it that little rabbit," sez Jack. 
 " Oh, me Lord High Mayor, don't ax that. 
 Ax anything else but that I couldn't part 
 that little rabbit at all, at all, he's so on- 
 common useful to me. Oh, ye'll have to ax 
 some other requist any at all undher the 
 sun but that," sez Jack, for he seen be his 
 eye that the Lord High Mayor had set his 
 heart in the rabbit. " Oh, anything at all, 
 only that, yer Lord High Mayorship," sez 
 Jack. 
 
 " Well," sez he, " if ye don't like to part 
 it for nothin' though a rajiment of rabbits
 
 270 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 wouldn't railly be enough to recompinsate 
 me for what ye've cost me, yerself an' yer 
 infarnal whistle why then put a price on 
 it/' sez he. 
 
 " Well," eez Jack, sez he, " I wouldn't part 
 with that little animal for all the goold in 
 the King's cellars, but seem' it's yerself is in 
 it, an' seem' that ye did lose by my little 
 mistake in forgettin' to give ye proper dirac- 
 tion seein', I say, ye did come to a loss 
 through me, I never had it in me to see any 
 man wronged on my account, or through any 
 fault of mine; so, I don't care though I do 
 lose by the transaction just count down a 
 hundred guineas there, an' the haste's yours." 
 
 "A hundred guineas! a hundred fiddle- 
 sticks! " sez the Lord High Mayor. " Is it 
 a common barefaced robber ye want to make 
 yerself? " sez he. 
 
 " Oh, all right, all right, me Lord High 
 Mayor, there's no harm done yet every man 
 has his own, an' then no man's onsatisfied. 
 I was goin' to give ye the rabbit for a hun- 
 dred guineas bekase it was yerself was in it, 
 but I'm glad ye won't take him I'm very 
 glad indeed ye won't take him," sez Jack,
 
 Jack and the Lord High Mayor 271 
 
 " for if I had recklessly parted with that rab- 
 bit for the money, I'd nivir regretted it but 
 wanst, an' that would 'a' been all the days 
 o' my life," sez he. " I'm very glad yer Lord 
 High Mayorship didn't jump at the offer." 
 
 So, the long an' the short of it was, Jack 
 made him believe so well that he was lettin' 
 the rabbit go at a sackerfice, an' that he 
 would sooner not let him go, that the Lord 
 High Mayor at last had to count down his 
 hundred goold guineas on the dale table to 
 Jack; an' then takin' up the rabbit, he wint 
 away back to Dublin again, himself an' his 
 sojers. 
 
 "Well, mavrone, it wasn't long till the Lord 
 High Mayor had put it about all over Dublin, 
 about the rare grate rabbit he had got en- 
 tirely, an' the mortial wonderful things it 
 was fit for, an' all Dublin was talkin' of it; 
 an' he said to himself when they'd witness 
 the great doin's of his rabbit, he would be 
 well recompinsated for all the bad handlin' 
 an' hard usage he got over the whistle. So 
 he was detarmined to lose no time lettin' 
 them see what he could do with his rabbit; 
 an' as he had a brother called Jimmy that
 
 272 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 lived in Galway, an' whose birthday would 
 come roun' in a week, he said he'd give a 
 grate supper in the market-house, the biggest 
 house in Dublin, on that night, an' Jimmy 
 was to get no word of it at all, but when 
 they'd all be ready to sit down to the supper, 
 he'd pack off the rabbit for Jimmy an' have 
 him there at wanst, an' that would be the 
 surprise! So me brave Lord High Mayor 
 went an' ordhered a supper of, oh, the very 
 best of everything that Dublin could afford, 
 disregardless of all expense, for that night, 
 an' then he went roun' an' axed in all the 
 quality, an' high-up people of Dublin to 
 come in to the supper in honour of his 
 brother Jimmy's birthday nivir remarkin* 
 at all about the way he was to fetch Jimmy 
 there that night. An' sure enough, whin 
 the night come, the market-house was gorjus 
 with lights an' illuminations; an' at laist a 
 dozen long tables was spread out, an' all the 
 invited quality come in coaches an' carriages 
 an' 'bushes, with at laist four black horses 
 in ivery coach, an' great snobs of coachmen 
 dhrivin' them with castor-hats; an' whin the 
 parties were all gathered, they were all
 
 Jack and the Lord High Mayor 273 
 
 lookin' about an' gapin' about, lookin' out 
 to see if they'd see Jimmy, or where was he 
 at all, at all. But sarra take the one o' them 
 could see him, an' they were puzzled out an' 
 out; so they called the Lord High Mayor, an' 
 put it to him where was Mr. Jimmy, or 
 what had happened to him at all that he 
 wasn't here before this? 
 
 " Oh, that's all right/' sez he, smilin' a 
 knowin' kind of a smile, an' wavin' his hand. 
 " That's all right," sez he. " Whin the sup- 
 per's ready to be sarved," sez he, " I'll soon 
 let ye see Jimmy." 
 
 They all wondhered to themselves, what 
 did he mean by the cur'ous smile he had on 
 him when he said this. But they weren't 
 long under the mistification, for, no sooner 
 did the messenger come in to ax the Lord 
 High Mayor that the gran' supper was ready 
 now an' would it be sarved, when the Lord 
 High Mayor sayed he would just sarve it 
 immadiately, as soon as Misther Jimmy 
 would come, an' he was goin' to send for him 
 now. The whole company got up their ears 
 at this, an' it sthruck them about the rabbit 
 they had heard so much about, an' they were 
 18
 
 274 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 all on tip-toe to sec the wondherful perform- 
 ance. Then the Lord High Mayor, he took 
 the rabbit out of a beautiful cage he had it 
 in, an' in the presence of the whole as- 
 sembled company, he commanded it in its 
 ear to go down to his brother Jimmy in Gal- 
 way, an' fetch him here immaidiately, for 
 that a grate supper was waitin' him. Then 
 givin' the rabbit a tig of his walkin' stick on 
 the behind, he made it run away out of the 
 door. 
 
 "Now, ladies and gintlemen," sez he, 
 turnin' to the company, " ye're about to see 
 a very wonderful performance entirely. My 
 brother Jimmy, as ye all know, is in Galway 
 this night, an' doesn't know, no more than 
 that walkin' stick of mine, about this great 
 supper I'm getting up in his honour. But 
 yez have all heard me puttin' the ordhers," 
 sez he, " on that little rabbit to fetch him 
 here; consequentially ye'll see Jimmy comin' 
 walkin' in o' that door in an instant, with 
 the little rabbit trottin' behin' him at his 
 heels," sez he. 
 
 Well, of course, the whole company, all 
 the great tip-top ladies an' jintlemen of the
 
 Jack and the Lord High Mayor 275 
 
 town of Dublin, they were all wondherfully 
 amazed at this. An' they were all standin' 
 tippy-toes at once, watchin' the door to see 
 the quare sight of Jimmy an' the rabbit 
 comin' in, all the way from Galway. They 
 waited this way five minutes, an' the mes- 
 senger come back to ax the Lord High Mayor 
 if he'd sarve the supper now. 
 
 "Just immaidiately immaidiately, my 
 man," sez he, lookin' at his watch. " Jimmy 
 has time to be here now, an' the minute he 
 comes you'll sarve the supper." 
 
 Still, be me song, there was no Jimmy 
 puttin' in an appearance, an' the company 
 had their necks strained watchin'. Afther 
 another five minutes the man come back 
 again to say "the supper was coolin'. No 
 odds no supper dar' be sarved, the Lord 
 High Mayor said, till Jimmy comes, an' he'd 
 be here just now. But, be the toss o' war, 
 it was plain to be seen he was gettin' a 
 thrifle onaisy, an' when, afther another 
 quarther of an hour, the man come in an' 
 sayed the supper was as cowld as charity, 
 faith the Lord High Mayor he knocked him 
 down wit' vexation, an' he started out to look
 
 276 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 for the rabbit. An' soon afther, when there 
 was no sign of him comin' back aither, an' 
 the supper got past takin' entirely, faix the 
 company begun to get up their dandher wit' 
 their stomachs achin', seein' that most of 
 them didn't cut mait for four-an'-twinty 
 hours afore, as they wanted to have plinty 
 of room for the gran' supper faix their 
 dandher begun to get up, an' afther they 
 passed some ugly remarks not nowise com- 
 plimenthary to the Lord High Mayor, who 
 had now made a purty fool an' town talk o' 
 them twicet over, they started off hot foot 
 to look for the Lord High Mayor himself, 
 till they would taich him a lesson he wouldn't 
 be likely to forget. But the Lord High 
 Mayor, who was runnin' the sthreets like a 
 lunatic axin' afther his rabbit, got word 
 of this, an' only he raiched his own house 
 in time, an' locked an' barred an' bolted 
 all, an' kept within doors for betther nor a 
 week, he'd 'a' been a sorry man, let me tell 
 you. 
 
 But when it was all settled up again, an* 
 the Lord High Mayor had shown how he 
 was swindled himself, far more an' far worse
 
 Jack and the Lord High Mayor 277 
 
 nor them, they give him pardon, an' he got 
 free once more. An' when he was free: 
 
 " Well, be this an' be that, an' be the 
 other thing," sez the Lord High Mayor, " if 
 I don't make that scoundhril Jack pay for 
 this," sez he, " it's not day yet. That's 
 twicet the conscionless knave has robbed an' 
 thricked me, but, by Jimminy! he'll not do 
 it the third time. I'll ardher out me sojers," 
 sez he, " an' I'll go to his house an' saize on 
 him, the blaguard; an' I'll fetch him here, 
 an' hang, an' dhraw, an' quarther him, for 
 the addification of the Dublineers an' 
 that'll be the proper way to thrait the 
 wratch," sez he. 
 
 So, ordherin' out his sojers once more, off 
 again he started wit' them for Jack's house, 
 detarmined to have Jack wit' him this time, 
 whither or how, be hook or be crook. 
 
 As the Lord High Mayor an' his sojers 
 come along doesn't me brave Jack again eye 
 them, an' right well the rascal knew their 
 arrand. So puttin' his ould mother into bed, 
 he filled a bladdher with bullock's blood an' 
 tied it roun' his mother's neck. Then he 
 sat down by the hearth just to wait till they'd
 
 278 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 come. An' he wasn't long sittin' till the 
 thramp! thramp! comes up to the main road 
 torst Jack's house, an' in walks me Lord 
 High Mayor up the floor, far straighter and 
 prouder, you'd think, than ever he was. 
 
 "Arrah, begorra," sez Jack, sez he, run- 
 nin' to him with hoth hands out, "but it's 
 the welcome sight for me to see yer Lord 
 High Mayorship, an' but it's meself is both 
 plaised an' proud to see ye; for, would ye 
 b'lieve it, ye were the very idantical man I 
 was thinkin' about yerself an' the Missis 
 Lord High Mayor. Sure I hope an' thrust 
 in Providence it's right well an' hearty she 
 is, both herself an' the young Lord High 
 Mayors I hope they're all as well as I'd 
 wish them; an' may the Lord in His bounties 
 always keep them so. Won't yer Lord High 
 Mayorship dhraw forrid this sate to the fire, 
 an' sit down on it, an' take a wee hate of the 
 fire, such as it is, an' it's just poor enough 
 a sort of mixed, middlin', like a man comin' 
 out o' the faver for the thurf, thanks be 
 to God for all his marcies, wasn't just as 
 plentiful this year as we'd wish them. I 
 thrust yez isn't anyway ill off for thurf in the
 
 Jack and the Lord High Mayor 279 
 
 town now or, sure if yer Lord High Mayor- 
 ship was disthressed for a grain of thurf to 
 make the dhrap o' tay for the Missis Lord 
 High Mayor an' the young Lord High Mayors 
 in the mornin', why, if you'd sen' a man out 
 to me with a creel, I'd I'd I'd show him 
 a stack where he could stale plinty." 
 
 " Will ye, for heaven's sake," sez the Lord 
 High Mayor, " stop that tongue of yours that 
 goes like a hand-hell. Don't give me any 
 more o' yer palaverin', for I don't want none 
 of it it's too much of it, to me own loss, 
 comes me way I'm come here, ye notorious 
 scoundhril ye," sez he, " with me sojers to 
 take ye off to Dublin, where I'll hang, dhraw, 
 an' quarther ye, for an example," sez he, 
 commencin' an' norratin' to him all happened 
 to him over the head o' the rabbit. 
 
 " Oh, well, me Lord High Mayor," sez 
 Jack, "sure the divil of it is that meself 
 an' me poor ould mother made the gran' mis- 
 take of forgettin' to give ye the wee rod we 
 iised to strike it with, for none other would 
 do!" 
 
 "Come, come along," sez he, "ye bla- 
 guard, an' give me no more o' yer nadiums.
 
 280 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 Don't think ye can take me in that way, 
 more. Come along," sez he, " come along." 
 
 " Oh, well, if I must go," sez Jack, " I 
 can't go away an' laive me poor sick an' help- 
 less ould mother in bed there to parish of 
 hunger. Betther for me do for her at once," 
 sez he, takin' up a big knife, an' plungin' it 
 down into the bed, pertendin' it was into his 
 mother, moryah, but Jack knew well it was 
 into the bladdher he put the knife, an' there, 
 behould, up spurts the big sthraim of blood, 
 an' more blood commenced flowin' out o' the 
 bed an' over the floor, an' the ould mother 
 give a groan an' stiffened out all as one she 
 was dead. 
 
 " Och, ye natarnal murdherin' villian 
 ye! " sez the Lord High Mayor, sez he, when 
 he seen what Jack had done "ye natarnal 
 murdherin' villain ye! ye have fixed yerself 
 now anyhow murdherin' yer poor ould 
 mother. Oh, ye notorious reprobate! it's 
 burned and beheaded ye'll be now, besides 
 bein' hanged, dhrawn, an' quarthered," sez 
 he, "for Christian daith is too good for a 
 ruffin of yer. sort." 
 
 " Oh, aisy, me Lord High Mayor," sez Jack,
 
 Jack and the Lord High Mayor 281 
 
 " take it aisy, man. If it matters that much 
 about a dying ould woman that couldn't live 
 long anyhow, sure we'll fetch her back to 
 life again if it gives ye any plaisement." 
 
 " Go along," sez the Lord High Mayor, 
 " ye couldn't do that." 
 
 " Couldn't I, though ? " sez Jack. " We'll 
 soon see about whether I can or no." So 
 climbin' up to the l)ak of the roof, he takes 
 down a cow's horn out of it, and no sooner 
 did he blow the blast, than his mother, that 
 was all as one as dead, jumped up in the bed, 
 as well as ever. 
 
 " Well, that bates me! " sez the Lord High 
 Mayor, when he saw this. " That's a most 
 wondherful thing," sez he. "An' a most 
 wondherful horn entirely." 
 
 " Wondherful, is it? " sez Jack. " Arrah, 
 good luck to yer wit, if ye were livin' with 
 meself an' me ould mother here long," sez 
 he, " ye wouldn't make much wondher of it. 
 There isn't that day ever the sun rises that 
 she doesn't displaise me somehow or other, 
 for ould people, ye know, is very cantankrus, 
 an' there's no livin' wit' them. So, every 
 time she puts me out in me timper it works
 
 282 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 me to kill her, an' I just stick that knife in 
 her, an' by an' by when I cool down an' gets 
 out o' my anger, I just take down the horn 
 an' blow in it, an' then we live as happy as 
 ye plaise till the nixt day. I find it very 
 aisin' on me entirely to be able to kill her 
 that way now an' again," sez he. 
 
 " Well, throgs," sez the Lord High Mayor, 
 " I have an ould woman that way at home 
 the missis," sez he, " an' she has got her 
 share of a tongue, an' like most women, too, 
 she knows the use of it; and there's times 
 that way an' I'd give a good dale to be able 
 to take her life. An' moreover, nor that, 
 too," sez he, " the sarvints I have got would 
 brak the timper of a saint if it was made of 
 wrought steel," sez he, "an' it comes over 
 me that way, too, many's a time, to have one 
 of their lives, an' I know it would give me 
 grate aise to kill one o' them back an' forrid, 
 if I could only fetch him to life again. I 
 don't care, Jack," sez he, "if I let ye off 
 this time with yer life, if ye give me that 
 horn," sez he. 
 
 "Is it give ye the horn to get off?" sez 
 Jack: " Arrah, conshumin' to me, man,"
 
 Jack and the Lord High Mayor 283 
 
 sez he, "that horn is worth a ship's cargo 
 of goold an' I wouldn't like to part it on no 
 account," sez he. 
 
 But the end of it all was that after they 
 had bargained an' banthered for lee an' for 
 long the Lord High Mayor bought the horn 
 off Jack for a hundred guineas. An' off he 
 sets with the horn, himself an' the sojers, off 
 for Dublin, as delighted as if he was made 
 King of Irelan'. An' be me song, he was 
 detarmined not to keep the horn long till 
 he'd put it in use. So he went out that very 
 night, an' carousin' till long l>y midnight, 
 knowin' his wife would be waitin' up for him 
 to give him a barjin with the tongue as usual. 
 So when he raiches his own door an' raps at 
 it, sure enough there was the Missis Lord 
 High Mayor come to open the door, with a 
 candle, an' as soon as she sees him she opens 
 on him at once, and sez she: 
 
 " Ay, a nice how-do-ye-do it is, comin' 
 staggerin' home blin' drunk," sez she, "at 
 this time of night or this time nixt morn- 
 in', I should say. A nice thing, indeed," 
 sez she, " for yer poor neggar-slave of a wife 
 to be waitin' up here this way, night an'
 
 284 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 nightly, on ye; a nice example it is, too, to 
 the young Lord High Mayors," sez she, " an* 
 purty boys they'll be when they get up, seein' 
 nothin' all the days of their lives but you 
 comin' staggerin' in as drunk as a beggar 
 every night when they're sound asleep in 
 their wee beds," sez she. "A purty thing, 
 indeed." 
 
 "Will ye hould yer jaw, ma'am?" sez he. 
 
 " No, nor I won't hould me jaw," sez she. 
 
 " I warn ye it'll be betther for ye if ye do," 
 sez he, " for if ye don't I'll soon find a way 
 of makin' ye." 
 
 " Jist thry that for a thrick," sez she, " ye 
 dhrunkin' scavinger ye, that's good for noth- 
 in' only sihravagin* the town afther night," 
 sez she. 
 
 " Oh, ye long-tongued hussy ye! " sez he, 
 "it's the life of a dog I haven't with ye 
 but I'll soon cure ye," sez he, flyin' at her 
 with a knife that he plunged into her, an' 
 she fell over dead with a screech that wak- 
 ened the whole house, an' sarvants an' all 
 come runnin' down to the door to see what 
 was up, or what was the matther at all. 
 
 " Oh! " sez the first of them, when he
 
 Jack and the Lord High Mayor 285" 
 
 come down, an' seen his misthress murdhered 
 "dead " Oh! ye hlack murdherer," sez he, 
 " what's this ye have done, at all, at all! " 
 
 "Faithn, I'll soon let ye know that, me 
 man," sez the Lord High Mayor, rushin' at 
 him with the knife, an' leavin' him dead on 
 the floor. 
 
 Then the nixt come an*. 
 
 " Oh, melia murther! " sez he, " what's 
 this what's this ye have done at all, at all, 
 ye murtherin' villain, ye? " sez he. 
 
 " I'll show you that, too," sez the Lord 
 High Mayor, rushing at him with the knife, 
 an' leavin' him dead a-top of the other two. 
 
 An' every one o' them, sarvints an' family, 
 an' all, as they corned down, they went to 
 open on him in the same way, with a melia 
 murther! An' every sowl o' them he left 
 Btone dead inside his hall-door. 
 
 But, my sawnies, the naybours was all 
 awoke with the melia murtherin', an' the 
 screechin', an' the roarin' comin' out of the 
 Lord High Mayor's; an' they gathered about 
 the door with the polis and the sojers, an' 
 they saw what was up, an' they thought the 
 Lord High Mayor was gone clean cracked
 
 286 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 altogether; an' they called on the polls an' 
 sojers to saize him an' carry him off to be 
 hung at once, afore he'd have time to do 
 more harm. But 
 
 " No, me good men, just hould on yez a 
 bit," sez the Lord High Mayor, sez he, " an' 
 I'll show yez somethin' 'ill open yer eyes," sez 
 he. An' away he goes for his horn an' fetched 
 it, an' then an' there commences to tell them 
 all about the wondherful powers of the horn, 
 an' that all he'd have to do would be to give 
 one wee blast, the slightest in the worP, an' 
 they'd all rise up as well as ever again. 
 
 The crowd looked at the horn, an' then 
 looked from one to the other at this. An' 
 then 
 
 " "Well, go on an' do it," sez they, " till we 
 see." 
 
 " Yes," sez he, " but any of yez would be 
 mindin' to get yerselves killed first, I can 
 do it right handy an' aisy with this little 
 knife here, an' give yez very little pain, till 
 I fetch yez all back to life again together." 
 
 But no; they all stood back a bit from him, 
 an' thanked him, an' said they'd not mind 
 gettin' killed just yet till they'd see him
 
 Jack and the Lord High Mayor 287 
 
 fetch back the detachment he had killed, 
 back to life again first. 
 
 So seem' he couldn't persuade none of 
 them he takes the horn, an' putting it to his 
 mouth, he siz: 
 
 " Now, boys, stand back a bit an' give a 
 little air> for when this crowd rises they'll 
 be all dhrawin' in a big breath, an' they'll 
 want all the fresh air they can." 
 
 So back they stood, an* the Lord High 
 Mayor put his mouth to the horn, an' he 
 blew a blast an' then stepped back to give 
 them room to rise, but the sorra a wee finger 
 moved in the heap. 
 
 "Eh?" sez he, "what's that? Did none 
 o' them get up? Maybe they didn't hear it." 
 
 Some one in the crowd said he was of the 
 same opinion that they did not hear it. 
 
 "Ay, that's just it," sez he, "they did 
 not hear it. But they'll hear this one, or I 
 haven't a mouth on me," sez he, puttin' the 
 horn to his lips again, an' blowin' och! a 
 tearin' wild blast entirely that shook the very 
 windies in the house. But conshumin' to 
 the one of them gave any more sign of stir- 
 rin' than if they were so many stone statieys.
 
 288 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 "What what's this at all, at all?" sez 
 he. " This is a mighty quare thing, in- 
 tirely." 
 
 An' so it was mighty quare, but, all lie 
 could do, an' all he could hlow, if he was 
 to blow the chist out o' himself, the sorra 
 resaive the one o' them he could make rise, 
 of course; for to be sure they were as dead 
 as a nail in a coffin, an' oh! wirrasthrue! that 
 was the play when he found what he had 
 done, an' what that scoundhril Jack led him 
 into once more. An' it was only the pity o' 
 the people for him, when they heard his 
 story, an' saw the rale grief he was in for 
 what he had done, not mainin' no manner o' 
 means of harm by it, that saved him from 
 bein' strung up like a cured herrin' afore his 
 own door. But they put pity on him, an' 
 they let him off; an' no sooner was he off 
 than he swore all sorts, high up an' low down, 
 that he would never rest or get bit or sup 
 in contintmint till he'd have Jack burned, 
 beheaded, hung, dhrawn, an' quarthered, on 
 Dublin sthreet, an' much grass he didn't let 
 grow under his heels till he was on the road 
 once more, himself an' his sojers, detarmined
 
 Jack and the Lord High Mayor 289 
 
 to have Jack this time be hook or be crook, 
 surely, an' not to be put off with no more 
 of his palavers or his thricks, for he got 
 enough of thim. 
 
 An', sure enough, it wasn't long till he 
 lifts the latch on Jack's door, an' walks in, 
 an' catches me brave Jack sittin' opposite his 
 ould mother across the fire, the both o' thim 
 plannin' what they'd do, or how they'd lay 
 out the Lord High Mayor's guineas to the 
 best advantage. But when Jack sees him 
 steppin' in up he jumps, an' 
 
 " Cead mile faille a thousand times over! 
 an' cead mile failte over again! " says Jack, 
 "but it's meself's the glad man to see yer 
 Lord High Mayorship again. Mother, dar- 
 lin', why don't ye move yerself an' wipe a 
 chair for his Lord High Mayorship to sit 
 down an' take a shin-hate at our little fire. 
 Troth, it's delighted I am, if ye'd know but 
 all. An' how, might I ax, is the Missis Lord 
 High Mayor may the Lord in His kindness 
 presarve her to ye! an' the young " 
 
 " Come, come, ye morodin', deludhrin' 
 rascal ye! " sez the Lord High Mayor, " I 
 don't want no more of yer blarney, for it's 
 19
 
 290 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 too much of it, to me own loss, I got. Come 
 along wit' me an' get into this sack here," 
 sez he, unrowlin' a sack from undher his arm 
 that he'd fetched special to tie up poor Jack 
 in, so he couldn't escape " Come along wit' 
 me an' get into this sack, for I'm not goin' 
 to be done any more he yer thricks. Every 
 dog has his day, an' turn about, ye know, is 
 fair play. You had your thricks, an' I'm 
 goin' to have a wee one o' me own now. 
 Jump in here," sez he, " for ye'll never ate 
 the bread o' corn again." 
 
 Me poor Jack saw there was nothin' for 
 it now only to obey, so kissin' his mother 
 all over, an' wishing her good-bye for ever, 
 he walked into the sack, an' they tied the 
 mouth o' it, an' throwin' him across a horse's 
 back set off for Dublin. But there's great 
 depth entirely in a bottomless barrel, an* 
 Jack had a thrick or two in his head yet. 
 When they raiched half-ways to Dublin, the 
 day bein' hot an' the road long, the Lord 
 High Mayor, when he come to a shebeen by 
 the roadside said he was blissed if he'd pass 
 it without thryin' the quality of the poteen, 
 for that his throat was as dhry as a lime-
 
 Jack and the Lord High Mayor 291 
 
 burner's hat. An' the sojers was noways 
 objectionable to taste a dhrop aither; so 
 leavin' Jack tied up in the sack, across the 
 horse's back, they went in an' had a caroose. 
 As soon as me brave Jack foun' them all in 
 he commences bemoanin' " Och, I'll not take 
 her! I'll not take her! I'll not take her, at 
 all, at all! Och, och, I'll not take her! I'll 
 not take her! " When what would ye have 
 of it but there comes by a great swell en- 
 tirely, dhressed an' starched up as if he was 
 just steppin' out of a ban-box. He comes 
 by, an' hearin' Jack callin' out " I'll not take 
 her! I'll not take her! " " Halloa, me good 
 man," sez he, " what's that yer sayin', or who 
 will ye not take?" 
 
 "Oh," sez Jack, sez he, "it's the Lord 
 High Mayor of Dublin wit' his sojers is car- 
 ryin' me off to make me marry his ouldest 
 daughter. But for all her money an' all her 
 family, she's not the sort o* girl for me, an' 
 I don't want her, an' I'll not take her, but 
 they're goin' to marry me again' me will 
 but I'll not have her on no account I'll not 
 take her! I'll not take her! I'll not take her 
 at all, at all! " says he wit* great bemoanin'.
 
 292 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 " I say, me good man/' sez the swell, " will 
 ye let me swap places wit' ye? " sez he. 
 
 " I will," sez Jack, " but on one account." 
 
 " What's that? " sez the swell. 
 
 " As you'll be comin' into a mortial grate 
 fortune wit' her, I must get fifty poun' for 
 allowin' ye to take me place," sez Jack. 
 
 " Done," sez the grate swell. 
 
 So, out he loosed Jack, and paid him 
 down the fifty poun', and then he got in him- 
 self, an' Jack tied him up tight, an' warned 
 him not to spake till he'd get to Dublin. He 
 tould Jack there was no fear o' that. Then 
 Jack wasn't well away till the Lord High 
 Mayor an' his sojers came out o' the shebeen, 
 an' takin' the horse by the head they started 
 off for Dublin, an' no sooner were they there 
 nor the Lord High Mayor .ordhered a grate 
 bonfire to be lit. An' it was lit; and all the 
 people gathered to see the rascal Jack roastin' 
 for he was to be roasted half to death first. 
 Then the sack was taken by four men an' 
 heaved into the middle o' the flames; an' the 
 mmnit it was in, the roarin', an' the screech- 
 in', an' the squealin', an' the yellin', an' the 
 bawlin', an' the melia murtherin' started in
 
 Jack and the Lord High Mayor 293 
 
 the sack, that ye'd think there was nine div- 
 ils in it, ivery one o' them makin' more noise 
 nor the other; an' the Lord High Mayor 
 laughed, an' the people laughed, an' heartily 
 enjoyed seein' poor Jack (as they thought) 
 gettin' such a good scorchin', an' they actu- 
 ally danced an' whooped roun' it with de- 
 light. Whin they thought he was well 
 enough roasted they had him pulled out, an* 
 och, that was the play! There the Lord 
 High Mayor saw, an' all the people saw, it 
 was one o' the greatest jintlemen's sons in 
 Dublin, an' a very grate swell entirely, the 
 greatest in the whole town, that they had 
 roasted, an' then there was the ructions! 
 But to make a long story short, the swell's 
 father come, an' he wanted the Lord High 
 Mayor arrested, and the Lord High Mayor- 
 ship to be taken from him, an' it was a very 
 narrow nick with the Lord High Mayor or 
 he'd 'a' lost his life over it. When it was all 
 over he shook his head an' said that rascal 
 Jack was too many for him entirely, and 
 he'd niver go near him more, but laive him 
 in paice for the remaindher of his days. An' 
 Jack an' his ould mother had plinty o'
 
 294 Through the Turf Smoke 
 
 money; an' when his mother died he built 
 a castle an' married a great lady out o' Dub- 
 lin, an' lived ever afther the greatest jintle- 
 man in them parts, with a stable o' horses, 
 an' a pack o' hounds, an' a cellar o' wine, 
 the like o' which wasn't to be found again 
 within the four corners of Ireland! an' sure 
 it was all only his disarts, for he had a cliver 
 head, had me brave Jack.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
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