yC-NRLF 
 
 B 3 S7fl ?S5 
 
 M 
 
 M 
 
 
THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 

AMUSING IRISH TALES 
 
AMUSING 
 
 IRISH TALES 
 
 BY 
 
 William Carleton 
 
 Author of " The Colleen Baton," " Traits and Stories of the 
 
 Irish Peasantry" " The Fawn of Springvale" " The Squanders 
 
 of Castle Squander" " Fardarougha tht Miser," 
 
 FOURTH EDITION 
 
 LONDON 
 
 SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT k CO 
 
 GLASGOW: THOMAS D. MOPJSON 
 
% 
 
 EDITORIAL NOTE. ' 
 
 WILLIAM Carleton, the unrivalled delineator of the 
 habits and character of his countrymen, was born at 
 Prillisk, in the county of Tyrone, in the year 1798. His 
 father was a small farmer. Both father and mother were 
 persons of greatly superior mind ; and although not highly 
 educated they were better informed than most of their 
 class, and were rich in natural endowments, so that the 
 son had considerable privileges, both in the matter of 
 mental inheritance and early associations. The father was 
 endowed with such a marvellous memory, that it is said he 
 could repeat the greater part of the bible by heart. He 
 was also a walking repertory of legendary lore, and could 
 tell tales from year's end to year's end. His mother was 
 noted for her beautiful voice, and talent in the realms of song. 
 
 William was intended for a priest, and had begun the 
 preliminary studies required to fit him for entering May- 
 nooth. At this critical period of his early career, his father 
 died, and immediately the son abandoned all thought of 
 the church ; which would make it appear, that to take this 
 step had been more the wish of his father than of himself. 
 Some years afterwards he left the Roman Catholic Church 
 and joined the Church of England. 
 
 Of an imaginative and sanguine temperament, he was, 
 through a perusal of Gil Bias, fired with a desire to see the 
 world and seek his fortune away from the quiet vale where 
 he had been nurtured. His first effort only resulted in 
 obtaining a situation as tutor, at a very poor salary, in a 
 farmer's house. Soon tired of this uncongenial drudgery, 
 he threw up the situation and started for Dublin, in which 
 city he found himself without any definite plan for the 
 future in his mind, and with the sum of two shillings and 
 ninepence in his pocket. Here again he had to reconcile 
 himself for some time to the uncongenial labours of tutor. 
 
 mm 
 
 201 
 
EDITORIAL NOTE. 
 
 Ultimately, while still resident in Dublin, he became 
 acquainted with the Rev. Caesar Otvvay. At this gentle- 
 man's suggestion young Carleton wrote a tale for one of 
 the magazines, which attracted general notice. This formed 
 the second turning point in the young man's life, and 
 showed to himself and friends where his forte lay. From 
 this period a long stream of writings came from the 
 talented author's pen, both through separate volumes and 
 through the magazine press. In all, the volumes he became 
 author of amounted to over forty in number. Many of his 
 novels and tales exhibit singular power and talent, and 
 have universally been acknowledged as giving true and 
 faithful representations of the social life of his countrymen. 
 William Carleton died in 1869 at the age of seventy-one. 
 
 The tales contained in this volume are selected from 
 several of the distinguished author's numerous works. 
 These latter, as already intimated, amount to a very con- 
 siderable number. It will be observed that those given in 
 the following pages are all of an amusing and humorous 
 nature, it being chiefly on that ground that they have been 
 selected. At the same time, they will be found rich des- 
 criptively of the manners, customs, sympathies, and ideas 
 of the Irish people. The native habits and tastes of any 
 people form an interesting study, and iri such matters 
 the Irish are quite as attractive as any of the other 
 modern nations — in temperament and character they are 
 as strongly distinctive as each of the three sister peoples. 
 The Irish have been distinguished for their warm-hearted, 
 affectionate disposition, capable of great goodness, faithful 
 to trust, and grateful for kindness and sympathy received. 
 And no doubt through increased industry and improved 
 laws these beautiful traits of character will aid in forming 
 a distinguished future for them as a people. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 •: o :- 
 
 BOB P E N T L A N D, 
 The Irish S m u g g I e r ; or, The 
 
 G a u ge r Outwitted 
 
 Page 
 
 BUCKRAM-BA C ' K, 
 The C o tin t r y Dancing Ma s ter . 9 
 
 MARY MURRA V y 
 The Irish Match- Maker . . 18 
 
 30 
 
 TOM G R E S S I E Y, 
 
 The Irish Senachie; or, The 
 
 r ig i n of the name of Gordon 42 
 
 BARNEY M'HAIGNEY, 
 The Irish Prophecy Ma 71 . . 62 
 
 FIN M'CO U L, 
 
 The Knockmany Giant. . » yy 
 
 AROUND NED'S FIRESIDE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 The S 1 r y of the Squire . . 91 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 THE IRISH STUDENT; 
 
 O II. 
 
 How the Protestant Church was 
 
 Invented by Luther and the Devil . 113 
 
 MICKEY M'ROREY, 
 The Country Fiddler . . ,129 
 
 ROSE MOAN, 
 The Country Mid-Wife . 138 
 
 CORNEY KEHO'S BABY; 
 
 OR, 
 
 The Irish Christening . . .154 
 
 BARNEY BRADY'S GOOSE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 Mysterious Doings at S lathb eg . 167 
 
 C O ND Y GULDEN; 
 
 And how he defeated the Exciseman , 204 
 
 PHIL P U RC E L, 
 The C n naug h t P ig -Driver. . 219 
 
 FATHER PHILEMY; 
 
 OR, 
 
 The Holding of the Station . 241 
 
AMUSING 
 IRISH TALES. 
 
 BUCKRAM-BACK, 
 
 The Country Dancing Master. 
 
 ONE of the most amusing specimens of the Irish danc- 
 ing-master, that I ever met, was the person who went 
 under the nickname of Buckram-Back. This man had 
 been a drummer in the army for some time, where he had 
 learned to play the fiddle ; but it appears that he possessed 
 no relish whatever for a military life, as his abandonment 
 of it without even the usual form of a discharge or furlough, 
 together with a back that had become cartilaginous from 
 frequent flogging, could abundantly testify. It was from 
 the latter circumstance that he had received his nickname. 
 Buckram-Back was a dapper light little fellow, with a 
 rich Tipperary brogue, crossed by a lofty strain of illegiti- 
 mate English, which he picked up whilst abroad in the 
 army. His habiliments sat as tight upon him as he could 
 readily wear them, and were all of the shabby-genteel class. 
 His crimped black coat was a closely worn second-hand, 
 and his crimped face quite as much of the second-hand as 
 
10 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 the coat. I think I see his little pumps, little white stock- 
 ings, his coaxed drab breeches, his hat, smart in its cock 
 but brushed to -a .polish, and standing upon three hairs, 
 together with his tight questionable-coloured gloves, all 
 before me. Certainly he was the jauntiest little cock 
 living — quite a blood, ready to fight any man, and a great 
 defender of the fair sex, whom he never addressed except 
 in that high-flown bombastic style so agreeable to most of 
 them, called by their flatterers the complimentary, and by 
 their friends the fulsome. He was in fact a public man, 
 and up to everything. You met him at every fair, where 
 he only had time to give you a wink as he passed, being 
 just then engaged in a very particular affair ; but he would 
 tell you again. At cock-fights he was a very busy person- 
 age, and an angry bettor from half-a-crown downwards. 
 At races he was a knowing fellow, always shook hands 
 with the winning jockey, and then looked pompously about, 
 that folks might see he was hand and glove with people 
 of importance. The house where Buckram-Back kept his 
 school, which was open only after the hours of labour, was 
 an uninhabited cabin, the roof of which, at a particular spot, 
 was supported by a post that stood upright from the floor. 
 It was built upon an elevated situation, and commanded a 
 fine view of the whole country for miles about it. A 
 pleasant sight it was to see the modest and pretty girls, 
 dressed in their best frocks and ribbons, radiating in little 
 groups from all directions, accompanied by their partners 
 or lovers, making way through the fragrant summer fields, 
 of a calm cloudless evening, to this happy scene of innocent 
 amusement. 
 
 And yet what an epitome of general life, with its 
 passions, jealousies, plots, calumnies, and contentions, did 
 this tiny segment of society present ! There was the 
 shrew, the slattern, the coquette, and the prude, as sharply 
 marked within this their humble sphere, as if they appeared 
 
THE COUNTRY DANCING MASTER. 11 
 
 on the world's wider stage, with half its wealth and all its 
 temptations to draw forth their prevailing foibles. There 
 too was the bully, the rake, the liar, the coxcomb, and the 
 coward, each as perfect and distinct in his kind as if he had 
 run through a lengthened course of fashionable dissipation, 
 or spent a fortune in acquiring his particular character. 
 The elements of the human heart, however, and the 
 passions that make up the general business of life, are the 
 same in high and low, and exist with impulses as strong in 
 the cabin as in the palace. The only difference is, that 
 they have not equal room to play. 
 
 Buckram-Back's system, in originality of design, in comic 
 conception of decorum, and in the easy practical assurance 
 with which he wrought it out, was never equalled, much 
 less surpassed. Had the impudent little rascal confined 
 himself to dancing as usually taught, there would have 
 been nothing so ludicrous or uncommon in it ; but no ; he 
 was such a stickler for example in everything, that no 
 other mode of instruction would satisfy him. Dancing ! 
 why, it was the least part of what he taught or professed 
 to teach. 
 
 In the first place, he undertook to teach every one of us 
 — for I had the honour of being his pupil — how to enter a 
 drawing-room " in the most fashionable manner alive," as 
 he said himself. 
 
 Secondly. He was the only man, he said, who could in 
 the most agreeable and polite style teach a gintleman how 
 to salute, or, as he termed it, how to shiloote, a leedy. 
 This he taught, he said, with great success. 
 
 Thirdly. He could taich every leedy and gintleman 
 how to make the most beautiful bow or curchy on airth, 
 by only imitating himself — one that would cause a thousand 
 people if they were all present, to think that it was par- 
 ticularly intended only for aich o' themselves ! 
 
 Fourthly. He taught the whole art o' courtship wid all 
 
12 AMUSING HUSH TALES. 
 
 peliteness and success, accordin' as it was practised in Paris 
 durin' the last saison. 
 
 Fifthly. He could taich them how to write love-letthers 
 and valentines accordin' to the Great Macademy of com- 
 pliments, which was supposed to be invinted by Bonaparte 
 when he was writing love letthers to both his wives. 
 
 Sixthly. He was the only person who could taich the 
 famous dance called Sir Roger de Coverly, or the Helter- 
 Skelter Drag, which comprehended widin itself all the 
 advantages and beauties of his whole system — in which 
 every gintleman was at liberty to pull every leedy where 
 he plaised, and every leedy was at liberty to go wherever 
 he pulled her. 
 
 With such advantages in prospect, and a method of 
 instruction so agreeable, it is not to be wondered at that 
 this establishment was always in a most flourishing condi- 
 tion. The truth is, he had it so contrived that every 
 gentleman should salute his lady as often as possible, and 
 for this purpose actually invented dances, in which not only 
 should every gentleman salute every lady, but every lady, 
 by way of returning the compliment, should render a 
 similar kindness to every gentleman. Nor had his male 
 pupils all this prodigality of salutation to themselves, for 
 the amorous little rascal always commenced first and ended 
 last, in order, he said, that they might cotch the manner 
 from himself. " I do this, leedies and gintlemen, as your 
 moral (model), and because it's part o' my system — ahem !" 
 
 And then he would perk up his little hard face, that 
 was too barren to produce more than an abortive smile, 
 and twirl like a wagtail over the floor, in a manner that 
 he thought irresistible. 
 
 Whether Buckram-Back was the only man who tried to 
 reduce kissing to a system of education in this country, I 
 do not know. It is certainly true that many others of his 
 stamp made a knowledge of the arts and modes of court- 
 
THE COUNTRY DANCING MASTER. 13 
 
 ship, like him, a part of the course. The forms of love 
 letters, valentines, &c., were taught their pupils of both 
 sexes, with many other polite particulars, which it is to be 
 hoped have disappeared for ever. 
 
 One thing, however, to the honour of our country-women 
 we are bound to observe, which is, that we do not remem- 
 ber a single result incompatible with virtue to follow from 
 the little fellow's system, which, by the way, was in this 
 respect peculiar only to himself, and not the general custom 
 of the country. Several weddings, unquestionably, we had, 
 more than might otherwise have taken place, but in no one 
 instance have we known any case in which a female was 
 brought to unhappiness or shame. 
 
 We shall now give a brief sketch of Buckram-Back's 
 manner of tuition, begging our readers at the same time to 
 rest assured that any sketch we could give would fall far 
 short of the original. 
 
 " Paddy Corcoran, walk out an' ' inther your drawin'- 
 room ;' an' let Miss Judy Hanratty go out along wid you, 
 an' come in as Mrs. Corcoran." 
 
 " Faith, I'm afeard, master, I'll make a bad hand of it ; 
 but, sure, it's something to have Judy here to keep me in 
 countenance." 
 
 " Is that by way of compliment, Paddy ? Mr. Corcoran, 
 you should ever an' always spaik to a leedy in an alablas- 
 ther tone ; for that's the cut." 
 
 [Paddy and Judy retire. 
 
 " Mickey Scanlan, come up here, now that we're braithin' 
 a little ; an' you Miss Grauna Mulholland, come up along 
 wid him. Miss Mulholland, you are masther of your five 
 positions and your fifteen attitudes, I believe ? " " Yes, 
 sir." "Very well, Miss. Mickey Scanlan — ahem — Misther 
 Scanlan, can you perform the positions also, Mickey? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; but you remember I stuck at the eleventh 
 altitude." 
 
14 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 "Attitude, sir — no matther. Well, Misther Scanlan, do 
 you know how to shiloote a leedy, Mickey ? " 
 
 " Faix, it's hard to say, sir, till we try ; but I'm very 
 willin' to larn it. I'll do my best, an' the best can do no 
 more." 
 
 " Very well — ahem ! Now merk me, Misther Scanlan ; 
 you approach your leedy in this style, bowin' politely, as I 
 do. Miss Mulholland, will you allow me the honour of a 
 heavenly shiloote ? Don't bow, ma'am ; you are to curchy, 
 you know ; a little lower eef you plaise. Now you say, 
 ' Wid the greatest pleasure in life, sir, an' many thanks for 
 the feevour.' (Smack). There, now, you are to make 
 another curchy politely, an' say, 'Thank you, kind sir, I 
 owe you one.' Now, Misther Scanlan, proceed." 
 
 " I'm to imitate you, masther, as well as I can, sir, I 
 believe ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, you are to imitate me. But hould, sir ; did 
 you see me lick my lips or pull up my breeches ? Be 
 gorra, that's shockin' unswintemintal. First make a curchy, 
 a bow I mane, to Miss Grauna. Stop again, sir ; are you 
 going to sthrangle the leedy ? Why, one would think that 
 it's about to teek laive of her for ever you are. Gently, 
 Misther Scanlan ; gently, Mickey. There — well, that's 
 an improvement. Practice, Misther Scanlan, practice will 
 do all, Mickey, but don't smack so loud, though. Hilloo, 
 gintlemen ! where's our drawin'-room folks ? Go out, one 
 of you, for Misther and Mrs. Paddy Corcoran." 
 
 Corcoran's face now appears peeping in at the door, lit 
 up with a comic expression of genuine fun, from whatever 
 cause it may have proceeded. 
 
 "Aisy, Misther Corcoran; an' where's Mrs. Corcoran, 
 sir?" 
 
 " Are we both to come in together, masther ? " 
 
 " Certainly : turn out both your toses — turn them out. I 
 say." 
 
THE COUNTRY DANCING MASTER. 15 
 
 " Faix, sir, it's aiser said than done wid some of us." 
 
 " I know that, Misther Corcoran ; but practice is every- 
 thing. The bow legs are strongly against you, I grant. 
 Hut tut, Misther Corcoran — why, if your toes wor where 
 your heels is, you'd be exactly in the first position, Paddy. 
 Well, both of you turn out your toses ; look street forward ; 
 clap your caubeen — ahem ! — your castor under your ome 
 (arm), an' walk into the middle of the fiure, wid your head 
 up. Stop, take care o' the post. Now, take your caubeen, 
 castor I mane, in your right hand ; give it a flourish. Aisy, 
 Mrs. Hanratty — Corcoran I mane — it's not you that's to 
 flourish. Well, flourish your castor, Paddy, and thin make 
 a graceful bow to the company. Leedies and gintlemen" — 
 
 " Leedies and gintlemen " — 
 
 " I'm your most obadient sarvint " — 
 
 " I'm your most obadient sarwint." 
 
 " Tuts man alive ! that's not a bow. Look at this : there's 
 a bow for you. Why, instead of meeking a bow, you 
 appear as if you wor goin' to sit down with an embargo 
 (lumbago) in your back. Well, practice is every thing ; an' 
 there's luck in leisure." 
 
 " Dick Doorish, will you come up, and thry if you can 
 meek anything of that treblin' step. You're a purty lad, 
 Dick ; you're a purty lad, Misther Doorish, with a pair o' left 
 legs an you, to expect to lam to dance ; but don't dispeer, 
 man alive, I'm not afeard but I'll make a graceful slip o' 
 you yet. Can you meek a curchy ? " 
 
 " Not right, sir, I doubt." 
 
 " Well, sir, I know that ; but, Misther Doorish, you 
 ought to know how to meek both a bow and a curchy. 
 Whin you marry a wife, Misther Doorish, it mightn't come 
 wrong for you to know how to taich her a curchy. Have you 
 the gad and suggaun wid you ? " " Yes, sir." " Very well, 
 on wid them ; the suggaun on the right foot, or what ought 
 to be the right foot, an' the gad upon what ought to be the 
 
1G AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 left. Are you ready ? " " Yes, sir." " Come, then, do as I 
 bid you. Rise upon suggaun an' sink upon gad ; rise upon 
 
 suggaun an' sink upon gad ; rise upon Hould, sir ; 
 
 you're sinkin' upon suggaun an' risin' upon gad, the very 
 thing begad you ought not to do. But, God help you ! 
 sure you're left-legged. Ah, Misther Doorish, it 'ud be a 
 long time before you'd be able to dance Jig Polthogue or 
 the College Hornpipe upon a drum-head, as I often did. 
 However, don't despeer, Misther Doorish : if I could only 
 get you to know your right leg — but God help you ! sure 
 you hav'n't such a thing — from your left, I'd make some- 
 thing of you yet, Dick." 
 
 The Irish dancing-masters were eternally at daggers- 
 drawn among themselves ; but as they seldom met, they 
 were forced to abuse each other at a distance, which they 
 did with a virulence and scurrility proportioned to the 
 space between them. Buckram-Back had a rival of this de- 
 scription, who was a sore thorn in his side. His name was 
 Paddy Fitzpatrick, and from having been a horse-jockey, 
 he gave up the turf, and took to the calling of a dancing- 
 master. Buckram-Back sent a message to him to the 
 effect that " if he could not dance Jig Polthogue on the 
 drum-head, he had better hould his tongue for ever." To 
 this Paddy replied, by asking if he was the man to dance 
 the Connaught Jockey upon the saddle of a blood horse, 
 and the animal at a three-quarter gallop. 
 
 At length the friends on each side, from a natural love 
 of fun, prevailed upon them to decide their claims as fol- 
 lows : Each master with twelve of his pupils, was to dance 
 against his rival with twelve of his ; the match to come off 
 on the top of Mallybeny hill, which commanded a view of 
 the whole parish. I have already mentioned that in 
 Buckram-Back's school there stood near the middle of the 
 floor a post, which, according to some new manoeuvre of 
 his own, was very convenient as a guide to the dancers 
 
THE COUNTRY DANCING MASTER. 17 
 
 when going through the figure. Now, at the spot where 
 this post stood it was necessary to make a curve, in order 
 to form part of the figure of eight, which they were to fol- 
 low ; but as many of them were rather impenetrable to a 
 due conception of the line of beauty, he forced them to 
 turn round the post, rather than make an acute angle of it, 
 which several of them did. Having premised thus much, 
 we proceed with our narrative. 
 
 At length they met, and it would have been a matter of 
 much difficulty to determine their relative merits, each 
 was such an admirable match for the other. When 
 Buckram-Back's pupils, however, came to perform, they 
 found that the absence of the post was their ruin. To the 
 post the)' had been trained — accustomed ; with it they 
 could dance ; but wanting that, they were like so many 
 ships at sea without rudders or compasses. Of course a 
 scene of ludicrous confusion ensued, which turned the 
 laugh against poor Buckram-Back, who stood likely to ex- 
 plode with shame and venom. In fact he was in an agony. 
 
 "Gintlemen, turn the post!" he shouted, stamping upon 
 the ground, and clenching his little hands with fury ; 
 " leedies, remimber the post ! Oh, for the honour of 
 Kilnahushogue don't be bate. The post, gintlemen ! leedies 
 the post, if you love me. Murdher alive, the post ! " 
 
 " Be gorra, masther, the jokey will distance us," replied 
 Bob Magawly ; " it's likely to be the winnin '-post to him, 
 any how." 
 
 "Any money," shouted the little fellow, " any money for 
 long Sam Sallaghan ; he'd do the post to the life. Mind it, 
 boys dear, mind it or we're lost. Divil a bit they heed me : 
 it's a flock of bees or sheep they are like. Sam Sallaghan 
 where are you ? The post, you blackguards ! " 
 
 " Oh, masther dear, if we had even a fishin'-rod or a crow- 
 bar, or a poker, we might do yet. But, anyhow, we had 
 betther give in, for it's only worse we're gettin'." 
 
18 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 At this stage of the proceedings, Paddy came over, and 
 making a low bow, asked him, " Arra, how do you feel, Mis- 
 ther Dogherty ? " for such was Buckram-Back's name. 
 
 " Sir," replied Buckram-Back, bowing low, however, in re- 
 turn, " I'll take the shine out of you, yet. Can you shiloote 
 a leedy wid me — that's the chat ! Come, gintlemen, show 
 them what's betther than fifty posts — shiloote your partners 
 like Irishmen. Kilnahushogue for ever ! " 
 
 The scene that ensued baffles all description. The fact is, 
 the little fellow had them trained, as it were, to kiss in pla- 
 toons, and thespectators were literally convulsed with laughter 
 at this most novel and ludicrous character that Buckram- 
 Back gave to his defeat, and the ceremony which he intro- 
 duced. The truth is, he turned the laugh completely against 
 his rival, and swaggered off the ground in high spirits, ex- 
 claiming, " He know how to shiloote a leedy ! Why the 
 poor spalpeen never kissed any woman but his mother, an' 
 her only when she was dyin'. Hurra for Kilnahushogue ! " 
 
 Such is a slight sketch of an Irish dancing-master, which 
 if it possesses any merit at all, is to be ascribed to the 
 circumstance that it is drawn from life, and combines, how- 
 ever faintly, most of the points essential to the truest con- 
 ception of the character. 
 
 MARY MURRAY, 
 
 The Irish Match-Maker. 
 
 OUR readers are not to understand that in Ireland there 
 exists, like the fiddler or dancing-master, a distinct char- 
 acter openly known by the appellation of match-maker. No 
 such thing. On the contrary, the negotiations they under- 
 take are all performed under false colours. The business, 
 
THE IRISH MATCH -MAKER. 19 
 
 in fact, is close and secret, and always carried on with the 
 profoundest mystery, veiled by the sanction of some other 
 ostensible occupation. 
 
 One of the best specimens of the kind we ever met was 
 old Mary Murray. Mary was a tidy creature of middle 
 size, who always went dressed in a short crimson cloak, 
 much faded, a striped red and blue drugget petticoat, and a 
 heather-coloured gown of the same fabric. When walking, 
 which she did with the aid of a light hazel staff hooked at 
 the top, she generally kept the hood of the cloak over her 
 head, which gave to her whole figure a picturesque effect ; 
 and when she threw it back, one could not help admiring 
 how well her small but symmetrical features agreed with 
 the dowd cap of white linen, with a plain muslin border, 
 which she wore. A pair of bluestockings and sharp-pointed 
 shoes, high in the heels, completed her dress. Her features 
 were good-natured and Irish, but over the whole counten- 
 ance there lay an expression of quickness and sagacity, con- 
 tracted no doubt by an habitual exercise of penetration and 
 circumspection. At the time I saw her she was very old, 
 and I believe had the reputation of being the last in that 
 part of the country who was known to go about from house 
 to house spinning on the distaff, an instrument which has 
 now passed away, being mor« conveniently replaced by the 
 spinning wheel. 
 
 The manner and style of Mary's visits were different from 
 those of any other who could come to a farmer's house, or 
 even to an humble cottage, for to the inmates of both were 
 her services equally rendered. Let us suppose, for instance, 
 the whole female part of a farmer's family assembled of a 
 summer evening about five o'clock, each engaged in some 
 domestic employment : in runs a lad who has been sport- 
 ing about, breathlessly exclaiming, whilst his eyes are lit up 
 with delight, " Mother, mother, here's Mary Murray comin' 
 down the boreen ! " " Get out, avick : no, she's not." " Bad 
 
20 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 cess to me but she is ; that I may never stir if she isn't. 
 Now ! " The whole family are instantly at the door to see 
 if it be she, with the exception of the prettiest of them all, 
 Kitty, who sits at her wheel, and immediately begins to 
 croon over an old Irish air, which is sadly out of tune ; 
 and well do we know, notwithstanding the mellow tones 
 of that sweet voice, why it is so, and also why that youthful 
 cheek, in which health and beauty meet, is the colour of 
 crimson. 
 
 " Oh, Vara, acushida, cead millia failte ghud? (Mary, 
 darling, a hundred thousand welcomes to you ! ) Och, 
 musha, what kep' you away so long, Mary ? Sure you 
 won't have us this month o' Sundays, Mary ! " are only a 
 few of the cordial expressions of hospitality and kindness 
 with which she is received. But Kitty, whose cheek but a 
 moment ago was carmine, why is it now pale as the lily ? 
 
 " An' what news, Mary," asks one of her sisters: "sure 
 you'll tell us everything : won't you ? " 
 
 " Throth, avilish, / have no bad news, any how — an' as to 
 tellin' you all— Biddy, Ihig dumh, let me alone. No, I have 
 no bad news, God be praised, but good news? 
 
 Kitty's cheek is again crimson, and her lips, ripe and red 
 as cherries, expand with the sweet soft smile of her country, 
 exhibiting a set of teeth for which many a countess would 
 barter thousands, and giving out a breath more delicious 
 than the fragrance of a summer meadow. Oh, no wonder, 
 indeed, that the kind heart of Mary contains in its recesses 
 a message to her as tender as ever was transmitted from 
 man to woman. 
 
 "An', Kitty acushla, where's the welcome from you, that's 
 my favourite ? Now don't be jealous, childre ; sure you all 
 know she is, an' ever an' always was." 
 
 " If it's not upon my lips, it's in my heart, Mary, an' from 
 that heart you're welcome." 
 
 She rises up and kisses Mary, who gives her one glance 
 
THE IRISH MATCH-MAKER. 21 
 
 of meaning, accompanied by the slightest imaginable smile, 
 and a gentle but significant pressure of the hand, which 
 thrills to her heart, and diffuses a sense of ecstasy through 
 her whole spirit. Nothing now remains but the oppor- 
 tunity, which is equally sought for by Mary and her to hear 
 without interruption the purport of her lover's communica- 
 tion, and this we leave to lovers to imagine. 
 
 In Ireland, however odd it may seem, there occur among 
 the very poorest classes some of the hardest and most penu- 
 rious bargains in match-making than ever were heard of or 
 known. Now, strangers might imagine that all this close 
 higgling proceeds from a spirit naturally near and sordid, 
 but it is not so. The real secret of it lies in the poverty 
 and necessity of the parties, and chiefly in the bitter 
 experience of their parents, who, having come together in 
 a state of destitution, are anxious, each as much at the 
 expense of the other as possible, to prevent their children 
 from experiencing the same privation and misery which 
 they themselves felt. Many a time have matches been 
 suspended, or altogether broken off, because one party 
 refuses to give his son " a slip of a pig" or another his 
 daughter " a pair of blankets ;" and it was no unusual thing 
 for a match-maker to say, " Never mind ; I have it all 
 settled but the slip" One might naturally wonder why 
 those who are so shrewd and provident upon this subject 
 do not strive to prevent early marriages where the poverty 
 is so great. So unquestionably they ought, but it is a 
 settled usage of the country, and one, too, which Irishmen 
 have never been in the habit of considering as an evil. We 
 have no doubt that if they once began to reason upon it as 
 such, they would be very strongly disposed to check a 
 custom which has been the means of involving themselves 
 and their unhappy offspring in misery, penury, and not 
 unfrequently in guilt itself. 
 
 Mary, like many others in this world who are not con- 
 
22 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 scious of the same failing, smelt strongly of the shop ; in 
 other words her conversation had a strong matrimonial 
 tendency. No two beings ever lived so decidedly antithetical 
 to each other in this point of view as the match-maker and 
 the Keener. Mention the name of an individual or a family 
 to the keener, and the medium through which her memory 
 passes back to them is that of her professed employment — 
 a mourner at wakes and funerals. 
 
 " Don't you know young Kelly of Tamlaght ? " 
 
 " I do, avick," replies the keener, " and what about him ?" 
 
 "Why he was married to-day mornin' to ould Jack 
 M'Cluskey's daughter." 
 
 " Well, God grant them luck an' happiness, poor things ! 
 I do indeed remimber his father's wake an' funeral well — 
 ould Risthard Kelly of Tamlaght — a dacent corpse he made 
 for his years, an' well he looked. But indeed I knewn by 
 the colour that sted in his cheeks, and the limbs remaining 
 soople for the twenty-four hours afther his departure, that 
 some of the family 'ud follow him afore the year was out, 
 an' so she did. The youngest daughter, poor thing, by 
 raison of a could she got, over-heatin' herself at a dance, 
 was stretched beside him that very day was eleven months ; 
 an' God knows it was from the heart my grief Item for her 
 — to see the poor han'some colleen laid low so soon. But 
 whin a gallopin' consumption sets in, avourneen, sure we all 
 know what's to happen. In Crockaniska churchyard they 
 sleep — the Lord make both their beds in heaven this day." 
 
 The very reverse of this, but at the same time as inveter- 
 ately professional, was Mary Murray. 
 
 " God save you, Mary." 
 
 " God save you kindly, avick. Eh, let me look at you. 
 Aren't you red Billy M'Guirk's son from Ballagh ? " 
 
 " I am, Mary. An', Mary, how is yourself and the world 
 gettin' an ? " 
 
 " Can't complain, dear, in such times. How are yez all 
 
THE IRISH MATCH- MAKER. 23 
 
 at home, alanna ? " " Faix middlin' well, Mary, thank God 
 an' you. You hard of my grand-uncle's death, big Ned 
 M'Coul ? " 
 
 " I did, avick, God rest him. Sure it's well I remimber 
 his weddin', poor man, by the same atoken that I know one 
 that helped him an wid it a thrifle. He was married in a 
 blue coat an' buskins, an' wore a scarlet waistcoat that you'd 
 see three miles off. Oh, well I remimber it. An' whin he 
 was settin' out that mornin' to the priest's house, ' Ned,' says 
 I, an' I fwhishspered him, ' dhrop a button on the right 
 knee afore you get the words said.' c Thighum] said he, 
 wid a smile, an' he slipped ten thirteens into my hand as he 
 spoke. ' I'll do it,' said he, ' and thin a fig for the fairies !'* 
 — because, you see if there's a button of the right knee left 
 unbuttoned, the fairies — this day's Friday, God stand betune 
 us and harm ! — can do neither hurt nor harm to sowl or 
 body, an' sure that's a great blessin', avick. He left two fine 
 slips o' girls behind him." 
 
 " He did so — as good-lookin' girls as there's in the parish." 
 
 " Faix, an' kind mother for them, avick. She'll be 
 marryin' agin, I'm judgin', she bein' sich a fresh good-lookin' 
 woman." 
 
 " Why, it's very likely, Mary." * 
 
 " Throth it's natural, achora. What can a lone woman 
 do wid such a large family on her hands, widout having 
 some one to manage it for her, an' prevint her from bein' 
 imposed on ? But indeed the first thing she ought to do is 
 to marry off her two girls widout 'oss of time, in regard that 
 it's hard to say how a stepfather an' thim might agree; and 
 I've often known the mother herself, when she had a fresh 
 family comin' an her, to be as unnatural to her fatherless 
 childre as if she was a stranger to thim, and that the same 
 blood didn't run in their veins. Not saying that Mary 
 M'Coul will or would act that way by her own ; for indeed 
 
 * Such is the superstition. 
 
24 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 she's come of a kind ould stock, an' ought to have a good 
 heart. Tell her, avick, when you see her, that I'll spind a 
 day or two wid her — let me see — the day after to-morrow 
 will be Palm Sunday — why, about the Aisther holidays." 
 
 " Indeed I will, Mary, with great pleasure." 
 
 " An' fwhishsper, dear, just tell her that I've a thing to 
 say to her — that I had a locg dish o' discoorse about her 
 wid a friend <?' mine. You won't forget, now ? " 
 
 " Oh, the dickens a forget ! " 
 
 " Thank you, dear : God mark you to grace, avourneen ! 
 When you're a little oulder, maybe I'll be a friend to you 
 yet." 
 
 This last intimation was given with a kind of mysterious 
 benevolence, very visible in the complacent shrewdness of 
 her face, and with a twinkle in the eye, full of grave humour 
 and considerable self-importance, leaving the mind of the 
 person she spoke to in such an agreeable uncertainty as 
 rendered it a matter of great difficulty to determine whether 
 she was serious or only in jest, but at all events throwing 
 the onus of inquiry upon him. 
 
 The ease and tact with which Mary could involve two 
 young persons of opposite sexes in a mutual attachment, 
 were very remarkable. In truth, she was a kind of matri- 
 monial incendiary, who went through the country holding 
 her torch now to this heart and again to that — first to one 
 and then to another, until she had the parish more or less 
 in a flame. And when we consider the combustible ma- 
 terials of which the Irish heart is composed, it is no wonder 
 indeed that the labour of taking the census in Ireland in- 
 creases at such a rapid rate, during the time that elapses 
 between the period of its being made out. If Mary, for 
 instance, met a young woman of her acquaintance acci- 
 dentally — and it was wonderful to think how regularly 
 these accidental meetings took place — she would address 
 her probably somewhat as follows : — 
 
THE IRISH MATCH-MAKER. 25 
 
 " Arra, Biddy Sullivan, how are you, a-colleen ? " 
 
 " Faix, bravely, thank you, Mary. How is yourself? " 
 
 " Indeed, thin' sorra a bit o' the health we can complain 
 of, Bhried, barrin' whin this pain in the back comes upon 
 us. The last time I seen your mother, Biddy, she was 
 complainin' of a weid* I hope she's betther, poor woman?" 
 
 " Hut ! bad scran to the thing ails her ! She has as light 
 a foot as e'er a one of us, an' can dance ' Jackson's mornin' 
 brush' as well as ever she could." 
 
 " Throth, an' I'm proud to hear it. Och ! och ! ' Jack- 
 son's mornin' brush' ! and it was she that could do it. Sure 
 I remimber her wedding-day like yestherday. Ay, far an' 
 near her fame wint as a dancer, an' the clanest-made girl 
 that ever came from Lisbuie Like yestherday do I re- 
 mimber it, an' how the squire himself an' the ladies from 
 the Big House came down to see herself an' your father, 
 the bride and groom — an' it wasn't on every hill head you'd 
 get sich a couple — dancin' the same ' Jackson's mornin' 
 brush.' Oh ! it was far and near her fame wint for dancin' 
 that, — An' is there no news wid you, Bhried, at all at all ? " 
 
 " The sorra word, Mary : where 'ud I get news ? Sure 
 it's yourself that's always on the fut that ought to have the 
 news for us, woman alive." 
 
 " An' maybe I have too. I was spaikin' to a friend o' 
 mine about you the other day." 
 
 " A friend o' yours, Mary ! Why, what friend could it 
 be?" 
 
 " A friend o' mine — ay, an' of yours too. Maybe you 
 have more friends than you think, Biddy — and kind ones 
 too, as far as wishin' you well goes, 't any rate. Ay have 
 you faix, an' friends that e'er a girl in the parish might be 
 proud to hear named in the one day wid her. Awouh ! " 
 
 " Bedad we're in luck, thin, for that's more than I knew 
 of. An' who may these great friends of ours be, Mary ? " 
 * A feverish cold. 
 
26 AMUSING I BISH TALES. 
 
 "Awouh ! Faix, as dacent a boy as ever broke bread the 
 same boy is, ' and,' says he, ' if I had goold in bushelfuls, 
 I'd think it too little for that girl ; ' but poor lad, he's not 
 aisy or happy in his mind in regard o' that. 'I'm afeared/ 
 says he, ' that she'd put scorn upon me, an' not think me 
 her aiquals. An' no more I am,' says he again, ' for where, 
 afther all, would you get the likes o' Biddy Sullivan ? ' — 
 Poor boy ! throth my heart aches for him ! " 
 
 "Well, can't you fall in love wid him yourself, Mary, who- 
 ever he is ? " 
 
 " Indeed, an' if I was at your age, it would be no shame 
 to me to do so ; but, to tell you the thruth, the sorra often 
 ever the likes of Paul Heffernan came acrass me." 
 
 " Paul Heffernan ! Why, Mary," replied Biddy, smiling 
 with the assumed lightness of indifference, " is that your 
 beauty ? If it is, why, keep him, an' make much of him." 
 
 " Oh, wurrah ! the differ there is between the hearts an' 
 tongues of some people — one from another — an' the way 
 they spaik behind others' backs ! Well, well, I'm sure that 
 wasn't the way he spoke of you, Biddy, an' God forgive you 
 for runnin' down the poor boy as you're doin'. Trogs ! I 
 believe you're the only girl would do it." 
 
 " Who, me ! I'm not runnin' him down. I am neither 
 runnin' him up nor down. I have neither good nor bad to 
 say about him — the boy's a black stranger to me, barrin' to 
 know his face." 
 
 " Faix, an' he's in consate wid you these three months 
 past, an' intends to be at the dance on Friday next, in Jack 
 Gormly's new house. Now, good-bye, alanna ; keep your 
 own counsel till the time comes, an' mind what I said to 
 you. ItV not behind every ditch the likes of Paul Heffernan 
 grows. Bannaght lhatJi ! My blessin' be wid you ! " 
 
 Thus would Mary depart just at the critical moment, for 
 well she knew that by husbanding her information and 
 leaving the heart soinethtnsF to find out, she took the most 
 
THE IRISH MATCH- MAKER. 27 
 
 effectual steps to excite and sustain that kind of interest 
 which is apt ultimately to ripen, even from its own agitation, 
 into the attachment she is anxious to promote. 
 
 The next day, by a meeting similarly accidental, she 
 comes in contact with Paul Heffernan, who, honest lad, had 
 never probably bestowed a thought on Biddy Sullivan in 
 his life. 
 
 11 Morrow ghud, Paul ! — how is your father's son, ahager ?" 
 
 " Morrow ghutcha, Mary! — my father's son wants nothin' 
 but a good wife. Mary." 
 
 " An' it's not every set day or bonfire night that a good 
 wife is to be had, Paul — that is, a good one, as you say ; for, 
 throth, there's many o' them in the market, sich as they are. 
 I was talkin' about you to a friend of mine the other day — 
 an' trogs, I'm afeard you're not worth all the abuse we gave 
 you." 
 
 " More power to you, Mary ! I'm oblaged to you. But 
 who is the friend in the manetime ? " 
 
 " Poor girl ! Throth, when your name slipped out an her, 
 the point of a rush 'ud take a drop of blood out o' her 
 cheek, the way she crimsoned up. ' Ah, Mary,' says she, 
 " if ever I know you to braith it to man or mortual, my lips 
 I'll never open to you to my dyin' day.' Trogs, when I 
 looked at her, an' the tears standin' in her purty black eyes, 
 I thought I didn't see a betther favoured girl, for both face 
 and figure, this many a day, than the same Biddy Sullivan." 
 
 " Biddy Sullivan ! Is that long Jack's daughter of 
 Carga ? " 
 
 "The same. But, Paul avick, if a syllable o' what I 
 tould you — " 
 
 " Hut, Mary ! honour bright ! Do you think me a stag, 
 that I'd go and inform on you." 
 
 " Fwhishsper, Paul : she'll be at the dance on Friday 
 next in Jack Gormly's new house. So bannagh Uiath, an' 
 think o' what I bethrayed to you." 
 
28 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 Thus did Mary very quietly and sagaciously bind two 
 young hearts together, who probably might otherwise have 
 never for a moment even thought of each other. Of course, 
 when Paul and Biddy met at the dance on the following 
 Friday, the one was the object of the closest attention to the 
 other ; and each being prepared to witness strong proofs of 
 attachment from the opposite party, everything fell out 
 exactly according to their expectations. 
 
 Sometimes it happens that a booby of a fellow, during 
 his calf love, will employ a male friend to plead his suit 
 with a pretty girl, who, if the principal party had spunk, 
 might be very willing to marry him. To the credit of our 
 fair country-women, however, be it said, that in scarcely one 
 instance out of twenty does it happen, or has it ever 
 happened, that any of them ever fails to punish the faint 
 heart by bestowing the fair lady upon what is called the 
 blackfoot or spokesman whom he selects to make love for 
 him. In such a case it is very naturally supposed that the 
 latter will speak two words for himself and one for his friend, 
 and indeed the result bears out the supposition. Now, 
 nothing on earth gratifies the heart of the established match- 
 maker so much as to hear of such a disaster befalling a 
 spoony. She exults over his misfortune for months, and 
 publishes his shame to the uttermost bounds of her own 
 little world, branding him " as a poor pitiful creature, who 
 had not the courage to spaik up for himself, or — to employ 
 them that could." In fact, she entertains much the same 
 feeling against him that a regular physician would towards 
 some weak-minded patient, who prefers the knavish 
 ignorance of a quack to the skill and services of an able 
 and educated practitioner. 
 
 Characters like Mary are fast disappearing in Ireland ; 
 and indeed in a country where the means of life were 
 generally inadequate to the wants of the population, they 
 were calculated, however warmly the heart may look back 
 
THE IRISH MATCH- MAKER. 29 
 
 upon the memory of their services, to do more harm than 
 good, by inducing young folks to enter into early and 
 improvident marriages. They certainly sprang up from a 
 state of society not thoroughly formed by proper education 
 and knowledge — where the language of a people, too, was 
 in many extensive districts in such a state of transition as 
 in the interchange of affection to render an interpreter 
 absolutely necessary. We have ourselves witnessed 
 marriages where the husband and wife spoke the one 
 English and the other Irish, each being able with difficulty 
 to understand the other. In all such cases Mary was 
 invaluable. She spoke Irish and English fluently, and in- 
 deed was acquainted with every thing in the slightest or 
 most remote degree necessary to the conduct of a love affair, 
 from the first glance up until the priest had pronounced the 
 last words — or, to speak more correctly, until " the throwing 
 of the stocking." 
 
 Mary was invariably placed upon the hob, which is the 
 seat of comfort and honour at a farmer's fireside, and there 
 she sat neat and tidy, detailing all the news of the parish, 
 telling them how such a marriage was one unbroken honey- 
 moon — a sure proof, by the way, that she herself had a 
 hand in it — and again, how another one didn't turn out 
 well, and she said so ; " there was always a bad dhrop in 
 the Haggarties ; but, my dear, the girl herself was for 
 him ; so as she made her own bed, she must lie in it, poor 
 thing. Any way, thanks be to goodness, I had nothing to 
 do wid it." 
 
 Mary was to be found in every fair and market, and 
 always at a particular place at a certain hour of the day, 
 where the parties engaged in a courtship were sure to meet 
 her on these occasions. She took a chirping glass, but 
 never so as to become unsteady. Great deference was 
 paid to everything she said ; and if not conceded to her, 
 she extorted it with a high hand. Nobody living could 
 
30 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 drink a health with half the comic significance that Mary 
 threw into her eyes when saying, " Well, young couple, 
 here's everything as you wish it" 
 
 Mary's motions from place to place usually were very 
 slow, and for the best reason in the world — she was 
 frequently interrupted. For instance, if she met a young 
 man on her way, ten to one but he stood and held a long 
 and earnest conversation with her ; and that it was both 
 important and confidential, might easily be gathered from 
 the fact, that whenever a stranger passed, it was either 
 suspended altogether, or carried on in so low a tone as to 
 be inaudible. This held equally good with the girls. 
 Many a time have I seen them retracing their steps, and 
 probably walking back a mile or two, all the time engaged 
 in discussing some topic evidently of more than ordinary 
 interest to themselves. And when they shook hands and 
 bade each other good-bye, heavens ! at what a pace did the 
 latter scamper homewards across fields aud ditches, in 
 order to make up for the time she had lost ! 
 
 BOB PENTLAND, 
 
 The Irish Smtiggler; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE GAUGER OUTWITTED. 
 
 THAT the Irish are a ready-witted people, is a fact to the 
 truth of which testimony has been amply borne both by 
 their friends and enemies. Many causes might be brought 
 forward to account for this questionable gift, if it were our 
 intention to be philosophical ; but as the matter has been 
 so generally conceded, it would be but a waste of logic to 
 prove to the world that which the world cares not about, 
 beyond the mere fact that it is so. On this or any other 
 
THE IRISH SMUGGLER. 31 
 
 topic one illustration is worth twenty arguments, and, ac- 
 cordingly, instead of broaching a theory we shall relate a 
 story. 
 
 Behind the hill or rather mountain of Altnaveenan lies 
 one of those deep and almost precipitous valleys, on which 
 the practised eye of an illicit distiller would dwell with de- 
 light, as a topography not likely to be invaded by the un- 
 hallowed feet of the gauger and his red-coats. In point of 
 fact, the spot we speak of was from its peculiarly isolated 
 position nearly invisible, unless to such as came very close 
 to it. Being so completely hemmed in and concealed by 
 the round and angular projections of the mountain hills, 
 you could never dream of its existence at all, until you 
 came upon the very verge of the little precipitous gorge 
 which led into it. This advantage of position was not, 
 however, its only one. It is true, indeed, that the moment 
 you had entered it, all possibility of its being applied to the 
 purposes of distillation at once vanished, and you conse- 
 quently could not help exclaiming, "what a pity that so 
 safe and beautiful a nook should not have a single spot on 
 which to erect a still-house, or rather on which to raise a 
 sufficient stream of water to the elevation necessary for the 
 process of distilling." If a gauger actually came to the 
 little chasm, and cast his scrutinizing eye over it he would 
 immediately perceive that the erection of a private still in 
 such a place was a piece of folly not generally to be found 
 in the plans of those who have recourse to such practices. 
 
 This absence, however, of the requisite conveniences was 
 only apparent, not real. To the right, about one hundred 
 yards above the entrance to it, ran a ledge of rocks, some 
 fifty feet high, or so. Along the lower brows, near the 
 ground, grew thick matted masses of long heath, which 
 covered the entrance to a cave about as large and as high 
 as an ordinary farm-house. Through a series of small 
 fissures in the rocks which formed its roof, descended a 
 
32 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 stream of clear soft water, precisely in body and volume 
 such as was actually required by the distiller ; but, unless 
 by lifting up this mass of heath, no human being could for 
 a moment imagine that there existed any such grotto, or 
 so unexpected and easy an entrance to it. Here there was 
 a private still-house made by the hand of nature herself, 
 such as no art or ingenuity of man could equal. 
 
 Now it so happened that about the period we write of, 
 there lived in our parish two individuals so antithetical to 
 each other in their pursuits of life, that we question 
 whether throughout all the instinctive antipathies of nature 
 we could find any two animals more destructive of each 
 other than the two we mean — to wit, Bob Pentland, the 
 gauger, and little George Steen, the illicit distiller. Pent- 
 land was an old, staunch, well-trained fellow, of about fifty 
 years or more, steady and sure, and with all the character- 
 istic points of the high-bred gauger about him. He was a 
 tallish man, thin but lathy, with a hooked nose that could 
 scent the tread of a distiller with the keenness of a slew- 
 hound ; his dark eye was deep-set, circumspect, and roguish 
 in its expression, and his shaggy brow seemed always to be 
 engaged in calculating whereabouts his inveterate foe, little 
 George Steen, that eternally blinked him when almost in 
 his very fangs, might then be distilling. To be brief, 
 Pentland was proverbial for his sagacity and adroitness in 
 detecting distillers, and little George was equally pro- 
 verbial for having always baffled him, and that, too, some- 
 times under circumstances where escape seemed hopeless. 
 
 The incidents which we are about to detail occurred at 
 that period of time when the collective wisdom of our 
 legislators thought it advisable to impose a fine upon the 
 whole townland in which the Still, Head, and Worm, might 
 be found ; thus opening a door for knavery and fraud, and, 
 as it proved in most cases, rendering the innocent as liable 
 to suffer for an offence they never contemplated as the 
 
THE IRISH SMUGGLER. 33 
 
 guilty who planned and perpetrated it. The consequence 
 of such a law was, that still-houses were always certain to 
 be erected either at the very verge of the neighbouring 
 districts, or as near them as the circumstances of con- 
 venience and situation would permit. The moment of 
 course that the hue-and-cry of the gauger and his myr- 
 midons was heard upon the wind, the whole apparatus was 
 immediately heaved over the mering to the next townland, 
 from which the fine imposed by parliament was ne- 
 cessarily raised, whilst the crafty and offending district 
 actually escaped. The state of society generated by 
 such a blundering and barbarous statute as this, was 
 dreadful. In the course of a short time, reprisals, law- 
 suits, battles, murders, and massacres multiplied to such 
 an extent throughout the whole country, that the sapient 
 senators who occasioned such commotion were compelled 
 to repeal their own act as soon as they found how it 
 worked. Necessity, together with being the mother of in- 
 vention, is also the cause of many an accidental discovery. 
 Pentland had been so frequently defeated by little George, 
 that he vowed never to rest until he had secured him ; and 
 George on the other hand frequently told him — for they were 
 otherwise on the best terms — that he defied him, or as he 
 himself more quaintly expressed it, " that he defied the devil, 
 the world, and Bob Pentland." The latter, however, was a 
 very sore thorn in his side, and drove him from place to place, 
 and from one haunt to another, until he began to despair of 
 being able any longer to outwit him, or to find within the 
 parish any spot at all suitable to distillation with which 
 Pentland was not acquainted. In this state stood matters 
 between them, when George fortunately discovered at the hip 
 of Altnaveenan hill the natural grotto we have just sketched 
 so briefly. Now, George was a man, as we have already 
 hinted, of great fertility of resources ; but there existed in the 
 tame parish another distiller who outstripped him in that 
 
 4 
 
34 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 iar-sighted cunning which is so necessary in misleading or 
 circumventing such a sharp-scented old hound as Pentland. 
 This was little Mickey M'Quade, a short-necked squat little 
 fellow with bow legs, who might be said rather to creep in his 
 motion than to walk. George and Mickey were intimate 
 friends, independently of their joint antipathy against the 
 gauger, and, truth to tell, much of the mortification and many 
 of the defeats which Pentland experienced at George's hands, 
 were sub rosa, to be attributed to Mickey. George was a 
 distiller from none of the motives which generally actuate 
 others of that class. He was in truth an analytic philosopher 
 — a natural chemist never out of some new experiment — and 
 we have reason to think might have been the Kane, or Fara- 
 day, or Dalton, of his day, had he only received a scientific 
 education. Not so honest Mickey, who never troubled his 
 head about an experiment, but only thought of making a 
 good running, and defeating the gauger. The first thing of 
 course that George did, was to consult Mickey, and both 
 accordingly took a walk up to the scene of their future 
 operations. On examining it, and fully perceiving its 
 advantages, it might well be said that the look of exulta- 
 tion and triumph which passed between them was not un- 
 worthy of their respective characters. 
 
 ■ This will do," said George. " Eh — don't you think we'll 
 put our finger in Pentland's eye yet ?" Mickey spat saga- 
 ciously over his beard, and after a second glance gave one 
 grave grin which spoke volumes. " It'll do," said he ; "but 
 there's one point to be got over that maybe you didn't think 
 of ; an' you know that half a blink, half a point, is enough 
 for Pentland." 
 
 " What is it ? " 
 
 " What do you intend to do with the smoke when the 
 fire's lit ? There'll be no keepin' that down. Let Pentland 
 see but as much smoke risin' as would come out of an ould 
 woman's dudeen, an' he'd have us." 
 
THE IKISH SMUGGLER. 35 
 
 George started, and it was clear by the vexation and dis- 
 appointment which were visible on his brow that unless this 
 untoward circumstance could be managed, their whole plan 
 was deranged, and the cave of no value. 
 
 " What's to be done ? " he inquired of his cooler compan- 
 ion. " If we can't get over this, we may bid good-bye to it." 
 
 " Never mind," said Mickey ; " I'll manage it, and do 
 Pentland still." " Ay, but how ? " 
 
 " It's no matter. Let us not lose a minute in settin' to 
 work. Lave the other thing to me ; an' if I don't account 
 for the smoke without discoverin' the entrance to the still, 
 I'll give you lave to crop the ears off my head." 
 
 George knew the cool but steady self-confidence for which 
 Mickey was remarkable, and accordingly without any further 
 interrogatory, they both proceeded to follow up their plan 
 of operations. 
 
 In those times when distillation might be truly considered 
 as almost universal, it was customary for farmers to build 
 their out-houses with secret chambers and other requisite 
 partitions necessary for carrying it on. Several of them had 
 private stores built between false walls, the entrance to which 
 was only known to a few, and many of them had what 
 were called Malt-steeps sunk in hidden recesses and hollow 
 gables, for the purpose of steeping the barley, and afterwards 
 of turning and airing it, until it was sufficiently hard to be 
 kiln-dried and ground. From the mill it was usually con- 
 veyed to the still-house upon what were termed Slipes, a 
 kind of car that was made without wheels, in order the 
 more easily to pass through morasses and bogs which no 
 wheeled vehicle could encounter. 
 
 In the course of a month or so, George and Mickey, 
 aided by their friends, had all the apparatus of keeve, hogs- 
 head, &c, together with Still, Head, and Worm, set up and 
 in full work. 
 
 "And now, Mickey," inquired his comoanion, " how will 
 
36 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 you manage about the smoke? for you know that the two 
 worst informers against a private distiller, barrin 5 a stag, is 
 a smoke by day, an' a fire by night." 
 
 "I know that," replied Mickey; "an' a rousin' smoke 
 we'll have for fraid a little puff wouldn't do us. Come, 
 now, an' I'll show you." 
 
 They both ascended to the top, where Mickey had closed 
 all the open fissures of the roof with the exception of that 
 which was directly over the fire of the still. This was at 
 best not more than six inches in breadth, and about twelve 
 long. Over it he placed a piece of strong plate-iron perfor- 
 ated with holes, and on this he had a fire of turf, beside 
 which sat a little boy who acted as a vidette. The thing 
 was simple but effective. Clamps of turf were at every side 
 of them, and the boy was instructed, if the gauger, whom 
 he well knew, ever appeared, to heap on fresh fuel, so as to 
 increase the smoke in such a manner as to induce him to 
 suppose that all he saw of it proceeded merely from the 
 fire before him. In fact, the smoke from the cave below 
 was so completely identified with and lost in that which 
 was emitted from the fire above, that no human being could 
 penetrate the mystery, if not made previously acquainted 
 with it. The writer of this saw it during the hottest process 
 of distillation, and failed to make the discovery, although 
 told that the still-house was within a circle of three hun- 
 dred yards, the point he stood on being considered the 
 centre. On more than one occasion has he absconded from 
 home, and spent a whole night in the place, seized with that 
 indescribable fascination which such a scene holds forth to 
 youngsters, as well as from his irrepressible anxiety to hear 
 the old stories and legends with the recital of which they 
 generally pass the night. 
 
 In this way, well provided against the gauger — indeed 
 much better than our readers are yet aware of, as they shall 
 understand by and by — did George, Mickey, and their 
 
THE IRISH SMUGGLER. 37 
 
 friends, proceed for the greater part of a winter without a 
 single visit from Pentland. Several successful runnings 
 had come off, which had of course turned out highly pro- 
 fitable, and they were just now preparing to commence 
 their last, not only for the season, but the last they should 
 ever work together, as George was making preparations to 
 go early in the spring to America. Even this running was 
 going on to their satisfaction, and the singlings had been 
 thrown again into the still, from the worm of which pro- 
 jected the strong medicinal first-shot as the doubling com- 
 menced — this last term meaning the spirit in its pure and 
 finished state. On this occasion the two worthies were 
 more then ordinarily anxious, and certainly doubled their 
 usual precautions against a surprise, for they knew that 
 Pentland's visits resembled the pounces of a hawk or the 
 springs of a tiger more than any thing else to which they 
 could compare them. In this they were not disappointed. 
 When the doubling was about half finished he made his 
 appearance, attended by a strong party of reluctant soldiers 
 — for indeed it is due to the military to state that they 
 never took delight in harassing the country people at the 
 command of a keg-hunter, as they generally nicknamed 
 the gauger. It had been arranged that the vidette at the 
 iron plate should whistle a particular tune the moment that 
 the gauger or a red-coat, or in fact any person whom he 
 did not know, should appear. Accordingly, about eight 
 o'clock in the morning they heard the little fellow in his 
 highest key whistling up that well-known and very signi- 
 ficant old Irish air called "Go to the devil an' shake your- 
 self" — which in this case was applied to the gauger in any 
 thing but an allegorical sense. 
 
 " Be the pins," which was George's usual oath, " be the 
 pins, Mickey, it's over with us — Pentland's here, for there's 
 the sign." 
 
 Mickey paused for a moment and listened very gravely ; 
 
38 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 then squirting out a tobacco spittle, " Take it easy," said 
 he ; " I have half a dozen fires about the hills, any one as 
 like this as your right hand is to your left. I didn't spare 
 trouble, for I knew that if we'd get over this day, we'd be 
 out of his power." 
 
 "Well, my good lad," said Pentland, addressing the 
 vidette, " what's this fire for ? " 
 
 " What is it for, is it ? " 
 
 " Yes ; if you don't let me know instantly, I'll blow your 
 brains out, and get you hanged and transported afterwards." 
 
 This he said with a thundering voice, cocking a large 
 horse pistol at the same time. 
 
 " Why, sir," said the boy, " it's watchin' a still I am : but 
 be the hole o' my coat if you tell upon me, it's broilin' upon 
 these coals I'll be soon." 
 
 " Where is the still, then ? An' the still-house, where is 
 it?" 
 
 " Oh, begorra, as to where the still or still-house is, they 
 wouldn't tell me that." 
 
 " Why, sirra, didn't you say this moment you were watch- 
 ing a still ?" 
 
 " I meant, sir," replied the lad, with a face that spoke of 
 pure idiocy, " that it was the gauger I was watchin', an' I 
 was to whistle upon my fingers to let the boy at that fire on 
 the hill there above know he was comin'." 
 
 " Who told you to do so ? " 
 
 " Little George, sir, an' Mickey M'Quade.' 
 
 " Ay, ay, right enough there, my lad — two of the most 
 notorious schemers unhanged they are both. But now, like 
 a good boy, tell me the truth, an' I'll give you the price of 
 a pair of shoes. Do you know where the still or still-house 
 is ? Because if you do, an' won't tell me, here are the sol- 
 diers at hand to make a prisoner of you ; an' if they do, all 
 the world can't prevent you from being hanged, drawn, and 
 quartered." 
 
THE IRISH SMUGGLER. S9 
 
 " Oh, bad cess may seize the morsel o' me knows that ; 
 but if you'll give me the money, sir, I'll tell you who can 
 bring you to it, for he tould me yestherday mornin' that he 
 knew, an' offered to bring me there last night, if I'd steal 
 him a bottle that my mother keeps the holy water in at 
 home, tal he'd put whiskey in it." 
 
 " Well, my lad, who is this boy ? " 
 
 " Do you know ' Harry Neil, or Mankind,' * sir ? " 
 
 " I do, my good boy." 
 
 " Well, it's a son of his, sir ; an' look, sir : do you see the 
 smoke farthest up to the right, sir ? " 
 
 " To the right ? Yes." 
 
 " Well, 'tis there, sir, that Darby Neil is watchin' ; and he 
 says he knows." 
 
 " How long have you been watching here ? " 
 
 " This is only the third day, sir, for me, but the rest, 
 them boys above, has been here a good while." 
 
 " Have you seen nobody stirring about the hills since you 
 came ? " 
 
 " Only once, sir, yesterday, I seen two men, havin' an 
 empty sack or two, runnin' across the hill there above." 
 
 At this moment the military came up, for he had himself 
 ran forward in advance of them, and he repeated the sub- 
 stance of his conversation with our friend the vidette. Upon 
 examining the stolidity of his countenance, in which there 
 certainly was a woful deficiency of meaning, they agreed 
 among themselves that his appearance justified the truth of 
 the story which he told the gauger, and upon being still 
 further interrogated, they were confirmed that none but a 
 stupid lout like himself would entrust to his keeping any 
 secret worth knowing. They now separated themselves 
 into as many detached parties as there were fires burning 
 on the hills about them, the gauger himself resolving to 
 
 * This was a nickname given to Harry, who was a cooper, and made 
 the necessary vessels for distillers. 
 
40 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 make for that which Darby Neil had in his keeping, for he 
 could not help thinking that the vidette's story was too 
 natural to be false. They were just in the act of separating 
 themselves to pursue their different routes, when the lad 
 said, 
 
 " Look, sir ! look, sir ! bad scran be from me but there's a 
 still anyway. Sure I often seen a still : that's just like the 
 one that Philip Hagan the tinker mended in George Steen's 
 barn." 
 
 " Hollo, boys," exclaimed Pentland, "stoop! stoop! they 
 are coming this way, and don't see us: no, hang them, no ! 
 they have discovered us now, and are off towards Mossfield. 
 By Jove this will be a bitter trick if they succeed ; confound 
 them, they are bent for Ballagh, which is my own property; 
 and may I be hanged but if we do not intercept them 
 it is I myself who will have to pay the fine." 
 
 The pursuit instantly commenced with a speed and 
 vigour equal to the ingenuity of this singular act of retalia- 
 tion on the gauger. Pentland himself being long-winded 
 from much practice in this way, and being further stimulated 
 by the prospective loss which he dreaded, made as beautiful 
 a run of it as any man of his years could do. It was all in 
 vain, however. He merely got far enough to see the Still, 
 Head, and Worm, heaved across the march ditch into his 
 own property, and to reflect after seeing it that he was 
 certain to have the double consolation of being made a 
 standing joke of for life, and of paying heavily for the jest 
 out of his own pocket. In the meantime, he was bound of 
 course to seize the still, and report the caption ; and as he 
 himself farmed the townland in question, the fine was levied 
 to the last shilling, upon the very natural principle that if 
 he had been sufficiently active and vigilant, no man would 
 have attempted to set up a still so convenient to his own 
 residence and property. 
 
 This manoeuvre of keeping in reserve an old or second 
 
THE IRISH SMUGGLER. 41 
 
 set of apparatus, for the purpose of acting the lapwing and 
 misleading the gauger, was afterwards often practised with 
 success ; but the first discoverer of it was undoubtedly 
 Mickey M'Quade, although the honour of the discovery was 
 attributed to his friend George Steen. The matter, how- 
 ever, did not actually end here, for in a few days afterwards 
 some malicious wag — in other words, George himself — had 
 correct information sent to Pentland touching the locality 
 of the cavern and the secret of its entrance. On this 
 occasion the latter brought a larger military party than 
 usual along with him, but it was only to make him feel that 
 he stood in a position, if possible, still more ridiculous than 
 the first. He found indeed the marks of recent distillation 
 in the place, but nothing else. Every vessel and implement 
 connected with the process had been removed, with the 
 exception of one bottle of whisky, to which was attached 
 by a bit of twine the following friendly note : — 
 
 " Mr. Pentland, Sir — Take this bottle home and drink 
 your own health. You can't do less. It was distilled 
 under your nose, the first day you came to look for us, and 
 bottled for you while you were speaking to the little boy 
 that made a hare of you. Being distilled then under your 
 nose, let it be drunk in the same place, and don't forget 
 while doing so to drink the health of G. S." 
 
 The incident went abroad like wildfire, and was known 
 everywhere. Indeed for a long time it was the standing 
 topic of the parish ; and so sharply was it felt by Pentland 
 that he could never keep his temper if asked, "Mr. Pentland, 
 when did you see little George Steen?" — a question to 
 which he was never known to give a civil reply. 
 
42 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 TOM GRESSIEY, 
 
 The Irish Senachie, 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE ORIGIN OF THE NAME OF GORDON. 
 
 The most accomplished Senachie that ever came within 
 our observation, was a man called Tom Gressiey, or Tom 
 the Shoemaker. He was a very stout well-built man, about 
 fifty years of age, with a round head, somewhat bald, and 
 an expansive forehead that argued a considerable reach of 
 natural intellect His knowing organs were large, and pro- 
 jected over a pair of deep-set lively eyes, that scintillated 
 with strong twinklings of humour. His voice was loud, his 
 enunciation rapid, but distinct ; and such was the force and 
 buoyancy of his spirits, added to the vehemence of his 
 manner, that altogether it was impossible to resist him. 
 His laughter was infectious, and so loud that it might be 
 heard of a calm summer evening at an incredible distance. 
 Indeed, Tom possessed many qualities that rendered him a 
 most agreeable companion ; he could sing a good song for 
 instance, dance a hornpipe as well as any dancing-master, 
 and we need not say that he could tell a good story. He 
 could also imitate a Jew's harp or trump upon his lips, with 
 his mere fingers, in such a manner that the deception was 
 complete ; and it was well known that flocks of the country 
 people used to crowd about him for the purpose of hearing 
 his performance upon the ivy leaf, which he played upon 
 by putting it in his mouth, and uttering a most melodious 
 whistle. Altogether, he was a man of great natural powers, 
 and possessed such a memory as the writer of this never 
 knew any other human being to be gifted with. He not 
 only remembered everything he saw or was concerned in, 
 but everything he heard also. His language, when he spoke 
 
THEIEISHSENACHIE. 43 
 
 Irish, was fluent, clear, and sometimes eloquent ; but when 
 he had recourse to the English, although his fluency 
 remained, yet it was the fluency of a man who made an 
 indiscriminate use of a vocabulary which he did not under- 
 stand. His pedantry on this account was highly ludicrous 
 and amusing, and his wit and humour surprisingly original 
 and pointed. He had never received any education, and 
 was consequently completely illiterate, yet he could repeat 
 every word of Gallaher's Irish Sermons, Donlevy's 
 Catechism, Think well on't, the Seven Champions of 
 Christendom, and the substance of Postorini's and Kolumb 
 Kill's Prophecies, all by heart. Many a time have we seen 
 him read, as he used to call it, one of Dr. Gallaher's Sermons 
 out of the skirt of his big-coat ; a feat which was looked 
 upon with twice the wonder it would have produced had he 
 merely said that he repeated it. But to read it out of the 
 skirt of his coat ! Heavens, how we used to look on with 
 awe and veneration, as Tom, in a loud rapid voice, "rhymed 
 it out of him," for such was the term we gave to his recital 
 of it ! His learning, however, was not confined to mere 
 English and Irish, for Tom was also classical in his way, 
 and for want of a better substitute it was said could serve 
 mass, which must always be done in Latin. Certain it was 
 that he could repeat the De profundis and the Dies Ires, in 
 that language. We need scarcely add, that in these learned 
 exhibitions he dealt largely in false quantities, and took a 
 course for himself altogether independent of syntax and 
 prosody ; this, however, was no argument against his natural 
 talents, or the surprising force of his memory. 
 
 Tom was a great person for attending wakes and funerals, 
 where he was always a busy man, comforting the afflicted 
 relatives with many learned quotations, repeating ranns, or 
 spiritual songs, together with the De profundis or Dies Ires, 
 over the corpse, directing even the domestic concerns, 
 paying attention to strangers, looking after the pipes and 
 
44 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 tobacco, and in fact making himself not only generally 
 useful, but essentially necessary to them, by his happiness of 
 manner, the cordiality of his sympathy, and his unex- 
 tinguishable humour. 
 
 At one time you might see him engaged in leading a 
 Rosary for the repose of the soul of the departed, or singing 
 the Hermit of Killarney, a religious song, to edify the 
 company ; and this duty being over, he would commence a 
 series of comic tales and humorous anecdotes, which he 
 narrated with an ease and spirit that the best of us all 
 might envy. The Irish heart passes rapidly from the 
 depths of pathos to the extremes of humour ; and as a 
 proof of this, we can assure our readers that we have seen 
 the nearest and most afflicted relatives of the deceased 
 carried away by uncontrollable laughter at the broad, 
 grotesque, ludicrous farce of his narratives. 
 
 The last night we ever had the pleasure of being amused 
 by Tom, was at a wake in the neighbourhood ; for it some- 
 how happened that there was seldom either wake or dance 
 within two or three miles of us that we did not attend ; 
 and, God forgive us ! when old Poll Doolin was on her 
 death-bed, the only care that troubled us was an apprehen- 
 sion that she might recover, and thus defraud us of a right 
 merry wake ! Upon the occasion we allude to, it being 
 known that Tom Gressiey would be present, of course the 
 house was crowded. And when he did come, and his loud 
 good-humoured voice was heard at the door, heavens ! how 
 every young heart bounded with glee and delight ! 
 
 The first thing he did on entering was to go where the 
 corpse was laid out, and in a loud rapid voice repeat the De 
 profundis for the repose of her soul, after which he sat down 
 and smoked a pipe. Oh, well do we remember how the 
 whole house was hushed, for all was expectation and interest 
 as to what he would do or say. 
 
 After narrating a legend of St. Patrick, he passed at once 
 
THE IRISH SENACHIE. 45 
 
 into a different spirit. He and Frank Magavren marshalled 
 their forces, and in a few minutes two or three dozen young 
 fellows were hotly engaged in the humorous game of 
 "Boxing the Connaughtman." Boxing the Connaughtman 
 was followed by the "Standing Brogue" and the "Sitting 
 Brogue," two other sports practised only at wakes. And 
 here we may remark generally, that the amusements 
 resorted to on such occasions are never to be found else- 
 where, but are exclusively peculiar to the house of 
 mourning, where they are benevolently introduced for the 
 purpose of alleviating sorrow. Having gone through a few 
 more such, Tom took a seat, and addressing a neighbouring 
 farmer as follows : — 
 
 "Jack Gordon, do you know the history of your own 
 name, and its original fluency?" 
 
 " Indeed no, Tom, I cannot say I do." 
 
 " Well, boys, if yez derogate your noise a little, I'll tell 
 yez the origin of the name of Gordon. It's only about ould 
 Oliver Crummle whose tongue is on the look for a drop of 
 wather ever since he went to the lower storey : — " 
 
 The hum of general conversation now gradually subsided 
 into silence, and every face assumed an expression of 
 curiosity and interest, with the exception of Jemsy Baccagh, 
 who was rather deaf, and blind George M'Girr, so called 
 because he wanted an eye ; both of whom, in high and 
 piercing tones, carried on an angry discussion touching a 
 small lawsuit that had gone against Jemsy in the Court 
 Leet, of which George was a kind of rustic attorney. An 
 outburst of impatient rebuke was immediately poured upon 
 them from fifty voices. "Whist wid yez, ye pair of devil's 
 limbs, an' Tom goin' to tell us a story. Jemsy, your sowl's 
 as crooked as your lame leg, you sinner ; an' as for blind 
 George, if roguery 'ud save a man, he'll escape the devil yet 
 Tarenation to yez, an' be quiet till we hear the story." 
 
 "Ay," said Tom, "Scriptur says that when the blind 
 
46 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 leads the blind, both'll fall into the ditch ; but God help the 
 lame that have blind George to lead them ; we may easily 
 guess where he'd guide them to, especially such a poor 
 innocent as Jemsy there." This banter, as it was not in- 
 tended to give offence, so was it received by the parties to 
 whom it was addressed, with laughter and good humour. 
 
 " Siience, boys," said Tom ; " I'll jist take a dhraw of the 
 pipe till I put my mind in a proper state of transmigration 
 for what I was goin' to narrate." 
 
 He then smoked on for a few minutes, his eyes com- 
 placently but meditatively closed, and his whole face 
 composed into the philosophic spirit of a man who knew and 
 felt his own superiority, as well as what was expected from 
 him. When he had sufficiently arranged the materials in 
 his mind, he took the pipe out of his mouth, rubbed the 
 shank-end of it against the cuff of his coat, then handed it 
 to his next neighbour, and having given a short preparatory 
 cough, thus commenced his legend : — 
 
 " You must know that afther Charles the First happened 
 to miss his head one day, havin' lost it while playin' a game 
 of ' Heads an' Points' with the Scotch, that a man called 
 Nolly Rednose, or Oliver Crummle, was sent over to Ireland 
 wid a parcel of breekless Highlanders an' English Bodaghs, 
 to subduvate the Irish, an' as many of the Prodestans as 
 had been friends to the late king, who were called Royalists. 
 Now, it appears by many learned transfigurations that 
 Nolly Rednose had in his army a man named Balgruntie, 
 or the Hog of Cupar ; a fellow who was as coorse as sackin', 
 as cunnin' as a fox, an' as gross as the swine he was named 
 afther. Rednose, there is no doubt of it, was as nate a hand 
 at takin' a town or castle as ever went about it; but then, 
 any town that didn't surrendher at discretion was sure to 
 experience little mitigation at his hands ; an' whenever he 
 was bent on wickedness, he was sure to say his prayers at 
 the commencement of every siege or battle — that is, that 
 
THE IRISH SENACHIE. 47 
 
 he intended to shew no marcy in — for he'd get a book, an' 
 openin' it at the head of his army, he'd cry, ' Ahem, my 
 brethren, let us praise God by endeavourin' till sing sich or 
 sich a psalm;' an' God help the man, woman, or child, that 
 came before him afther that. Well an' good : it so happened 
 that a squadron of his psalm-singers were despatched by 
 him from Enniskillen, where he stopped, to rendher assist- 
 ance to a party of his army that O'Neil was leatherin' down 
 near Dungannon, an' on their way they happened to take 
 up their quarthers for the night at the Mill of Aughentain. 
 Now, above all men in the creation, who should be 
 appointed to lead this same squadron but the Hog of 
 Cupar. ' Balgruntie, go off wid you,' said Crummle, when 
 administering his instructions to him; 'but be sure that 
 whenever you meet a fat royalist on the way, to pay your 
 respects to him as a Christian ought,' says he ; 'an' above all 
 things, my dear brother Balgruntie, don't neglect your devo- 
 tions, otherwise our arms can't prosper, and be sure,' says he, 
 with a pious smile, ' that if they promulgate opposition, you 
 will make them bleed anyhow, either in purse or person ; 
 or if they provoke the grace of God, take a little from them 
 in both ; an' so the Lord's name be praised, yeamen.' 
 
 " Balgruntie sang a psalm of thanksgivin' for bein' elected 
 by his commander to sich a holy office, set out on his march, 
 an' the next night he an' his choir slept in the mill of Augh- 
 entain, as I said. Now, Balgruntie had in this same congre- 
 gation of his a long-legged Scotchman named Sandy Save- 
 all, which name he got, by way of etymology, for his charity ; 
 for it appears by the historical elucidations that Sandy was 
 perpetually rantinizin' about sisterly affection an' brotherly 
 love : an' what shewed more taciturnity than anything else 
 was, that while this same Sandy had the persuasion to 
 make every one believe that he thought of nothing else, he 
 shot more people than any ten men in the squadron. He 
 was indeed what they call a dead shot, for no one ever knew 
 
48 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 him to miss any thing he fired at. He had a musket that 
 would throw point blank an English mile, an' if he only 
 saw a man's nose at that distance, he used to say that, with 
 aid from above, he could blow it for him with a leaden 
 hankerchy, mainin' that he could blow it off his face wid a 
 musket bullet; and so by all associations he could, for indeed 
 the faits he performed were very insinivating an' problema- 
 tical. 
 
 " Now, it so happened, that at this period there lived in 
 the castle a fine wealthy ould royalist, named Graham or 
 Grimes, as they are often denominated, who had but one 
 child, a daughter, whose beauty an' perfections wor melli- 
 fluous far an' near over the country, an' who had her health 
 drunk, as the toast of Ireland, by the Lord-Lieutenant in 
 the Castle of Dublin, undher the sympathetic appellation 
 of ' the Rose of Aughentain.' It was her son that after- 
 wards ran through the estate, and was forced to part wid 
 the castle ; an' it's to him the proverb colludes which men- 
 tions ' ould John Grame, that swallied the castle of Aughen- 
 tain.' 
 
 " Howsomever, that bears no prodigality to the story I'm 
 narratin'. So what could you have of it, but Balgruntie, 
 who had heard of the father's wealth, and the daughter's 
 beauty, took a holy hankerin' afther both ; an' havin' as 
 usual said his prayers and sung a psalm, he determined for 
 to clap his thumb upon the father's money, thinkin' that the 
 daughter would be the more aisily superinduced to folly it. 
 In other words, he made up his mind to sack the castle, 
 carry off the daughter an' marry her righteously, rather, he 
 said, through a sincere wish to bring her into a state of 
 grace by a union with a God-fearin' man, whose walk he 
 trusted was Zion-ward, than from any cardinal detachment 
 for her wealth or beauty. He accordingly sent up a file of 
 the most pious men he had, picked chaps, with good psalm- 
 singin' voices and strong noses, to request that John Graham 
 
THE IRISH SENACHIE. 49 
 
 would give them possession of the castle for a time, an' 
 afterwards join them at prayers, as a proof that he was io 
 royalist, but a friend to Crummle and the Commonwealth. 
 Now, you see, the best of it was, that the very man they 
 demanded this from, was commonly denominated by the 
 people as ' Gunpowder Jack/ in consequence of the great 
 signification of his courage ; an', besides, he was known to 
 be a member of the Hell-fire Club, that no person could 
 join that hadn't fought three duels, and killed at least one 
 man ; and in ordher to show that they regarded neither 
 God nor hell, they were obligated to dip one hand in blood 
 an' the other in fire, before they could be made members of 
 the club. It's aisy to see, then, that Graham was not lik< ly 
 to quail before a handful of the very men he hated wid all 
 the vociferation in his power, an' he accordingly put his 
 head out of the windy, an' axed them their tergiversation 
 for being there. 
 
 " ' Begone about your business,' he said ; ' I owe you no 
 regard. What brings you before the castle of a man who 
 despises you ? Don't think to determinate me, you cant- 
 ing rascals, for you can't. My castle's well provided wid 
 men an' ammunition an' food ; an' if you don't be off, I'll 
 make you sing a different tune from a psalm one.' Bed ad 
 he did plump to them, out of the windy. 
 
 "When Crummle's men returned to Balgruntie in the 
 mill, they related what had tuck place, and he said that 
 afther prayers he'd sind a second message in writin', an' if 
 it wasn't attended to, they'd put their trust in God, an' storm 
 the castle. The squadron he commanded was not a 
 numerous one, an' as they had no artillery, an' were sur- 
 rounded by enemies, the takin' of the castle, which was a 
 strong one, might cost them some snuffiication. At all 
 events, Balgruntie was bent on makin' the attempt, 
 especially afther he heard that the castle was well vittled, 
 an' indeed he was meritoriously joined by his men, who 
 
 5 
 
50 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 piously licked their lips on hearin' of such glad tidins. 
 Graham was a hot-headed man, without much ambidex- 
 terity or deliberation, otherwise he might have known that 
 the bare mintion of the beef and mutton in his castle was 
 only fit to make such a hungry pack desperate. But be 
 that as it may, in a short time Balgruntie wrote him a 
 letter demandin' of him, in the name of Nolly Rednose an' 
 the Commonwealth, to surrendher the castle, or if not, that, 
 ould as he was, he would make him as soople as a two-year 
 ould. Graham, after readin' it, threw the letter back to 
 the messengers, wid a certain recommendation to Balgruntie 
 regarding it ; but whether the same recommendation was 
 ■'ollowed up and acted on so soon as he wished, historical 
 •2taliations do not inform. 
 
 " On their return, the military narrated to their com- 
 mander the reception they resaved a second time from 
 Graham, an' he then resolved to lay regular siege to the 
 castle ; but as he knew he could not aisily take it by 
 violence, he determined, as thay say, to starve the garrison 
 leisurely and by degrees. But, first an' foremost, a thought 
 struck him, an' he immediately called Sandy Saveall be- 
 hind the mill-hopper, which he had now turned into a pul- 
 pit for the purpose of expoundin' the word, an' givin' ex- 
 hortations to his men. 
 
 "'Sandy,' sis he, 'are you in a state of justification to- 
 day ? ' 
 
 " ' Towards noon,' replied Sandy, ' I had some strong 
 wrestlings with the enemy : but I am able, under praise, to 
 say that I defated him in three attacks, and I consequently 
 feel my righteousness much recruited. I had some whole- 
 some communings with the miller's daughter — a comely 
 lass, who may yet be recovered from the world, and led out 
 of the darkness of Aigyp, by a word in saison.' 
 
 " ' Well, Sandy,' replied the other, ' I lave her to your own 
 instructions ; there is another poor benighted maiden, who 
 
THE IRISH SENACHIE. 51 
 
 is also comely, up in the castle of that godless sinner, who 
 belongeth to the Perdition Club ; an' indeed, Sandy, until 
 he is somehow removed, I think there is little hope of 
 plucking her like a brand from the burning.' 
 
 " He serenaded Sandy in the face as he spoke, an' thin 
 cast an extemporary glance at the musket, that was as 
 much as to say, ' can you translate an insinivation ? ' Sandy 
 concocted a smilin' reply, an' takin' up the gun, rubbed the 
 barrel, an' patted it as a sportsman 'ud pat the neck of his 
 horse or dog, wid reverence for comparin' the villain to 
 either one or the other. 
 
 " 'If it was known, Sandy,' said Balgruntie, ' it would 
 harden her heart against me ; an' as he is hopeless at all 
 events, bein' a member of that Perdition Club' 
 
 " ' True,' said Sandy, ' but you lave the miller's daughter 
 to me ? ' 
 
 " ' I said so.' 
 
 "' Well, if his removal will give you any consolidation in 
 the matther, you may say no more.' 
 
 "'I could not, Sandy, justify it to myself to take him 
 away by open violence, for you know that I bear a 
 conscience if anything too tendher an' dissolute. Also I 
 wish, Sandy, to presarve an ondeniable reputation for 
 humanity ; an', besides, the daughter might become as 
 reprobate as the father, if she suspected me to be personally 
 consarned in it. I have heard a good deal about him, an' 
 am sensibly informed that he has been shot at twice before, 
 by the sons, it is thought, of an enemy that he himself 
 killed rather significantly in a duel.' 
 
 " ' Very well,' sis Sandy ; ' I would myself feel scruples ; 
 but as both our consciences is touched in the business, I 
 think I am justified. Indeed, captain, it is very likely 
 afther all that we are but mere instruments in it, an' that it 
 is through us that this ould unrighteous sinner is to be 
 removed by a more transplendant judgment' 
 
52 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 " Begad, neighbours, whin a rascal's bent on wickedness, 
 it is aisy to find cogitations enough to back him in his 
 villany. And so was it wid Sandy Saveall and Balgruntie, 
 
 " That evenin' ould Graham was shot through the head 
 standin' in the windy of his own castle, an' to extenuate 
 the suspicion of such an act from Crummies men, Balgruntie 
 himself went up the next day, beggin' very politely to have 
 a friendly explanation wid Squire Graham, sayin' that he 
 had harsh orders, but that if the castle was peaceably 
 delivered to him, he would, for the sake of the young lady, 
 see that no injury should be offered either to her or her 
 father. 
 
 "The young lady, however had the high drop in her, and 
 becoorse the only answer he got was a flag of defiance. 
 This nettled the villain, an' he found there was nothin' else 
 for it but to place a strong guard about the castle, to keep 
 all that was in, in — and all that was out, out. 
 
 " In the meantime the very appearance of the Crum- 
 wellians in the neighbourhood struck such terror into the 
 people, that the country, which was then only very thinly 
 inhabited, became quite desarted, an' for miles about the 
 face of a human bein' couldn't be seen, barrin' their own, 
 sich as they were. Crummle's thrack was always a bloody 
 one, an' the people knew that they were wise in putting the 
 hills and mountain passes between him and them. The 
 miller and his daughter bein' encouraged by Sandy, staid 
 principally for the sake of Miss Graham ; but except them, 
 there was not a man or woman in the barony to bid good- 
 morrow to, or say Salvey Dominey. On the beginnin' of 
 the third day, Balgruntie, who knew his officialities 
 extremely well, and had sent down a messenger to 
 Dungannon to see whether matters were so bad as they had 
 been reported, was delighted to hear that O'Neill had dis- 
 appeared from the neighbourhood. He immediately 
 informed Crummle of this, an' tould him that he had laid 
 
THE IRISH SENACHIE, 53 
 
 siege to one of the leadin' passes of the north, an' that, by 
 gettin' possession of the two castles of Aughentain and 
 Augher, he could keep O'Neill in check, an' command that 
 part of the country. Nolly approved of this, an' ordhered 
 him to proceed, but was sorry that he could send him no 
 assistance at present ; ' however,' said he, ' wid a good 
 cause, sharp swords, an' aid from above, there is no fear of 
 us.' 
 
 "They now set themselves to take the castle in airnest 
 Balgruntie an' Sandy undherstood one another, an' not a 
 day passed that some one wasn't dropped in it. As soon 
 as ever a face appeared, pop went the deadly musket, an' 
 down fell the corpse of whoever it was aimed at. Miss 
 Graham herself was spared for good reasons, but in the 
 coorse of ten or twelve days she was nearly alone. Ould 
 Graham, though a man that feared nothing, was only 
 guilty of a profound swagger when he reported the strength 
 of the castle and the state of the provisions to Balgruntie 
 an' his crew. But above all things, that which eclipsed 
 their distresses was the want of wather. There was none 
 in the castle, an' although there is a beautiful well beside 
 it, yet, far eer gair, it was of small responsibility to thim. 
 Here, thin, was the poor young lady placed at the marcy of 
 her father's murdherer; for however she might have doubted 
 in the beginnin' that he was shot by the Crumwellians, yet 
 the death of nearly all the servants of the house in the same 
 way was a sufficient proof that it was like masther like man 
 in this case. What, however, was to be done? The whole 
 garrison now consisted only of Miss Graham herself, a fat 
 man-cook advanced in years, who danced in his distress in 
 ordher that he might suck his own perspiration, and a little 
 orphan boy that she tuck undher her purtection. It was a 
 hard case, an' yet, God bless her, she held out like a man. 
 
 " It's an ould sayin' that there's no tyin' up the tongue of 
 Fame, an' it's also a true one. The account of the sie^e 
 
54 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 had gone far an' near in thecounthry, an' none of the Irish 
 no matter what they were, who ever heard it, but wor sorry. 
 Sandy Saveall was now the devil an' all. As there was no 
 more in the castle to shoot, he should find something to 
 regenerate his hand upon : for instance, he practised upon 
 three or four of Graham's friends, who undher one pretence 
 or other were seen skulkin' about the castle, an' none of 
 their relations dar come to take away their bodies in ordher 
 to bury them. At length things came to that pass, that 
 poor Miss Graham was at the last gasp for something to 
 drink ; she had ferreted out as well as she could a drop of 
 moisture here and there in the damp corners of the castle, 
 but now all that was gone : the fat cook had sucked him- 
 self to death, an' the little orphan boy died calmly away a 
 few hours afther him, lavin' the helpless lady with a tongue 
 swelled and furred, an' a mouth parched an' burned, for 
 want of drink. Still the blood of the Grahams was in her, 
 an' yield she would not to the villain that left her as she 
 was. Sich then was the transparency of her situation, whin, 
 happenin' to be on the battlements, to catch, if possible, a 
 little of the dew of heaven, she was surprised to see some- 
 thing flung up, that rolled down towards her feet : she 
 lifted it, an' on examinin' the contents, found it to be a stone 
 covered wid a piece of brown paper, inside of which was a 
 slip of white, containin' the words, ' Endure — relief is near 
 you.' But, poor young lady, of what retrospection could 
 these tidins be to one in her situation ? — she could hardly 
 see to read them ; her brain was dizzy, her mouth like a 
 cinder, her tongue swelled an' black, an' her breath felt as 
 hot as a furnace. She could barely braithe, an' was in the 
 very act of lyin' down undher the triumphant air of heaven 
 to die, when she heard the shrill voice of a young kid in the 
 castle yard, and immediently remembered that a brown 
 goat which her lover, a gentleman named Simpson, had, 
 when it was a kid, made her a present of, remained in the 
 
THE IRISH SENACHIE. 55 
 
 castle about the stable durin' the whole siege. She in- 
 stantly made her way slowly down stairs, got a bowl, and 
 havin' milked the goat, she tuk a little of the milk, which I 
 need not asseverate at once relieved her. By this means 
 she recovered, an' findin'no further anticipation from druth, 
 she resolved like a hairo to keep the Crumwellians out, an' 
 to wait till either God or man might lend her a helpin' 
 hand. 
 
 " New, you must know that the miller's purty daughter 
 had also a sweetheart, called Suil Gair Maguire, or sharp- 
 eyed Maguire, an humble branch of the great Maguires of 
 Enniskillen ; an' this same Suil Gair was servant an' foster 
 brother to Simpson, the intended husband of Miss Graham. 
 Simpson, who lived some milesoff, on hearin' the condition of 
 the castle, gathered together all the royalists far an' near ; 
 and as Crummle was honestly hated by both Romans an' 
 Prodestans, faith, you see, Maguire himself promised to 
 send a few of his followers to the rescue. In the meantime 
 Suil Gair dressed himself up like a fool or idiot, an' undher 
 the purtection of the miller's daughter, who blarneyed 
 Saveall in great style, was allowed to wandher about and 
 joke wid the sogers ; but especially he took a fancy to Sandy 3 
 and challenged him to put one stone out of five in one of 
 the port-holes of the castle, at a match of finger-stone 
 Sandy, who was nearly as famous at that as the musket, 
 was rather relaxed when he saw that Suil Gair could at 
 least put in every fifth stone, and that he himself could 
 hardly put one in out of twenty. Well, at all events it was 
 durin' their sport that fool Paddy, as they called him, con- 
 trived to fling the scrap of writin' I spoke of across the 
 battlements at all chances ; for whin he undhertook to go 
 to the castle, he gev up his life as lost ; but he didn't care 
 for that, in case he was able to save either his foster brother 
 or Miss Graham. But this is not at all indispensable, for 
 it is well known that many a foster brother sacrificed his 
 
56 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 life the same way, and in cases of great danger, when the 
 real brother would beg to decline the compliment 
 
 " Things were now in a very connubial state entirely, 
 Balgruntie heard that relief was comin' to the castle, an' 
 what to do he did not know ; there was little time to be 
 lost, however, an' something must be done. He praiched 
 flowery discoorses twice a day from the mill-hopper, an' 
 sang psalms for grace to be directed in his righteous in- 
 tentions ; but as yet he derived no particular predilection 
 from either. Sandy appeared to have got a more bountiful 
 modelum of grace nor his captain, for he succeeded at last 
 in bringin' the miller's daughter to sit undher the word at 
 her father's hopper. Fool Paddy, as they called Maguire, 
 had now become a great favourite wid the sogers, an' as he 
 proved to be quite harmless and inoffensive, they let him 
 run about the place widout opposition. The castle, to be 
 sure, was still guarded, but Miss Graham kept her heart up 
 in consequence of the note, for she hoped every day to get 
 relief from her friends. Balgruntie, now seein' that the 
 miller's daughter was becomin' more serious undher the 
 taichin' of Saveall, formed a plan that he thought might 
 enable him to penethrate the castle, an' bear off the lady 
 an' the money. This was to strive wid very delicate medi- 
 tation to prevail on the miller's daughter, through the re- 
 nown that he thought Sandy had over her, to open a 
 correspondency wid Miss Graham ; for he knew that if one 
 of the gates was unlocked, an' the unsuspectin' girl let in^ 
 the whole squadron would soon be in afther her. Now 
 this plan was the more dangerous to Miss Graham, because 
 the miller's daughter had intended to bring about the very 
 same denouncement for a different purpose. Between her 
 friends an' her enemies it was clear the poor lady had little 
 chance ; an' it was Balgruntie's intention, the moment he 
 had sequestrated her an' the money, to make his escape, an' 
 lave the castle to whosomever might choose to take it. 
 
THE IRISH SEN A CHI E. 57 
 
 Things, however, were ordhered to take a different bereave- 
 ment : the Hog of Cupar was to be trapped in the hydro- 
 statics of his own hypocrisy, an' Saveall to be overmatched 
 in his own premises. Well, the plot was mentioned to 
 Sandy, who was promised a good sketch of the prog ; an' 
 as it was jist the very thing he dreamt about night an' day, 
 he snapped at it as a hungry dog would at a sheep's trotter. 
 That night the miller's daughter — whose name I may as 
 well say was Nannie Duffy, the purtiest girl an' the sweet- 
 est singer that ever was in the country — was to go to the 
 castle an' tell Miss Graham that the sogers wor all gone, 
 Crummle killed, an' his whole army massacrayed to atoms. 
 This was a different plan from poor Nannie's, who now saw 
 clearly what they were at. But never heed a woman for 
 bein' witty when hard pushed. 
 
 " ' I don't like to do it,' sis she, ' for it looks like thrach- 
 ery, espishilly as my father has left the neighbourhood, and 
 I don't know where he is gone to ; an' you know thrach- 
 ery's ondacent in either man or woman. Still, Sandy, it 
 goes hard for me to refuse one that I — I — well, I wish I 
 knew where my father is — I would like to know what he'd 
 think of it.' 
 
 " ' Hut,' said Sandy, ' where 's the use of such scruples in 
 a good cause ? — when we get the money, we'll fly. It is 
 principally for the sake of waining you an' her from the 
 darkness of idolatry, that we do it. Indeed my conscience 
 would not rest well if I let a soul an' body like yours re- 
 main a prey to Sathan, my darlin'.' 
 
 " ' Well,' said she, ' doesn't the captain exhort this 
 evenin' ? ' 
 
 " ' He does, my beloved, an' with a blessin' will expound 
 a few verses from the song of Solomon.' 
 
 " ' It's betther then,' said she, ' to sit under the word, an' 
 perhaps some light may be given to us.' 
 
 " This delighted Saveall's heart, who now looked upon 
 
58 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 pretty Nannie as his own ; indeed he was obliged to go 
 gradually and cautiously to work, for cruel though Nolly 
 Rednose was, Sandy knew that if any violent act of tJiat 
 kind should raich him, the guilty party would sup sorrow. 
 Well, accordin' to this pious arrangement, Balgruntie as- 
 sembled all his men, who were not on duty, about the 
 hopper, in which he stood as usual, an' had commenced a 
 powerful exhortation, the substratum of which was devoted 
 to Nannie ; he dwelt upon the happiness of religious love ; 
 said that scruples were often suggested by Satan, an' that 
 a heavenly duty was but terrestial when put in comparish- 
 ment wid an earthly one. He also made collusion to the 
 old Squire that was popped by Sandy ; said it was often a 
 judgment for the wicked man to die in his sins ; an' was 
 gettin' on wid great eloquence an' emulation, when a low 
 rumblin' noise was heard, an' Balgruntie, throwin' up his 
 clenched hands an' grindin' his teeth, shouted out, ' Hell 
 an d d — n, I'll be ground to death ! The mill's going. 
 Murdher ! Murdher ! I'm gone ! ' 
 
 " Faith, it was true enough — she had been wickedly set 
 a-goin' by some one ; an' before they had time to stop her, 
 the Hog of Cupar had the feet and legs twisted off him 
 before their eyes — a fair illustration of his own doctrine, 
 that it is often a judgment for the wicked man to die in 
 his sins. When the mill was stopped, he was pulled out, 
 but didn't live twenty minutes, in consequence of the loss 
 of blood. Time was pressin', so they ran up a shell of a 
 coffin, and tumbled it into a pit that was hastily dug for it 
 on the mill-common. 
 
 " This, however, by no manner of manes relieved poor 
 Nannie from her difficulty, for Saveall, now finding himself 
 first in command, determined not to lose a moment in 
 tolerating his plan upon the castle. 
 
 " ' You see,' said he, ' that a way is opened for us that 
 we didn't expect ; an' let us not close our eyes to the light 
 
THE IRISH SENACHIK 59 
 
 that has been given, lest it might be suddenly taken from 
 us again. In this instance I suspect that fool Paddy 
 has been made the chosen instrument ; for it appears upon 
 inquiry, that he too has disappeared. However, heaven's 
 will be done ! we will have the more to ourselves, my be- 
 loved — ehem ! It is now dark,' he proceeded, ' so I shall 
 go an' take my usual smoke at the mill window, an' in 
 about a quarther of an hour I'll be ready.' 
 
 " ' But I'm all in a tremor after sich a frightful accident,' 
 replied Nannie : ' an' I want to get a few minutes' quiet 
 before we engage upon our undhertakin'.' 
 
 " This was very natural and Saveall accordingly took 
 his usual seat at a little windy in the gable of the mill, that 
 faced the miller's house ; an' from the way the bench was 
 fixed, he was obliged to sit with his face exactly towards 
 the same direction. There we leave him meditatin' upon 
 his own righteous approximations, till we folly Suil Gair 
 Maguire, or fool Paddy, as they called him, who practicated 
 all that was done. 
 
 " Maguire and Nannie, findin' that no time was to be 
 lost, gave all over as ruined, unless somethin' could be 
 acted on quickly. Suil Gair at once had thought of settin' 
 the mill a-goin', but kept the plan to himself, any farther 
 than tellin' her not to be surprised at anything she might 
 see. He then told her to steal him a gun, but if possible 
 to let it be Saveall's as he knew it could be depended on. 
 ' But I hope you won't shed any blood if you can avoid it,' 
 said she ; ' that I don't like.' ' Tut,' replied Suil Gair, 
 makin' evasion to the question, ' it's good to have it about 
 me for my own defence.' 
 
 " He could often have shot either Balgruntie or Saveall 
 in daylight, but not without certain death to himself, as he 
 knew that escape was impossible. Besides, time was not 
 before so pressin' upon them, an' every day relief was ex- 
 pected. Now, however, that relief was so near — for 
 
60 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 Simpsoa with a party of royalists an' Maguire's men must 
 be within a couple of hours' journey — it would be too 
 intrinsic entirely to see the castle plundhered, and the lady 
 carried off by such a long-legged skybill as Saveall. 
 Nannie, consequentially, at great risk, took an opportunity 
 of slippin' his gun to Suil Gair, who was the best shot of the 
 day in that or any other part of the country, and it was in 
 consequence of this that he was called Suil Gair, or Sharp 
 Eye. But, indeed, all the Maguires were famous shots ; 
 ; n' I'm tould there's one of them now in Dublin that could 
 hit a pigeon's egg, or a silver sixpence at the distance of a 
 hundred yards.* Suil Gair did not merely raise the sluice 
 when he set the mill a-goin', but he whipped it out 
 altogether an' threw it into the dam, so that the possibility 
 of saving the Hog of Cupar was irretrievable. He made 
 off, however, an' threw himself among the tall ragweeds 
 that grew upon the common, till it got dark, when Saveall, 
 as was his custom, should take his evenin' smoke at the 
 windy. Here he sat for some period, thinkin' over many 
 ruminations, before he lit his cutty pipe, as he called it. 
 
 "' Now,' said he to himself, 'what is there to hindher me 
 from takin' away, or rather from makin' sure of the grand 
 lassie, instead of the miller's dochter ? If I get intil the 
 castle, it can be soon effected ; for if she has ony regard for 
 her reputation, she will be quiet I'm a braw handsome 
 lad enough, a wee thought high in the cheek-bones, scaly 
 in the skin, an' knock-kneed a trifle, but stout an' lath)'-, an' 
 tough as a withy. But, again, what is to be done wi' 
 Nannie ? Hut, she's but a miller's dochter, an' may be 
 disposed of if she gets troublesome. I know she's fond of 
 me, but I dinna blame her for that. However, it wadna 
 become me now to entertain scruples, seein' that the way 
 is made so plain for me. But, save us ! eh, sirs, that was 
 
 * The celebrated Brian Maguire, the first shot of his day, was at 
 this time living in Dublin. 
 
THE IRISH SENACHIE. 61 
 
 an awful death, an' very like a judgment on the Hog of 
 Cupar ! It is often a judgment for the wicked to die in 
 their sins. Balgruntie wasna that' Whatever he in- 
 tended to say further, cannot be analogized by man, for, 
 just as he had uttered the last word, which he did while 
 holding the candle to his pipe, the bullet of his own gun 
 entered between his eyes, and the next moment he was a 
 corpse. 
 
 " Suil Gair desarved the name he got, for truer did never 
 bullet go to the mark from Saveall's own aim than it did 
 from his. There is now little more to be superadded to my 
 story. Before daybreak the next mornin', Simpson came 
 to the relief of his intended wife ; Crummle's party were 
 surprised, taken, an' cut to pieces ; an' it so happened that 
 from that day to this the face of a soger belongin' to him 
 was never seen near the mill or castle of Aughentain, with 
 one exception only, and that was this : You all know 
 that the mill is often heard to go at night when nobody 
 sets her a-goin', an' that the most sevendable scrames of 
 torture come out of the hopper, an' that when any one has 
 the courage to look in, they're sure to see a man dressed 
 like a soger, with a white mealy face, in the act, so to say, 
 of havin' his legs ground off him. Many a guess was made 
 about who the spirit could be, but all to no purpose. 
 There, however, is the truth for yez ; the spirit that shrieks 
 in the hopper is Balgruntie's ghost, an' he's to be ground 
 that way till the day of judgment. 
 
 " Be coorse, Simpson and Miss Graham were married 
 as war Nannie Duffy an' Suil Gair ; an' if they all lived long 
 an' happy, I wish we may all live ten times longer an' 
 happier ; an' so we will, but in a betther world than this, 
 plaise God." 
 
 " Well, but, Tom ;" said Gordon, " how does that account 
 for my name, which you said you'd tell me ? " 
 
 " Right," said Tom ; " begad I was near forgettin' it 
 
G2 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 Why you see, sich was their veneration for the goat that 
 was the manes of savin' Miss Graham's life, that they 
 changed the name of Simpson to Gordon, which signifies 
 in Irish gor dhan, or a brown goat, that all their posterity 
 might know the great obligations they lay undher to that 
 reverend animal." 
 
 "An' do you mane to tell me." said Gordon, "that my 
 name was never heard of until Oliver Crummle's time? " 
 
 " I do. Never in the wide an' subterraneous earth was 
 sich a name known till afther the prognostication I tould 
 you; an' it never would either, only for the goat, sure. I 
 can prove it by the pathepathetics. Denny Mullin, will you 
 give us another draw o' the pipe ? " 
 
 Tom's authority in these matters was unquestionable, 
 and, besides, there was no one present learned enough to 
 contradict him, with any chance of success before such an 
 audience. The argument was consequently, without 
 further discussion, decided in his favour, and Gordon was 
 silenced touching the origin and etymology of his own 
 name. 
 
 BARNEY M'HAIGNE Y t 
 The Irish Prophecy Man. 
 
 THE individual to whom the heading of this article is uni- 
 formly applied, stands, among the lower classes of his 
 countrymen, in a different light and position from any of 
 those characters that we have already described to our 
 readers. The intercourse which they maintain with the 
 people is one that simply involves the means of procuring 
 subsistence for themselves by the exercise of their pro- 
 
THE IRISH PROPHECY MAN. 63 
 
 fessional skill, and their powers of contributing to the 
 lighter enjoyments and more harmless amusements of their 
 fellow-countrymen. All the collateral influences they 
 possess, as arising from the hold which the peculiar nature 
 of this intercourse gives them, generally affect individuals 
 only on those minor points of feeling that act upon the 
 lighter phases of domestic life. They bring little to society 
 beyond the mere accessories that are appended to the 
 general modes of life and manners, and consequently, 
 receive themselves as strong an impulse from those with 
 whom they mingle, as they communicate to them in return. 
 Now, the Prophecy Man presents a character far different 
 from all this. With the ordinary habits of life he has little 
 sympathy. The amusements of the people are to him little 
 else than vanity, if not something worse. He despises that 
 class of men who live and think only for the present, with- 
 out ever once performing their duties to posterity, by looking 
 into those great events that lie in the womb of futurity. 
 Domestic joys or distresses do not in the least affect him, 
 because the man has not to do with feelings or emotions, 
 but with principles. The speculations in which he indulges, 
 and by which his whole life and conduct are regulated, 
 place him far above the usual impulses of humanity. He 
 cares not much who has been married or who has died, for 
 his mind is, in point of time, communing with unborn 
 generations upon affairs of high and solemn import. The 
 past, indeed, is to him something — the future, everything ; 
 but the present, unless when marked by the prophetic 
 symbols, little or nothing. The topics of his conversation 
 are vast and mighty, being nothing less than the fate of 
 kingdoms, the revolution of empires, the ruin or establish- 
 ment of creeds, the fall of monarchies, or the rise and 
 prostration of principalities and powers. How can a mind 
 thus engaged descend to those petty subjects of ordinary 
 life, which engage the common attention ? How could a 
 
64 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 man hard at work in evolving out of prophecy the sub- 
 jugation of some hostile state, care a farthing whether 
 Loghlin Roe's daughter was married to Gusty Given's son 
 or not ? The thing is impossible. Like Fame, the head of 
 the Prophecy Man is always in the clouds, but so much 
 higher up as to be utterly above the reach of any intelligence 
 that does not affect the fate of nations. There is an old 
 anecdote told of a very high and a very low man meeting. 
 " What news down there ? " said the tall fellow " Very 
 little," replied the other : " what kind of weather have you 
 above ? " Well, indeed, might the Prophecy Man ask what 
 news is there below, for his mind seldom leaves those aerial 
 heights from which it watches the fate of Europe, and the 
 shadowing forth of future changes. 
 
 The Prophecy Man — that is, he who solely devotes him- 
 self to an anxious observation of those political occurrences 
 which mark the signs of the times, as they bear upon the 
 future, the principal business of whose life it is to associate 
 them with his own prophetic theories — is now a rare char- 
 acter in Ireland. He was, however, a very marked one. 
 The Senachie and other itinerant characters, had, when 
 compared with him, a very limited beat, indeed. Instead 
 of being confined to a parish or a barony, the bounds of 
 the Prophecy Man's travels were those of the kingdom 
 itself; and, indeed, some of them have been known to make 
 excursions to the Highlands of Scotland, in order, if 
 possible, to pick up old prophecies, and to make themselves, 
 by cultivating an intimacy with the Scottish seers, capable 
 of getting a clearer insight into futurity, and surer rules for 
 developing the latent secrets of time. 
 
 One of the heaviest blows to the speculations of this 
 class was the downfall and death of Buonaparte — especially 
 the latter. There are still living, however, those who can 
 get over this difficulty, and who will not hesitate to assure 
 you, with a look of much mystery, that the real " Bonyparty" 
 
THE IRISH PROPHECY MAN. 65 
 
 is alive and well, and will make his due appearance when 
 tJie time comes ; he who surrendered himself to the English 
 being but an accomplice of the true one. 
 
 The next fact is the failure of the old prophecy that a 
 George the Fourth would never sit on the throne of England. 
 His coronation and reign, however, puzzled our prophets 
 sadly, and, indeed, sent adrift for ever the pretensions of 
 this prophecy to truth. 
 
 But that which has nearly overturned the system, and 
 routed the whole prophetic host, is the failure of the 
 speculations so confidently put forward by Dr. Walmsey 
 in his General History of the Christian Church, vulgarly 
 called Pastorini's Prophecy, he having assumed the name 
 Pastorini as an incognito or nom de guerre. The theory of 
 Pastorini was, that Protestantism and all descriptions of 
 heresy would disappear about the year eighteen hundred 
 and twenty-five, an inference which he drew with consider- 
 able ingenuity and learning from Scriptural Prophecy, taken 
 in connexion with past events, and which he argued with 
 all the zeal and enthusiasm of a theorist naturally anxious 
 to see the truth of his own prognostications verified. The 
 failure of this, which was their great modern standard, has 
 nearly demolished the political seers as a class, or compelled 
 them to fall back upon the more antiquated revelations 
 ascribed to St. Columkill, St. Bridget, and others. 
 
 Having thus given what we conceive to be such pre- 
 liminary observations as are necessary to make both the 
 subject and the person more easily understood, we shall 
 proceed to give a short sketch of the only Prophecy Man 
 we ever saw who deserved properly to be called so, in the 
 full and unrestricted sense of the term. This individual's 
 name was Barney M'Haigney ; but in what part of Ireland 
 he was born I am not able to inform the reader. All I 
 know is, that he was spoken of on every occasion as The 
 Prophecy Man ; and that, although he could not himself 
 
 6 
 
G6 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 read, he carried about with him, in a variety of pockets, 
 several old books and manuscripts that treated upon his 
 favourite subject. 
 
 Barney was a tall man, by no means meanly dressed \ 
 and it is unnecessary to say that he came not within the 
 character or condition of a mendicant. On the contrary, 
 he was considered as a person who must be received with 
 respect, for the people knew perfectly well that it was not 
 with every farmer in the neighbourhood he would conde- 
 scend to sojourn. He had nothing of the ascetic and ab- 
 stracted meagreness of the Prophet in his appearance. So 
 far from that, he was inclined to corpulency ; but, like a 
 certain class of fat men, his natural disposition was calm, 
 but, at the same time, not unmixed with something of the 
 pensive. His habits of thinkingj as might be expected, 
 were quiet and meditative ; his personal motions slow and 
 regular; and his transitions from one resting-place to 
 another never of such length during a single day as to ex- 
 ceed ten miles. At this easy rate, however, he traversed 
 the whole kingdom several times ; nor was there probably 
 a local prophecy of any importance in the country with 
 which he was not acquainted. He took much delight in 
 the greater and lesser prophets of the Old Testament ; but 
 his heart and soul lay, as he expressed it, " in the Revela- 
 tions of St. John the Divine." 
 
 His usual practice was, when the family came home at 
 night from their labour, to stretch himself upon two chairs, 
 his head resting upon the hob, with a boss for a pillow, his 
 :yes closed, as a proof that his mind was deeply engaged 
 with the matter in hand. In this attitude he got some one 
 to read the particular prophecy upon which he wished to 
 descant ; and a most curious and amusing entertainment it 
 generally was to hear the text, and his own singular and 
 original commentaries upon it. That he must have been 
 often hoaxed by wags and wits, was quite evident from the 
 
THE IRISH PROPHECY MAN. 67 
 
 startling travesties of the text which had been put into his 
 mouth, and which, having been once put there, his tenacious 
 memory never forgot. 
 
 The fact of Barney's arrival in the neighbourhood soon 
 went abroad, and the natural consequence was that the 
 house in which he thought proper to reside for the time be- 
 came crowded every night as soon as the hours of labour 
 had passed, and the people got leisure to hear him. Having 
 thus procured him an audience, it is full time that we 
 should allow the fat old Prophet to speak for himself, and 
 give us all an insight into futurity. 
 
 " Barney, ahagur," the good man his host would say, 
 " here's a lot o' the neighbours come to hear a whirrangue 
 from you on the Prophecies ; and, sure, if you can't give it 
 to them, who is there to be found that can ? " 
 
 " Throth, Paddy Traynor, although I say it that should 
 not say it, there's truth in that, at all evints. The same 
 knowledge has cost me many a weary blisther an' sore heel 
 in huntin' it up an' down, through mountain an' glen, in 
 Ulsther, Munsther, Leinsther, an' Connaught, not forgettin' 
 the Highlands of Scotland, where there's what they call the 
 ' short prophecy,' or second sight, but wherein there's afther 
 all but little of the Irish or long prophecy, that regards 
 what's to befall the winged woman that flewn into the 
 winderness. No, no ; their second sight isn't thrue pro- 
 phecy at all. If a man goes out to fish, or steal a cow, an' 
 that he happens to be drowned or shot, another man that 
 has the second sight will see this in his mind about or afther 
 the time it happens. Why, that's little. Many a time our 
 own Irish drames are aiqual to it ; an', indeed I have it from 
 a knowledgeable man, that the gift they boast of has four 
 parents — an empty stomach, thin air, a weak head, an' strong 
 whiskey — an' that a man must have all these, espeshilly the 
 last, before he can have the second sight properly ; an' it's 
 my own opinion. Now, I have a little book (indeed, I left 
 
G8 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 my books with a friend down at Errigle) that contains a 
 prophecy of the milk-white hind an' the bloody panther, 
 an' a forbodin' of the slaughter there's to be in the Valley 
 of the Black Pig, as foretould by Beal Derg, or the prophet 
 with the red mouth, who never was known to speak but 
 when he prophesied, or to prophesy but when he spoke." 
 
 " The Lord bless and keep us ! — an' why was he called 
 the Man wid the Red Mouth, Barney ? " 
 
 " I'll tell you that. First bekase he always prophesied 
 about the slaughter an' fightin' that was to take place in the 
 time to come ; an' secondly, bekase, while he spoke, the red 
 blood always trickled out of his mouth, as a proof that what 
 he foretould was true." 
 
 " Glory be to God ! but that's wonderful all out Well, 
 well ! " 
 
 " Ay, an' Beal Derg, or the Red Mouth is still livin'." 
 
 " Livin' ! why, is he a man of our own time ? " 
 
 " Our own time ! The Lord help you ! It's more than 
 a thousand years since he made the prophecy. The case 
 you see is this : he an' the ten thousand witnesses are lyin' 
 in an enchanted sleep, in one of the Montherlony moun- 
 tains." 
 
 " An' how is that known, Barney ? " 
 
 " It's known. Every night at a certain hour one of the 
 witnesses — an' they're all sogers, by the way — must come 
 out to look for the sign that's to come." 
 
 " An' what is that, Barney ? " 
 
 " It's the fiery cross ; an' when he sees one on aich of the 
 four mountains of the north, he's to know that the same 
 sign's abroad in all the other parts of the kingdom. Beal 
 Derg an' his men are then to waken up, an' by their aid the 
 Valley of the Black Pig is to be set free for ever." 
 
 " An' what is the Black Pig, Barney ? " 
 
 " The Prosbytarian Church, that stretches from Ennis- 
 killen to Darry, an' back again from Darry to Enniskillen" 
 
THE IRISH PROPHECY MAN. 69 
 
 " Well, well, Barney ; but prophecy is a strange thing to 
 be sure ! Only think of men livin' a thousand years ! " 
 
 " Every night one of Beal Derg's men must go to the 
 mouth of the cave, which opens of itself, an' then look out 
 for the sign that's expected. He walks up to the top of the 
 mountain, an' turns to the four corners of the heavens to 
 thry if he can see it ; an' when he finds that he cannot, he 
 goes back to Beal Derg, who, afther the other touches him, 
 starts up an' axes him, ' Is the time come ? ' He replies, 
 * No ; the man is, but the hour is not ! ' an' that instant 
 they're both asleep again. Now, you see, while the soger is 
 on the mountain top, the mouth of the cave is open, an' any 
 one may go in that might happen to see it. One man, it 
 appears, did, an' wishin' to know from curiosity whether the 
 sogers were dead or livin', he touched one of them wid his 
 hand, who started up, and axed him the same question^ 
 ' Is the time come ? ' Very fortunately he said ' No ; ' an' 
 that minute the soger was as sound in his trance as be- 
 fore." 
 
 " An', Barney, what did the soger mane whin he said> 
 1 The man is, but the hour is not ' ? " 
 
 " What did he mane ? I'll tell you that. The man is 
 Bonyparty, which manes, whin put into proper explanation, 
 the right side ; that is, the true cause. Larned men have 
 found that out." 
 
 " Barney, wasn't Columkill a great prophet ? " 
 
 " He was a great man entirely at prophecy, and so was 
 St. Bridget He prophesied, ' That the cock wid the purple 
 comb is to have both his wings clipped by one of his own 
 breed, before the struggle comes.' Before that time, too, 
 we're to have the Black Militia, an' afther that it is time for 
 every man to be prepared." 
 
 " An' Barney, who is the cock wid the purple comb ? " 
 
 "Why, the Orangemen, to be sure. Isn't purple their 
 colour, the dirtv thieves ? " 
 
70 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 " An' the Black Militia, Barney, who are they ? " 
 
 " I have gone far an' near, through north an' through 
 south, up an' down, by hill an' hollow, till my toes were 
 corned, an' my heels in griskins, but could find no one able 
 to resolve that, or bring it clear out of the prophecy. They 
 are to be sogsrs in Black, an' all their arms an' coutrements 
 is to be the same colour ; an' farther than that is not known 
 as yet." 
 
 " It's a wondher you don't know it, Barney, for there's 
 little about prophecy that you haven't at your finger ends." 
 
 " Three birds is to meet (Barney proceeded in a kind of 
 recitative enthusiasm) upon the saes — two ravens an' a 
 dove — the two ravens is to attack the dove until she's at 
 the point of death; but before they take her life, an aigle 
 comes an tears the two ravens to pieces, and the dove 
 recovers. 
 
 " There's to be two cries in the kingdom ; one of them is 
 to rech from Giants' Causeway to the centre house of the 
 town of Sligo ; the other is to rech from the Falls of Beleek 
 to the Mill of Louth, which is to be turned three times with 
 human blood ; but this is not to happen until a man with 
 two thumbs an' six fingers upon his right hand happens to 
 be the miller." 
 
 " Who's to give the sign of freedom to Ireland ? " 
 
 " The little boy wid the red coat that's born a dwarf, lives 
 a giant, and dies a dwarf again ! He's lightest of foot, but 
 leaves the heaviest foot-mark behind him. An' it's he that's 
 to give the sign of freedom to Ireland.* 
 
 " There's a period to come when Antichrist is to be upon 
 the earth, attended by his two servants Gog and Magog." 
 
 " Who are they, Barney ? " 
 
 " They are the sons of Hegog an' Shegog, or in other 
 words, of death an' Damnation, and cousin-jarmans to the 
 
 * This means fire. 
 
THE IRIb-H PROPHECY MAN. 71 
 
 Devil himself, which of coorse is the raison why he pro- 
 motes them." 
 
 " Lord save us ! But I hope that won't be in our time, 
 Barney ! " 
 
 " Antichrist is to come from the land of Crame o' Tarther 
 (Crim Tartary, according to Pastorini), which will account 
 for himself an' his army breathin' fire an' brimstone out of 
 their mouths, according to the glorious revelation of St. 
 John the Divine, an' the great prophecy of Pastorini, both 
 of which beautifully compromise on the subject. 
 
 " The prophet of the Black Stone is to come, who always 
 prophesies backwards, and foretells what has happened. 
 He is to be a mighty hunter, an' instead of ridin' to his fet- 
 locks in blood, he is to ride upon it, to the admiration of 
 his times. It's of him it is said ' that he is to be the only 
 prophet that ever went on horseback ! ' 
 
 " Then there's Bardolphus, who, as there was a prophet 
 wid the red mouth, is called ' the prophet wid the red nose.' 
 Ireland was, it appears from ancient books, undher wather 
 for many hundred years before her discovery ; but bein' 
 allowed to become visible one day in every year, the en- 
 chantment was broken by a sword that was thrown upon 
 the earth, an' from that out she remained dry, an' became 
 inhabited. ' Woe, woe, woe,' says Bardolphus, ' the time 
 is to come when we'll have a second deluge, an' Ireland is 
 to be undher wather once more. A well is to open at Cork 
 that will cover the whole island from the Giant's Causeway 
 to Cape Clear. In them days St. Patrick will be despised, 
 an' will stand over the pleasant houses wid his pastoral 
 crook in his hand, crying out Cead mille failtha in vain ! 
 Woe, woe, woe,' says Bardolphus, ' for in them days there 
 will be a great confusion of colours among the people , 
 there will be neither red noses nor pale cheeks, an' the 
 divine face of man, alas ! will put forth blossoms no more. 
 The heart of the times will become changed ; an' when they 
 
72 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 rise up in the mornin', it will come to pass that there will 
 be no longer light heads or shaking hands among Irishmen! 
 Woe, woe, woe, men, women, and children will then die, an' 
 their only complaint, like all those who perished in flood 
 of ould, will be wather on the brain ! — wather on the brain ! 
 Woe, woe, woe,' says Bardolphus, ' for the changes that is to 
 come, an' the misfortunes that's to befall the many for the 
 noddification of the few ! an' yet such things must be, for 
 I, in vertue of the red spirit that dwells in me, must pro- 
 phecy them. In those times men will be shod in liquid fire, 
 an' not be burned ; their breeches shall be made of fire, an' 
 will not burn them ; their bread shall be made of fire, an' it 
 will not burn them ; their meat shall be made of fire, an' 
 will not burn them ; an' why ? — Oh, woe, woe, wather shall 
 so prevail that the coolness of their bodies will keep them 
 safe ; yea, they shall even get fat, fair an' be full of health 
 an' strength, by wearing garments wrought out of liquid 
 fire, by eating liquid fire, an' all because they do not dhrink 
 liquid fire — an' this calamity shall come to pass,' says 
 Bardolphus, the prophet of the red-nose. 
 
 "Two widows shall be grinding at the Mill of Louth 
 (so saith the prophecy) ; one shall be taken, and the other 
 left." 
 
 Thus would Barney proceed, repeating such ludicrous 
 and heterogeneous mixtures of old traditionary prophecies 
 and spurious quotations from Scripture, as were concocted 
 for him by those who took delight in amusing themselves 
 and others at the expense of his inordinate love for pro- 
 phecy. 
 
 " But, Barney, touchin' the Mill of Louth, of the two 
 widows grindin' there, whether will the one that is taken or 
 the one that's left be the best off? " 
 
 " The prophecy doesn't say," replied Barney ; " an' that's 
 a matther that larned men are very much divided about. 
 My own opinion is, that the one that's taken will be the 
 
THE IRISH PROPHECY MAN. 73 
 
 best off for St Bridget says, ' that betune wars an' pesti- 
 lences, an' famine, the men will be so scarce that several of 
 them will be torn to pieces by the women in their struggles 
 to see who will get them for husbands.' That time, they 
 say, is to come." 
 
 " But, Barney, isn't there many ould prophecies about 
 particular families in Ireland?" 
 
 " Ay, several : and I'll tell you one of them about a 
 family that's not far from us this minute. You all know 
 the hangin' wall of the ould church of Ballynasaggart, in 
 Errigle Keeran parish ? " 
 
 " We do, to be sure, an' we know the prophecy too." 
 
 " Of coorse you do, bein' in the neighbourhood. Well 
 what is it in the manetime ? " 
 
 " Why, that it's never to fall till it comes down upon and 
 takes the life of a M'Mahon." 
 
 " Right enough ; but do you know the raison of 
 it?" 
 
 " We can't say that, Barney ; but, however, we're at 
 home when you're here." 
 
 " Well, I'll tell you. St Keeran was, maybe, next to 
 Patrick himself, one of the greatest saints in Ireland, but 
 at any rate we may put him next to St. Columkill. Now, 
 you see when he was building the church of Ballynasaggart, 
 it came to pass that there arose a great famine in the land, 
 and the sa : nt found it hard to feed the workmen where 
 there was no vittles. What to do he knew not, an' by 
 coorse he was at a sad amplush, no doubt of it. At length 
 sis he, ' Boys we're all hard set at present, an' widout food 
 bedad we can't work ; but if you obsarve my directions, 
 we'll conthrive to have a bit o' mate in the manetime, an' 
 among ourselves it was seldom more wanted, for, to tell 
 you the thruth, I never thought my back an' belly would 
 become so well acquainted. For the last three days they 
 haven't been asundher, an' I find they are perfectly willing 
 
74 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 to part as soon as possible, an' would be glad of anything 
 that 'ud put betune them.' 
 
 " Now, the fact was, that, for drawin' timber an' stone, 
 an' all the necessary matayrials for the church, they had 
 but one bullock, an' him St. Keeran resolved to kill in the 
 evenin', an' to give them a fog meal of him. He accordingly 
 slaughtered him wid his own hands ; ' but,' sis he to the 
 workmen, ' mind what I say, boys : if any one of you breaks 
 a single bone, even the smallest, or injures the hide in the 
 laste, you'll destroy all ; an' my sowl to glory but it'll be 
 worse for you besides.' 
 
 " He thin tuk all the flesh off the bones, but not till he 
 had biled them, of coorse ; afther which he sewed them up 
 again in the skin, an' put thim in the shed wid a good wisp 
 o' straw before them ; an' glory be to God, what do you 
 think, but the next mornin' the bullock was alive, an' in as 
 good condition as ever he was in during his life ! Betther 
 fed workmen you couldn't see, an', bedad, the saint himself 
 got so fat an' rosy that you'd scarcely know him to be the 
 same man afther it. Now, this went on for some time : 
 whenever they wanted mate, the bullock was killed, an' the 
 bones an' skin kept safe as before. At last it happened 
 that a long-sided fellow among them named M'Mahon, not 
 satisfied wid his allowance of the mate, took a fancy to 
 have a lick at the marrow, an' accordingly, in spite of all 
 the saint said, he broke one of the legs, an' sucked the 
 marrow out of it. But behold you ! — the next day when 
 they went to yoke the bullock, they found that he was 
 useless, for the leg was broken an' he couldn't work. This, 
 to be sure, was a sad misfortune to them all, but it couldn't 
 be helped, an' they had to wait till betther times came ; for 
 the truth is, that afther the marrow is broken, no power of 
 man could make the leg as it was before until the cure is 
 brought about by time. However, the saint was very much 
 vexed, an' good right he had. ' Now M'Mahon,' said he to 
 
THE IRISH PROPHECY MAN. 75 
 
 the guilty man, ' I ordher it an' prophesy that the church 
 we're building will never fall till it falls upon the head of 
 some one of your name, if it was to stand a thousand years. 
 Mark my words, for they must come to pass.' 
 
 " An' sure enough you know as well as I do that it's all 
 down long ago, wid the exception of a piece of the wall 
 that's not standin' but hangin', widout any visible support 
 in life, an' only propped up by the prophecy. It can't fall 
 till a M'Mahon comes undher it ; but although there's 
 plenty of the name in the neighbourhood, ten of the 
 strongest horses in the kingdom wouldn't drag one of 'em 
 widin half a mile of it. There, now, is the prophecy that 
 belongs to the hangin' wall of Ballynasaggart church." 
 
 " But, Barney, didn't you say something about the 
 winged woman that flewn to the wilderness ? " 
 
 " I did; that's a deep point, an' it's few that undherstands 
 it. The baste wid seven heads an' ten horns is to come ■ 
 and whin he was to make his appearance, it was said to be 
 time for thim that might be alive thin to go to their 
 padareens." 
 
 " What does the seven heads an' ten horns mane, 
 Barney ? " 
 
 " Why, you see, as I am informed from good authority, 
 the baste has come, an' it's clear from the ten horns that he 
 could be no other than Harry the Eight, who was married 
 to five wives, an' by all accounts they strengthened an' 
 ornamented him sore agen his will. Now, set in case that 
 aich of them — five times two is ten — hut ! the thing's as 
 clear as crystal. But I'll prove it betther. You see the 
 woman wid the two wings is the church, an' she flew into 
 the wilderness at the very time Harry the Eight wid his 
 ten horns on him was in his greatest power." 
 
 " Bedad that's puttin' the explanations to it in great style." 
 
 " But the woman wid the wings is only to be in the wild- 
 erness for a time, times, an' half a time, that's exactly three 
 
7G AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 hundred an' fifty years, an' afther that there's to be no more 
 Prodestans." 
 
 " Faith that's great ! " 
 
 " Sure Columkill prophesied that until HEMEIAM 
 should come, the church would be in no danger, but that 
 afther that she must be under a cloud for a time, times, an' 
 half a time, jist in the same way." 
 
 "Well, but how do you explain that, Barney? " 
 
 " An' St. Bridget prophesied that when D O C is upper- 
 most, the church will be hard set in Ireland. But, indeed, 
 there's no end to the prophecies that there is concerning 
 Ireland an' the church. However, neighbours, do you know 
 that I feel the heat o' the fire has made me rather drowsy, 
 an' if you have no objection, I'll take a bit of a nap. There's 
 great things near us, any how. An' talkin' about DOC 
 brings to my mind another ould prophecy, made up, they 
 say, betune Columkill and St. Bridget ; an' it is this, that 
 the triumph of the counthry will never be at hand till the 
 DOC flourishes in Ireland." 
 
 Such were the speculations upon which the harmless 
 mind of Barney M'Haigney ever dwelt. From house to 
 house, from parish to parish, and from province to province, 
 did he thus trudge, never in a hurry, but always steady and 
 constant in his motions. He might be not inaptly termed 
 the Old Mortality of traditionary prophecy, which he often 
 chiselled anew, added to, and improved, in a manner that 
 generally gratified himself and his hearers. He was a 
 harmless, kind man, and never known to stand in need of 
 either clothes or money. He paid little attention to the 
 silent business of on-going life, and was consequently very 
 nearly an abstraction. He was always on the alert, how- 
 ever, for the result of a battle ; and after having heard it, 
 he would give no opinion whatsoever until he had first 
 silently compared it with his own private theory in pro- 
 phecy. If it agreed with this, he immediately published it 
 
THE KNOCKMANY GIANT. 77 
 
 in connextion with his established text ; but if it did not, 
 he never opened his lips on the subject. 
 
 His class has nearly disappeared, and indeed it is so much 
 the better, for the minds of the people were thus filled with 
 antiquated nonsense that did them no good. Poor Barney, 
 to his great mortification, lived to see with his own eyes 
 the failure of his most favourite prophecies, but he was not 
 to be disheartened even by this ; though some might fail, 
 all could not ; and his stock was too varied and extensive 
 not to furnish him with a sufficient number of others over 
 which to cherish his imagination, and expatiate during the 
 remainder of his inoffensive life. 
 
 FIN 3IC0UL, 
 Th e Knockma 7iy Giant. 
 
 What Irish man, woman, or child, has not heard of our re- 
 nowned Hibernian Hercules, the great and glorious Fin 
 M'Coul ? Not one, from Cape Clear to the Giant's 
 Causeway, nor from that back again to Cape Clear. And 
 by the way, speaking of the Giant's Causeway brings me 
 at once to the beginning of my story. Well, it so happened 
 that Fin and his gigantic relatives were all working at the 
 Causeway, in order to make a bridge, or what was still 
 better, a good stout pad-road, across to Scotland ; when 
 Fin, who was very fond of his wife Oonagh, took it into 
 his head that he would go home and see how the poor 
 woman got on in his absence. To be sure, Fin was a true 
 Irishman, and so the sorrow thing in life brought him back, 
 only to see that she was snug and comfortable, and, above 
 
78 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 all things, that she got her rest well at night ; for he knew 
 that the poor woman, when he was with her, used to be 
 subject to nighlfy qualms, and configurations, that kept 
 him very anxious, decent man, striving to keep her up to 
 the good spirits and health that she had when they were 
 first married. So, accordingly, he pulled up a fir tree, and, 
 after lopping off the roots and branches, made a walking- 
 stick of it, and set out on his way to Oonagh. 
 
 Oonagh, or rather Fin, lived at this time on the very tip- 
 top of Knockmany Hill, which faces a cousin of its own, 
 called Cullamore, that rises up, half-hill, half-mountain, on 
 the opposite side — east-east by south, as the sailors say, 
 when they wish to puzzle a landsman. 
 
 Now the truth is, for it must come out, that honest Fin's 
 affection for his wife, though cordial enough in itself, was by 
 no manner or means the real cause of his journey home. 
 There was at that time another giant named Cucullin — 
 some say he was Irish, and some say he was Scotch ; but 
 whether Scotch or Irish, sorrow doubt of it but he was a 
 targer. No other giant of the day could stand before him ; 
 and such was his strength, that, when well vexed, he could 
 give a stamp that shook the country about him. The fame 
 and name of him went far and near, and nothing in the 
 shape of a man, it was said, had any chance with him in a 
 fight. Whether the story is true or not, I cannot say, but 
 the report went that, by one blow of his fist, he flattened a 
 thunderbolt and kept it in his pocket in the shape of a pan- 
 cake, to shew to his enemies when they were about to fight 
 him. Undoubtedly he had given every giant in Ireland a 
 considerable beating, barring Fin M'Coul himself; and he 
 swore by the solemn contents of Moll Kelly's Primer, that 
 he would never rest, day or night, winter or summer, till he 
 would serve Fin with the same sauce, if he could catch 
 him. Fin, however, who no doubt was cock of the walk on 
 his own dunghill, had a strong disinclination to meet a 
 
THE KNOCKMANY GIANT. 79 
 
 giant who could make a young earthquake, or flatten a 
 thunderbolt when he was angry ; so he accordingly kept 
 dodging about from place to place, not much to his credit 
 as a Trojan to be sure, whenever he happened to get the 
 hard word that Cucullin was on the scent of him. This, 
 then, was the marrow of the whole movement, although he 
 put it on his anxiety to see Oonagh, and I am not saying 
 but there was some truth in that too. However, the short 
 and the long of it was, with reverence be it spoken, that he 
 heard Cucullin was coming to the Causeway to have a trial 
 of strength with him ; and he was naturally enough seized, 
 in consequence, with a very warm and sudden fit of affec- 
 tion for his wife, poor woman, who was delicate in her 
 health, and leading, besides, a very lonely uncomfortable 
 life of it (he assured them), in his absence. He accord- 
 ingly pulled up the fir-tree, as I said before, and having 
 snedded it into a walking-stick, set out on his affectionate 
 travels to see his darling Oonagh on the top of Knockmany, 
 by the way. 
 
 In truth, to state the suspicions of the country at the 
 time, the people wondered very much why it was that Fin 
 selected such a windy spot for his dwelling-house, and they 
 even went so far as to tell him as much. 
 
 " What can you mane, Mr. M'Coul," said they, " by 
 pitching your tent upon the top of Knockmany, where you 
 never are without a breeze, day or night, winter or summer, 
 and where you're often forced to take your nightcap with- 
 out either going to bed or turning up your little finger ; ay, 
 an' where, besides, there's the sorrow's own want of water?" 
 
 " Why," said Fin, " ever since I was the height of a round 
 tower, I was known to be fond of having a good prospect of 
 my own ; and where the dickens, neighbours, could I find a 
 better spot for a good prospect than the top of Knockmany ? 
 As for water, I am sinking a pump, and, plase goodness, as 
 soon as the Causeway's made I intend to finish it." 
 
SO AMUSING IRISH TALES 
 
 Now, this was more of Fin's philosophy, for the real state 
 of the case was that he pitched on the top of Knockmany 
 in order that he might be able to see Cucullin coming to- 
 wards the house, and, of course, that he himself might go 
 to look after his distant transactions in other parts of the 
 country, rather than — but no matter — we do not wish to be 
 too hard on Fin. All we have to say is, that if he wanted 
 a spot from which to keep a sharp look-out — and, between 
 ourselves, he did want it grievously — barring Slieve Croob, 
 or Slieve Donard, o" its own cousin, Cullamore, he could 
 not find a neater or more convenient situation for it in the 
 sweet and sagacious province of Ulster. 
 
 " God save all here ! " said Fin, good-humouredly, on 
 putting his honest face into his own door. 
 
 " Musha Fin, avick, an' you're welcome home to your own 
 Oonagh, you darlin' bully." Here followed a smack that 
 is said to have made the waters of the lake at the bottom 
 of the hill curl, as it were, with kindness and sympathy. 
 
 " Faith," said Fin, " beautiful ; an' how are you, Oonagh — 
 and how did you sport your figure during my absence, my 
 bilberry ? " 
 
 "Never a merrier — as bouncing a grass widow as ever 
 there was in sweet ' Tyrone among the bushes.' " 
 
 Fin gave a short good-humoured cough and laughed most 
 heartily, to shew her how much he was delighted that she 
 made herself happy in his absence. 
 
 " An' what brought you home so soon, Fin ? " said she. 
 
 " Why, avourneen," said Fin, putting in his answer in the 
 proper way, " never the thing but the purest of love and 
 affection for yourself. Sure you know that's truth, any how, 
 Oonagh." 
 
 Fin spent two or three happy days with Oonagh, and felt 
 himself very comfortable considering the dread he had of 
 Cucullin. This, however, grew upon him so much that his 
 wife could not but perceive that something lay on his mind 
 
THE KNOCK MANY GIANT. 81 
 
 which he kept altogether to himself. Let a woman alone 
 in the meantime, for ferreting or wheedling a secret out of 
 her good man, when she wishes. Fin was a proof of this. 
 
 " It's this Cucullin," said he, " that's troubling me. When 
 the fellow gets angry, and begins to stamp, he'll shake you a 
 whole townland ; and it's well known that he can stop a 
 thunderbolt, for he always carries one about him in the 
 shape of a pancake, to shew to any one that might mis- 
 doubt it." 
 
 As he spoke, he clapped his thumb in his mouth, which 
 he always did when he wanted to prophecy, or to know any 
 thing that happened in his absence ; and the wife, who knew 
 what he did it for, said, very sweetly, 
 
 " Fin, darling, I hope you don't bite your thumb at me ; 
 dear ? " 
 
 " No," said Fin ; " but I bite my thumb, acushla," said he. 
 
 " Yes, jewel ; but take care and don't draw blood," said 
 she. " Ah, Fin ! don't, my bully— don't." 
 
 " He's coming," said Fin ; " I see him below Dungannon." 
 
 " Thank goodness, dear ! an' who is it, avick ? Glory be 
 to God ! " 
 
 " That baste Cucullin," replied Fin ; " and how to manage 
 I don't know. If I run away, I am disgraced ; and I know- 
 that sooner or later I must meet him, for my thumb tells- 
 me so." 
 
 " When will he be here ? " said she. 
 
 " To-morrow about two o'clock," replied Fin, with a groan. 
 
 " Well, my bully, don't be cast down," said Oonagh ; 
 M depend on me, and maybe I'll bring you better out of this 
 scrape than ever you could bring yourself, by your rule o* 
 thumb." 
 
 This quieted Fin's heart very much, for he knew that 
 Oonagh was hand and glove with the fairies, and, indeed, 
 to tell the truth, she was supposed to be a fairy herself. If 
 she was, however, she must have been a kind-hearted one ; for, 
 
 7 
 
82 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 by all accounts, she never did any thing but good in the 
 neighbourhood. 
 
 Now, it so happened that Oonagh had a sister named 
 Granua, living opposite them, on the very top of Cullamore, 
 which I have mentioned already, and this Granua was quite 
 as powerful as herself. The beautiful valley that lies 
 between them is not more than about three or four miles 
 broad, so that of a summer's evening Granua and Oonagh 
 were able to hold many an agreeable conversation across it, 
 from the one hill-top to the other. Upon this occasion, 
 Oonagh resolved to consult her sister as to what was best 
 to be done in the difficulty that surrounded them. 
 
 " Granua," said she, " are you at home ? " 
 
 " No," said the other ; " I'm picking bilberries in Althad- 
 hawan" {Anglic^, the Devil's Glen). 
 
 " Well," said Oonagh, " get up to the top of Cullamore, 
 look about you, and tell us what you see." 
 
 " Very well," replied Granua, after a few minutes, " I am 
 there now." 
 
 " What do you see ? " asked the other. 
 
 " Goodness be about us ! " exclaimed Granua, " I see 
 the biggest giant that ever was known, coming up from 
 Dungannon." 
 
 " Ay," said Oonagh, " there's our difficulty. That giant 
 is the great Cucullin ; and he's now coming up to leather 
 Fin. What's to be done ? " 
 
 " I'll call to him," she replied, " to come up to Cullamore, 
 and refresh himself, and maybe that will give you and Fin 
 time to think of some plan to get yourself out of the scrape. 
 But," she proceeded, "I'm short of butter, having in the 
 house only half a dozen firkins, and as I'm to have a few 
 giants and giantesses to spend the evenin' with me, I'd feel 
 thankful, Oonagh, if you'd throw me up fifteen or sixteen 
 tubs, or the largest miscaun you have got, and you'll oblige 
 me very much." 
 
THE KNOCKMANY GIANT. 83 
 
 " I'll do that with a heart and a half," replied Oonagh ; 
 " and, indeed, Granua, I feel myself under great obligations 
 to you for your kindness in keeping him off us, till we see 
 what can be done ; for what would become of us all if any 
 thing happened Fin, poor man ? " 
 
 She accordingly got the largest miscaun of butter she 
 had — which might be about the weight of a couple dozen 
 millstones, so that you may easily judge of its size — and 
 calling up to her sister, "Granua," said she, "are you ready? 
 I'm going to throw you up a miscaun, so be prepared to 
 catch it." 
 
 " I will," said the other, " a good throw now, and take 
 care it does not fall short." 
 
 Oonagh threw it; but in consequence of her anxiety 
 about Fin and Cucullin, she forgot to say the charm that 
 was to send it up, so that, instead of reaching Cullamore ) 
 as she expected, it fell about half way between the two 
 hills, at the edge of the Broad Bog near Augher. 
 
 " My curse upon you ! " she exclaimed ; " you've dis- 
 graced me. I now change you into a grey stone. Lie 
 there as a testimony of what has happened ; and may evil 
 betide the first living man that will ever attempt to remove 
 or injure you ! " 
 
 And, sure enough, there it lies to this day, with the mark 
 of the four fingers and thumb imprinted in it, exactly as it 
 came out of her hand. 
 
 " Never mind," said Granua ; " I must only do the best 
 I can with Cucullin. If all fail, I'll give him a cast of 
 heather broth to keep the wind out of his stomach, or a 
 panada of oak-bark to draw it in a bit ; but, above all 
 things, think of some plan to get Fin out of the scrape he's 
 in, otherwise he's a lost man. You know you used to be 
 sharp and ready-witted ; and my opinion, Oonagh, is, that 
 it will go hard with you, or you'll outdo Cucullin yet." 
 
 She then made a high smoke on the top of the hill, after 
 
84 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 which she put her finger in her mouth, and gave three 
 whistles, and by that Cucullin knew he was invited to 
 Cullamore — for this was the way that the Irish long ago 
 gave a sign to all strangers and travellers, to let them know 
 they were welcome to come and take share of whatever 
 was going. 
 
 In the meantime, Fin was very melancholy, and did not 
 know what to do, or how to act at all. Cucullin was an 
 ugly customer, no doubt, to meet with ; and, moreover, the 
 idea of the confounded " cake," aforesaid, flattened the very 
 heart within him. What chance could he have, strong and 
 brave though he was, with a man who could, when put in a 
 passion, walk the country into earthquakes and knock 
 thunderbolts into pancakes ? The thing was impossible ; 
 and Fin knew not on what hand to turn him. Right or 
 left — backward or forward — where to go he could form no 
 guess whatsoever. 
 
 " Oonagh," said he, " can you do nothing for me ? 
 Where's all your invention ? Am I to be skivered like a 
 rabbit before your eyes, and to have my name disgraced for 
 ever in the sight of all my tribe, and me the best man among 
 them ? How am I to fight this man-mountain — this huge 
 cross between an earthquake and a thunderbolt ? — with a 
 pancake in his pocket that was once " 
 
 " Be easy, Fin," replied Oonagh ; " troth I am ashamed of 
 you. Keep your toe in your pump, will you ? Talking of 
 pancakes, maybe we'll give him as good as any he brings 
 with him — thunderbolt or otherwise. If I don't treat him to 
 as smart feeding as he's got this many a day, never trust 
 Oonagh again. Leave him to me, and do just as I bid 
 you." 
 
 This relieved Fin very much ; for, after all, he had great 
 confidence in his wife, knowing, as he did, that she had got 
 him out of many a quandary before. The present, however, 
 was the greatest of all ; but still he began to get courage,. 
 
THE KNOCK MANY GIANT. 85 
 
 and was able to eat his victuals as usual. Oonagh then 
 drew the nine woollen threads of different colours, which she 
 always did to find out the best way of succeeding in any 
 thing of importance she went about. She then platted them 
 into three plats with three colours in each, putting one to 
 her right arm, one round her heart, and the third round her 
 right ankle, for then she knew that nothing could fail with 
 her that she undertook. 
 
 Having everything now prepared, she sent round to the 
 neighbours and borrowed one-and-twenty iron griddles, 
 which she took and kneaded into the hearts of one-and- 
 twenty cakes of bread, and these she baked on the fire 
 in the usual way, setting them aside in the cupboard 
 according as they were done. She then put down a large 
 pot of new milk, which she made into curds and whey, and 
 gave Fin due instructions how to use the curds when 
 Cucullin should come. Having done all this, she sat down 
 quite contented, waiting for his arrival on the next day 
 about two o'clock, that being the hour at which he was ex- 
 pected — for Fin knew as much by the sucking of his thumb. 
 Now this was a curious property that Fin's thumb had ; but, 
 notwithstanding all the wisdom and logic he used to suck 
 out of it, it never could have stood to him were it not for 
 the wit of his wife. In this very thing, moreover, he was 
 very much resembled by his great foe Cucullin ; for it was 
 well known that the huge strength he possessed all lay in 
 the middle finger of his right hand, and that, if he happened 
 by any mischance to lose it, he was no more, notwithstand- 
 ing his bulk, than a common man. 
 
 At length the next day, he was seen coming across the 
 valley, and Oonagh knew that it was time to commence 
 operations. She immediately made the cradle, and desired 
 Fin to lie down in it, and cover himself up with the 
 clothes. 
 
 " You must pass for your own child," said she, " so just lie 
 
86 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 there snug, and say nothing, but be guided by me." This, to 
 be sure, was wormwood to Fin — I mean going into the cradle 
 in such a cowardly manner — but he knew Oonagh well ; and 
 finding that he had nothing else for it, with a very rueful 
 face he gathered himself into it, and lay snug as she had 
 desired him. 
 
 About two o'clock, as he had been expected, Cucullin 
 came in. " God save all here," said he ; " is this where the 
 great Fin M'Coul lives ? " 
 
 " Indeed it is is, honest man," replied Oonagh ; " God save 
 you kindly — won't you be sitting ? " 
 
 " Thank you, ma'am," says he, sitting down ; " you're 
 Mrs. M'Coul, I suppose ? " 
 
 " I am," said she ; " and I have no reason, I hope, to be 
 ashamed of my husband." 
 
 " No," said the other ; " he has the name of being the 
 strongest and bravest man in Ireland ; but for all that, 
 there's a man not far from you that's very desirous of 
 taking a shake with him. Is he at home ? " 
 
 " Why, then, no," she replied ; " and if ever a man left 
 his house in a fury, he did. It appears that some one told 
 him of a big basthoon of a giant called Cucullin being down 
 at the Causeway to look for him, and so he set out there to 
 try if he could catch him. Troth, I hope, for the poor 
 giant's sake, he won't meet with him, for if he does, Fin 
 will make paste of him at once." 
 
 " Well," said the other, " I am Cucullin, and I have been 
 seeking him these twelvemonths, but he always kept clear 
 of me ; and I will never rest night or day till I lay my 
 hands on him." 
 
 At this Oonagh set up a loud laugh, of great contempt, 
 by the way, and looked at him as if he was only a mere 
 handful of a man. 
 
 " Did you ever see Fin ? " said she, changing her manner 
 all at once. 
 
THE KNOCK MANY GIANT. 87 
 
 " How could I ? " said he ; " he always took care to keep 
 his distance." 
 
 " I thought so," she replied ; " I judged as much ; and if 
 you take my advice, you poor-looking creature, you'll pray 
 night and day that you may never see him, for I tell you it 
 will be a black day for you when you do. But, in the mean- 
 time, you perceive that the wind's on the door, and as Fin 
 himself is from home, maybe you'd be civil enough to turn 
 the house, for it's always what Fin does when he's here." 
 
 This was a startler even to Cucullin ; but he got up, how- 
 ever, and after pulling the middle finger of his right hand 
 until it cracked three times, he went outside, and getting 
 his arms about the house, completely turned it as she had 
 wished. When Fin saw this, he felt a certain description 
 of moisture, which shall be nameless, oozing out through 
 every pore of his skin ; but Oonagh, depending upon her 
 woman's wit, felt not a whit daunted. 
 
 " Arrah, then," said she, " as you are so civil maybe you'd 
 do another obliging turn for us, as Fin's not here to do it 
 himself. You see, after this long stretch of dry weather 
 we've had, we feel very badly off for want of water. Now, 
 Fin says there's a fine spring well somewhere under the 
 rocks behind the hill here below, an' it was his intention to 
 pull them asunder ; but having heard of you, he left the 
 place in such a fury, that he never thought of it. Now, if 
 you try to find it, troth I'd feel it a kindness." 
 
 She then brought Cucullin down to see the place, which 
 was then all one solid rock ; and after looking at it for some 
 time, he cracked his right middle finger nine times, and 
 stooping down, tore a cleft about four hundred feet deep, 
 and a quarter of a mile long, which has since been chris- 
 tened by the name of Lumford's Glen. This feat nearly 
 threw Oonagh herself off her guard ; but what won't a 
 woman's sagacity and presence of mind accomplish ? 
 
 " You'll now come in," said she, " and eat a bit of such 
 
88 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 humble fare as we can give you. Fin, even although he and 
 you are enemies, would scorn not to treat you kindly in his 
 own house : and, indeed, if I didn't do it even in his absence, 
 he would not be pleased with me." 
 
 She accordingly brought him in, and placing half a dozen 
 of the cakes we spoke of before him, together with a can or 
 two of butter, a side of boiled bacon, and a stack of cabbage, 
 she desired him to help himself — for this, be it known, was 
 long before the invention of potatoes. Cucullin, who, by 
 the way, was a glutton as well as a hero, put one of the 
 cakes in his mouth to take a huge whack out of it, when 
 both Fin and Oonagh were stunned with a noise that re- 
 sembled something between a growl and a yell. " Blood 
 and fury ! " he shouted ; " how is this ? Here are two of 
 my teeth out ! What kind of bread is this you gave me ? " 
 
 " What's the matter ? " said Oonagh coolly. 
 
 " Matter ! " shouted the other again ; " why, here are the 
 two back teeth in my head gone ! " 
 
 " Why," said she, " that's Fin's bread — the only bread he 
 ever eats when at home ; but, indeed, I forgot to tell you 
 that nobody can eat it but himself, and that child in the 
 cradle there. I thought, however, that as you were report- 
 ed to be rather a stout little fellow of your size, you might 
 be able to manage it, and I did not wish to affront a man 
 that thinks himself able to fight Fin. Here's another cake 
 — maybe it's not so hard as that." 
 
 Cucullin at the moment was not only hungry but raven- 
 ous, so he accordingly made a fresh set at the second cake, 
 and immediately another yell was heard twice as loud as 
 the first. " Thunder and giblets ! " he roared, " take your 
 bread out of this, or I will not have a tooth in my head ; 
 there's another pair of them gone ! " 
 
 " Well, honest man," replied Oonagh, " if you're not able 
 to eat the bread, say so quietly, and don't be wakening the 
 child in the cradle here. There, now, he's awake upon me." 
 
THE KNOCK MANY GIANT. 89 
 
 Fin now gave a skirl that startled the giant, as coming 
 from such a youngster as he was represented to be. 
 "Mother," said he, " I'm hungry — get me something to eat." 
 Oonagh went over, and putting into his hand a cake that 
 had no griddle in it, Fin, whose appetite in the meantime 
 was sharpened by what he saw going forward, soon made it 
 disappear. Cucullin was thunderstruck, and secretly 
 thanked his stars that he had the good fortune to miss 
 meeting Fin, for, as he said to himself, I'd have no chance 
 with a man who could eat such bread as that, which even 
 his son that's but in his cradle can munch before my 
 eyes. 
 
 " I'd like to take a glimpse at the lad in the cradle," said 
 he to Oonagh ; " for I can tell you that the infant who can 
 manage that nutriment is no joke to look at, or to feed of 
 a scarce summer." 
 
 "With all the veins of my heart," replied Oonagh. "Get 
 up, acushla, and show this decent little man something that 
 won't be unworthy of your father Fin M'Coul." 
 
 Fin, who was dressed for the occasion as much like a boy 
 as possible, got up, and bringing Cucullin out — " Are you 
 strong ? " said he. 
 
 " Thunder an' ounds ! " exclaimed the other, " what a 
 voice in so small a chap !" 
 
 " Are you strong ? " said Fin again ; " are you able to 
 squeeze water out of that white stone ? " he asked, putting 
 one into Cucullin's hand. The latter squeezed and squeez- 
 ed the stone, but to no purpose : he might pull the rocks 
 of Lumford's Glen asunder, and flatten a thunderbolt, but 
 to squeeze water out of a white stone was beyond his 
 strength. Fin eyed him with great contempt, as he kept 
 straining and squeezing, and squeezing and straining, till he 
 got black in the face with the efforts. 
 
 " Ah, you're a poor creature ! " said Fin. " You a giant ! 
 Give me the stone here, and when I'll shew what Fin's 
 
90 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 little son can do, you may then judge of what my daddy 
 himself is." 
 
 Fin then took the stone, and slyly exchanging it for the 
 curds, he squeezed the latter until the whey, as clear as 
 water, oozed out in a little shower from his hand. 
 
 " I'll now go in," said he, " to my cradle ; for I'd scorn 
 to lose my time with any one that's not able to eat my 
 daddy's bread, or squeeze water out of a stone. Bedad, you 
 had better be off out of this before he comes back ; for if 
 he catches you, it's in flummery he'd have you in two 
 minutes." 
 
 Cucullin, seeing what he had seen, was of the same opin- 
 ion himself, his knees knocked together with the terror of 
 Fin's return, and he accordingly hastened in to bid Oonagh 
 farewell, and to assure her, that, from that day out, he never 
 wished to hear of, much less to see, her husband. " I admit 
 fairly that I'm not a match for him," said he, " strong as I 
 am ; tell him I will avoid him as I would the plague, and 
 that I will make myself scarce in his part of the country 
 while I live." 
 
 Fin, in the meantime, had gone into the cradle, where he 
 lay very quietly, his heart in his mouth with delight that 
 Cucullin was about to take his departure, without discover- 
 ing the tricks that had been played off on him. 
 
 " It's well for you," said Oonagh, " that he doesn't happen 
 to be here, for it's nothing but hawk's meat he'd make of 
 you." 
 
 " I know that," says Cucullin ; " divil a thing else he'd 
 make of me ; but before I go, will you let me feel what 
 kind of teeth they are that can eat griddle-bread like 
 that ? " — and he pointed to it as he spoke. 
 
 " With all pleasure in life," said she, " only as they're far 
 back in his head, you must put your finger a good way in." 
 
 Cucullin was surprised to find such a powerful set of 
 grinders in one so young ; but he was still much more so 
 
THE STORY OF THE SQUIRE. 91 
 
 on finding, when he took his hand from Fin's mouth, that he 
 had left the very finger upon which his whole strength de- 
 pended, behind him. He gave one loud groan, and fell 
 down at once with terror and weakness. This was all Fin 
 wanted, who now knew that his most powerful and bitterest 
 enemy was completely at his mercy. He instantly started 
 out of the cradle, and in a few minutes the great Cucullin 
 that was for such a length of time the terror of him and 
 all his followers, lay a corpse before him. Thus did Fin, 
 through the wit and invention of Oonagh, his wife, succeed 
 in overcoming his enemy by stratagem, which he never 
 could have done by force ; and thus also is it proved that 
 the women, if they bring us into many an unpleasant scrape, 
 can sometimes succeed in getting us cut of others that are 
 as bad. 
 
 AROUND NED'S FIRESIDE; 
 
 The S t o r y of the Squire. 
 
 Seated in the clear-obscure of domestic light, which, after 
 all, gives the heart a finer and more touching notion of 
 enjoyment than the glitter of the theatre or the blaze of 
 the saloon, might be found — first, Andy Morrow, the jury- 
 man of the quarter-sessions, sage and important in the 
 consciousness of legal knowledge, and somewhat dictatorial 
 withal in its application to such knotty points as arose out 
 of the subjects of their nocturnal debates. Secondly, Bob 
 Gott, who filled the foreign and military departments, and 
 related the wonderful history of the ghost which appeared 
 on the night after the battle of Bunker's Hill. To him 
 succeeded Tom M'Roarkin, the little asthmatic anecdotarian 
 
92 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 of half the country, remarkable for chuckling at his own 
 stories. Then came old Bill M'Kinny, poacher and horse- 
 jockey ; little, squeaking, thin-faced Alick M'Kinley, a 
 facetious farmer of substance ; and Shane Fadh, who 
 handed down traditions and fairy-tales. Enthroned on 
 one hob sat Pat Frayne, the schoolmaster, with the short 
 arm, who read and explained the newspaper for " Ould 
 Square Colwell," and was looked upon as premier to the 
 aforesaid cabinet. Ned himself filled the opposite seat of 
 honour. 
 
 One night, a little before the Christmas holidays, in the 
 year 18 — , the personages just described were seated around 
 Ned's fire, some with their chirping pints of ale or porter, 
 and others with their quantum of Hugh Traynor, or moun- 
 tain dew, and all with good-humour and a strong tendency 
 to happiness visible in their faces. The night was dark, 
 close, and misty — so dark, indeed, that, as Nancy said, 
 " you could hardly see your finger before you." Ned him- 
 self was full of fun, with a pint of porter beside him, and a 
 pipe in his mouth, just in his glory for the night. Opposite 
 to him was Pat Frayne, with an old newspaper on his 
 knee, which he had just perused for the edification of his 
 audience ; beside him was Nancy, busily employed in 
 knitting a pair of sheep's-grey stockings for Ned ; the 
 remaining personages formed a semicircular ring about 
 the hearth. Behind, on the kitchen-table, sat Paddy 
 Smith, the servant man, with three or four of the gorsoons 
 of the village about him, engaged in a little under-plot of 
 their own. On the other side, and a little removed from 
 the light, sat, Ned's two nieces, Biddy and Bessy Connolly, 
 the former with Atty Johnston's mouth within whisper- 
 reach of her ear, and the latter seated close to her professed 
 admirer, Billy Fulton, her uncle's shopman. This group 
 was completely abstracted from the entertainment which 
 was going forward in the circle round the fire. 
 
THE STORY OF THE SQUIRE. 93 
 
 " I wondher," said Andy Morrow, " what makes Joe 
 M'Crea throw down that fine ould castle of his in Aughen- 
 tain ? " 
 
 " I'm tould," said M'Roarkin, " that he expects money ; 
 for they say there's a lot of it buried somewhere about the 
 same building." 
 
 " Jist as much as there's in my wig," replied Shane Fadh, 
 " and there's ne'er a pocket to it yet. Why, bless your 
 sowl, how could there be money in it, whin the last man of 
 the Grameses that ow'd it — I mane of the ould stock, afore 
 it went into Lord Mountjoy's hands — sould it out, ran 
 through the money, and died begging afther. Did none 
 of you ever hear of 
 
 'Ould John Grame, 
 ' That swaliyd the castle of Aughentain 1 ' " 
 
 " That was long afore my time," said the poacher : " but 
 I know that the rabbit-burrow between tha^and Jack 
 Appleton's garden will soon be run out." 
 
 " Your time ! " responded Shane Fadh, with contempt ; 
 " ay, and your father's afore you : my father doesn't re- 
 mimber more nor seeing his funeral, and a merry one it 
 was ; for my grandfather, and some of them that had a 
 respect for the family and his forbarers, if they hadn't it 
 for himself, made up as much money among them as 
 berried him dacently, any how — ay, and gave him a rousin' 
 wake into the bargain, with lashins of whiskey, stout beer, 
 and ale ; for in them times — God be with them — every 
 farmer brewed his own ale and beer ; more betoken, that 
 one pint of it was worth a keg of this wash of yours, Ned." 
 
 " Wasn't it he that used to appear?" inquired M'Roarkin. 
 
 " Sure enough he did, Tom." 
 
 " Lord save us," said Nancy, " what could trouble him, I 
 dunna ? " 
 
 "Why," continued Shane Fadh, "some said one thing, 
 
94 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 and some another ; but the upshot of it was this : when the 
 last of the Grameses sould the estate, castle and all, it seems 
 he didn't resave all the purchase money ; so, afther he had 
 spint what he got, he applied to the purchaser for the re- 
 mainder — him that the Mountjoy family bought it from ; 
 but it seems he didn't draw up writings, or sell it according 
 to law, so that the thief o' the world baffled him from day 
 to day, and wouldn't give him a penny — bekase he knew, 
 the blaggard, that the Square was then as poor as a church 
 mouse, and hadn't money enough to thry it at law with him ; 
 but the Square was always a simple asy-going man. One 
 day he went to this fellow, riding on an ould garran, with a 
 shoe loose — the only baste he had in the world — and axed 
 him for God's sake, to give him some of what he owed him, 
 if it were ever so little : ' for,' says he, ' I have not as much 
 money betune me and death as will get a set of shoes for 
 my horse.' 
 
 " ' Well/^ays the nager, ' if you're not able to keep your 
 horse shod, I would jist recommend you to sell him, and thin 
 his shoes won't cost you anything,' says he. 
 
 " The old Square went away with tears in his eyes, for he 
 loved the poor brute, bekase they wor the two last branches 
 of the ould stock." 
 
 " Why," inquired M'Kinley, in his small squeaking voice, 
 " was the horse related to the family ? " 
 
 " I didn't say he was related to the fam Get out, you 
 
 shingaun ! " returned the old man, perceiving by the laugh 
 that now went round the sly tendency of the question. 
 "No, nor to your family either, for he had nothing of the 
 ass in him — eh ? will you put that in your pocket, my little 
 skinadhre — ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 
 The laugh now turned against M'Kinley. 
 
 Shane Fadh proceeded : " The ould Square, as I was 
 tellin' yees, cried to find himself an' the poor baste so dis. 
 solute, but when he had gone a bit from the fellow, he comes 
 
THE STORY OF THE SQUIRE. 95 
 
 back to the vagabone. ' Now,' says he, ' mind my words — 
 if you happen to live afther me, you need never expect a 
 night's pace ; for I here make a serous an' solemn vow, that 
 as long as my property's in your possession, or in any of 
 your seed, breed, or ginerations, I'll never give over hauntin' 
 you an' them, till you'll rue to the back-bone your dis- 
 honesty an' chathery to me an this poor baste, that hasn't 
 a shoe to its foot' 
 
 " ' Well,' says the nager, ' I'll take chance of that, any 
 way.' " 
 
 "I'm tould, Shane," observed the poacher, "that the 
 Square was a fine man in his time, that wouldn't put up 
 with such thratement from anybody." 
 
 "Ay, but he was ould now," Shane replied, "and too 
 wakely to fight. A fine man, Bill ! — he was the finest man, 
 'ceptin' ould Square Storey, that ever was in this counthry. 
 I hard my grandfather often say that he was six feet four, 
 and made in proportion — a handsome, black-a-vis'd man, 
 with great dark whiskers. Well ! he spint money like 
 sklates, and so he died miserable — but had a merry birrel, 
 as I said." 
 
 " But," inquired Nancy, " did he ever appear to the rogue 
 that chated him ? " 
 
 " Every night in the year, Nancy, exceptin' Sundays ; 
 and what was more, the horse along with him — for he used 
 to come ridin' at midnight upon the same garran ; and it 
 was no matther what place or company the other 'ud be in, 
 the ould Square would come regularly, and crave him for 
 what he owed him." 
 
 " So it appears that horses have sowls," observed M'Roar- 
 kin, philosophically, giving, at the same time, a cynical 
 chuckle at the sarcasm of his own conceit. 
 
 " Whether they have sowls or bodies," replied the narrator, 
 " what I'm tellin' you is the thruth ; every night in the year 
 the ould chap would come for what was indue him ; and as 
 
96 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 the two went along, the noise of the loose shoe upon the 
 horse would be hard rattlin', and seen knockin' the fire out 
 of the stones, by the neighbours and the thief that chated 
 him, even before the Square would appear, at all at 
 all." 
 
 " Oh, wurrah ! " exclaimed Nancy, shuddering with terror 
 " I wouldn't take anything, and be out now on the Drum- 
 furrar road, and nobody with me but myself." 
 
 " I think if you wor," said M'Kinley, " the light weights 
 and short measures would be coming acrass your conscience." 
 " No, in throth, Alick, wouldn't they ; but maybe if you 
 wor, the promise you broke to Sally Mitchell might trouble 
 you a bit : at any rate, I've a prayer, and if I only repated 
 it wanst, I mightn't be afeared of all the divils in hell." 
 
 " Throth, but it's worth havin', Nancy : where did you get 
 it ? " asked M'Kinley. 
 
 " Hould your wicked tongue, you thief of a heretic," said 
 Nancy, laughing, " when will you larn anything that's good ? 
 I got it from one that wouldn't have it if it wasn't good — 
 Darby M'Murt, the pilgrim, since you must know." 
 
 "Whisht!" said Frayne: "upon my word, I blieve the 
 ould Square's comin' to pay us a visit ; does any of yees 
 hear a horse trottin' with a shoe loose ? " 
 
 " I sartinly hear it," observed Andy Morrow. 
 " And I," said Ned, himself. 
 
 There was now a general pause, and in the silence a horse, 
 proceeding from the moors in the direction of the house, 
 was distinctly heard ; and nothing could be less problema- 
 tical than that one of his shoes was loose. 
 
 " Boys, take care of yourselves," said Shane Fadh ; " if 
 the Square comes, he won't be a pleasant customer — he was 
 a terrible fellow in his day : I'll hould goold to silver that 
 he'll have the smell of brimstone about him." 
 
 " Nancy, where's your prayer now P" said M'Kinley with 
 a grin. " I think you had betther out with it, and thry if it 
 
THE STORY OF THE SQUIRE. 97 
 
 keeos this ould brimstone Square on the wrong side of the 
 house." 
 
 " Behave yourself, Alick ; it's a shame for you to be sich 
 a hardened crathur : upon my sannies, I blieve you're afeard 
 of neither God nor the divil — the Lord purtect and guard 
 us from the dirty baste ! " 
 
 " You mane particklarly them that uses short measures 
 and light weights," rejoined M'Kinley. 
 
 There was another pause, for the horseman was within a 
 few perches of the cross-roads. At this moment an unusual 
 gust of wind, accompanied by torrents of rain, burst against 
 the house with a violence that made its ribs creak ; and the 
 stranger's horse, the shoe still clanking, was distinctly heard 
 to turn in from the road to Ned's door, where it stopped, 
 and the next moment a loud knocking intimated the horse- 
 man's intention to enter. The company now looked at 
 each other, as if uncertain what to do. Nancy herself grew 
 pale, and, in the agitation of the moment, forgot to think of 
 her protecting prayer. Biddy and Bessy Connolly started 
 from the settle on which they had been sitting with their 
 sweethearts, and sprung beside their uncle on the hob. 
 The stranger was still knocking with great violence, yet 
 there was no disposition among the company to admit him, 
 notwithstanding the severity of the night — blowing, as it 
 really did, a perfect hurricane. At length a sheet of light- 
 ning flashed through the house, followed by an amazing 
 loud clap of thunder ; while, with a sudden push from with- 
 out, the door gave way, and in stalked a personage whose- 
 statue was at least six feet four, with dark eyes and com- 
 plexion, and coal-black whiskers of an enormous size, the 
 very image of the Squire they had been describing. He 
 was dressed in a long black surtout, which made him appear 
 even taller than he actually was, had a pair of heavy boots 
 upon him, and carried a tremendous whip, large enough to 
 fell an ox. He was in a rage on entering ; and the heavy, 
 
 8 
 
98 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 dark, close-knit brows, from beneath which a pair of eyes, 
 equally black, shot actual fire, and the Turk-like whiskers, 
 which curled themselves up, as it were, in sympathy with 
 his fury, joined to his towering height, gave him altogether, 
 when we consider the frame of mind in which he found the 
 company, an appalling and almost supernatural appearance. 
 " Confound you, for a knot of lazy scoundrels," exclaimed 
 the stranger. " Why do you sit here so calmly, while any 
 being craves admittance on such a night as this ? Here, 
 you lubber in the corner, with the pipe in your mouth, come 
 and put up this horse of mine until the night settles." 
 
 " May the blessed Mother purtect us ! " exclaimed Nancy, 
 in a whisper to Andy Morrow, " if I blieve he's a right 
 thing ! — would it be the ould Square ? Did you ever set 
 
 your eyes upon sich a " 
 
 " Will you bestir yourself, you boor, and not keep my 
 horse and saddle out under such a torrent ? " he cried, 
 " otherwise I must only bring him into the house, and then 
 you may say for once that you've had the devil under your 
 roof." 
 
 " Paddy Smith, you lazy spalpeen," said Nancy, winking 
 at Ned to have nothing to do with the horse, " why don't 
 you fly and put up the gintleman's horse ? And you, Atty, 
 avourneen, jist go out with him, and hould the candle while 
 he's doin' it : be quick now, and I'll give you glasses apiece 
 when you come in." 
 
 " Let them put him up quickly ; but I say, you Caliban," 
 added the stranger, addressing Smith, " don't be rash about 
 him, except you can bear fire and brimstone ; get him, at 
 all events, a good feed of oats. Poor Satan ! " he continued, 
 patting the horse's head, which was now within the door, 
 " you have had a hard night of it, my poor Satan, as well 
 as myself. That's my dark spirit — my brave chuck, that 
 fears neither man nor devil." 
 
 This language was by no means calculated to allay the 
 
THE STORY OF THE SQUIRE. 9D 
 
 suspicions of those who were present, particularly of Nancy 
 and her two nieces. Ned sat in astonishment, with the 
 pipe in his hand, which he had, in the surprise of the 
 moment, taken from his mouth, his eyes fixed upon the 
 stranger, and his mouth open. The latter noticed him, and, 
 stretching over the heads of the circle, tapped him on the 
 shoulder with his whip. 
 
 " I have a few words to say to you, sir," he said. 
 
 " To me, your honour!" exclaimed Ned, without stirring, 
 however. 
 
 " Yes," replied the other, " but you seem to be fastened 
 to your seat : come this way." 
 
 " By all manner of manes, sir," said Ned, starting up, and 
 going over to the dresser, against which the stranger stood 
 
 When the latter had got him there, he very coolly walked 
 up, and secured Ned's comfortable seat on the hob, at the 
 same time observing : 
 
 " You hadn't the manners to ask me to sit down ; but I 
 always make it a point of conscience to take care of my- 
 self, landlord." 
 
 There was not a man about the fire who did not stand 
 up, as if struck with a sudden recollection, and offer him a 
 seat. 
 
 " No," said he, " thank you, my good fellows, I am very 
 well as it is : I suppose, mistress, you are the landlady," 
 addressing Nancy ; " if you be, I'll thank you to bring me 
 a gill of your best whisky — your best, mind. Let it be as 
 strong as an evil spirit let loose, and as hot as fire ; for it 
 can't be a jot too ardent such a night as this, for a being 
 that rides the devil." 
 
 Nancy started up instinctively, exclaiming, " Indeed, 
 plase your honour's reverence, I am the landlady, as you 
 say, sir, sure enough ; but, the Lawk save and guard us ! 
 won't a gallon of raw whisky be too much for one man 
 to drink ? " 
 
100 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 " A gallon ! I only said a gill, my good hostess ; bring 
 me a gill ; — but I forget — I believe you have no such 
 measure in this country; bring me a pint, then." 
 
 Nancy now went into the bar, whither she gave Ned a 
 wink to follow her ; and truly was glad of an opportunity 
 of escaping from the presence of the visitor. When there, 
 she ejaculated, 
 
 " May the holy Mother keep and guard us, Ned, but I'm 
 afeard that's no Christian crathur, at all at all ! Arrah, 
 Ned, aroon, would he be that ould Square Grame, that 
 Shane Fadh maybe, angered, by spakin' of him ? " 
 
 " Troth," said Ned, " myself doesn't know what he is ; he 
 bates any mortal / ever seen." 
 
 " Well, hould, agra ! I have it : we'll see whether he'll 
 drink this or not, any how." 
 
 "Why, what's that you're doin'?" asked Ned. 
 
 " Jist," replied Nancy, " mixin' the smallest taste in the 
 world of holy wather with the whisky, and if he drinks 
 that, you know he can be nothing that's bad." 
 
 Nancy, however, did not perceive that the trepidation of 
 her hand was such as to incapacitate her from making nice 
 distinctions in the admixture. She now brought the spirits 
 to the stranger, who no sooner took a mouthful of it than 
 he immediately stopped it on its passage, and, fixing his 
 eyes earnestly on Nancy, squirted it into the fire, and the 
 next moment the whisky was in a blaze that seemed likely 
 to set the chimney in flames. 
 
 " Why, my honest hostess," he exclaimed, " do you give 
 this to me for whisky ? Confound me, but two-thirds of it 
 is water ; and I have no notion to pay for water when I 
 want spirits : have the goodness to exchange this, and get 
 me some better stuff, if you have it." 
 
 He again put the jug to his mouth, and having taken a 
 little, swallowed it : " Why, I tell you, woman, you must 
 have made some mistake ; one-half of it is water." 
 
THE STORY OF THE SQUIRE. 101 
 
 Now, Nancy, from the moment he refused to swallow the 
 liquor, had been lock-jawed ; the fact was she ."bought 
 that the devil himself, or old Squire Graham, had got under 
 her roof; and she stood behind Nee 1 , who w?3 'nearly as 
 terrified as herself, with her hands raised, her tongue cling- 
 ing to the roof of her mouth, and the perspiration falling 
 from her pale face in large drops. But as soon as she saw 
 him swallow a portion of that liquid, which she deemed 
 beyond the deglutition of ghost or devil, she instantly re- 
 vived — her tongue resumed its accustomed office — her 
 courage, as well as her good-humour, returned, and she 
 went up to him with great confidence, saying : 
 
 " Why, then, your reverence's honour, maybe I did make 
 a bit of a mistake, sir," taking up the jug, and tasting its con- 
 tents. " Hut ! bad scran to me, but I did, beggin' your 
 honour's pardon ; how-an-diver, I'll soon rightify that, your 
 reverence." 
 
 So saying, she went and brought him a pint of the 
 stoutest the house afforded. The stranger drank a glass of 
 it, and then ordered hot water and sugar, adding : 
 
 " My honest friends here about the fire will have no ob- 
 jection to help me with this ; but, on second consideration, 
 you had better get us another quart, that, as the night is 
 cold, we may have a jorum at this pleasant fire that will do 
 our hearts good ; and this pretty girl here," addressing 
 Biddy, who really deserved the epithet, " will sit beside me, 
 and give us a song." 
 
 It was surprising what an effect the punch, even in per- 
 spective, had upon the visual organs of the company ; 
 second sight was rather its precursor than its attendant ; 
 for, with intuitive penetration, they now discovered various 
 good qualities in his ghostship that had hitherto been be- 
 yond their ken ; and those very personal properties which 
 before struck them dumb with terror already called forth 
 their applause. 
 
102 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 '/What a fine man, he is!" one would whisper, loud 
 enough, however, to be heard by the object of his panegyric. 
 
 "He. is, indeed, .and a rale gintleman," another would 
 respond, in the same key. 
 
 " Hut ! he's none of your proud, stingy, upsthart bodaghs 
 — none of your beggarly half-sirs," a third would remark ; 
 " he's the dacent thing entirely — you see he hasn't his heart 
 in a thrifle." 
 
 When the punch was made, and the kitchen-table placed 
 endwise towards the fire, the stranger, finding himself very 
 comfortable, inquired if he could be accommodated with a 
 bed and supper, to which Nancy replied in the affirma- 
 tive. 
 
 Shane Fadh now took courage to repeat the story of old 
 Squire Graham and his horse with the loose shoe, inform- 
 ing the stranger, at the same time, of the singular likeness 
 which he bore to the subject of the story, both in face and 
 size, and dwelling upon the remarkable coincidence in the 
 time and manner of his approach. 
 
 " Tut, man ! " said the stranger, " a far more extra- 
 ordinary adventure happened to one of my father's tenants, 
 which, if none of you have any objection, I will relate." 
 
 There was a buzz of approbation at this ; and they all 
 thanked his honour, expressing the strongest desire to hear 
 his story. He was just proceeding to gratify them, when 
 another rap came to the door, and, before any of the 
 inmates had time to open it, Father Neddy Deleery and 
 his curate made their appearance, having been on their 
 
 way home from a conference held in the town of M , 
 
 eighteen miles from the scene of our present story. 
 
 " There, Pether," said Father Ned, as he entered, " hook 
 my bridle along with your own, as your hand is in. — God 
 save all here ! Paddy Smith, ma bouchal, put these horses 
 in the stable, till we dry ourselves a bit — Father Pether 
 and I." 
 
THE STORY OF THE SQUIRE. 103 
 
 " Musha, but you're both welcome," said Nancy, wishing 
 to wipe out the effects of the last tift with Father Neddy, 
 by the assistance of the stranger's punch : " will ye bounce, 
 ye spalpeens, and let them to the fire. Father Neddy, 
 you're dhreepin' with the rain ; and, Father Pether, 
 avourneen, you're wet to the skin, too." 
 
 " Troth, and he is, Nancy, and a little bit farther, if you 
 knew but all — four tumblers, Ned — deuce a sptidh* less. 
 Mr. Morrow, how do you do, sir? — And — eh ? — Who's this 
 we've got in the corner? A gintleman, boys, if cloth can 
 make one ! Mr. Morrow, introduce me." 
 
 "Indeed, Father Ned, I haven't the pleasure of knowin' 
 the gintleman myself." 
 
 " Well, no matter — come up, Pether. Sir, I have the 
 honour of introducing you to my curate and coadjuthor, the 
 Reverend Pether M'Clatchaghan, and to myself, his ex- 
 cellent friend, but spiritual superior, the Reverend Ned — 
 hem ! — the Reverend Edward Deleery, Roman Catholic 
 rector of this highly respectable and extensive parish ; and 
 I have further the pleasure," he continued, taking up Andy 
 Morrow's punch, "of drinking your very good health, sir." 
 
 " And I have the honour," returned the stranger, rising 
 up, and driving his head among the flitches of bacon that 
 hung in the chimney, " of introducing you and the Rev. M' 
 — M<— M'— " 
 
 " — Clatchaghan, sir," subjoined Father Ned. 
 
 " Peter M'lllclatchaghan, to Mr. Longinus Polysyllabus 
 Alexandrinus." 
 
 " My word, sir, but it's a good and appropriate name, sure 
 enough," said Father Ned, surveying his enormous length : 
 " success to me, but you're an Alexandrine from head to 
 foot — non sohtm Longimis, sed Alexandrinus." 
 
 " You're wrong, sir, in the Latin," said Father Peter. 
 
 " Prove it, Pether — prove it." 
 
 * Drop — the least quantity. 
 
104 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 " It should be non tantum, sir." 
 
 " By what rule, Pether ? " 
 
 " Why, sir, there's a phrase in Corderius's Colloquies that 
 I could condimn you from, if I had the book." 
 
 " Pether, you think you're a scholar, and to do you justice, 
 you're cute enough sometimes ; but, Pether, you didn't 
 travel for it, as I did — nor were you obliged to leap out of 
 a college windy in Paris, at the time of the French Revolu- 
 tion, for your laming, as I was : not you, man, you ate the 
 king's mutton comfortably at home in Maynooth, instead 
 of travelling for it, like your betters." 
 
 " I'll appale to this gintleman," said Father Peter, turning 
 to the stranger. " Are you a classical scholar, sir — that is, 
 do you understand Latin ? " 
 
 " What kind ? " demanded the stranger, dryly. 
 
 " If you have read Corderius's Colloquies, it will do," said 
 Father Peter. 
 
 " No, sir," replied the other, " but I have read his com- 
 mentator, Bardolphns, who wrote a treatise upon the Ogalvus 
 of the ancients." 
 
 " Well, sir, if you did, it's probable that you may be able 
 to understand our dispute, so — " 
 
 " Pether, I'm afeard you've gotten into the wrong box ; 
 for I say he's no chicken that read Bardolphus, I can tell 
 you that ; I had my own trouble with him : but, at any rate, 
 will you take your punch, man alive, and don't bother us 
 with your Latin." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Father Ned : I insist that I'm right ; 
 and I'll convince you that you're wrong, if God spares me 
 to see Corderius to-morrow." 
 
 " Very well then, Pether, if you're to decide it to-morrow, 
 let us have no more of it to-night." 
 
 During this conversation between the two reverend 
 worthies, the group around the fire were utterly astonished 
 at the erudition displayed in this learned dispute. 
 
THE STORY OF THE SQUIRE. 105 
 
 " Well, to be sure, larnin's a great thing entirely," said 
 M'Roarkin, aside, to Shane Fadh. 
 
 " Ah, Tom, there's nothing like it : well, any way, it's 
 wondherful what they know ! " 
 
 " Indeed it is, Shane — and in so short a time, to ! Sure 
 it's not more nor five or six years since Father Pether there 
 used to be digging praties on the one ridge with myself — 
 by the same token, an excellent spadesman he was — and now 
 he knows more nor all the Protestant parsons in the Diocy." 
 
 " Why, how could they know anything, when they don't 
 belong to the thrue church ? " said Shane. 
 
 " Thrue for you, Shane," replied M'Roarkin ; " I dis- 
 remimbered that clincher." 
 
 This discourse ran parallel with the dispute between the 
 two priests, but in so low a tone as not to reach the ear of 
 the classical champions, who would have ill brooked this 
 eulogium upon Father Peter's agricultural talent. 
 
 " Don't bother us, Pether, with your arguing, to-night," 
 said Father Neddy, " it's enough for you to be seven days 
 in the week at your disputation. — Sir, I drink to our better 
 acquaintance." 
 
 " With all my heart, sir," replied the stranger. 
 
 " Father Ned," said Nancy, " the gintleman was going to 
 tell us a sthrange story, sir, and maybe your reverence 
 would wish to hear it, Docthor." 
 
 " Certainly, Nancy, we'll be very happy to hear any story 
 the gintleman may plase to tell us ; but, Nancy, achora, 
 before he begins, what if you'd just fry a slice or two of 
 that glorious flitch, hanging over his head, in the corner? — 
 that, and about six eggs, Nancy, and you'll have the priest's 
 blessing, gratis" 
 
 " Why, Father Ned, it's too fresh, entirely — sure it's not 
 a week hanging yet." 
 
 " Sorra matter, Nancy dheelish, we'll take with all that — 
 just try your hand at a slice of it. I rode eighteen miles, 
 
106 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 and took four tumblers since I dined, and I feel a craving, 
 Nancy, a whacuum in my stomach, that's rather trouble- 
 some." 
 
 " To be sure, Father Ned, you must get a slice, with all 
 the veins of my heart ; but I thought maybe you wouldn't 
 like it so fresh ; but what on earth will we do for eggs, for 
 there's not an egg undher the roof with me." 
 
 "Biddy, a hagur," said Father Ned, "just slip out to 
 Molshey Johnston, and tell her to send me six eggs for a 
 rasher, by the same token that I heard two or three hens 
 cackling in the byre, as I was going to Conference this 
 morning." 
 
 " Well, Docthor," said Pat Frayne, when Biddy had been 
 gone some time, on which embassy she delayed longer than 
 the priest's judgment, influenced by the cravings of his 
 stomach, calculated to be necessary — " Well, Docthor, I 
 often pity you for fasting so long , I'm sure, I dunna how 
 you can stand it at all, at all." 
 
 " Troth, and you may well wonder, Pat ; but we have 
 that to support us, that you, or anyone like you, know 
 nothing about — inward support, Pat — inward support." 
 
 " Only for that, Father Ned ; " said Shane Fadh, " I sup- 
 pose you could never get through with it." 
 
 " Very right, Shane — very right : only for it, we never 
 could do. — What the dickens is keeping this girl with the 
 eggs? — why, she might be at Mr. Morrow's, here, since. 
 By the way, Mr. Morrow, you must come over to our 
 church ; you're a good neighbour, and a worthy fellow, and 
 it's a thousand pities you should be damned." 
 
 " Why, Docthor," said Andy, " do you really believe I'll 
 be damned?" 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Morrow, don't ask me that question — out of 
 the pale, you know — out of the pale." 
 
 " Then you think, sir, there's no chance for me, at all," 
 said Andy, smiling. 
 
THE STORY OF THE SQUIRE. 107 
 
 " Not the laste, Andy ; you must go this way," said 
 Father Ned, striking the floor with the butt end of his 
 whip, " to the lower regions ; and, upon my knowledge, to 
 tell you the truth, I'm sorry for it, for you're a worthy 
 fellow." 
 
 " Ah, Docthor," said Ned, " it's a great thing entirely to 
 be born in the true church — one's always sure, then." 
 
 " Ay, ay ; you may say that, Ned," returned the priest ; 
 " come or go what will, a man's always safe at the long 
 run, except he dies without his clargy. — Shane, hand me 
 the jug, if you please. — Where did you get this stuff, 
 Nancy ? — faith, it's excellent" 
 
 " You forget, Father Ned, that that's a sacret. — But here's 
 Biddy with the eggs, and now you'll have your rasher in 
 no time." 
 
 During this conversation, Father Peter, turning to Alick 
 M'Kinley, said, " Alick, isn't your eldest son at the Latin?" 
 
 " He is, sir," said Alick. 
 
 " How long is he at it, Alick ? " 
 
 " About six months, sir." 
 
 " And do you know what book he's reading ? " 
 
 " Not a one of myself knows," said Alick. " but I know 
 he has a great batch of them." 
 
 " You couldn't tell me if he has got a Cordery ? " 
 
 " He has, sir," said Alick, " a jacket and trousers of it' 
 
 " Of what ? " said the curate, looking at him with sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " Of corduroy," said the other. 
 
 " Oh, I mean a book ! " said Father Peter. 
 
 " Consumin' to the know I know what's the name of one 
 of them," replied Alick. 
 
 " I wish to heavens I had one, till I'd confute that man ! " 
 said Father Peter, looking with a most mortified visage 
 into the fire. 
 
 When the two clergymen had discussed the rashers and 
 
108 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 eggs, and while the happy group were making themselves 
 intimately acquainted with a fresh jug of punch, as it circu- 
 lated round the table : 
 
 " Now, sir," said Father Ned to the stranger, " we'll hear 
 your story with the greatest satisfaction possible ; but I 
 think you might charge your tumbler before you set to it." 
 
 When the stranger had complied with this last hint : 
 " Well, gentlemen," said he, " as I am rather fatigued, will 
 you excuse me for the position I am about to occupy 
 which is simply to stretch myself along the hob here, with 
 my head upon this straw hassock ; and if you have no ob- 
 jection to that, I will relate the story." 
 
 To this, of course, a general assent was given. When he 
 was stretched completely at his ease — 
 
 " Well, upon my veracity," observed Father Peter, " the 
 gentleman's supernaturally long." 
 
 " Yes, Pether," replied Father Neddy, " but observe his 
 position — Polysyllaba cuncta supina, as Prosody says. — 
 Arrah, salvation to me, but you're dull, man, afther all ! — 
 but we're interrupting the gentleman. Sir, go on, if you 
 plase, with your story." 
 
 " Give me a few minutes," said he, " until I recollect the 
 particulars." 
 
 He accordingly continued quiescent for two or three 
 minutes more, apparently arranging the materials of his 
 intended narration, and then commenced to gratify the 
 eager expectations of his auditory — by emitting those nasal 
 enunciations which are the usual accompaniments of sleep ! 
 
 " Why, bad luck to the morsel of 'im but's asleep," said 
 Ned ; " Lord pardon me for swearin' in your reverence's 
 presence." 
 
 " That's certainly the language of a sleeping man," replied 
 Father Neddy ; " but there might have been a little more 
 respect than all that snoring comes to. Your health, 
 boys ! " 
 
THE STORY OF THE SQUIRE. 109 
 
 The stranger had now wound up his nasal organ to a 
 high pitch, after which he commenced again with some- 
 what of a lower and finer tone. 
 
 " He's beginning a new paragraph," observed Father 
 Peter, with a smile at the joke. 
 
 " Not at all," said Father Neddy, " he's turning the tune ; 
 don't you perceive he's snoring, ' God save the King,' in 
 the key of bass relievo." 
 
 " I'm no judge of instrumental music, as you are," said 
 the curate, " but I think it's liker the ' Dead March of Saul ' 
 than ' God save the King ; ' however, if you be right, the 
 gentleman certainly snores in a truly loyal strain." 
 
 " That," said little M'Roarkin, " is liker the swine's 
 melody, or the Bedfordshire hornpipe — he — he — he ! " 
 
 " The poor gintleman's tired," observed Nancy, " after a 
 hard day's thravelling." 
 
 " I daresay he is," said Father Ned, in the sincere hospi- 
 tality of his country ; " at all events take care of him, 
 Nancy, he's a stranger, and get the best supper you can for 
 him — he appears to be a truly respectable and well-bred 
 man." 
 
 " I think," said M'Kinley, with a comical grin, " you 
 might know that by his high-flown manner of sleeping — he 
 snores very politely, and like a gintleman, all out." 
 
 " Well done, Alick," said the priest, laughing ; " go 
 home, boys, it's near bedtime; Paddy, ma bouchal, are the 
 horses ready ?" 
 
 " They'll be at the door in a jiffey, your reverence," said 
 Paddy, going out. 
 
110 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 THE IRISH STUDENT; 
 
 OR, 
 
 How the Protestant Church was 
 Invented by Ltd her and the Devil. 
 
 Young Denis O'Shaughnessy was old Denis's son ; and 
 old Denis, like many great men before him, was the son of 
 his father and mother in particular, and of a long line of 
 respectable ancestors in general. He was, moreover, a 
 great historian, a perplexing controversialist, deeply read 
 in Dr. Gallagher and Pastorini, and equally profound in the 
 history of Harry the eighth, and Luther's partnership with 
 the devil, at that particular period when they invented the 
 Protestant Church between them, and gave the Popeship of 
 it to Her Holiness, Queen Elizabeth. 
 
 When young Denis had reached the age of sixteen or 
 seventeen, he was looked upon by his father and his family, 
 as well as by all their relations in general, as a prodigy. 
 It was amusing to witness the delight with which the 
 worthy man would call upon his son to exhibit his talents, 
 a call to which the son instantly attended. This was 
 usually done by commencing a mock controversy for the 
 gratification of some neighbour to whom the father was 
 anxious to prove the great talents of his son. When old 
 Denis got the young sogarth fairly in motion, he gently 
 drew himself out of the dispute, but continued a running 
 comment upon the son's erudition, pointed out his good 
 things, and occasionally resumed the posture of a con- 
 troversialist, to reinspirit the boy if he appeared to flag. 
 
 " Dinny, abouchal, will you come up till Phadrick Murray 
 hears you arguin' Scripther wid myself, Dinny. Now, 
 Phadrick, listen, but keep your tongue sayin' nothin' ; jist 
 lave us to ourselves. Come up, Dinny, till you have a hate 
 at arguin' wid myself." 
 
THE STORY OF THE SQUIRE. Ill 
 
 " Fadher, I condimnate you at once — I condimnate you 
 as being a most ungrammatical ould man, an' not fit to 
 argue wid anyone that knows Murray's English Grammar, 
 an' more espaciously the three concords of Lilly's Latin 
 one ; that is the cognation between the nominative case 
 and the verb, the consanguinity between the substantive 
 and the adjective, and the blood relationship that irritates 
 between the relative and the antecedent." 
 
 " I tould you, Phadrick ! There's the boy that can 
 rattle off the high English, and the larned Latin, jist as if 
 he was born wid an English Dictionary in one cheek, a 
 Latin Neksuggawn in the other, an' Doctor Gallagher's 
 Irish Sarmons nately on the top of his tongue between the 
 two." 
 
 " Fadher, but that unfortunately I am afflicted wid 
 modesty, I'd blush crocus for your ignorance, as Virgil 
 asserts in his Bucolics, nt Virgilius ait in Bucolicis ; and as 
 Horatius, a book that I'm well acquainted wid, says in 
 another place, ' Hue pertinent verbal sa y s ne j ' commodandi, 
 comparandi, dandi,promittendi, solvendi imperajidi nimtiandi, 
 f,dendi, obsequendi, minandi, irascendi, et Us contraria! " 
 
 " That's a good boy, Dinny ; but why would you blush 
 for my ignorance, avourneen ? Take care of yourself now, 
 an' spake deep, for I'll out argue you at the heel o' the hunt, 
 cute as you are." 
 
 " Why do I blush for your ignorance, is it ? why, thin 
 I'm sure I have sound rasons for it : only think of the 
 gross persivarance wid which you call that larned work, the 
 Lexicon in Greek, a Necksuggan. Fadher, never attimpt 
 to argue or display your ignorance wid me again. But, 
 moreover, I can probate you to be an ungrammatical man, 
 from your own modus of argument." 
 
 " Go on, avourneen. Phadrick ! " 
 
 " I'm listenin'. The sorra's no match for his cuteness, 
 an' one's puzzled to think where he can get it all." 
 
112 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 " Why, you don't know at all what I could do by larnin'. 
 It would be no throuble to me to divide myself into two 
 halves, an' argue the one agin the other." 
 
 " You would, in throth, Dinny." 
 
 " Ay, father, or cut myself acrass, an' dispute my head, 
 maybe, agin my heels." 
 
 " Throth would you ! " 
 
 " Or practise logic wid my right hand, and bate that agin 
 wid my left." 
 
 " The sarra lie in it." 
 
 " Or read the Greek Tistament wid my right eye, an' 
 thranslate it at the same time wid my left, according to the 
 Greek an' English sides of my face, wid my tongue 
 constrein' into Irish, unknownst to both o' them." 
 
 " Why, Dennis, he must have a head like a bell to be 
 able to get into things." 
 
 " Throth an' he has that, an' 'ill make a noise in 
 conthroversy yet, if he lives. Now, Dinny, let us have a 
 hate at histhory." 
 
 " A hate at histhory ? — wid all my heart ; but before we 
 begin, I tell you that I'll confound you precipitately ; for 
 you see, if you bate me in the English, I'll scarify you wid 
 Latin, and give you a bang or two of Greek into the 
 bargain. Och ! I wish you'd hear the sackin' I gave Tom 
 Reilly the other day ; rubbed him down, as the masther 
 says, wid a Greek towel, an' whenever I complimented him 
 with the loan of a cut on the head, I always gave him a 
 plaster of Latin to heal it ; but the sorra worse healin' 
 flesh in the world than Tom's is for the Latin, so I bruised 
 a few Greek roots and laid them to his caput so nate that 
 you'd laugh to see him. Well, is it histhory we are to 
 begin wid ? If it is, come on — advance. I'm ready for you 
 — in protection — wid my guards up." 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! Well, if he isn't the drollest crathur, an' 
 so cute ! But now for the Jtistliory. Can you prove to me, 
 
THE IRISH STUDENT. 113 
 
 upon a clear foundation, the differ atween black an' white. 
 or prove that Phadrick Murray here, long life to him, is n 
 ass ? Now, Phadrick, listen, for you must decide betune us.'' 
 
 " Orra, have you no other larnin' than that to argue 
 upon ? Sure if you call upon me to decide, I must give it 
 agin Dinny. Why, my judgment won't be worth a haporth 
 if he makes an ass of me ! " 
 
 " What matter how you decide, man alive, if he proves 
 you to be one; sure that's all we want. Never heed 
 shakin' your head — listen an' it will be well worth your 
 while. Why, man, you'll know more nor you ever knew or 
 suspected before, when he proves you to be an ass." 
 
 " In the first place, fadhcr, you're ungrammatical in one 
 word ; instead of sayin' ' prove,' always say probate or 
 probe ; the word is descinded, that is, the ancisthor of it is 
 probo, a deep Greek word — probo,probas, prob-ass — that is 
 to say, I'm to probe Phadrick here to be an ass. Now, do 
 you see how pat I brought that in ? That's the way, 
 Phadrick, I chastise my fadher with the languages." 
 
 "In thorth it is ; go an, avick. Phadrick ! " 
 
 " I'm listenin'." 
 
 " Phadrick, do you know the differ atween black an' 
 white ? " 
 
 " Atween black an' white? Hut, gorsoon, to be sure I do." 
 
 " Well, an' what might it be, Phadrick, my larned 
 Athiop ? What might it be, I negotiate ? " 
 
 " Why, thin, the differ atween them is this, Dinny, that 
 black is — let me see — why — that black is not red — nor 
 yallow — nor brown — nor green — nor purple — nor cutbeard 
 — nor a heather colour — nor a grogram " 
 
 " Nor a white ? " 
 
 " Surely, Dinny, not a white, abouchal ; don't think to 
 come over me that way." 
 
 " But I want to know what colour it is, most larned 
 sagcr." 
 
 
 
114 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 " All rasonable, Dinny. Why, thin, black is — let me 
 see — but, death alive ! — it's — a — a — why, it's black, an' 
 that's all I can say about it ; yes, faix, I can — black is the 
 colour of Father Curtis's coat." 
 
 " An' what colour is that, Phadrick ? * 
 
 " Why, it's black to be sure." 
 
 " Well, now, what colour is white, Phadrick ? " 
 
 " Why, it's a snow-colour ; for all the world the colour 
 of snow." 
 
 " White is ? " 
 
 " Ay, is it." 
 
 " The dear help your head, Phadrick, if that's all you 
 know about snow. In England, man, snow is an Oxford 
 grey, an' in Scotland a pepper an' salt, an' sometimes a 
 cutbeard, when they get a hard winther. I found that 
 much in the Greek, anyway, Phadrick. Thry agin, you 
 imigrant, I'll give you another chance — what colour is 
 white ? " 
 
 " Why, thin, it's — white — an' nothin' else. The sorra 
 one but you'd puzzle a saint wid your long-headed 
 screwtations from books." 
 
 " So, Phadrick, your preamble is that white is white, and 
 black is black." 
 
 "Asy, avick. I said, sure enough, that white is white ; 
 but the black I deny — I said it was the colour of Father 
 Curtis's black coat." 
 
 " Oh, you barbarian of the world, how I scorn your pro- 
 fundity an' emotions ! You're a disgrace to the human 
 sex by your superciliousness of knowledge, an' your 
 various quotations of ignorance. Ignorantia, Phadrick, is 
 your date an' superscription. Now, stretch out your ears, 
 till I probate, or probe to you the differ atween black an' 
 white." 
 
 " Phadrick ! !" said the father. 
 " I'm listenin'." 
 
THE IRISH STUDENT. 115 
 
 " Now, Phadrick, here's the griddle, an' here's a clane 
 plate. Do you see them here beside one another ? " 
 
 " I'm lookin' at them." 
 
 " Now shut your eyes." 
 
 " Is thdXyour way, Denis, of judgin' colours ? " 
 
 " Shut your eyes, I say, till I give you ocular demonstra- 
 tion of the differ atween these two respectable colours." 
 
 " Well, they're shut." 
 
 "An' keep them so. Now, what differ do you see atween 
 them ? " 
 
 " The sorra taste, man alive ; I never seen anything in my 
 whole life so clearly of a colour as they are both this minute."' 
 
 " Don't you see now, Phadrick, that there's not the 
 smallest taste o' differ in them, an' that's accordin' to Euclid." 
 
 " Sure enough, Phadrick, that's the point settled. 
 There's no discrimination at all atween black an' white. 
 They're both of the same colour — so long as you keep your 
 eyes shut." 
 
 " But if a man happens to open his eyes, Dinny ? " 
 
 " He has no right to open them, Phadrick, if he wants to 
 prove the truth of a thing. I should have said probe — but 
 it does not significate." 
 
 " The heavens mark you to grace, Dinny. You did that 
 in brave style. Phadrick, ahagur, he'll make the darlin' of 
 an arguer when he gets the robes an him." 
 
 " I don't deny that ; he'll be aquil to the best o' thim : 
 still, Denis, I'd rather, whin I want to pronounce upon 
 colours, that he'd let me keep my eyes open." 
 
 " Ay, but he did it out o' the books, man alive ; and 
 there's no goin' beyant thim. Sure he could prove it out 
 o' the Divinity, if you went to that. An' what is still more, 
 he could, by shuttin' your eyes, in the same way prove 
 black to be white, an' white black, jist as asy." 
 
 " Surely myself doesn't doubt it. I suppose, by shutting 
 my eyes, the same lad could prove anything to me." 
 
11G AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 " But, Dinny, avourneen, you didn't prove Phadrick to be 
 an ass yit. Will you do that by histhory, too, Dinny, or 
 by the norrations of Illocution ?" 
 
 " Father, I'm surprised at your gross impcrception. 
 Why, man, if you were not a vara avis of somnolency, a 
 man of most frolicsome determinations, you'd be able to see 
 that I've proved Phadrick to be an ass already." 
 
 " Throth, I deny that you did ; there wasn't a word about 
 my bein' an ass in the last discoorse. It was all upon the 
 differ atween black an' white." 
 
 " Oh, how I scorn your gravity, man ! Ignorantia, as I 
 said, is your date an' superscription : an' when you die you 
 ought to go an' engage a stone-cutter to carve you a head- 
 stone, an' make him write on it, Hie jacet Ignorantius 
 Rcdivivus. An' the translation of that is, accordin' to 
 Publius Virgilius Maro — ' Here lies a quadruped who 
 didn't know the differ atween black an' white."' 
 
 " But, Dinny, won't you give us the histhory of how the 
 Protestant Church was invinted by the divil an' Luther, 
 backed by Harry the Aighth, while he was a Protestant? 
 Give it to Phadrick, Dinny, till he hears it." 
 
 " Yes, my worthy paterfamilias, it shall be done ; but 
 upon the hypothesis of your taciturnity. Experientia docet 
 — which is, on bein' rendered into vernacularity, ' You are 
 too much addicted to intherruption, an' throw the darkness 
 of your intellect over the splendour of my narrations.' " 
 
 " But afore you go on, Dinny, will you thranslate dosJiet 
 for Phadrick ? " 
 
 " Fadher, I'll tolerate incongruity in no man. If you 
 must become jocular, why go an' larn Latin an' Greek to 
 substantiate your jocularity. Become erudite for yourself, 
 an' tell the story to your friends ; but I vow to Demos- 
 thenes, if you provoke me I'll unsluice the floodgates of my 
 classicality, an' bear you off like a sthraw on the surface of 
 my larned indignation." 
 
THE IRISH STUDENT. 117 
 
 " Well, I won't, Dinny ; I won't, avick. I'll say nothin' 
 barrin' listen. Phadrick, isn't that the larnin' ? " 
 
 " Bedad, it couldn't be bate." 
 
 " Well ! is it the history of the confab atween Luther 
 an' the invintor o' the long-tailed heresy I'm to give you ? " 
 
 " But why was it long-tailed, Dinny ? Tell that to 
 Phadrick." 
 
 " Fadher, I tould you before that I'll not tolerate incon- 
 gruity in any man who is ignorant of the classics. Was it 
 not that Phadrick Murray's ignorance protects you, I'd take 
 the liberty of lettin' you contemplate your own im- 
 penetrability to admonition. I call the Protestant heresy 
 long-tailed for three reasons : first — id est — primo " 
 
 " Phadrick III" 
 
 "I'm list'nin'!" 
 
 "Primo — Because it was not short. Secundo — Because 
 the dragon that invinted it in the Revelations had a tail 
 that reached over the third part of heaven. Tertio — Be- 
 cause the divil, who was joint partner wid the dragon, never 
 goes widout a switcher ; so that it is from the purest of 
 logic, I call it the long-tailed heresy. Are you now 
 satisfied ? " 
 
 " Throth, we are, avick. Isn't that the larnin', 
 Phadrick ? " 
 
 " Bedad, he's as ould as Killileagh bog, all but one bank." 
 
 " Well ! Quid multis ? Luther was sittin' one evenin' 
 in his studium or study, afther havin' secured a profound 
 dinner ; one foot was upon the hob, an' the other in the 
 most convanient place, of coorse. One elbow was placed 
 upon a round black table, near a decanther of wine an' a 
 bottle of Ennishovven whisky. I will not purtind to say 
 which he was most in the habit of drinkin', lest I might 
 glide into veracity. Ovid says, in his metamorphoses, that 
 tradition is in favour of the whisky. His words are — 
 'Lutherus semper potavit meruvi Ennislionuml which has 
 
118 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 puzzled the commentators very much. St. Augustin, who 
 was a good judge, thinks that ' merum Ennishonum ' means 
 the ' pure native,' which, he says, is jolly drink. Paul the 
 Hermit, an' St. Anthony, on the other hand, say that 
 ' merum Ennishonum ' is incorrect ; for that had he stuck, 
 as they did, to ' merum Ennishonum,' he would never have 
 left the Church. Others read ' clarum Ennishonum ;' how- 
 ever, it does not significate. There he sat, as I have 
 chalked him out for you, in a state of relaxation, frolicsome 
 an' solitary, wid his countenance placid an' bloomin', his 
 rosy, semidemi-quaver dewlap dependin' from his chin, just 
 ripe for meditation an' a tumbler. 
 
 " ' Now, Luther, you sinner,'' ?ays he, lookin' over at his 
 own shadow upon the wall beyant — ' Luther,' says he, ' here 
 you sit, wid a good coat to your back, good shoes to your 
 feet, good Connemara stockins to your legs, and excellent 
 linen undher your penitential hair-cloth shirt. What more 
 do you want, you knave, you ? ' says he, continuin' to hould 
 a logical controversy wid himself. ' I say, you born 
 desaver,' says he, ' what is it you would be at ? Maybe 
 it's a fat mithre you'd be smellin' afther? But I doubt,' 
 says he, ' that an ecclesiastical union between your 
 head an' a mithre was never intinded to be in rerum 
 natural " 
 
 " Phadrick ! ! ! " 
 
 "I'm list'nin'!" 
 
 " ' What would you be at then ? ' says he, carryin' on the 
 controversy; 'haven't you enough o' the world ? Haven't 
 you ase an' indepindence, an' susceptibility, an' tergiversa- 
 tion, not to mintion that a fast dinner wid you would make 
 a faste for a layman ! Go off wid you,' says he to a fly 
 that was leadin' a party of pleasure towards his nose, ' go 
 'long wid you, you sinner, an' don't be timptin' me ! The 
 fact or factum is, Luther,' says he " 
 
 " Dinny, thranslate whack'dem for Phadrick." 
 
THE IRISH STUDENT. 119 
 
 " Fadher, you're incorrigible. Why, factum! s a fact, an' 
 so is what I'm relatin'. ' The fact or factum is, Luther,' 
 says he, ' that you are anxious to thranslate some honest 
 man's daughter into an uxor for yourself. You are/ says 
 he, 'you born sconce ; an' you're puzzlin' your pineal gland 
 how to effectuate the vinculum matrimonii! He was think- 
 in', too, at the time, of a small taste of a vow — votum it is 
 in the larned languages — that he had to dispose of at first 
 cost, because the shabby intintion was in him. But no 
 matther: it was all the same to honest Luther in the 
 Greek. 
 
 " ' Hould up your anterior countenance,' says he, ' an' 
 look yourself straight in the face widout blushin', if you 
 can.' " 
 
 " What's the manin' of antlerian countenance,' Dinny ? " 
 
 "It signifies, fadher, that part of the human caput upon 
 which the faces of most single-faced gintlemen are to be 
 found." 
 
 * An' where do thim that have two faces keep the second, 
 Dinny ? " 
 
 " Did you never hear of the fades Hypocrztica, an' the 
 fades atra ? The fades Hypocritica is worn over the fades 
 alra, like a mask on a blackamoor. The former, fadher, is 
 for the world in general, an' the latter for private use, when 
 the wearer happens to practise a trifle in the reflectin' style. 
 These belong to the double-faced gintlemen. There is a 
 third, called the fades Candida, which every fool an' knave 
 can look through ; but it's not worth washin'. I wouldn't 
 give three sthraws for the faices Candida. No, no; commend 
 me to the other two." 
 
 " Sure they say, Dinny, two heads is betther than one ; 
 an' so, of coorse, is two faces." 
 
 " Right, fadher. Saltern recte dixisti. I'll practise wid 
 both myself, plase the fates." 
 
 " Throth, you will, avick." 
 
120 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 "' Well,' the Reformer proceeded, ' Luther how are we to 
 manage ? You're health ! in the meantime,' says he, puttin' 
 the dilution to his lips. 'Our best plan, at all evints, is to 
 dhrink upon it. It's a hard subject, an' requires to be 
 softened by the moisture, so as to make it tractable. The 
 fact is,' he went on, ' that you're gettin' frolicsome on my 
 hands — you are, you sinner ; and have a tendency to make 
 some honest man's daughter flesh of your flesh, an' bone of 
 your bone, by effectin' the vinculum. Isn't that the case, 
 Luther ? ' 
 
 '"Faith, I bleeve sc,' said he to himself; 'but I'd give a 
 thrifle to know in what manner I could accomplish the 
 union. However, the fact cannot be denied that I'm 
 runnin' fast into uxoriety, an' will marry, if the whole 
 Christian world should become champions of abnegation. 
 There's nothin' like a plural life,' says Luther. ' I'll not 
 only live in my own person, but by proxy, as the bishops 
 an' cardinals go to heaven.' 
 
 "In this manner was Luther debatin' the subject wid 
 himself, assisted by the dilution, when a grave-looking 
 man, in the garbage of a monk, walked into him. He had 
 all the appearance of a steady, sober ecclesiastic ; his coun- 
 tenance was what they call a slate-colour — ' vultus slate- 
 colorius' as Jugurtha says when giving an account of the 
 transaction to Cornelius Agrippa, the centurion. 
 
 " ' Salve Lutheruml says the peregrinns ; which is, ' Good- 
 morrow, Luther.' 
 
 " ' Tu sis salvus quoquel says Luther, back to him ; which 
 is, ' Good-morrow, an' good luck.' " 
 
 " Phadrick ! ! " 
 
 " I'm list'nin'." 
 
 "'Won't you take a sate, brother,' says Luther, ' an' be 
 sated.' 
 
 " ' Thank you kindly, brother,' replied the o ] r. They 
 called each other brothers, because the stranger \ dressed, 
 
THE IRISH STUDENT. 121 
 
 as I said, in the garbage of a monk, the vagrant. ' Thank 
 you kindly/ says he ; ' an' if you'll allow me, I'll also take 
 a tumbler of Ennishowen/ says he, ' bein' a little warm an' 
 thirsty afther my walk.' 
 
 " ' You're as welcome as the flowers o' May,' says Luther, 
 1 to the best in my house. Katty, get another tumbler an' 
 more hot wather, an' place a chair over there on the opposite 
 side o' the table. I'm sorry, brother,' says he, ' that I 
 haven't somethin' betther to offer you ; but the thruth is, 
 this bein' a fast day wid me, I had only a cut o' salmon, 
 an' two or three other things, more in the shape of a colla- 
 tion than a dinner — not but that I came undher the excep- 
 tion, an' might have ate meat ; for, indeed, I wasn't to 
 say too well to-day. However, I always think it right 
 to obsarve the rules o' the Church, an' to practise 
 macerosity an' timperance. Here's to our betther acquaint- 
 ance ! ' 
 
 " ' Thank you kindly, an' here's ditto,' says the other. 
 'I'm much of your way o' thinkin' myself,' says he, 'an' 
 think it both clerical an' churchmanlike to mortify myself 
 upon turbot, salmon, or any other miserable substitute for 
 a dinner that smacks of penance : though, indeed, like 
 yourself, I wasn't to say well to-day, bein' rather feverish, 
 an' might have practised the exception too.' 
 
 " ' In that case, then/ said Luther, ' I'll ordher down a 
 couple of fat pullets an' a ham for supper. You know 
 we're commanded to observe hospitality towards God's 
 saints ; but in case you have a scruple about the exception, 
 why I'll absolve you, an' you'll absolve me, so that, after 
 all, it won't signify. The thing's as long as it's short/ says 
 Luther. ' Shud orth ! ' says he, puttin' the dilution to his 
 lips agin. 
 
 "'Here's to your best wishes!' says the other 'Yes, 
 Luther,' says he, with a sigh of devotion : ' there's nothin' 
 like humility an' carnation in a religious ministher. We 
 
122 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 have weighty duties to perform, an' we ought to sec that 
 the practise of self-denial is properly theorized in our own 
 persons, an' its theory reduced to practicality by the hard- 
 ened laity, who would ate an' dhrink like ourselves, an' en- 
 croach upon our other privileges widout remorse, as if they 
 had a right to them. They would ate like bastes, an' dhrink 
 like fishes, Luther, if we allowed them,' says he. ' Here's to 
 you ! ' 
 
 " ' They would, the vulgarians,' says Luther. ' Katty, 
 more hot wather ; an', Katty, asthore, put down two of the 
 fattest of them crammed pullets, an' a ham, an' have them 
 ready for supper, an' fetch another bottle of Ennishowen ; 
 afther which, Katty, we'll give you a dispensation for absence 
 until supper time. Well but, my worthy,' says Luther, 
 what's your opinion of clerical affairs in general ? Don't 
 you think they're in a bad state ? ' 
 
 " ' Not at all,' says the other. ' I think they're just as 
 they ought to be.' 
 
 " ' I doubt that,' says Luther. ' The infarior clergy laid 
 under great restrictions, in quensequence of their poverty. 
 Look at the cardinals, an' bishops, an' rich abbots ! Why, 
 they've a monoply of all that the world's good for.' 
 
 "'Thrue,' said the peregrinns" 
 
 " Phadrick ! ! ! " 
 
 " I'm list'nin' !" 
 
 " ' Thrue,' says the peregrinus, ' an' my wish is to see that 
 broken down.' 
 
 " ' An' so is mine/ says Luther. ' They won't allow us 
 infarior clargy to take wives to ourselves, though they're 
 not ashamed to carry comforters about their necks in the 
 open face of day. A poor clerical now can't afford to be 
 licentious, for want o' money.' 
 
 " ' Thrue ; an' I would wish to see it made chape,' says 
 the other, ' if it was only to vex the wealthy.' 
 
 " ' You know as well as I do,' says Luther, ' that profii- 
 
THE IRISH STUDENT. 123 
 
 gacy at present is at an extravagant price. The rich 
 can afford to buy themselves dispensations for a month's or 
 three month's licentiousness, or from a year's to seven 
 years' indulgence, or seven hundred years' for that matther, 
 if they lay down the cash ; but vvid us it's different : we 
 can't afford to purchase the right to sin an' threspass, yet 
 we won't be allowed to marry. Now, I'm determined to 
 rescue the people an' the dhrudgin' clargy from this 
 tyranny.' 
 
 " • Then you'd wish to see the clargy married, an' dis- 
 pensations taken away ? ' 
 
 " ' To be sure I would ; an' an interesting sight it ud be, 
 to see the rogues, every man wid a legal doxy undher his 
 arm. I tell you, the vinculum must be effected.' 
 
 " ' I have no objection to the vinculum] replied the 
 advena, ' for it's all the same thing in the end. How do 
 you think it could be brought about ? ' 
 
 " Luther, who was meditatin' upon the subject in the 
 time, didn't hear him. 
 
 " ' I'll hould you a gallon of Roscrea to a gallon of 
 Ennishowen,' says the strange monk, ' that I could put you 
 on a plan of havin' them married in scores — ay, in dhroves.' 
 
 " ' If you do,' says Luther, ' I'll say you're a cleverer 
 man than I am.' 
 
 "'Do you know much about England?' says the sthranger. 
 
 " ' A thrifie,' says Luther. 
 
 " • Well,' says the other, ' there's Harry the Aighth goin' 
 to put away his wife, an' to take another in her place. 
 Now's your time,' says he, ' strike while the iron's hot. 
 He's at loggerheads wid the Pope an' the Church in 
 gineral, an' will defend the right o' marrying to the last 
 day of his life. Broach the subject now, Luther, an' he's 
 the boy will support it' 
 
 " ' Give me your hand,' says Luther : ' eh, St. Pether ! 
 but your palm's burnin'.' 
 
124 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 " • Not at all,' says the other, ' I'm naturally hot ; besides, 
 as I said a while ago, I'm a thrifle faverish. Will you take 
 my hint ? ' 
 
 " • Would a cat take new milk ? ' says Luther. 
 
 " ' Well then,' says the other, 'I'll give you some advice.'" 
 
 " But, Dinny," said the father, "wasn't all the two thieves 
 said about the Church lies ? " 
 
 " Every word of it a lie — as gross as Luther himself. 
 There was no such thing as tyranny, or persecution, or 
 overgrown wealth in the Church then, at all. No man ud 
 be punished for not thinkin' or spakin' accordin' as the 
 Church commanded. The clargy were as mild as lambs, 
 an' didn't lord it over or trample upon the people, good or 
 bad. If a washerwoman was to summon a bishop for his 
 quarther's washin', he'd attend like any other man, an' pay 
 down the money, if he had it, or if he hadn't, he'd give it 
 to her at half a crown a week ; so that Luther, the dirty 
 vagrant, had no grounds for makin' such a schism in the 
 Church as he did." 
 
 " Phadrick, there's the knowledge ! " 
 
 " Bedad, it bangs ! " 
 
 " The advena thin instructed Luther at a great rate, 
 tellin' him how he'd get on wid his heresy, an' many other 
 things o' that nature. Luther, however, began to feel 
 unasy where he sat. He first put one finger to his nosthril, 
 afther that his thumb to the other, lookin' arnestly at the 
 monk all the time. 
 
 " ' I beg your pardon,' says he, ' but maybe you'd take 
 the other side o' the room ; I think you'd find yourself 
 more comfortable in it. There's a blast o' wind from your 
 side,' says he, ' that's not pleasant, somehow.' 
 
 " ' Oh, that ud be too much throuble,' says the other : 
 ' I'm very well where I am.' 
 
 " ' No throuble in life, to me,' says Luther, ' but the 
 conthrary. I find that I'm no sich theologian as you are ; 
 
THE IRISH STUDENT. 125 
 
 an' I think it but right that you should keep me at as 
 respectful a distance as possible. I'll thank you to take 
 the other side o' the room, I say ; or indeed, for that 
 matther, if you sat on the outside for some time, it ud be 
 as well. A thrifle o' fresh air ud sarve us both.' 
 
 " ' Why, you're too delicate entirely,' said the stranger. 
 
 " ' Don't stand on ceremony vvid me,' says Luther ; 'you 
 may go out like shot, an' I'll never say ill you did it. St. 
 Tether, what's this at all ! ' 
 
 " He then looked at the monk, an' saw a grim sneer 
 upon his face : his eyes, too, began to blaze, an' a circle o' 
 fire played round his head. Another peep undher the 
 tabie showed Luther the cloven foot, an' a long tail coiled 
 round the chair. Luther, however, was a hardened sinner 
 that there was no puttin' fear into ; so he instantly whipped 
 up the poker that had been stickin' between the bars, an 
 of coorse, red hot ; an' the monk, seein' him about to 
 commence the attack, took the liberty of rethratin' in 
 double-quick time. 
 
 " ' Ha ! ' exclaimed Luther, ' there you go, you common 
 vagabone ; but a sweet perfume do you lave behind you ! ' 
 
 " Now, Phadrick, that's the way the Protestant Church 
 was invinted by the devil an' Martin Luther. Harry the 
 Aighth, an' his daughther Elizabeth, who was then Queen 
 o' Scotland, both came in an' supported him aftherwards." 
 
 " Well, by the livin', Dinny, I dunna where you get all 
 this deep readin' ! " 
 
 " Sure he gets it all in the Dixonary." 
 
 " Bedad, that Dixonary must be a fine book entirely, to 
 thim that can undherstand it." 
 
 " But, Dinny, will you tell Phadrick the Case of Con- 
 science atvveen Barny Branagan's two goats an' Parra 
 Ghastha's mare ? " 
 
 " Fadher, if you were a grammarian I'd castigate your 
 incompatibility as it desarves — I'd lay the scourge o' 
 
126 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 syntax upon you, as no man ever got it since the invintion 
 o' the nine parts o' speech. By what rule of logic can you 
 say that aither Barny Branagan's goats or Parra Ghastha's 
 mare had a conscience ? I tell you it wasn't they had the 
 conscience, but the divine who decided the difficulty. 
 Fhadrick, lie down till I illusthrate." 
 
 " How is that, Dinny ? I can hear you sittin'." 
 
 " Lie down, you reptile, or I shall decline the narration 
 altogether." 
 
 " Arra, lie down, Phadrick ; sure he only wants to show 
 you the rason o' the thing." 
 
 " Well, well ; I'm down. Now, Dinny, don't let your 
 feet be too larned, if you plase." 
 
 " Silence ! — taceto ! you reptile. Now, Phadrick, here, 
 on this side o' you, lies Barny Branagan's field ; an' there, 
 on that side, lies afield of Parra Ghastha's : you're the ditch 
 o' mud betuxt them." 
 
 " The ditch o' mud ! Faix, that's dacent ! " 
 
 " Now here, on Barny Branagan's side, feeds Parra 
 Ghastha's mare ; an' there, on Parra Ghastha's side, feed 
 Barny Branagan's goats. Do you comprehend ? Do you 
 insinuate? " 
 
 " I do — I do. Death alive ! there's no use in punchin' 
 my sides wid your feet that way." 
 
 " Well, get up now an' set your ears." 
 
 " Now listen to him, Phadrick !" 
 
 " It was one night in winter, when all nature shone in 
 the nocturnal beauty of tenebrosity : the sun had set about 
 three hours before ; an', accordin' to the best logicians, 
 there was a dearth of light. It's the general opinion of 
 philosophers — that is, of the soundest o' them — that when 
 the sun is down, the moon an' stars are usually up ; an' so 
 they were on the night that I'm narratin' about. The 
 moon was, wid great respect to her character, night-walkin' 
 in the sky ; and the stars vegetated in celestial genuflexion 
 
THE IRISH STUDENT. 127 
 
 around her. Nature, Phadrick, was in great state ; the 
 earth was undher our feet, an' the sky above us. The frost, 
 too, was hard, Phadrick, the air keen, an' the grass tendher. 
 All things were enrobed wid verisimilitude an' scrupulosity. 
 In this manner was the terraqueous part of our system, 
 when Parra Ghastha's mare, after havin' taken a could 
 collation on Barny Branagan's grass, was returnin' to her 
 master's side o' the merin ; an' Barny Branagan's goats, 
 havin' tasted the sweets of Parra Ghastha's cabbages, were 
 on their way acrass the said merin to their own side. Now 
 it so happened that they met exactly at a narrow gap in 
 the ditch behind Rosha Halpin's house. The goats, bein' 
 coupled together, got one on each side of the rift, wid the 
 rope that coupled them extended acrass it. The mare 
 stood in the middle of it, so that the goats were in the way 
 of the mare, an' the mare in the way of the goats. In the 
 meantime they surveyed one another wid great composure, 
 but had neither of them the politeness to stir, until Rosha 
 Halpin came suddenly out, an' emptied a vessel of untrans- 
 parent wather into the ditch. The mare, who must have 
 been an animal endowed wid great sensibility of soul, 
 stooped her head suddenly at the noise ; an' the goats, who 
 were equally sentimental, gave a start from nervishness. 
 The mare, on raisin' her head came in contact wid the cord 
 that united the goats ; an' the goats, havin' lost their com- 
 mandin' position, came in contact wid the neck o' the mare. 
 Quid multis ? They pulled an' she pulled, an' she pulled 
 an' they pulled, until at length the mare was compelled to 
 practice the virtue of resignation in the ditch, wid the goats 
 about her neck. She died by suspinsion ; but the mettle- 
 some ould crathur, wid a love of justice that did her 
 honour, hanged the goats in requittal ; for they departed 
 this vale of tears on the mountain-side along wid her, so 
 that they had the satisfaction of dyin' a social death to- 
 gether. Now, Phadrick, you quadruped, the case of con- 
 
128 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 science is, whether Parra Ghastha has a right to make 
 restitution to Barny Branagan for the loss of his goats, or 
 Barny Branagan to Parra Ghastha for the loss of his mare?" 
 
 " Bedad, that's a puzzler ! " 
 
 " Isn't it, Phadrick ? But wait till you hear how he'll 
 clear it up ! Do it for Phadrick, Dinny." 
 
 " Yis, Phadrick, I'll illusthrate your intellects by divinity. 
 You see, Phadrick, you're to suppose me to be in the chair, 
 as Confessor. Very well — or valde, in the larned languages 
 — Parra Ghastha comes to confess to me, an' tells me that 
 Barny Branagan wants to be paid for his goats. I tell him 
 it's a disputed point, an' that the price o' the goats must go 
 to the Church. On the other hand, Barny Branagan tells 
 me that Parra Ghastha wishes to be paid for his mare. I 
 say, again, it's a disputed point, an' that the price o' the 
 viare must go to the Church — the amount of the proceeds to 
 be applied in prayer towards the benefit of the parties in 
 the first instance, an' of the faithful in general aftherwards." 
 
 " Phadrick ! ! ! " 
 
 " Oh, that I may never, but he bates the globe ! " 
 
 Denny's character is a very common one in the remote 
 parts of Ireland, where knowledge is novelty, and where the 
 slightest tinge of learning is looked upon with such rever- 
 ence and admiration as can be properly understood only 
 by those who have an opportunity of witnessing it. In- 
 deed, few circumstances prove the great moral influence 
 which the Irish priesthood possess over the common people 
 more forcibly than the extraordinary respect paid by the 
 latter to such as are designed for the " mission." The 
 moment the determination is made, an incipient sanctity 
 begins, as it were, to consecrate the young priest, and a 
 high opinion of his learning and talents to be entertained, 
 no matter how dull he may be, so far as honest nature is 
 concerned. 
 
 END OF FIRST SERIES. 
 
AMUSING IRISH TALES, 
 
 SECOND SERIES, 
 
 MICKEY M'ROREY, 
 
 The Count r y Fiddler. 
 
 In my native parish there were four or five fiddlers — all 
 good in their way ; but the Paganini of the district was the 
 far-famed Mickey M'Rorey. Where Mickey properly lived, 
 I never could actually discover, and for the best reason in 
 the world, — he was not at home once in twelve months. 
 As Colley Cibber says in the play, he was " a kind of a 
 here-and-thereian — a stranger nowhere." This, however, 
 mattered little ; for though perpetually shifting day after 
 day from place to place, yet it somehow happened that 
 nobody ever was at a loss where to find him. The truth is, 
 he never felt disposed to travel incog., because he knew that 
 his interest must suffer by doing so ; the consequence was, 
 that wherever he went, a little nucleus of local fame always 
 attended him, which rendered it an easy matter to find his 
 whereabouts. 
 
 Mickey was blind from his infancy, and, as usual, owed 
 to the small pox the loss of his sight. He was about the 
 middle size, of rather a slender make, and possessed an 
 intelligent countenance, on which beamed that singular 
 expression of inward serenity so peculiar to the blind. His 
 temper was sweet and even, but capable of rising through 
 the buoyancy of his own humour to a high pitch of 
 exhilaration and enjoyment. The dress he wore, as far as 
 I can remember, was always the same in colour and fabric 
 — to wit, a brown coat, a sober-tinted cotton waistcoat, 
 gray stockings, and black corduroys. Poor Mickey ! I 
 
 10 
 
130 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 think I see him before me, his head erect, as the heads of 
 all blind men are, the fiddle-case under his left arm, and 
 his hazel staff held out like a feeler, exploring with 
 experimental pokes the nature of the ground before him 
 even although some happy urchin leads him onward with 
 an exulting eye ; an honour of which he will boast to his 
 companions for many a mortal month to come. 
 
 The first time I ever heard Mickey play was also the first 
 I ever heard a fiddle. Well and distinctly do I remember 
 the occasion. The season was summer — but summer was 
 summer then — and a new house belonging to Frank Thomas 
 had been finished, and was just ready to receive him and 
 his family. The floors of Irish houses in the country, 
 generally consist at first of wet clay, and when this is 
 sufficiently well smoothed and hardened, a dance is known 
 to be an excellent thing to bind and prevent them from 
 cracking. On this occasion the evening had been appointed, 
 and the day was nearly half advanced, but no appearance 
 of the fiddler. The state of excitement in which I found 
 myself, could not be described. The name of Mickey 
 M'Rorey had been ringing in my ears for God knows how 
 long, but I had never seen him, or even heard his fiddle. 
 Every two minutes I was on the top of a little eminence 
 looking out for him, my eyes straining out of their sockets, 
 and my head dizzy with the prophetic expectation of 
 rapture and delight. Human patience, however, could 
 bear this painful suspense no longer, and I privately 
 resolved to find Mickey, or perish. I accordingly pro- 
 ceeded across the hills, a distance of about three miles, to a 
 place called Kilnahushogue, where I found him waiting for 
 a guide. At this time I could not have been more than 
 seven years of age ; and how I wrought out my way over 
 the lonely hills, or through what mysterious instinct I was 
 led to him, and that by a path, too, over which I had never 
 travelled before, must be left unrcvealed until it shall please 
 
THE COUNTRY FIDDLER. 131 
 
 that Power that guides the bee to its home, and the bird 
 for thousands of miles through the air, to disclose the 
 principle upon which it is accomplished. 
 
 On our return home I could see the young persons of 
 both sexes flying out to the little eminence I spoke of, 
 looking eagerly towards the spot we travelled from, and 
 immediately scampering in again, clapping their hands and 
 shouting with delight. Instantly the whole village was out, 
 young and old, standing for a moment to satisfy themselves 
 that the intelligence was correct ; after which, about a 
 dozen of the youngsters sprang forward, with the speed of 
 so many antelopes, to meet us, whilst the elders returned 
 with a soberer, but not less satisfied, manner into the 
 houses. Then commenced the usual battle, as to whom 
 should be honoured by permission to carry the fiddle-case. 
 Oh ! that fiddle-case ! For seven long years it was an 
 honour exclusively allowed to myself, whenever Mickey 
 attended a dance anywhere near us ; and never was the 
 Lord Chancellor's mace — to which, by the way, with great 
 respect for his Lordship, it bore a considerable resemblance 
 — carried with a prouder heart or a more exulting eye. 
 But so it is — 
 
 " These little things are great to little men? 
 
 " Blood alive, Mickey, you're welcome ! " " How is every 
 bone of you, Mickey ? Bedad we gev you up." " No, we 
 didn't give you up, Mickey ; never heed him ; sure we knew 
 very well you'd not desart the Towny boys, — whoo ! — Fol 
 de rol lol ! " " Ah, Mickey, won't you sing ' There was a 
 wee devil came over the wall ?' " " To be sure he will, but 
 wait till he comes home and gets his dinner first. Is it off 
 an empty stomach you'd have him to sing?" "Mickey, 
 give me the fiddle-case, won't you Mickey ? " " No, to me, 
 Mickey." " Never heed them, Mickey : you promised it to 
 me at the dance in Carntaul." 
 
132 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 " Aisy, boys, aisy. The truth is, none of yez can get the 
 fiddle-case. Shibby, my riddle, hasn't been well for the last 
 day or two, and can't bear to be carried by any one barrin' 
 myself." 
 
 " Blood alive ! sick is it, Mickey ? — an' what ails her ? " 
 
 "Why, some o' the doctors says there's a frog in her, an' 
 others that she has got the cholic ; but I'm goin' to give 
 her a dose of balgriffauns when I get up to the house above. 
 Ould Harry Connolly says she's with-fiddle ; an' if that's 
 true, boys, maybe some o' yez won't be in luck. I'll be 
 able to spare a young fiddle or two among yez." 
 
 Many a tiny hand was clapped, and many an eye was lit 
 up with the hope of getting a young fiddle ; for gospel it- 
 self was never looked upon to be more true than this 
 assertion of Mickey's. And no wonder. The fact is, he 
 used to amuse himself by making small fiddles of deal and 
 horse-hair, which he carried about with him, as presents for 
 such youngsters as he took a fancy to. This he made a 
 serious business of, and carried it on with an importance 
 becoming the intimation just given. Indeed, I remember 
 the time when I watched one of them, which I was so 
 happy as to receive from him, day and night, with the hope 
 of being able to report that it was growing larger ; for my 
 firm belief was, that in due time it would reach the usual 
 size. 
 
 As we went along, Mickey, with his usual tact, got out 
 of us all the information respecting the several courtships 
 of the neighbourhood that had reached us, and as much, 
 too, of the village gossip and scandal as we knew. 
 
 Nothing can exceed the overflowing kindness and affec- 
 tion with which the Irish fiddler is received on the occasion 
 of a dance or merry-making ; and to do him justice he 
 loses no opportunity of exaggerating his own importance. 
 From habit, and his position among the people, his wit and 
 power of repartee are necessarily cultivated and sharpened. 
 
THE COUNTRY FIDDLER. 133 
 
 Not one of his jokes ever fails — a circumstance which im- 
 proves his humour mightily ; for nothing on earth sustains 
 it so much as knowing that, whether good or bad, it will be 
 laughed at. Mickey, by the way, was a bachelor, and 
 though blind, was able, as he himself used to say, to see 
 through his ears better than another could through the 
 eyes. He knew every voice at once, and every boy and 
 girl in the parish by name, the moment he heard them 
 speak. 
 
 On reaching the house he is bound for, he either partakes 
 of, or at least is offered, refreshment, after which comes the 
 ecstatic moment to the youngsters : but all this is done by 
 due and solemn preparation. First he calls for a pair of 
 scissors, with which he pares or seems to pare his nails, 
 then asks for a piece of rosin, and in an instant half a 
 dozen boys are off at a break-neck pace, to the next shoe- 
 maker's, to procure it ; whilst in the mean time he de- 
 liberately pulls a piece out of his pocket and rosins his bow. 
 But, heavens ! what a ceremony the opening of that fiddle- 
 case is ! The manipulation of the blind man as he runs 
 his hand down to the key-hole — the turning of the key — 
 the taking out of the fiddle — the twang twang — and then 
 the first ecstatic sound, as the bow is drawn across the 
 strings ; then comes a screwing, then a delicious saw or 
 two ; again another screwing — twang twang — and away 'he 
 goes with the favourite tune of the good woman, for such 
 is the etiquette upon these occasions. The house is im- 
 mediately thronged with the neighbours, and a preliminary 
 dance is taken, in which the old folks, with good-humoured 
 violence, are literally dragged out, and forced to join. 
 Then come the congratulations — " Ah, Jack, you could do 
 it wanst," says Mickey, " an' can still, you have a kick in 
 you yet." " Why, Mickey, I seen dancin' in my time," the 
 old man will reply, his brow relaxed by a remnant of his 
 former pride, and the hilarity of the moment, " but you see 
 
134 AMUSING IKISH TALES 
 
 the breath isn't what it used to be wid me, when I could 
 dance the Baltehorum Jig on the bottom of a ten gallon 
 cask. But I think a glass o' whiskey will do us no harm 
 after that. Heighho ! — well, well — I'm sure I thought my 
 dancin' days wor over." 
 
 " Bedad an' you wor matched any how," rejoined the 
 fiddler. " Molshy carried as light a heel as ever you did : 
 sorra woman of her years ever I seen could cut the buckle 
 wid her. You would know the tune on her feet still." 
 
 " Ah, Mickey, the truth is," the good woman would say, 
 " we have no sich dancin' now as there was in my days. 
 Thry that glass." 
 
 " But as good fiddlers, Molshy, eh ? Here's to you both, 
 and long may ye live to shake the toe ! Whoo ! bedad 
 that's great stuff. Come now sit down, Jack, till I give you 
 your ould favourite, ' Connie Soogali! " 
 
 These were happy moments and happy times, which 
 might well be looked upon as picturing the simple manners 
 of country life with very little of moral shadow to obscure 
 the cheerfulness which lit up the Irish heart and hearth 
 into humble happiness. Mickey, with his usual good 
 nature, never forgot the younger portion of his audience. 
 After entertaining the old and full-grown, he would call for 
 a key, one end of which he placed in his mouth, in order to 
 make the fiddle sing for the children their favourite song, 
 beginning with 
 
 " Oh grand-mamma, will you squeeze my wig? 
 
 This he did in such a manner, through the medium of the 
 key, that the words seemed to be spoken by the instru- 
 ment, and not by himself. After this was over, he would 
 sing us, to his own accompaniment, another favourite, 
 " There was a wee devil looked over the wall," which 
 generally closed that portion of the entertainment, so 
 kindly designed for us. 
 
THE COUNTRY FIDDLER. 135 
 
 Upon those moments I have often witnessed marks of 
 deep and pious feeling, occasioned by some memory of the 
 absent or the dead, that were as beautiful as they were 
 affecting. If, for instance, a favourite son or daughter 
 happened to be removed by death, the father or mother, 
 remembering the air which was loved best by the departed, 
 would pause a moment, and with a voice full of sorrow, say, 
 " Mickey, there is one tune that I would like to hear ; I love 
 to think of it, and to hear it ; I do, for the sake of them 
 that's gone — my darlin' son that's lyin' low : it was he that 
 loved it. His ear is closed against it now ; but for his sake 
 — ay, for your sake avourneen machree — we will hear it 
 once more/' 
 
 Mickey always played such tunes in his best style, and 
 amidst a silence that was only broken by sobs, suppressed 
 moanings, and the other tokens of profound sorrow. These 
 gushes, however, of natural feeling soon passed away. In 
 a few minutes the smiles returned, the mirth broke out 
 again, and the lively dance went on, as if their hearts had 
 been incapable of such affection for the dead — affection at 
 once so deep and tender, But many a time the light of 
 cheerfulness plays along the stream of Irish feeling, when, 
 cherished sorrow lies removed from the human eye far 
 down from the surface. 
 
 These preliminary amusements being now over, Mickey 
 is conducted to the dance house, where he is carefully in- 
 stalled in the best chair, and immediately the dancing 
 commences. It is not my purpose to describe an Irish 
 dance here, having done it more than once elsewhere. It 
 is enough to say that Mickey is now in his glory ; and 
 proud may the young man be who fills the honourable post 
 of his companion, and sits next him. He is a living store- 
 house of intelligence, a travelling directory for the parish — 
 the lover's text book — the young woman's best companion ; 
 for where is the courtship going on of which he is not 
 
136 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 cognizant? where is there a marriage on the tapis, with 
 the particulars of which he is not acquainted ? He is an 
 authority whom nobody would think of questioning. It is 
 now, too, that he scatters his jokes about ; and so correct 
 and well trained is his ear, that he can frequently name 
 the young man who dances, by the peculiarity of his step. 
 
 " Ah ha ! Paddy Brien, you're there ? Sure I'd know the 
 sound of your smoothin'-irons any where. Is it thrue, 
 Paddy, that you wor sint for down to Errigle Keerogue, to 
 kill the clocks for Dan M'Mahon ? But, nabuklish ! Paddy, 
 what'll you have ? " 
 
 " Is that Grace Reilly on the flure ? Faix, avourneen, 
 you can do it ; devil o' your likes I see any where. I'll lay 
 Shibby to a penny trump that you could dance your own 
 namesake — the Caleen dhas dhiin, the bonny brown girl — 
 upon a spider's cobweb, without brakin' it. Don't be in a 
 hurry, Grace dear, to tie the knot ; /'// wait for you." 
 
 Several times in the course of the night a plate is brought 
 round, and a collection made for the fiddler : this was the 
 moment when Mickey used to let the jokes fly in every 
 direction. The timid he shamed into liberality, the vain he 
 praised, and the niggardly he assailed by open hardy satire ; 
 all managed, however, with such an under-current of good 
 humour that no one could take offence. No joke ever told 
 better than that of the broken string. Whenever this hap- 
 pened at night, Mickey would call out to some soft fellow, 
 " Blood alive, Ned Martin, will you bring me a candle ? I've 
 broken a string." The unthinking young man, forgetting 
 that he was blind, would take the candle in a hurry, and 
 fetch it to him. 
 
 " Faix, Ned, I knew you wor jist fit for't ; houldin' a 
 candle to a dark man ! Isn't he a beauty, boys ? — look at 
 him, girls — as 'cute as a pancake." 
 
 It is unnecessary to say, that the mirth on such 
 occasions was convulsive. Another similar joke was also 
 
THE COUNTRY FIDDLER. 137 
 
 played off by him against such as he knew to be 
 ungenerous at the collection. 
 
 " Paddy Smith, I want a word wid you. I'm goin ' 
 across the counthry as far as Ned Donnelly's, and I want 
 you to help me along the road, as the night is dark." 
 
 " To be sure, Mickey. I'll bring you over as snug as if 
 you wor on a clean plate, man alive !" 
 
 " Thank you, Paddy ; throth you've the dacency in you ; 
 an' kind father for you, Paddy. Maybe I'll do as much for 
 you some other time." 
 
 Mickey never spoke of this until the trick was played off, 
 after which, he published it to the whole parish ; and 
 Paddy of course was made the standing jest for being so 
 silly as to think that night or day had any difference to a 
 man who could not see. 
 
 Thus passed the life of Mickey M'Rorey, and thus pass 
 the lives of most of his class, serenely and happily. As the 
 sailor to his ship, the sportsman to his gun, so is the fiddler 
 attached to his fiddle. His hopes and pleasures, though 
 limited, are full. His heart is necessarily light, for he 
 comes in contact with the best and brightest side of life 
 and nature ; and the consequence is, that their mild and 
 mellow lights are reflected on and from himself. I am 
 ignorant whether poor Mickey is dead or not ; but I dare 
 say he forgets the boy to whose young spirit he com- 
 municated so much delight, and who often danced with a 
 buoyant and careless heart to the pleasant notes of his 
 fiddle. Mickey M'Rorey, farewell! Whether living or 
 dead, peace be with you. 
 
138 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 ROSE MOAN, 
 
 The Count r y M id- Wife. 
 
 The village of Ballycomaisy was as pleasant a little place 
 as one might wish to see of a summer day. To be sure, 
 like all other Irish villages, it was remarkable for a super- 
 fluity of " pigs, praties, and childre," which being the stock 
 in trade of the Irish cabin, it is to be presumed that very 
 few villages either in Ireland or elsewhere could go on 
 properly without them. It consisted principally of one 
 long street, which you entered from the north-west side by 
 one of those old-fashioned bridges, the arches of which 
 were much more akin to the Gothic than the Roman. 
 Most of the houses were of mud, a few of stone, one or two 
 of which had the honour of being slated on the front side 
 of the roof, and rustically thatched on the back, where 
 ostentation was not necessary. There were two or three 
 shops, a liberal sprinkling of public houses, a chapel a little 
 out of the town, and an old dilapidated market-house near 
 the centre. A few little bye-streets projected in a lateral 
 direction from the main one, which was terminated on the 
 side opposite to the north-west by a pound, through which, 
 as usual, ran a shallow stream, that was gathered into a 
 little gutter as it crossed the road. A crazy antiquated 
 mill, all covered and cobwebbed with grey mealy dust, 
 stood about two hundred yards out of the town, to which 
 two straggling rows of houses, that looked like an abortive 
 street, led you. This mill was surrounded by a green 
 common, which was again hemmed in by a fine river, that 
 ran round in a curving line from under the hunchbacked 
 arch of the bridge we mentioned at the beginning. Now, 
 a little behind, or rather above this mill, on the skirt of the 
 aforesaid common, stood a rather neat-looking, whitish 
 
THE COUNTRY MID- WIFE. 139 
 
 cabin, with about half a rood of garden behind it. It was 
 but small, and consisted merely of a sleeping-room and 
 kitchen. On one side of the door was a window opening 
 on hinges ; and on the outside, to the right as you entered 
 the house, there was placed a large stone, about four feet 
 high, backed by a sloping mound of earth, so graduated as 
 to allow a person to ascend the stone, without any difficulty. 
 In this cabin lived Rose Moan, the midwife ; and we need 
 scarcely inform our readers that the stone in question was 
 her mounting-stone, by which she was enabled to place 
 herselt on a pillion or crupper, as the case happened, when 
 called out upon her usual avocation. 
 
 Rose was what might be called a fiahoolagh, or portly 
 woman, with a good-humoured set of Milesian features ; 
 that is to say, a pair of red, broad cheeks, a well-set nose 
 allowing for the disposition to turn up, and two black 
 twinkling eyes, with a mellow expression that betokened 
 good nature, and a peculiar description of knowing pro- 
 fessional humour that is never to be met with in any but a 
 midwife. Rose was dressed in a red flannel petticoat, a 
 warm cotton sack or wrapper, which pinned easily over a 
 large bust, and a comfortable woollen shawl. She always 
 wore a long-bordered morning cap, over which, while 
 travelling, she pinned a second shawl of Scotch plaid ; and 
 to protect her from the cold night air, she enfolded her 
 precious person in a deep blue cloak of the true indigo 
 tint. On her head, over cloak and shawl and morning cap, 
 was fixed a black " splush hat " with the leaf strapped 
 down by her ears on each side, so that in point of fact she 
 cared little how it blew, and never once dreamed that such 
 a process as that of Raper or Mackintosh was necessary to 
 keep the liege subjects of these realms warm and water- 
 proof, nor that two systems should exist in Ireland so 
 strongly antithetical to each other as those of Raper and 
 Father Mathew. 
 
140 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 Having thus given a brief sketch of her local habitation 
 and personal appearance, we shall transfer our readers to 
 the house of a young new-married farmer named Keho, 
 who lived in a distant part of the parish. Keho was a 
 comfortable fellow, full of good nature and credulity ; but 
 his wife happened to be one of the sharpest, meanest, most 
 suspicious, and miserable devils that ever was raised in 
 good-humoured Ireland. Her voice was as shaip and her 
 heart as cold as an icicle ; and as for her tongue, it was 
 incessant and interminable. Were it not that her husband, 
 who, though good-natured, was fiery and resolute when 
 provoked, exercised a firm and salutary control over her, 
 she would have starved both him and her servants into 
 perfect skeletons. And what was still worse, with a temper 
 that was vindictive and tyrannical, she affected to be 
 religious, and upon those who did not know her, actually 
 attempted to pass herself off as a saint. 
 
 One night, about ten or twelve months after his marriage, 
 honest Corney Keho came out to the barn where slept his 
 two farm servants, named Phil Hannigan and Barney Casey- 
 He had been sitting by himself, composing his mind for a 
 calm night's sleep, or probably for a curtain lecture, by 
 taking a contemplative whiff of the pipe, when the servant 
 wench, with a certain air of hurry, importance and authority, 
 entered the kitchen and informed him that Rose Moan must 
 immediately be sent for. 
 
 " The misthress isn't well, masther, an' the sooner she's 
 sint for the betther. So mind my words, sir, if you plaise, 
 an' pack aff either Phil or Barny for Rose Moan, an' I hope 
 I wont have to ax it again — ahem ! " 
 
 Dandy Keho — for so Corney was called as being remark- 
 able for slovenliness — started up hastily, and having taken 
 the pipe out of his mouth, was about to place it on the hob ; 
 but reflecting that the whiff could not much retard him in the 
 delivery of his orders, he sallied out to the barn, and knocked, 
 
THE COUNTRY MID- WIFE. 141 
 
 " Who's there ?" 
 
 " Lave that, wid you, unless you wish to be shotted." 
 This was followed by a loud laugh from within. 
 
 " Boys, get up wid all haste : it's the misthress. Phil, 
 saddle Hollowback and fly — (puff) — fly in a jiffy for Rose 
 Moan ; an' do you, Barny, clap a black sugaun — (puff) — an 
 Sobersides, an' be aff for the misthress's mother — (puff)." 
 
 Both were dressing themselves before he had concluded, 
 and in a very few minutes were off in different directions, 
 each according to the orders he had received. With Barny 
 we have nothing to do, unless to say that he lost little time 
 in bringing Mrs. Keho's mother to her aid ; but as Phil is 
 gone for a much more important character, we beg our 
 readers to return with us to the cabin of Rose Moan, who 
 is now fast asleep — for it is twelve o'clock of a beautiful 
 moonlight night, in the pleasant month of August. Tap- 
 tap. "Is Mrs. Moan at home?" In about half a minute 
 her warm good-looking face, enveloped in flannel, is pro- 
 truded from the window. 
 
 " Who's that, in God's name ? " The words in italics were 
 added, lest the message should be one from the fairies. 
 
 " I'm Dandy Keho's servants — one of them at any rate — 
 an' my misthress has got a stitch in her side — ha ! ha ! 
 ha!" 
 
 " Aisy, avick — so she's down thin — aisy — I'll be wid you 
 like a bow out of an arrow. Put your horse over to ' the 
 stone,' an' have him ready. The Lord bring her over her 
 difficulties, any way, amin, a chierna ! " 
 
 She then pulled in her head, and in about three or four 
 minutes sallied out dressed as we have described her ; and 
 having placed herself on the crupper, coolly put her right 
 arm round Phil's body, and desired him to ride on with all 
 possible haste. 
 
 " Push an, avouchal, push an — time's precious at all times, 
 but on business like this, every minute is worth a life. But 
 
142 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 there's always one comfort, that God is marciful. Push 
 forrid avick." 
 
 " Never fear, Mrs. Moan. If it's in Hollowback, bedad 
 I'm the babe that will take it out of him. Come, ould 
 Hackball, trot out — you don't know the message you're an, 
 nor who you're carryin'." 
 
 " Isn't your misthress — manin' the Dandy's wife — a 
 daughter of ould Fitzy Finnegan's, the schrew of Glen- 
 dhu?" 
 
 " Faith, you may say that, Rose, as we all know to our 
 cost. Be me song, she does have us sometimes that you 
 
 might see through us ; an' only for the masther but, 
 
 dang it, no matter — she's down now, poor woman, an' it's 
 not jist the time to be rakin' up her failins." 
 
 " It is not, an' God mark you to grace for sayin' so. At 
 a time like this we must forget everything, only to do the 
 best we can for our fellow-creatures. What are you looking 
 at, avick ? " 
 
 Now, this question naturally arose from the fact that 
 honest Phil had been, during their short conversation, 
 peering keenly on each side of him, as if he expected an 
 apparition to rise from every furze-bush on the common. 
 The truth is, he was almost proverbial for his terror of 
 ghosts, and fairies, and all supernatural visitants whatever ; 
 but upon this occasion his fears rose to a painful height, in 
 consequence of the popular belief, that, when a midwife is 
 sent for, the Good People throw every possible obstruction 
 in her way, either by laming the horse, if she rides, or by 
 disqualifying the guide from performing his duty as such. 
 Phil, however, felt ashamed to avow his fears on these 
 points, but still could not help unconsciously turning the 
 conversation to the very topic he thought to have avoided. 
 
 " What war you lookin' at, avick ? " 
 
 " Why, bedad, there appeared something there beyant, 
 like a man, only it was darker. But be this and be that — 
 
THE COUNTRY MID- WIFE. 143 
 
 hem, ehem ! — if I could get my hands on him, whatsomever 
 he" 
 
 " Hushth, boy, hould your tongue ; you don't know but 
 it's the very word you war goin' to say might do us harm." 
 
 " — Whatsomever he is, that I'd give him a lift on 
 Hollowback, if he happened to be any poor fellow that 
 stood in need of it. Oh ! the sorra word I was goin' to say 
 against any thing or any body." 
 
 " You're right, dear. If you knew as much as I could 
 tell you — push an — you'd have a dhrop o' sweat at the ind 
 of every hair on your head." 
 
 " Be me song, I'm tould you know a power o' quare 
 things, Mrs. Moan ; an' if all that's said is thrue, you 
 sartinly do." 
 
 Now, had Mrs. Moan and her heroic guide passed through 
 the village of Ballycomaisy, the latter would not have felt 
 his fears so strong upon him. The road, however, along 
 which they were now going, was a grass-grown bohreen, that 
 led them from behind her cabin through a waste and lonely 
 part of the country ; and as it was a saving of better than 
 two miles in point of distance, Mrs. Moan would not hear 
 of their proceeding by any other direction. The tenor of 
 her conversation, however, was fast bringing Phil to the 
 state she so graphically and pithily described. 
 
 " What's your name ? " she asked. 
 
 " Phil Hannigan, a son of fat Phil's of Balnasaggart, an' 
 a cousin to Paddy, who lost a finger in the Gansy (Guernsey) 
 wars." 
 
 " I know. Well, Phil, in throth the hairs 'ud stand like 
 stalks o' barley, upon your head, if you heard all I could 
 mintion." 
 
 Phil instinctively put his hand up and pressed down his 
 hat, as if it had been disposed to fly from off his head. 
 
 " Hem ! ahem ! Why, I'm tould it's wondherful. But 
 is it thrue, Mrs. Moan, that you have been brought on busi- 
 
144 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 ness to some o' the " — here Phil looked about him 
 cautiously, and lowered his voice to a whisper — " to some 
 o' the fairy women ? " 
 
 " Hushth, man alive — what the sorra timpted you to call 
 them anything but the Good People ? This day's Thurs- 
 day — God stand betune us an' harm. No, Phil, I name 
 nobody. But there was a woman, a midwife — mind, avick, 
 that I don't say who she was — may be I know why too, an' 
 may be it would be as much as my life is worth " 
 
 " Aisy, Mrs. Moan ! God presarve us ! what is that tall 
 thing there to the right ? " — and he commenced the Lord's 
 Prayer in Irish, as fast as he could get out the words. 
 
 " Why, don't you see, boy, it's a fir-tree ? " 
 
 " Ay, faix, an' so it is ; bedad I thought it was gettin' 
 taller an' taller. Ay, — hut ! it is only a tree." 
 
 " Well, dear, there was a woman, an' she was called away 
 one night by a little gentleman dressed in green. I'll tell 
 you the story some time — only this, that havin' done her 
 duty, an' tuck no payment, she was called out the same 
 night to a neighbour's wife, an' a purtier boy you couldn't 
 see than she left behind her. But it seems she happened 
 to touch one of his eyes wid a hand that had a taste of 
 their panado an it ; an' as the child grew up, every one 
 wondhered to hear him speak of the multitudes o' thim 
 that he seen in all directions. Well, my dear, he kept never 
 sayin' anything to them, until one day, when he was in the 
 fair of Ballycomaisy, that he saw them whippin' away meal 
 an' cotton an' butther, an' everything that they thought 
 serviceable to them ; so you see he could hould in no 
 longer, an' says he, to a little fellow that was very active 
 an' thievish among them, ' Why duv you take what doesn't 
 belong to you ? ' says he. The little fellow looked up at 
 him " 
 
 " God be about us, Rose, what is that white thing goin 
 along the ditch to the left of us ? " 
 
THE COUNTRY MID- WIFE. 145 
 
 " It's a sheep, don't you see ? Faix, I believe you're co- 
 wardly at night" 
 
 " Ay, faix, an' so it is, but it looked very quare, some- 
 how." 
 
 " — ' An', says he, ' how do you know that ? ' ' Becase I 
 see you all/ says the other. ' An' which eye do you see us 
 all wid ? ' says he again. ' Why, wid the left,' says the boy. 
 Wid that, he gave a short whiff of a blast up into the eye, 
 an' from that day not a stime the poor boy was never able 
 to see wid it. No, Phil, I didn't say it was myself— -I named 
 nobody? 
 
 " An', Mrs. Moan, is it thrue that you can put the dug- 
 haughs upon them that trate their wives badly ? " 
 
 " Whist, Phil. When you marry, keep your timper— » 
 that's all. You knew long Ned Donnelly ? " 
 
 " Ay, bedad, sure enough ; there was quare things said 
 about " 
 
 " Push an, avick, push an ; for who knows how some of 
 us is wanted ? You have a good masther, I believe, Phil ? 
 It's poison the same Ned would give me if he could. Push 
 an' dear." 
 
 Phil felt that he had got his answer. The abrupt mystery 
 of her manner and her curt allusions left him little, indeed, 
 to guess at. In this way did the conversation continue, 
 Phil feloniously filching, as he thought, from her own lips, 
 a corroboration of the various knowledge and extraordinary 
 powers which she was believed to possess, and she ingeni- 
 ously feeding his credulity, merely by enigmatical hints and 
 masked allusions ; for, although she took care to affirm 
 nothing directly or personally of herself, yet did she con- 
 trive to answer him in such a manner as to confirm every 
 report that had gone abroad of the strange purposes she 
 could effect. 
 
 '■' Phil, wasn't there an uncle o' yours up in the Mountain 
 Bar that didn't live happily for some time wid his wife ? " 
 
 11 
 
146 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 " I believe so, Rose ; but it was before my time, or any- 
 way when I was only a young shaver." 
 
 " An' did you ever hear how the reconcilement came be- 
 tune them ?" 
 
 " No, bedad," replied Phil, " I never did ; an' that's no 
 wondher, for it was a thing they never liked to spake of." 
 
 " Troth, it's thrue for you, boy. Well, I brought about 
 
 Push an', dear, push an'. They're as happy a couple 
 
 now as breaks bread, any way, and that's all they wanted." 
 
 " I'd wager a thirteen it was you did that, Rose." 
 
 " Hut, gorsoon, hould your tongue. Sure they're happy, 
 now, I say, whosomever did it. I named nobody, nor I 
 take no pride to myself, Phil, out o' sich things. Some 
 people's gifted above others, an' that's all. But, Phil ? " 
 
 " Well, ma'am ? " 
 
 " How does the Dandy an' his scald of a wife agree ? for, 
 throth I'm tould she's nothing else." 
 
 " Faix, but middlin' itself. As I tould you, she often has 
 us as empty as a paper lanthern, wid the devil a thing but 
 the light of a good conscience inside of us. If we pray 
 ourselves begorra she'll take care we'll have the fastin' at 
 first cost ; so that you see, ma'am, we hould a devout 
 situation undher her." 
 
 " An' so that's the way wid you ? " 
 
 " Ay, the downright thruth, an' no mistake. Why, the 
 stirabout she makes would run nine miles along a dale 
 boord, an' scald a man at the far end of it." 
 
 "Throth, Phil, I never like to go next or near sich 
 women, or sich places ; but for the sake o' the innocent we 
 must forget the guilty. So, push an, avick, push an. Who 
 knows but it's life an' death wid us ? Have you ne'er a 
 spur on ? " 
 
 " The devil a spur I tuck time to wait for." 
 
 " Well, afther all, it's not right to let a messenger come 
 for a woman like me, widout what is called the Midwife's 
 
THE COUNTRY MID- WIFE. 147 
 
 Spur — a spur in the head — for it has long been said that 
 one in the head is worth two in the heel, an' so indeed it is, 
 — on business like this, any way." 
 
 " Mrs. Moan, do you know the Moriartys of Ballaghmore, 
 ma'am ? " 
 
 " Which o' them, honey ? " 
 
 " Mick o' the Esker Beg." 
 
 " To be sure I do. A well-favoured dacent family they 
 are, an' full o' the world too, the Lord spare it to them." 
 
 " Bedad, they are, ma'am, a well-favoured* family. Well, 
 ma'am, isn't odd, but somehow there's neither man, woman ) 
 nor child in the parish but gives you the good word above 
 all the women in it ; but as for a midwife, why, I heard my 
 aunt say that if ever mother an' child owended their lives 
 to another, she did her's and the babby's to you." 
 
 The reader may here perceive that Phil's flattery must 
 have had some peculiar design in it, in connexion with the 
 Moriartys, and such indeed was the fact. But we had 
 better allow him to explain matters himself. 
 
 " Well, honey, sure that was but my duty ; but God be 
 praised for all ; for everything depends on the Man above. 
 She should call in one o' these new-fangled women that 
 take out their Dispatches from the Lying-in-College in 
 Dublin below ; for you see, Phil, there is sich a place there 
 — an' it stans to raison that there should be a Fondlin' 
 Hospital beside it, which there is too, they say ; but, honey, 
 what are these poor ignorant creatures but new lights, every 
 one o' them, that a dacent woman's life isn't safe wid ? " 
 
 " To be sure, Mrs. Moan, an' every one knows they're not 
 to be put in comparishment wid a woman like you, that 
 knows sich a power. But how does it happen, ma'am, that 
 the Moriartys does be spakin' but middlin' of you ? ' 
 
 " Of me, avick ? " 
 
 " Ay, faix ; I'm tould they spread the mouth at you 
 * This term in Ireland means "handsome" — "good-looking." 
 
148 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 sometimes, espishily whin the people does be talkin' about 
 all the quare things you can do." 
 
 " Well, well, dear, let them have their laugh — they may 
 laugh that win, you know. Still, one doesn't like to be 
 provoked — no indeed." 
 
 "Faix, an' Mick Moriarty has a purty daughter, Mrs. 
 Moan, an' a purty penny he can give her, by all accounts. 
 The nerra one o' myself but 'ud be glad to put my 
 commedher on her, if I knew how. I hope you find your- 
 self aisy on your sate, ma'am ? " 
 
 " I do, honey. Let them talk, Phil : let them talk ; it 
 may come their turn yet — only I didn't expect it from tJiem. 
 You ! hut, avick, what chance would yon have with Mick 
 Moriarty 's daughter ? " 
 
 "Ay, every chance an' sartinty too, if some one that I 
 know an' that every one that knows her respects, would 
 only give me a lift. There's no use in comin' about the 
 bush, Mrs. Moan — bedad it's yourself I mane. You could 
 do it. An' whisper, betune you and me, it would be only 
 sarvin' them right, in regard of the way they spake of you 
 — sayin', indeed, an' galivantin' to the world that you know 
 no more than another woman, an' that ould Pol Doolin of 
 Ballymagowan knows oceans more than you do." • 
 
 This was, perhaps, as artful a plot as could be laid for 
 engaging the assistance of Mrs. Moan, in Phil's design upon 
 Moriarty 's daughter. He knew full well that she would 
 not, unless strongly influenced, lend herself to anything of 
 the kind between two persons whose circumstances in life 
 differed so widely as those of a respectable farmer's 
 daughter with a good portion, and a penniless labouring 
 boy. With great adroitness, therefore, he contrived to 
 excite her prejudices against them by the most successful 
 arguments he could possibly use, namely, a contempt for 
 her imputed knowledge, and praise of her rival. Still, she 
 was in the habit of acting coolly, and, less from impulse 
 
THE COUNTRY MID- WIFE. 149 
 
 than from a shrewd knowledge of the best way to sus- 
 tain her own reputation, without undertaking too 
 much. 
 
 " Well, honey, an' so you wish me to assist you ? Maybe 
 I could do it, an' maybe — But push an, dear, move him an 
 — we'll think of it, an' spake more about it some other time. 
 I must think of what's afore me now — so move, move, 
 acushla — push an." 
 
 Much conversation of the same nature took place between 
 them, in which each bore a somewhat characteristic part ; 
 for to say truth, Phil was as knowing a " boy " as you 
 might wish to become acquainted with. In Rose, however, 
 he had a woman of no ordinary shrewdness to encounter ; 
 and the consequence was, that each, after a little more chat, 
 began to understand the other a little too well to render 
 the topic of the Moriartys, to which Phil again reverted, so 
 interesting as it had been. Rose soon saw that Phil was 
 only a plasthey, or sweetener, and only " soothered " her 
 for his own purposes ; and Phil perceived that Rose under- 
 stood his tactics too well to render any further tampering 
 with her vanity either safe or successful. 
 
 At length they arrived at Dandy Keho's house, and in a 
 moment the Dandy himself took her in his arms, and 
 placing her gently on the ground, shook hands with and 
 cordially welcomed her. It is very singular, but no less 
 true, that the moment a midwife enters the house of her 
 patient she always uses the plural number, whether speak- 
 ing in her own person or in that of the former. 
 
 " You're welcome, Rose, an' I'm proud an' happy to see 
 you here, an' it'll make poor Bridget strong, an' give her 
 courage, to know you're near her." 
 
 " How are we, Dandy ? how are we, avick ? " 
 
 " Oh, bedad, middlin', wishin' very much for you of 
 coorse, as I hear " 
 
 " Well, honey, go away now. I have some words to say 
 
150 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 afore I go in, that'll sarve us, maybe — a charm it is that 
 has great vartue in it." 
 
 The Dandy then withdrew to the barn, where the male 
 portion of the family were staying until the ultimatum 
 should be known. A good bottle of potteen, however, was 
 circulating among them, for every one knows that occasions 
 of this nature usually generate a festive and hospitable 
 spirit. 
 
 Rose now went round the house in the direction from 
 east to west, stopping for a short time at each of the 
 windows, which she marked with the sign of a cross five 
 times ; that is to say, once at each corner, and once in the 
 middle. At each corner also of the house she signed the 
 cross, and repeated the following words or charm : — 
 
 The four Evangels and the four Divines, 
 
 God bless the moon and us when it shines. 
 
 New moon, * true moon, God bless me, 
 
 God bless this house an' this family. 
 
 Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, 
 
 God bless the bed that she lies on. 
 
 God bless the manger where Christ was born, 
 
 An' lave joy an' comfort here in the morn. 
 
 St. Bridget an' St. Patrick, an' the holy spouse, 
 
 Keep the fairies for ever far from this house. Amen. 
 Glora yea, Glora yea, Glora yea yeelish, 
 Glora n'ahir, Glora n'vac, Glora n' spirid neev. Amen. 
 
 These are the veritable words of the charm, which she 
 uttered in the manner and with the forms aforesaid. Hav- 
 ing concluded them, she then entered into the house, where 
 we leave her for a time with our best wishes. 
 
 In the barn, the company were very merry, Dandy him- 
 self being as pleasant as any of them, unless when his 
 brow became shaded by the very natural anxiety for the 
 welfare of his wife and child, which from time to time 
 
 * If it did not happen to be new moon, the words were "good moon," Sec. 
 
THE COUNTRY MID- WIFE. 151 
 
 returned upon him. Stories were told, songs sung, and 
 jokes passed, all full of good nature and not a little fun, 
 some of it at the expense of the Dandy himself, who 
 laughed at and took it all in good part. An occasional 
 bulletin came out through a servant maid, that matters 
 were just in the same way ; a piece of intelligence which 
 damped Keho's mirth considerably. At length he himself 
 was sent for by the midwife, who wished to speak with him 
 at the door. 
 
 " I hope there's nothing like danger, Rose ? " 
 " Not at all honey ; but the truth is, we want a seventh 
 son who isn't left-handed." 
 
 " A seventh son ! Why, what do you want him for ? " 
 " Why, dear, just to give her three shakes in his arms — 
 it never fails." 
 
 " Bedad, an' that's fortunate ; for there's Mickey M'Sorley 
 of the Broad Bog's a seventh son, an' he's not two gunshots 
 from this." 
 
 " Well, aroon, hurry off one or two o' the boys for him, 
 and tell Phil, if he makes haste, that I'll have a word to say 
 to him afore I go." This intimation to Phil put feathers to 
 his heels ; for from the moment that he and Barney started, 
 he did not once cease to go at the top of his speed. It 
 followed as a matter of course, that honest Mickey M'Sorley 
 dressed himself and was back at Keho's house before the 
 family believed it possible the parties could have been there. 
 This ceremony of getting a seventh son to shake the sick 
 woman, in cases where difficulty or danger may be appre- 
 hended, is one which frequently occurs in remote parts of 
 the country. To be sure, it is only a form, the man merely 
 taking her in his arms, and moving her gently three times. 
 The writer of this, when young, saw it performed with his 
 own eyes, as the saying is ; but in his case the man was 
 not a seventh son, for no such person could be procured. 
 When this difficulty arises, any man who has the character 
 
152 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 of being lucky, provided he is not married to a red-haired 
 wife, may be called in to give the three shakes. In other 
 and more dangerous cases, Rose would send out persons to 
 gather half a dozen heads of blasted barley ; and having 
 stripped them of the black fine powder with which they 
 were covered, she would administer it in a little new milk, 
 and this was always attended by the best effects. It is 
 somewhat surprising that the whole Faculty should have 
 adopted this singular medicine in cases of similar difficulty, 
 for, in truth, it is that which is now administered under the 
 more scientific name of Ergot of Rye. 
 
 In the case before us, the seventh son sustained his reputa- 
 tion for good luck. In about three quarters of an hour 
 Dandy was called in " to kiss a strange young gintleman 
 that wanted to see him." This was an agreeable ceremony 
 to Dandy, as it always is, to catch the first glimpse of one's 
 own first born. On entering, he found Rose sitting beside 
 the bed in all the pomp of authority and pride of success, 
 bearing the infant in her arms, and dandling it up and 
 down, more from habit than any necessity that then existed 
 for doing so. 
 
 " Well," said she, " here we are, all safe and sound, God 
 willin' ; an' if you're not the father of as purty a young man 
 as ever I laid eyes on, I'm not here. Corny Keho, come an' 
 kiss your son, I say." 
 
 Corny advanced, somewhat puzzled whether to laugh or 
 to cry, and taking the child up, with a smile, he kissed it 
 five times — for that is the mystic number — and as he placed 
 it once more in Rose's arms there was a solitary tear on its 
 cheek. 
 
 " Arra, go and kiss your wife, man alive, an' tell her to 
 have a good heart, and to be as kind to all her fellow- 
 creatures as God has been to her this night. It isn't upon 
 this world the heart ought to be fixed, for we see how small 
 a thing an' how short a time can take us out of it." 
 
THE COUNTEY MID-WIFE. 153 
 
 " Oh, bedad," said Dandy who had now recovered the 
 touch of feeling excited by the child, " it would be too bad 
 if I'd grudge her a smack." He accordingly stooped, and 
 kissed her ; but in truth to confess, he did it with a very 
 cool and business-like air. " I know," he proceeded, " that 
 she'll have a heart like a jyant, now that the son is come." 
 
 " To be sure she will, an' she must ; or if not, Pll play 
 the sorra, and break things. Well, well, let her get strength 
 a bit first, an' rest and quiet ; an' in the meantime get the 
 groanin'-malt ready, until every one in the house drinks the 
 health of the stranger. My sowl to happiness, but he's a 
 born beauty. The nerra Keho of you all ever was the 
 aiquals of what he'll be yet, plaise God. Throth, Corny, he 
 has daddy's nose upon him, any how. Ay, you may laugh ; 
 but, faix, it's true. You may take with him, you may own 
 to him any where. Arra, look at that ! My sowl to happi- 
 ness, if one egg's liker another ! Eh, my poesy ! Where 
 was it, alanna ? Ay, you're there, my duck o' diamonds ! 
 Troth, you'll be the flower o' the flock, so you will. An' 
 now, Mrs. Keho, honey, we'll lave you to yourself awhile, 
 till we thrate these poor cratures of sarvints ; the likes o' 
 them oughtn't to be overlooked ; an', indeed, they did feel 
 a great dale itself, poor things, about you ; an' moreover, 
 they'll be longin' of coorse to see the darlin' here." 
 
 Mrs. Keho's mother and Rose superintended the birth- 
 treat between them. It is unnecessary to say that the 
 young men and girls had their own sly fun upon the occa- 
 sion ; and now that Dandy's apprehension of danger was 
 over, he joined in their mirth with as much glee as any of 
 them. This being over, they all retired to rest ; and honest 
 Mickey M'Sorley went home very hearty, in consequence of 
 Dandy's grateful sense of the aid he had rendered his wife. 
 The next morning, Rose, after dressing the infant and per- 
 forming all the usual duties that one expected from her, 
 took her leave in these words : — 
 
154 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 " Now, Mrs. Keho, God bless you an' yours, an' take care 
 of yourself. I'll see you again on Sunday next, when it's to 
 be christened. Until then, throw out no dirty wather before 
 sunrise or after sunset ; an' when Father Molly is goin' to 
 christen it, let Corny tell him not to forget to christen it 
 against the fairies, an' thin it'll be safe. Good-bye, ma'am, 
 an' look you to her, Mrs. Finnegan," said she, addressing 
 her patient's mother, " an' banaght lath till I see all again." 
 
 CORNEY KEHO'S BABY 
 
 The Irish Christening. 
 
 On Sunday morning, Rose paid an early visit to her pat- 
 ient, for, as it was the day of young Dandy's christening, 
 her presence was considered indispensable. There is, be- 
 sides, something in the appearance and bearing of a mid- 
 wife upon those occasions which diffuses a spirit of light- 
 heartedness not only through the immediate family, but also 
 through all who may happen to participate in the ceremony, 
 or partake of the good cheer. In many instances it is 
 known that the very presence of a medical attendant com- 
 municates such a cheerful confidence to his patient, as, in- 
 dependently of any prescription, is felt to be a manifest re- 
 lief So it is with the midwife ; with this difference, that 
 she exercises a greater and more comical latitude of con- 
 solation than the doctor, although it must be admitted that 
 she generally falls wofully short of that conventional dress 
 with which we cover nudity of expression. No doubt many 
 of her very choicest stock jokes, to carry on the metaphor, 
 are a little too fashionably dressed to pass current out of 
 the sphere in which they are used ; but be this as it may, 
 
THE IRISH CHRISTENING. 155 
 
 they are so traditional in character, and so humorous in 
 conception, that we never knew the veriest prude to feel 
 offended, or the morosest temperament to maintain its 
 sourness, at their recital. Not that she is at all gross or un- 
 womanly in any thing she may say, but there is generally 
 in her apothegms a passing touch of fancy — a quick but 
 terse vivacity of insinuation, at once so full of fun and 
 sprightliness, and that truth which all know but few like to 
 acknowledge, that we defy any one not irretrievably gone in 
 some incurable melancholy to resist her humour. The 
 moment she was seen approaching the house, every one in 
 it felt an immediate elevation of spirits, with the exception 
 of Mrs. Keho herself, who knew that wherever Rose had 
 had the arrangement of the bill of fare, there was sure to be 
 what the Irish call " full an' plinty " — " lashins an' lavins " 
 — a fact which made her groan in spirit at the bare contemp- 
 lation of such waste and extravagance. She was indeed a 
 woman of a very un-Irish heart — so sharp in her temper and 
 so penurious in soul, that one would imagine her veins were 
 filled with vinegar instead of blood. 
 
 " Banaglit Dhea in shoJi " (the blessing of God be here), 
 Rose exclaimed on entering. 
 
 " Banaglit Dhea agns Murra ghuid" (the blessing of God 
 and the Virgin on you), replied Corny, " an' you're wel- 
 come, Rose, ahagur." 
 
 " I know that, Corny. Well, how are we ? — how is my 
 son ? " 
 
 " Begarra, thrivin' like a pair o' throopers." 
 
 " Thank God for it ! Hav'n't we a good right to be 
 grateful to him any way? An' is my little man to be 
 christened to-day ? " 
 
 " Indeed he is — the gossips will be here presently, an' so 
 will her mother. But, Rose, dear, will you take the 
 ordherin' of the aitin' an' dhrinkin' part of it? — you're 
 betther up to these things than we are, an' so you ought of 
 
156 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 coorse. Let there be no want of anything ; an' if there's 
 an overplush, sorra may care ; there'll be poor mouths 
 enough about the door for whatever's left. So, you see, 
 keep never mindin' any hint she may give you — you know 
 she's a little o' the closest ; but no matther. Let there, as 
 I said, be enough an' to spare." 
 
 " Throth, there spoke 5'our father's son, Corny : all the 
 ould dacency's not dead yet, any how. Well, I'll do my 
 best But she's not fit to be up, you know, an' of coorse, 
 can't disturb us." The expression of her eye could not be 
 misunderstood as she uttered this. " I see," said Corny — 
 " devil a betther, if you manage that, all's right' 
 
 " An' now I must go in, till I see how she an' my son's 
 gettin an : that's always my first start ; bekase you know, 
 Corny, honey, that their health goes afore every thing." 
 
 Having thus undertaken the task required of her, she 
 passed into the bed- room of Mrs. Keho, whom she found 
 determined to be up, in order, as she said, " to be at the 
 head of her own table." 
 
 " Well, alanna, if you must, you must : but in the name 
 of goodness I wash my hands out of the business teetotally. 
 Dshk, dshk, dshk ! Oh, wurra ! to think of a woman in your 
 state risin' to sit at her own table ! That I may never, if 
 I'll see it, or be about the place at all. If you take your 
 life by your own wilfulness, why, God forgive you ; but it 
 mustn't be while I'm here. Howandiver, since you're bent 
 on it, why, give me the child, an' afore I go, any how, I 
 may as well dress it, poor thing ! The heavens pity it — my 
 little man — eh ? — where was it ? — cheep — that's it, a ducky ; 
 stretch away. Aye stretchin' an thrivin' an, my son ! O, 
 thin, wurra, Mrs. Keho, but it's you that ought to ax God's 
 pardon for goin' to do what might lave that darlin' o' the 
 world an orphan, may be. Arra be the vestments, if I can 
 have patience wid you. May God pity you, my child. If 
 any thing happened your mother, what 'ud become of you, 
 
THE IRISH CHRISTENING. 157 
 
 and what ud' become of your poor father this day ? Dshk 
 dshk, dshk ! " These latter sounds, exclamations of sur- 
 prise and regret, were produced by striking the tongue 
 against that part of the inner gum which covers the roots 
 of the upper teeth. 
 
 " Indeed, Rose," replied her patient, in her sharp, shrill, 
 quick voice, " I'm able enough to get up ; if I don't, we'll 
 be harrished. Corny's a fool, an' it'll be only rap an' rive 
 wid every one in the place." 
 
 " Wait, ma'am, if you plaise. — Where's his little barrow ? 
 Ay, I have it. — Wait, ma'am, if you plaise, till I get the 
 child dressed, an' I'll soon take myself out o' this. Heaven 
 presarve us ! I have seen the like o' this afore — ay, have I 
 — where it was as clear as crystal that tJiere was somethin 
 over them — ay, over them that took their own way as 
 you're doin'." 
 
 " But if I don't get up "— 
 
 " Oh, by all manes, ma'am — by all manes. I suppose 
 you have a laise of your life, that's all. It's what I wish I 
 could get." 
 
 " An' must I stay here in bed all day, an' be able to rise, 
 an' sich wilful waste as will go an too ? " 
 
 " Remember you're warned. This is your first babby, 
 God bless it an' spare you both. But, Mrs. Keho, does it 
 stand to raison that you're as good a judge of these things 
 as a woman like me, that it's my business ? I ax you that, 
 ma'am." 
 
 This poser in fact settled the question, not only by the 
 reasonable force of the conclusion to be derived from it, but 
 by the cool authoritative manner in which it was put. 
 
 " Well," said the other, " in that case, I suppose, I must 
 give in. You ought to know best." 
 
 " Thank you kindly, ma'am ; have you found it out at 
 last ? No, but you ought to put your two hands undher 
 my feet for previntin' you from doin' what you intinded. 
 
158 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 That I may never sup sorrow, but it was as much as your 
 life was worth. Compose yourself; I'll see that there's no 
 waste, and that's enough. Here, hould my son — why, thin, 
 isn't he the beauty o' the world, now that he has got his 
 little dress upon him ? — till I pin up this apron across the 
 windy ; the light's too strong for you. There now : the 
 light's apt to give one a head-ache when it comes in full 
 bint upon the eyes that way. Come alanna, come an now, 
 till I shew you to your father an' them all. Wurra, thin, 
 Mrs. Keho, darlin'," (this was said in a low confidential 
 whisper, and in a low wheedling tone which baffles all de- 
 scription), " wurra, thin, Mrs. Keho, darlin', but it's he that's 
 the proud man, the proud Corny, this day. Rise your 
 head a little — aisy — there now, that'll do — one kiss to my 
 son, now, before he laives his mammy, he says, for a weeny 
 while, till he pays his little respects to his daddy an' to all 
 his friends, he says, an' thin he'll come back to mammy 
 agin — to his own little bottle, he says." 
 
 Young Corny soon went the rounds of the whole family, 
 from his father down to the little herd-boy who followed 
 and took care of the cattle. Many were the jokes which 
 passed between the youngsters on this occasion — jokes 
 which have been registered by such personages as Rose, 
 almost in every family in the kingdom, for centuries, and 
 with which most of the Irish people are too intimately and 
 thoroughly acquainted to render it necessary for us to re- 
 peat them here. 
 
 Rose now addressed herself to the task of preparing 
 breakfast, which, in honour of the happy event, was nothing 
 less than " tay, white bread, and Boxty," with a glass of 
 potheen to sharpen the appetite. As Boxty, however, is a 
 description of bread not generally known to our readers, we 
 shall give them a sketch of the manner in which this Irish 
 luxury is made. A basket of the best potatoes is got, 
 which are washed and peeled raw ; then is procured a tin 
 
THE IRISH CHRISTENING. 159 
 
 grater, on which they are grated : the water is then shired 
 off them, and the macerated mass is put into a clean sheet, 
 or table-cloth, or bolster-cover. This is caught at each end 
 by two strong men, who twist it in opposite directions, until 
 the contortions drive up the substance into the middle of 
 the sheet, &c. ; this of course expels the water also ; but 
 lest the twisting should be insufficient for that purpose, it 
 is placed, like a cheese-cake, under a heavy weight, until it 
 is properly dried. They then knead it into cakes, and bake 
 it on a pan or griddle ; and when eaten with butter, we can 
 assure our readers, that it is quite delicious. 
 
 The hour was now about nine o'clock, and the company 
 asked to the christening began to assemble. The gossips, 
 or sponsors, were four in number ; two of them wealthy 
 friends of the family, that had never been married, and the 
 two others a simple country pair, who were anxious to 
 follow in the matrimonial steps of Corny and his wife. The 
 rest were, as usual, neighbours, relatives, and cleaveens, to 
 the amount of sixteen or eighteen persons, men, women, 
 and children, all dressed in their best apparel, and disposed 
 to mirth and friendship. Along with the rest was Bob 
 M'Cann, the fool, who, by the way, could smell out a good 
 dinner with as keen a nostril as the wisest man in the 
 parish could boast of, and who on such occasions carried 
 turf and water in quantities that indicated the supernatural 
 strength of a Scotch brownie rather than that of a human 
 being. Bob's qualities, however, were well proportioned to 
 each other, for, truth to say, his appetite was equal to his 
 strength, and his cunning to either. 
 
 Corny and Mrs. Moan were in great spirits, and indeed 
 we might predicate as much for all who were present. Not 
 a soul entered the house who was not brought up by Corny 
 to an out-shot room, as a private mark of his friendship, 
 and treated to an underhand glass of as good potheen " as 
 ever went down the red lane," to use a phrase common 
 
160 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 among the people. Nothing upon an occasion naturally 
 pleasant gives conversation a more cheerful impulse than 
 this; and the consequence was, that in a short time the 
 scene was animated and mirthful to an unusual degree. 
 
 Breakfast at length commenced in due form. Two 
 bottles of whisky were placed upon the table, and the first 
 thing done was to administer another glass to each guest. 
 
 " Come, neighbours," said Corny, " we must drink the 
 good woman's health before we ate, especially as it's the 
 first time, any how." 
 
 " To be sure they will, achora, an' why not ? An' if it's 
 the first time, Corny, it won't be the last, plaise goodness ! 
 Musha ! you're welcome, Mrs. M'Cann ! and jist in time 
 too " — this she said, addressing his mother-in-law, who then 
 entered. " Look at this swaddy, Mrs. M'Cann ; my soul to 
 happiness, but he's fit to be the son of a lord. Eh, a pet ? 
 Where was my darlin' ? Corny, let me dip my finger in 
 the whisky till I rub his gums wid it. That's my bully ! 
 Oh, the heavens love it : see how it puts the little mouth 
 about lookin' for it agin. Throth you'll have the spunk in 
 you yet, acushla, an' it's a credit to the Kehos you'll be, if 
 you're spared, as you will, plaise the heavens ! " 
 
 " Well, Corny," said one of the gossips, " here's a speedy 
 uprise an' a sudden recovery to the good woman, an' the 
 little sthranger's health, an' God bless the baker that gives 
 thirteen to the dozen, any how." 
 
 " Ay, ay, Paddy Rafferty, you'll have your joke any 
 way ; an' throth you're welcome to it, Paddy ; if you 
 weren't, it isn't standin' for young Corny you'd be to-day." 
 " Thrue enough," said Rose, " an' by the dickens, Paddy 
 isn't the boy to be long undher an obligation to any one. 
 Eh, Paddy, did I help you there, avick ? Aisy, childre ; 
 you'll smother my son if you crush about him that way." 
 This was addressed to some of the youngsters, who were 
 pressing round to look at and touch the infant. 
 
THE IRISH CHRISTENING. 161 
 
 " It won't be my fault if I do, Rose," said Paddy, slyly 
 eyeing Peggy Betagh, then betrothed to him, who sat 
 opposite, her dark eyes flashing with repressed humour 
 and affection. Deafness, however, is sometimes a very 
 convenient malady to young ladies, for Peggy immediately 
 commenced a series of playful attentions to the unconscious 
 infant, which were just sufficient to excuse her from 
 noticing this allusion to their marriage. Rose looked at 
 her, then nodded comically to Paddy, shutting both her 
 eyes, by way of a wink, adding aloud, " Throth you'll be 
 the happy boy, Paddy ; an' woe betide you if you aren't 
 the sweetest end of a honeycomb to her. Take care an' 
 don't bring me upon you. Well, Peggy, never mind, 
 alanna; who has a betther right to his joke than the dacent 
 boy that's — aisy, childre : saints above ! but ye'll smother 
 the child, so you will. Where did I get him, Dinney? sure 
 I brought him as a present to Mrs. Keho ; I never come 
 but I bring a purty little babby along wid me — nor the 
 dacent boy, dear, that's soon to be your lovin' husband ? 
 Arra, take your glass, acushla ; the sorra harm it'll do 
 you." 
 
 " Bedad, I'm afeard, Mrs. Moan. What if it 'ud get into 
 my head, an' me's to stand for my little godson ? No, bad 
 scran to me if I could — faix, a glass 'ud be too many for 
 me." 
 
 " It's not more than half filled, dear ; but there's sense in 
 what the girl says, so don't press it an her." 
 
 In the brief space allotted to us we could not possibly 
 give anything like a full and correct picture of the happi- 
 ness and hilarity that prevailed at the breakfast in question. 
 When it was over, they all prepared to go to the parish 
 chapel, which was distant at least a couple of miles, the 
 midwife staying at home to see that all the necessary 
 preparations were made for dinner. As they were depart- 
 ing, Rose took Dandy aside, and addressed him thus : 
 
 12 
 
162 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 " Now, Dandy, when you see the priest, tell him that it 
 is your wish, above all things, that he should christen it 
 against the fairies. If you say that, it's enough. An' 
 Peggy, achora, come here. You're not carryin' that child 
 right, alanna ; but you'll know betther yet, plaise goodness. 
 No, avilish, don't keep its little head so closely covered wid 
 your cloak ; the day's a burnin' day, glory be to God, an' 
 the Lord guard my child ; sure the laist thing in the world, 
 where there's too much hait, 'ud smother my darlin'. 
 Keep its head out farther, and jist shade its little face 
 that way from the sun. Och, will I ever forget the Sunday 
 whin poor Molly M'Guigan wint to take Patt Feasthalagh's 
 child from undher her cloak to be christened, the poor 
 infant was a corpse ; an' only that the Lord put it into my 
 head to have it privately christened, the father and mother's 
 heart would break. Glory be to God ! Mrs. Duggan, if 
 the child gets cross, dear, or misses anything, act the 
 mother by him, the little man. Eh, alanna ! where was it? 
 Where was my duck o' diamonds — my little Con Roe ? 
 My own sweety little ace o' hearts — eh, alanna ! Well, 
 God keep it till I see it again, the jewel." 
 
 Well, the child was baptised by the name of his father, 
 and the persons assembled, after their return from chapel, 
 lounged about Corny's house, or took little strolls in the 
 neighbourhood, until the hour of dinner. This of course 
 was much more convivial, and ten times more vociferous, 
 than the breakfast, cheerful as that meal was. At dinner 
 they had a dish, which we believe is, like the Boxty, 
 peculiarly Irish in its composition : we mean what is called 
 stJiilk. This consists of potatoes and beans, pounded up 
 together in such a manner that the beans are not broken, 
 and on this account the potatoes are well champed before 
 the beans are put into them. This is dished in a large 
 bowl, and a hole made in the middle of it, into which a 
 miscaun of butter is thrust, and then covered up until it is 
 
THE IRISH CHRISTENING. 163 
 
 melted. After this every one takes a spoon and digs away 
 with his utmost vigour, dipping every morsel into the well 
 of butter in the middle, before he puts it into his mouth. 
 Indeed, from the strong competition which goes forward 
 and the rapid motion of each right hand, no spectator could 
 be mistaken in ascribing the motive of their proceedings 
 to the principle of the old proverb, devil take the hindmost- 
 StJiilk differs from another dish made of potatoes in much 
 the same way, called colcannon. If there were beans, for 
 instance, in colcannon, it would be sthilk. This practice of 
 many persons eating out of the same dish, though Irish, 
 and not cleanly, is of very old antiquity. Christ himself 
 mentions it at the last supper. Let us hope, however, that 
 like the old custom which once prevailed in Ireland, of 
 several persons drinking at meals out of the same mether, 
 the usage we speak of will soon be replaced by one of more 
 cleanliness and individual comfort. 
 
 After dinner the whisky began to go round, for in these 
 days punch was a luxury almost unknown to the class we 
 are writing of. In fact, nobody there knew how to make 
 it but the midwife, who wisely kept the secret to herself, 
 aware that if the whisky were presented to them in such 
 a palatable shape they would not know when to stop, and 
 she herself might fall short of the snug bottle that is 
 usually kept as a treat for those visits which she continues 
 to pay during the convalescence of her patients. 
 
 " Come, Rose," said Corny, who was beginning to soften 
 fast, " it's your turn now to thry a glass of what never seen 
 wather." "I'll take the glass, Dandy — 'deed will I — but 
 the thruth is, I never dhrink it hard. No, but I'll jist take 
 a dhrop o' hot wather an' a grain o' sugar, an' scald it ; 
 that an' as much carraway seeds as will lie upon a sixpence 
 does me good : for, God help me, the stomach isn't at all 
 sthrong wid me, in regard o' being up so much at night, 
 an' deprived of my nathural rest." 
 
164 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 " Rose," said one of them, " is it thrue that you war 
 called out one night, an' brought blindfoulded to some 
 grand lady belongin' to the quality ? " 
 
 " Wait, avick, till I make a dhrop o' wan-grace* for the 
 misthress, poor thing ; an', Corny, I'll jist throuble you for 
 about a thimbleful o' spirits to take the smell o' the wather 
 off it. The poor crature, she's a little weak still, an' indeed 
 it's wondherful how she stood it out ; but, my dear, God's 
 good to his own, an' fits the back to the burden, praise be 
 to his name ! " 
 
 She then proceeded to scald the drop of spirits for her- 
 self, or, in other words, to mix a good tumbler of ladies' 
 punch, making it, as the phrase goes, hot, strong, and sweet 
 — not forgetting the carraways, to give it a flavour. This 
 being accomplished, she made the wan-grace for Mrs. 
 Keho, still throwing in a word now and then to sustain her 
 part in the conversation, which was now rising fast into 
 mirth, laughter, and clamour. 
 
 " Well, but, Rose, about the lady of quality, will you tell 
 us that ? " 
 
 " Oh, many a thing happened me as well worth tellin', if 
 you go to that ; but I'll tell it to you, childre, for sure the 
 curiosity's nathural to yez. W 7 hy, I was one night at home 
 an' asleep, an' I hears a horse's fut gallopin' for the bare 
 life up to the door. I immediately put my head out, an' 
 the horseman says, ' Are you Mrs. Moan ? ' " 
 
 " That's the name that's an me, your honour,' sis myself. 
 
 "'Dress yourself, thin,' sis he, 'for you're sadly wanted ; 
 dress yourself, and mount behind me, for there's not a 
 moment to be lost' At the same time I forgot to say that 
 his hat was tied about his face in sich a way that I couldn't 
 catch a glimpse of it. Well, my dear, we didn't let the 
 grass grow undher our feet for about a mile or so. ' Now,' 
 
 * A wan-grace is a kind of small gruel or meal-tea sweetened with 
 sugar. 
 
THE IRISH CHRISTENING. 165 
 
 sis he, ' you must allow yourself to be blindfoulded, an' it's 
 useless to oppose it, for it must be done. There's the 
 character, maybe the life of a great lady at stake ; so be 
 quiet till I cover your eyes, or,' sis he, lettin' out a great 
 oath, ' it'll be worse for you. I'm a desperate man ; ' an' 
 sure enough I could feel the heart of him beatin' undher 
 his ribs, as if it would burst in pieces. Well, my dears, 
 what could I do in the hands of a man that was strong and 
 desperate ? So, sis I, ' Cover my eyes an' welcome ; only, 
 for the lady's sake, make no delay.' Wid that he dashed 
 his spurs into the poor horse, an' he foamin' an' smokin' 
 like a lime-kiln already. Any way, in about half an hour I 
 found myself in a grand bed-room ; an' jist as I was put 
 into the door, he whispers me to bring the child to him in 
 the next room, as soon as it would be born. Well, sure I 
 did so, after lavin' the mother in a fair way. But what 'ud 
 you have of it ? — the first thing I see, lyin' an the table, was 
 a purse of money an' a case of pistols. Whin I looked at 
 him, I thought the devil, Lord guard us ! was in his face, 
 he looked so black and terrible about the brows. ' Now, 
 my good woman,' sis he, ' so far you've acted well, but 
 there's more to be done yet. Take your choice of these 
 two,' sis he, 'this purse, or the contents of one of these 
 pistols, as your reward. You must murdher the child on 
 the spot.' ' In the name of God an' his Mother, be you 
 man or devil, I defy you,' sis I ; ' an innocent blood'll never 
 be shed by these hands.' ' I'll give you ten minutes,' sis he ) 
 ' to put an end to that brat there ; ' an' wid that he cocked 
 one o' the pistols. My dears, I had nothin' for it but to say 
 in to myself a pat her an' ave as fast as I could, for I thought 
 it was all over wid me. However, glory be to God, the 
 prayers gave me great strinth, an' I spoke stoutly, ' Whin 
 the king of Jerusalem,' sis I, — ' an' he was a greater man 
 than ever you'll be — whin the king of Jerusalem ordhered 
 the midwives of Aigyp to put Moses to death, they wouldn't 
 
166 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 do it, an' God presarved them in spite of him, king though 
 he was,' says I ; 'an' from that day to this it was never 
 known that a midwife took away the life of the babe she 
 aided into the world — no, an' I'm not goin' to be the first 
 that'll do it' ' The time is out,' sis he, puttin' the pistol to 
 my ear, ' but I'll give you a minute more.' ' Let me go to 
 my knees first,' sis I ; ' an' now may God have mercy on 
 my sowl, for, bad as I am, I'm willing to die sooner than 
 commit murdher an the innocent' He gave a start as I 
 spoke, and threw the pistol down. ' Ay,' sis he, ' an the 
 innocent — an the innocent — that is thrue. But you are an 
 extraordinary woman : you have saved the child's life, and 
 previnted me from committing two great crimes, for it was 
 my intintion to murder you afther you had murdhered it' 
 I thin, by his ordhers, brought the poor child to its mother, 
 and whin I kem back to the room, ' Take that purse,' says 
 he, c an' keep it as a reward for your honesty.' ' Wid the 
 help o' God,' says I, ' a penny of it'll never come into my 
 company, so it's no use to ax me.' ' Well,' sis he, 'afore you 
 lave this, you must swear not to mintion to a livin' sowl 
 what has happened this night, for a year and a day.' It 
 didn't signify to me whether I mintioned it or not, so bein' 
 jack-indifferent about it, I tuck the oath and kept it. He 
 thin bound my eyes agin, hoisted me up behind him, an' in 
 a short time left me at home. Indeed, I wasn't the betther 
 o' the start it tuck out o' me for as good as six weeks afther." 
 The company now began to grow musical ; several songs 
 were sung ; and when the evening got farther advanced a 
 neighbouring fiddler was sent for, and the little party had a 
 dance in the barn, to which they adjourned lest the noise 
 might disturb Mrs. Keho, had they held it in the dwelling- 
 house. Before this occurred, however, "the midwife's glass" 
 went the round of the gossips, each of whom drank her 
 health and dropped some silver, at the same time, into the 
 bottom of it. It was then returned to her, and with a 
 
MYSTERIOUS DOINGS AT SLATHBEG. 167 
 
 smiling face she gave the following toast : — " Health to the 
 parent stock ! So long as it thrives, there will always be 
 branches. Corny Keho, long life an' good health to you an' 
 yours ! May your son live to see himself as happy as his 
 lather ! Youngsters, here's that you may follow a good 
 example. The company's health in general I wish ; an' 
 Paddy Rafferty, that you may never have a blind child but 
 you'll have a lame one to lead it ! ha ! ha ! ha ! What's 
 the world without a joke ? I must see the good woman an' 
 my little son afore I go ; but as I won't follow yez to the 
 barn, I'll bid yez good-night, neighbours, an' the blessing of 
 Rose Moan be among yez." 
 
 BARNEY BRADY'S GOOSE; 
 
 Mysterious Doings at Slathbeg. 
 
 BARNEY BRADY was a good-natured, placid man, and never 
 lost his temper, unless, as he said himself, when he got 
 " privication ; " he was also strict in attending his duty ; a 
 fact which Mrs., or rather, as she was called, Ailey Brady, 
 candidly and justly admitted, and to which the priest him- 
 self bore ample testimony. Barney, however, had the 
 misfortune to be married at a time when a mystery was 
 abroad among women. Mysteries, resembling the Elusinian 
 in nothing but the exclusion of men, were then prevalent 
 among the matrons in all parts of the country. Of the 
 nature of these secret rites it would be premature now to 
 speak ; in time the secret will be revealed ; suffice it to say, 
 that the mysteries were full of alarm to the husbands, and 
 held by them to be a grievous offence against their welfare 
 and authority. The domestic manners of my beloved 
 
168 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 countrywomen were certainly in a state of awful and 
 deplorable transition at the time, and many a worthy 
 husband's head ached at a state of things which no vigilance 
 on his part could alter or repress. Many a secret consulta- 
 tion was held among the good men of the respective villages 
 throughout the country at large, as to the best mode of 
 checking this disastrous epidemic, which came home to 
 their very beds and bosoms, and many a groan was vainly 
 uttered from hearts that grew heavy in proportion as the 
 evil, which they felt but could not see, spread about through 
 all directions of the kingdom. 
 
 Nay to such a height did this terrible business rise, that 
 the aggrieved parties had notions of petitioning the king to 
 keep their wives virtuous ; but this, upon second considera- 
 tion, was given up, inasmuch as the king himself, with 
 reverence be it spoken, was at the bottom of the evil, and 
 what was still worse, even the queen was not ashamed to 
 corrupt their wives by her example. How then could 
 things be in a healthy state when the very villany of which 
 the good broken-hearted men complained, descended from 
 the court to the people ? A warning this to all future 
 sovereigns not without good forethought, and much virtuous 
 consideration, to set a bad precedent to their subjects. 
 What then could the worthy husbands do, unless to put 
 their hands dolorously to their heads and bear their griev- 
 ances in silence ; which, however, the reader perceives they 
 did not. After mutually, but with great caution, disclosing 
 their injuries, they certainly condoled with each other ; 
 they planned means of redress, sought out the best modes 
 of detection, and having entered into a general confederacy 
 against their respective wives, each man solemnly promised 
 to become a spy and informer in his own family. To come 
 to this resolution was as much as they could do under such 
 unhappy circumstances, and of course they did it. 
 
 Their wives, on the other hand, were anything but idle. 
 
MYSTERIOUS DOINGS AT SLATHBEG. 169 
 
 They also sat in secret council upon their own affairs, and 
 discussed their condition with an anxiety and circumspec- 
 tion which set the vigilance of their husbands at complete 
 defiance. And it may be observed here, just to show the 
 untractable obstinancy of women when bent on gratifying 
 their own wills, that not one of them ever returned home 
 to her husband from these closed-door meetings, without 
 having committed the very act of which she was suspected. 
 Not that these cautious good women were, after all, so 
 successful in every instance as to escape detection. Some 
 occasional discoveries were actually made in consequence 
 of the systematic espionage of their husbands, and one or 
 two of them were actually caught, as the law term has it, 
 with the maner, that is, in the very act of offence. Now, 
 contumacy is ever impudent and outrageous, and disposed 
 to carry everything with a high hand, or at all events, with 
 a loud tongue. This, the husbands of those who had been 
 detected soon felt ; for, no sooner had they proclaimed 
 their wrongs to their fellow sufferers than they were brand- 
 ed by their wives with the vile and trying epithet of " stag," 
 and intrepidly charged home with letting themselves sink 
 to the mean spirited office of informers against the wives of 
 their bosoms. 
 
 Some of the good men now took fire, and demanded an 
 explanation ; others looked at their wives with amazement, 
 and stopped short, as if irresolute how to act ; and other 
 some shrugged their shoulders, took a silent and meditative 
 blast of the pipe upon the hob, and said no more about it. 
 So far, then, there was no great victory either on the one 
 side or the other. Now, the state of human society is never 
 so bad, even in the most depraved times, but that there are 
 always to be found in it many persons uncorrupted by the 
 prevailing contamination ; and it was supposed to be so 
 here. Barney Brady as yet hoped in heaven that Ailey 
 had escaped the contagion, which operated upon her sex 
 
170 AMUSING I BISH TALES. 
 
 so secretly, yet so surely. For some time past he had held 
 her under strict surveillance ; but with such judgment that 
 she did not even dream of being suspected. In this 
 manner did matters proceed between them — Barney slily on 
 the alert, and Ailey on a shrewd look-out for means and 
 opportunity; when one Friday he proposed to visit his 
 aunt Madge, up in Carrickmore, on the next Saturday 
 evening, and accordingly informed Ailey that he would not 
 return until the Monday following. To this Ailey could 
 offer no possible objection ; but, on the contrary, highly 
 applauded him for showing such a mark of respect and 
 affection for his aunt, who, by the way, had been very kind 
 to them both since their marriage. " It's only right," said 
 she, " and yonr duty besides to go an' see her, for betwixt 
 you an' me, Barney, she has been the best feather in our 
 wing. There's thim Finnigans, the dirty low pack, sure, 
 bekase indeed they're the same relations to her that we are, 
 they'd kiss the dirt of her feet, if they thought they cud 
 bone a penny by it, an' they're lavin' no stone unturned to 
 get the soft side of her, hopin', the dirty squad o' cabogues, 
 to cum in for what she has, an' to cut us out from her. So 
 go to her, Barney ; an' if you don't palaver her, the sorra 
 one o' you's worth a pound o' goat's wool." 
 
 Barney, having then got on a clean shirt and his holiday 
 frieze coat, took his shilellah in hand, and set out to visit 
 his aunt Madge Brady, up among the hills of Carrickmore, 
 as a most attached and disinterested nephew, who, as the 
 song says, " loved her for herself alone." He had not gone 
 many yards from the door, however, when he returned. 
 
 " Madge," said he, "I'm jist goin' to mintion to you afore 
 I set out, that I'd as soon you'd keep away from the 
 Maguigans ; I mane the women of them. Both their 
 husbands tould me not a month o' Sundays agone, that 
 they suspect them to be not safe. So you see you can learn 
 nothing that's good from them. God's thruth is, I'm afeard 
 
MYSTERIOUS DOINGS AT SLATHBEG. 171 
 
 that they're tarred wid the same stick that has marked the 
 women o' the whole neighbourhood. So now, that you 
 know this, I hope you'll keep your distance from them." 
 
 " Arra, what business, Barney, could I have wid them ? 
 The sorra eye I layed on one o' them this fortnight back. 
 I have my own business on these two childre, the crathurs, 
 to take care of." 
 
 " That's a darlin', Madge, give us a smack ; an' now 
 banaght lath till Monday, please goodness. Kiss me, 
 childhre. Hadn't you betther tie a bit of flannin about 
 poor Barney's neck, till that cough laves him ? " 
 
 " Don't yon see it dhryin' there on the stool, before the 
 fire ? " 
 
 " That's right. Now, you'll mind my words, Ailey." 
 
 " Arra, bad scran be from me, but you'd — so you would, 
 arra 
 
 She spoke this with an indignant abruptness ; but the 
 reader will please to observe, that she made no promise 
 whatsoever. 
 
 " I'm off, I'm off. I know you won't God bless yez 
 all!" 
 
 And so Barney went to see his aunt Madge, up in Carrick- 
 more. 
 
 " Well ! it is a sad thing to be a mere chronicler of truth, 
 which, indeed, every man who delineates human nature must 
 be ; because unhappily for him who lives in the world of 
 human nature, there is no fiction at hand. It is only those 
 who live out of it that can make fiction available to their 
 purposes. This has been forced from us, not by Barney, 
 however, but by his wife. 
 
 He had scarcely been half an hour gone, when Ailey 
 threw a bonnet on her head, a blue cloak about her 
 shoulders, and after having " made a play " for the children, 
 to keep them quiet, and given them a slice of griddle bread 
 each, she locked the door, rolled the big stone upon the 
 
172 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 hole that was under it, which the pig had grubbed away, in 
 order to work himself a passage into the house, and immedi- 
 ately proceeded to visit the two tainted wives of the 
 Maguigans ! The act was — but it is not for us to character- 
 ize it ; the consequence of it will speak for themselves. 
 The two brothers to whom they were united in wedlock, 
 lived next door to each other, or, what is called, under the 
 same roof ; and she, consequently, found both their good 
 women at home. Two or three " slips " of both sexes, who 
 had been amusing themselves in the elder brother's house, 
 where the conference resulting from her visit was about to 
 be held, were immediately desired to play abroad, " an' not 
 be gamestherin' an' rampadghin' through the house that 
 way, makin' a ruction, that people can't hear their own ears 
 wid yez ; go along, an' take the sthreets on your head, and 
 stretch your limbs, ye pack o' young thieves, yez ! " 
 
 The moment they bounded away, Ailey's face assumed 
 an air of considerable importance — a circumstance which 
 the others instantly noticed ; for nothing is so observant of 
 symptoms that indicate its own discovery as a conscious- 
 ness of error. 
 
 " Ailey," said one of them, alarmed, " you've heard some- 
 thing ? What is it ? Are we found out, clane ? " 
 
 " If you're not found out," replied Ailey, in the same low, 
 guarded tone, " you're strongly suspected ; but the devil 
 may care for that. Barney is away up to his ould aunt 
 Madge Brady's, at Carrickmore above, an' won't be back 
 till Monday ; so that the coast's clear till then, any way. 
 All you have to do is to slip up about dusk, for there'll be 
 nobody but ourselves, an' I'll put the childhre to bed, not 
 that they dare tell him any thing they'd see." 
 
 " So, thin, we are suspicted ? " said the other with much 
 chagrin. 
 
 " It's truth. Dick an' Harry confessed it to Barney ; an' 
 he tould me." 
 
MYSTERIOUS DOINGS AT SLATHBEG. 173 
 
 " Troth, an' we'll outdo them, if they wor ten times as 
 sharp," replied Mrs. Dick Maguigan, or Betty, as she was 
 called. " Indeed, I knew myself that he was for a good 
 while past peepin' and pokin' about, as if he expected to 
 find a leprechaun or a mare's nest ; an' faith sure enough, 
 he was wanst widin' an ace of catchin' us ; but, as luck 
 would have it, he didn't search undher the bed." 
 
 " And I suppose that Barney's backin' them in all this," 
 observed Mrs. Harry Maguigan, or, as we shall call her, 
 Bid. 
 
 " Throth, you may swear that," replied his faithful wife ; 
 " an' warned me strongly afore he went to the aunt's to 
 hould away from yez both, for he said ye wor tainted, 
 tarred with the same stick that has marked all the rotten 
 sheep in the country." 
 
 The three audacious conspirators, instead of expressing 
 either regret or repentance at the conduct which had justi- 
 fied the well-founded suspicions of their husbands, burst 
 out, on the contrary, into one united and harmonious 
 chorus of laughter, which lasted at least five minutes ! 
 
 " Well," said Ailey, hastily getting up and throwing the 
 cloak about her, " I can't stop a jiffey, for there's no one at 
 home but the childhre that I locked in ; and I'm always 
 unaisy when I lave the crathurs that way, for fraid they 
 might go too near the fire, or that that sarra of a pig 'ud 
 work the stone from undher the door an' get in. So as the 
 coast's clear, you'll both slip up about dusk." 
 
 This they promised ; and accordingly, when darkness 
 had completely set in, the door of Barney Brady's house 
 was closed, and bolted inside with all possible security ; 
 and this was necessary, for truly a surprise would have 
 been an awful, though perhaps a just, winding up of their 
 iniquities. What peculiar mysteries or rites took place 
 there, on that night, it is not our province, good reader, to 
 disclose ; but of this you may rest assured, that each ful- 
 
174 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 filled the old and excellent adage, " that stolen enjoyments 
 are the sweetest." With what feelings Betty and Bid 
 Maguigan faced their husbands, they themselves best know ; 
 but that each was received with suspicion, and severely 
 cross-examined upon the cause of their absence, we can in- 
 form the reader. 
 
 But what did that avail ? The delinquents on their way 
 home, had fabricated a story — and they are never good that 
 possess a facility at_ fabricating stories, — to which both 
 were determined to adhere with most inflexible pertinacity. 
 " They had jist ran up to see little Madge Brady, for Ailey 
 had been down to tell them that she was afeard it was 
 takin' the mazles ; but it was nothin' but a small rash that 
 came out upon its breast, the crathur, though Bid (her 
 sister-in-law), thought it was the hives ; an' indeed, after 
 all, she didn't know herself but it was. But God send it 
 safe over whatsomever it was, poor thing ! Amin, this 
 night ! " 
 
 Now, who would think ? — but no matter ; there is still 
 worse to come ! The reader will not believe our word, when 
 we assure him that these two women, Betty and Bid 
 Maguigan, did not scruple, though loaded with the just 
 suspicions of their husbands, to kneel down and say their 
 prayers on that very night before they went to bed. 
 
 The next day being Sunday, and their husbands having 
 more leisure, it is scarcely necessary to say that the two 
 good men kept a sharp eye upon their spouses, who found 
 themselves dodged in every motion. Several times they 
 attempted a stolen visit to Ailey Brady's, but were detected 
 just in the act of putting on their cloaks and bonnets. In 
 fact, they were so completely hampered, that they resolved, 
 at length, to brazen it out, having lost temper considerably 
 by seeing that all their designs were fairly contravened, and 
 that whatever must be done as to reaching the scene of their 
 transgression must be done with honest, open defiance. 
 
MYSTERIOUSDOINGSATSLATHBEG. 175 
 
 They once more, therefore, had recourse to the cloaks and 
 bonnets, and were in the very act of setting out, when their 
 husbands, who sat smoking each a pipe, after having coolly 
 eyed them for some time, calmly inquired — 
 " Where are yez bound for, good women ? " 
 " Up to Ailey Brady's, to see the child, poor thing ! 
 Deed, it's a burnin' shame that we didn't call sooner, es- 
 pishilly as Barney's not at home wid her. She may want 
 something, an' has no one to send out for it." 
 
 "Well," said Dick, addressing his own wife Betty, 
 " grantin' all that, isn't one o' ye enough to go ? " 
 
 " Plenty," replied his sister-in-law Bid ; " but I've some 
 notion of goin' up as far as my mother's, while Betty's sittin' 
 wid Ailey Brady." 
 
 " By the tarlin' sweep ! " exclaimed Harry taking the pipe 
 hastily out of his mouth, and casting a keen and indignant 
 glance at the last speaker, — " yez are enough to bate down 
 the patience of a saint. How can you look us in the face, 
 ye schamers o' the devil ? Goin' to see Ailey Brady's child, 
 indeed ! Why, I was up wid Ailey Brady this very mornin', 
 an' there's not a blast o' wind wrong wid either of her 
 childhre, not as much as a hair turned on them ! What have 
 yez to say now ? An' yet ye came both home last night 
 wid a lie in your mouths ; that ' Ailey Brady's child was 
 gettin' the mazles,' says one ; ' it has a rash' says the other ; 
 ' but sure God send it safe over whatsomever it has, poor 
 thing ! ' Be the mortal man I won't bear this. There now, 
 to show yez I won't." 
 
 As he spoke the last word he took the pipe out of his 
 mouth and shivered it to atoms against the opposite wall- 
 His brother seeing this energetic display, resolved not to be 
 outdone in the vigour of his indignation. 
 
 " Yes, be me sowl, nor I aither," he exclaimed hurling his 
 dudeen in an opposite direction, and immediately kicking 
 the stool on which he sat to the lower end of the kitchen. 
 
176 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 " That's to shew yez that ye won't have your tongues in 
 your cheeks at uz," he added ; " an' be this an' be that, for 
 three straws I would not lave a thraneen's worth on the 
 dhresser but I'd smash to smithereens. An' I'll tell yez 
 what it is," he proceeded, raising his voice to its highest 
 pitch, and stamping furiously on the hearth, " I'll tell yez 
 what it is, yez must put an end to this work, wanst for all. 
 Our substance isn't to go this way. We'll have no collogin, 
 among yez ; no huggermuggerin' between you an' the other 
 black sheep o' the neighbourhood. Don't think but we 
 know what's goin' on, an' what brought you both up to 
 Ailey Brady's last night Too well we know it ; an' now 
 I tell yez again that yez must avoid that woman ; she's not 
 a safe neighbour, an' her own husband suspects her to be as 
 bad as the worst among them. Ay, an' he'll catch her yet 
 known as she thinks herself." 
 
 " Be the book, I'll turn another pin in your nose, my 
 lady," said Harry, addressing Bid ; " never fear but I will. 
 I'll make you that you won't have yourself the talk o' the 
 neighbours, an' me, too, that doesn't desarve it. The curse 
 o' Cromwell on me if I don't. Now ! " 
 
 " Why thin now," said Bid, calmly turning to Betty, "in 
 the name of all that's beautiful, what are these two dunghill 
 cocks at ? are they mad ? or is it only dhrunk they 
 are? 
 
 " No," replied Betty, " but goin' to bate us I suppose ! " 
 " Ay, very likely," returned the other ; " any how they 
 may be proud o' themselves^to join two women as if we 
 wor fit to fight them. Throth I'm glad their own childhre's 
 not to the fore to see their fine manly behaviour. Come, 
 Betty, are you goin' up to Ailey's ? Whether the child's 
 sick or not, the crathur's lonely, as Barney's from home, an' 
 it's a charity to sit awhile wid her. Are you comin' ? " 
 
 " No, nor you aither ; the divil a one toe," said her 
 husband. 
 
MYSTEKIOUSDOINGSATSLATHBEG. 177 
 
 " The divil take them that says to the conthrary ; come, 
 Betty." 
 
 " Ay if 1 like," said he. 
 
 " Ay, whether you like or not, dear ; the sarra wan o' me 
 'ill be stopped by you this day." 
 
 " You won't ? " 
 
 " I won't, now." 
 
 " Never heed her, Harry," said Dick : " let her go to ould 
 Nick her own way ; ay, both o' them ; off wid you now ; 
 but you'll see what'll come of it at the long run." 
 
 " Where's the Catechiz ? " said Harry : " I'll take my book 
 oath this minute, that for a month to come, I'll not let you 
 on the one side of the house wid me any how. Will no one 
 tell me where the Catechiz is ? " 
 
 "An' is that to vex me, Harry? arra, why don't you 
 make it twelve months while your hand's in ? It wouldn't 
 be worth your while to switch the primer for a bare four 
 weeks, man alive ? " 
 
 " Be my soul, it's you ought to be switched instead o' the 
 primer." 
 
 " Very well," replied his imperturbable and provoking 
 spouse ; " I suppose the next thing you'll do will be to bate 
 us sure enough — but sure we can't help it, only it will be a 
 fine story to have to tell the neighbours. You'll look well 
 afther it ; you may then hould up your head like a man ! 
 Oh, ye — but I won't let myself down to scould wid ye. 
 Come, Betty." 
 
 " No," said Betty, " I wouldn't be squabblin' wid them 
 about goin'. It's nothin' to uz one way or the other, so 
 we'll sit here. Oh, thin, God he knows but we're the well- 
 matched women at all evints. Sure if we wor the worst 
 that ever riz this day — ay, if we wor so bad that the very 
 dogs wouldn't lap our blood, we couldn't be thrated worse 
 than we are by thim two men." 
 
 "I say again," observed Harry, seeing his wife somewhat 
 
 13 
 
178 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 irresolute, " that if you go, your breath won't come near me 
 in haste." 
 
 " Oh, hould you tongue, man," replied Bid, " I seen the 
 day you thought enough about my breath." 
 
 " Faith, an' that was becase I didn't know you then as 
 well as I do now." 
 
 " That's not what you thought, or what you said aither, 
 when I was ill last harvest, and goin' to die. Sure you wor 
 roarin' about the house like a suckin' calf that has lost its 
 mother, wid your two eyes as red as a pair of sunburnt 
 onions." 
 
 " Never heed her," said his brother ; " you know she'd 
 bate both of us at the tongue ; she's now in her glory." 
 
 " Betty," said Bid, addressing her sister-in-law, in a voice 
 exceedingly calm and quiet ; that is to say, in the voice of 
 a woman whose contempt alone prevented her from con- 
 tinuing the controversy ; "go out, alanna, an' cut me a bit 
 o' greens to put down wid that bacon for the dinner; after 
 that we'll clane ourselves up, an' be in time for the twelve 
 o'clock mass." 
 
 " But what if somebody would run away wid us ? " said 
 Betty, laughing. 
 
 " Oh, sure," said the other, " that's all they'd want. 
 They'd thin get shut of the two sich villains as we are. 
 Go, alanna, and never mind them — they're not worth our 
 breath, little as they think about it." 
 
 " A purty Sunday mornin' they've made us spind — but 
 no matther — God forgive them for wrongin' us as they're 
 doin' ! " 
 
 Their two husbands did not go to mass that day, having 
 in fact devoted it to the purpose of ferreting out evidence 
 against their wives. Their exertions, however, were fruitless, 
 although we are bound honestly to state that they left no 
 stone unturned to procure it. The children were taken to 
 task and severely interrogated, but they could prove nothing, 
 
MYSTERIOUS DOINGS AT SLATHBEG. 179 
 
 except that their mothers were sometimes out for a con- 
 siderable time, and that they themselves were often sent to 
 play, and that on returning of an odd time sooner than was 
 expected, they found the doors bolted, and heard strange 
 voices within. Of these facts, however, the good men had 
 been apprised before ; so that the sum of all they obtained 
 was nothing more than an accession to their uneasiness, 
 without any addition to their knowledge. Both men, 
 indeed, were unusually snappish the whole day, especially 
 after the hour of dinner ; for each of their wives could 
 observe that her husband often put his hand quietly over to 
 the hole of the hob, and finding that his pipe was not there* 
 vented his spleen upon the cat or dog, if either came in his 
 way, and not unfrequently even upon his own children. 
 
 At length Dick got up and was about to go out, when 
 Betty asked in her turn, " Where he was goin' ? " 
 
 " Not far," he replied. " I'll be back in a quarther of an 
 hour — too soon for you to have an opportunity of bein' at 
 your ould work." 
 
 " If you're afeard o' that," she replied, " hadn't you betther 
 not go at all ? " 
 
 To this he made no reply, but putting his hands over his 
 brows, he stalked gloomily out of the house. 
 
 Almost precisely similar was the conduct of his brother, 
 who, after exchanging a random shot or two with Bid, slunk 
 out soon after Dick, but each evidently attempted to con- 
 ceal from the wife of the other that he had gone out — a 
 circumstance that was clearly proved by Dick declining to 
 pass Harry's door, and Harry Dick's. 
 
 Alas ! and must I say it ? — I must — I must — unhappily 
 the interests of truth compel me to make the disclosure. 
 The two men were no sooner gone, than their irreclaimable 
 wives had an immediate consultation. 
 
 " Where's Dick ? " asked Bid. 
 
 " Whv sure. I thought I'd split," replied Betty, " to see 
 
180 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 him frettin' the heart out of himself after his pipe. The 
 norra be in me, but it was a'most too much for me to look 
 at him searchin' the hob every five minutes for the dudeen 
 he broke upon the wall in his tantrems this mornin'. I 
 know he's away over to Billy Fulton's to buy one." 
 
 " 'Twas the same wid Harry," said Bid ; " he didn't know 
 which end of him he was sittin' on. He's off, too, to the 
 same place, for I watched him through the windy : an' now 
 that the coast's clear, let's be off to Ailey, an' have all over 
 afore our two gintlemen comes back ; or, in troth they'll 
 skiver us clane." 
 
 " The never a lie in that ; the house wouldn't hould them 
 if they found us out. But wasn't it lucky that they lost 
 their temper and broke their pipes ? If they had kept 
 cool, we would have now no opportunity — come." 
 
 And so they proceeded once more to Ailey Brady's ; and 
 again the door was locked and bolted ; and, as before, the 
 mysteries, whatever they may have been, were re-enacted, 
 and the vigilance and terrors of their husbands became the 
 subject of open ridicule, and much mirth went forward, as 
 might easily be conjectured from the hearty, but somewhat 
 suppressed laughter which an experienced ear might have 
 heard through the door — we say suppressed, for their mirth 
 was expressed, notwithstanding the high spirit of enjoy- 
 ment which ran through it, in that timid and cautious 
 undertone that dreads discovery. 
 
 As their object was now to reach home before the return 
 of their husbands, so was the period of their enjoyments on 
 this evening much more brief than on the preceding. They 
 had very little time to spare, however, for scarcely were the 
 cloaks and bonnets thrown aside, and an air of the most 
 decorous and matronly composure assumed, when the good 
 men entered. 
 
 " Musha, but that's a long quarther of an hour you 
 stayed," said Betty ; " where on airth wor you all this time?" 
 
MYSTERIOUS DOINGS AT SLATHBEG. 181 
 
 " I was upon business," returned Dick, " gettin' somethin' 
 to keep me cool against your behaviour. Hand me a 
 double sthravv out of the bed there, till I light my pipe. 
 Wor you out since ? " 
 
 " Was I out since ! " returned his wife, with the look of a 
 deeply offended woman ; " hut, ay, to be sure — Bid an' my- 
 self wor up at Ailey Brady's, an' you niver saw such a piece 
 o' fun as we had. Sure we're only come in this minnit. 
 Why, upon my throth, Dick, you'd vex an angel from 
 heaven. Was I out ! — arra, don't I look very like a woman 
 that was out ? " 
 
 " Well, well," rejoined her husband, whiffing away rather 
 placidly from his new pipe, " don't be flyin' out at us like 
 Bid ; I'm not sayin' you wor out this evenin' ; so hould 
 your whisht about it." 
 
 " No, but to think — the sorra one " 
 
 " Very well — that's enough — be done." 
 
 And so the adroit wife grumbled gradually into silence. 
 
 The skirmish between Harry and Bid was of a brisker 
 and more animated description, but we need not say on 
 which side the victory settled. The pipe, however, soon 
 produced something like tranquillity, and after a hard bout 
 at a united prayer in the shape of a Rosary between the 
 deceiver and the deceived, both went to bed on very good 
 terms with each other, as indeed, after all, did Dick and 
 Betty, not, any more than the others, forgetting their 
 devotions. 
 
 The next morning was that on which our absent friend, 
 Barney Brady, was expected home, and about ten or eleven 
 o'clock, Ailey was descanting in conversation with a neigh- 
 bour upon the kindness and generosity of Aunt Madge, and 
 the greater warmth of affection which, on all occasions, she 
 had manifested towards her and Barney, than ever she had 
 shewn to that sleeveen pack of cabogues, the Finnegans, 
 when who should appear but the redoubtable Barney him- 
 
182 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 self, bearing, under his right arm, a fat grey goose, alive and 
 kicking. 
 
 " Musha, Barney, what is this ? " exclaimed Ailey, as her 
 husband laid the goose down on the floor. 
 
 " Why," he replied good humouredly, " don't you see it's 
 a leg o' mutton that Aunt Madge sent for our dinner on 
 Sunday next. What's that, indeed ! " 
 
 The goose was immediately taken up — handled like a 
 wonder — balanced, that they might guess its weight — felt, 
 that they might know how fat it was, and examined from 
 beak to claw with the most minute inspection. The chil- 
 dren approached it with that eager but fearful curiosity for 
 which childhood is remarkable. They touched it, retreated 
 with apprehension, took fresh courage, patted it timidly on 
 the back, and after many alternations of terror and delight, 
 the eldest at length ventured to take it up in his arms. 
 This was a disastrous attempt ; for the goose, finding him 
 unable to hold it firmly, naturally fluttered its pinions, and 
 the young hero threw it hastily down, and ran screaming 
 behind his mother, where his little sister joined the chorus. 
 
 Barney and his wife then entertained the neigbour we 
 spoke of with a history of Aunt Madge's wealth, assuring 
 him confidentially, that they themselves were down for 
 every penny and penny's worth belonging to her, pointing 
 to the goose at the same time as a triumphant illustration 
 of their expectations. 
 
 No sooner had their friend left them, than Barney, 
 having given Ailey a faithful account of every thing re- 
 specting Aunt Madge, said he hoped she had not forgotten 
 his parting advice on Saturday, that she had kept aloot 
 from the tainted wives of the Maguigans, and "neither 
 coshered or harboured with them," in his absence. 
 
 " Musha, throth, Barney, afore I'd lead this life, an' be 
 catechized at every hand's turn, I'd rather go out upon the 
 world, and aim my bread honestly, wid my own two hands, 
 
MYSTERIOUS DOINGS AT SLATHBEG. 183 
 
 as I did afore I met you. The wives o' the Maguigans ! 
 Why, what 'ud I be doin' wid the wives o' the Maguigans ? 
 or what 'ud the wives o' the Maguigans be doin' wid me ? 
 It's little thim or their consarns throubles me — I have my 
 house an' childhre to look afther, an' that's enough for any 
 one woman, I'm thinkin'." 
 
 " Well, but sure you needn't be angry wid me for 
 puttin' you on your guard." 
 
 " It's not to say that I'm angry wid you — but sure wanst 
 to say a thing ought to be enough — but here you keep 
 gnawin' an aiten at me about the wives o' the Maguigans. 
 Musha, I wish to marcy, the same wives o' the Maguigans 
 wor far enough out o' the counthry, for they're the hearts 
 scald to me anyhow." 
 
 " Well, well, Ailey ; to the sarra wid them ; but about 
 another thing, — what'll we do wid this goose ? Whether is 
 it betther to roast it or boil it ? " 
 
 " Arra, Barney, what if we'd not kill it at all, but keep it 
 an' rear a flock ourselves. There's plinty o' wather an' 
 grazin' for them about the place." 
 
 " Throth, you're right ; come or go what will, we had 
 betther not kill it, the crathur." 
 
 "Throth, we won't; I don't stand blood well myself; 
 an' I'd as soon, to tell you the thruth, you'd not ax me to 
 kill this one now, Barney. I don't think it 'ud sarve me." 
 
 " Very well," said her husband, yielding to her sugges- 
 tion with singular good humour ; " as it is your wish, the 
 divil resave the drop will lave its carcase this bout — so let 
 it be settled that we'll rear a flock ourselves ; an' as you 
 say, Ailey, who knows but the same goose may be sent to 
 us for good luck." 
 
 It was so arranged : but as a solitary fowl of that species 
 is rather an unusual sight about a countryman's house, they 
 soon procured it a companion, as they had said, after 
 which they went to bed every night anxious to dream that 
 
184 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 all its eggs might turn out golden ones to them and their 
 children. 
 
 Now, perhaps, the sagacious reader may have already 
 guessed that the arrival of the goose, whatever it might 
 have been to honest Barney, was an excellent apology for 
 a capital piece of by-play to his wife. The worthy fowl 
 had not, in fact, been twenty-four hours at their place, when 
 in came " the two tainted wives of the Maguigans !" This 
 visit was an open one, and paid in the evening, a little be- 
 fore the men returned from their daily labour. Great was 
 Barney's astonishment then, when on reaching home, he 
 found Bid and Betty Maguigan in conference with Ailey ; 
 and what appeared to him remarkably strange, if not 
 rather hardy on their part, was the fact that they carried 
 on the conversation without evincing the slightest con- 
 sciousness of offence. It is true this had not hitherto been 
 actually proved, but it is needless to say that the suspicion 
 entertained against them was nearly tantamount to proof. 
 Their absences were so difficult to be accounted for, and 
 the situations in which they were found so critical, that it 
 was impossible even for their warmest friends to assert that 
 they were blameless. As Barney entered the house, they 
 addressed him with singular good humour and kindness, 
 but it was easy to infer from his short monosyllabic replies 
 that they had in his case a strong prejudice to over- 
 come. 
 
 " Musha, how are you, Barney ? " 
 
 " At the present time not comfortable." 
 
 This was accompanied by a quick suspicious glance from 
 them to his wife. 
 
 " Why, there's nothing wrong wid you, we hope ? " 
 
 " Maybe that's more than I can say." 
 
 " You're not unwell, sure ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Barney," said the wife ; " Bid and Betty came runnin'up 
 
MYSTERIOUS DOINGS AT SLATHBEG. 185 
 
 to look at the goose ; an' the sorra one o' them but says it's 
 the greatest bully they seen this many a day." 
 
 This was meant as a soother ; — " for Barney himself," to 
 to use the words of Ailey, " was as proud as e'er a one o' the 
 childhre out of the same goose." 
 
 His brow cleared a little at this adroit appeal to his vanity, 
 and he sat down with a look of more sauvity. 
 
 " Why, thin, Barney, it's a nice present all out." 
 
 " It's more than the Finnigans would get from Aunt 
 Madge, any way," said Ailey, "for Barney's her favourite. 
 
 " Is that by way of news," asked Barney, whose vanity 
 was highly tickled, notwithstandinghis assumed indifference. 
 " Every fool knows I was always that." 
 
 " It's no secret," observed Betty, who, as well as Bid, knew 
 his weakness here ; " an' it's only a proof of her own sinse 
 into the bargain. They're a mane pack, thim Finnigans." 
 
 " Oh, the scruff o' the airth," exclaimed Bid ; " why would 
 you mintion thim an' a dacent man in the one day ? " 
 
 " Come, Betty," said the other ; " my goodness, we haven't 
 a minute now, the good men '11 swear we're about no good 
 if they find us out when they come home." 
 
 "Hut," said Barney, "sit a while can't yez? You can 
 do no harm here any how." 
 
 " Nor anywhere else, I hope," said Bid ; " but, indeed, 
 Barney, you don't know the men they are, or you'd hunt us 
 home like bag-foxes." 
 
 " Don't be axin' them to stay, thin," said Ailey ; " what 
 they say I believe is thrue enough ; an' for my part, I 
 wouldn't wish to have our little place mintioned one way or 
 other, in any dispute that yez may have, Betty." 
 
 " Troth," said Bid, " I don't b'lieve they'd think us safe 
 in a chapel ; an' God forgive them for it. Come, Betty, if 
 we wish to avoid a battle, we have not a minute to spare. 
 Oh thin Ailey Brady, it's you that has the good-nathur'd 
 sinsible husband, that doesn't keep you night and day in a 
 
186 AMUSING I HIS II TALES. 
 
 state of heart-scald. Throth you're a happy woman. May 
 God spare him to you ! " 
 
 r< Throth, not that he's to the fore, himself," rejoined his 
 wife, " I'll say this, that a betther husband never drew breath 
 this day. Divil a word he turns on me wanst in the twelve 
 months." 
 
 " We believe it," they replied ; " the dacent man's above 
 it ; he wouldn't demane himself by skulkin' about, an' 
 watchin' and pokin' his nose into every hole an' corner the 
 
 way our mane fellows does be doin', till we can't bless 
 
 ourselves for them." 
 
 "No, the sorra thing o'the kind he does; sure I must tell 
 the truth any way." 
 
 " Well, God be wid yez ; we must be off. Good bye, 
 Barney, sure you can bear witness for us this bout." 
 
 " That I can, Bid, an' will too ; God bless yez ! " 
 
 As they apprehended, their husbands, on returning from 
 their work, were once more in a fume, on finding the good 
 women absent. 
 
 " Soh ! " said Dick, " is it a fair question to ax where yez 
 war ? " 
 
 " Fair enough," said Bid. 
 
 " You wor at the ould work," observed Harry ; " but I 
 tell you what, by the holy St. Countryman ! we won't suffer 
 this much longer — that's one piece o' truth for yez ! " 
 
 " Where war yez I say ? " asked his brother sternly ; " no 
 desate, now ; tell us plump an' at wanst where yez war ? " 
 
 " Why, then, if you want to know," replied Betty, " we 
 wor up seein' Barney Brady's goose." 
 
 " Barney Brady's goose ! " exclaimed Harry, with a look 
 as puzzled as ever was visible on a human face. 
 
 " Barney Brady's goose ! " repeated Dick, with a face quite 
 as mystified. The two brothers looked at each other for 
 nearly a minute, but neither could read in the other's coun- 
 tenance any thing like intelligence. 
 
MYSTERIOUS DOINGS AT SLATHBEG. 187 
 
 " What are they at ? " asked Dick. 
 
 " Why, that they have their tongues in their checks at us, 
 to be sure ! " replied the other. 
 
 " Why, where else would we have them," said Bid ; " it 
 isn't in our pockets you'd have us to carry them ? " 
 
 " I wish to Jamini they wor any where but where they 
 are," returned her husband. " What do you mane ? " 
 
 " Jist what we say, that we wor up takin' a look at Barney 
 Brady's goose." 
 
 " Why, the curse o' the crows upon you, don't you know 
 that Barney Brady never had a goose in his life ? " 
 
 " He has one now then," replied Bid. 
 
 " Ay," added her sister, " an' as fine a bully of a goose as 
 ever I seen wid my two livin' eyes." 
 
 " Sure," said Bid, " if you won't believe us, can't yez go 
 up an' see ? " 
 
 This, after all, was putting the matter to a very fair issue, 
 and the two men resolved to take her at her word, each 
 feeling quite satisfied of the egregious falsehood their wives 
 had attempted to make them swallow. 
 
 " Come, Dick," said Harry, " put on your hat : the sorra 
 step further we'll let this go till we see it out ; an' all I can 
 say is," he added, addressing the women, "that you had 
 betther not be here before us when we come back, if we 
 find you out in a falsity." 
 
 They had not gone fifty yards from the door when the 
 laughter of the two women was loud and vehement at the 
 scene which had just occurred, especially at the ingenuity 
 with which Bid had sent them abroad, and thus got the 
 coast clear for their purposes. 
 
 " Out wid yez, childre, and play awhile — hotiom-an-dicual ' ! 
 Is it ever an' always burnin' your shins over the fire yez 
 are ? Away out o' this, an' don't come back till we call 
 yez." 
 
 When the children were gone, they brought in two neigh- 
 
188 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 bours' wives, who lived immediately beside them, shut and 
 bolted the door, and again did the mysterious rites of 
 which we have so often written, proceed as before. On 
 this occasion, however, there was much caution used, every 
 now and then the door was stealthily opened, and a face 
 might be seen peeping out to prevent a surprise. The con- 
 versation was carried on in a tone unusually low, and the 
 laughter, which was frequent, and principally at the expense 
 of their husbands, could scarcely be heard through the 
 door. 
 
 In due time, however, the parties dispersed ; and when 
 Dick and Harry returned, they found their wives each in- 
 dustriously engaged in the affairs of the household, which, 
 indeed, they went through with an air of offended dignity, 
 and a tartness of temper that contrasted strongly with the 
 sheepish and somewhat crest-fallen demeanour of their 
 spouses. 
 
 " Musha bad luck to you for a dog an' lave my way, you 
 dirty crooked cur, you," exclaimed Bid, to the dog that 
 innocently crossed her path ; " it's purty lives we lead one 
 way or other. We have enough, dear knows, to try our 
 temper widout you comin' acrass us — ha ! you divil's limb ! 
 out wid you ! Well," she added, after a short pause, " you 
 see we're here before you for all your big threats ; but I'll 
 tell you what it is, Harry, upon my sowl you must turn a 
 new leaf or I'll lose a fall. If you or Dick have any thing 
 against us, why don't you prove it manfully at wanst, and 
 not be snakin' about the bush the way yez do. The sorra 
 aither of us will lie undher your low, mane thoughts any 
 longer. I hope you seen Barney Brady's goose on your 
 thravels? Faugh upon ye! Troth you ought to be 
 ashamed to rise your head this month to come ! " 
 
 " Ay, now you're at it," exclaimed Harry, rising and 
 putting on his hat ; " but for my part I'll lave you to fight 
 the walls till your tongue tires. All you want is some one 
 
MYSTERIOUS DOINGS AT SLATHBEG. 189 
 
 to jaw back to you, just to keep the ball goin'. Bannaght 
 latht for a while ! " 
 
 Outside the door he met his brother. 
 
 " I was goin' to sit awhile wid you," said Dick ; " I can't 
 stand that woman's tongue good or bad." 
 
 " Faith, an' I was jist goin' into you? replied the other, 
 " Bid's in her glory; there's no facin' her. Let us go an' sit 
 awhile wid Charley Magrath." 
 
 " Bad luck to Barney Brady's goose, any how ; it'll be a 
 long day till we hear the end of it." 
 
 " The curse o' Cromwell on it, but it's the unlucky bird 
 to us this night, sure enough," re-echoed his brother. 
 "Come an' let us have a while's shanahas wid Charley till 
 these women settle." 
 
 They accordingly went, and ere a lapse of many minutes 
 their wives were together again for the purpose of compar- 
 ing notes, and of indulging in another hearty laugh at 
 their husbands. 
 
 Barney Brady's goose now began to be a goose of some 
 eminence. In short, it was much talked of, and had its 
 character and qualities debated pro and con. One thing, 
 however, was very remarkable in this business ; and 
 that thing was, that the male portion of the neighbours 
 hated it with a cordiality which they could not disguise, 
 whilst their wives, on the other hand, defended it most 
 strenuously against all the calumnious attacks of its 
 enemies. The dreaded change, to which we have before 
 alluded, was now going on rapidly, and it somehow 
 happened that scarcely a family feud connected with it 
 took place within a certain circle of Barney Brady's house, 
 in which his goose was not either directly or indirectly 
 concerned. 
 
 Barney himself, whose suspicions had been for a long 
 time lulled by the interest he took in a bird of his own 
 procuring, at length began to look queer at certain 
 
190 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 glimpses which he caught of what was going for- 
 ward. 
 
 " Ailey," said he, with a good deal of uneasiness, " what 
 brings up them wives o' the Maguigans here, that I spoke 
 so much about ? " 
 
 " Why, throth, Barney, I thought there was something 
 wrong wid the poor goose, an' I sent down for them." 
 
 " By the mortial man, I wish," replied Barney, " that I 
 had never brought the dirty drab of a crathur about the 
 place. Why, if all you say about it is true, it never had a 
 day's health since it came to us, an' yet I'll take my oath 
 it's as fat a goose this minute as ever wagged." 
 
 " An' right well you know, Barney, it got delicate afthur 
 it came to us : an't stands to raison, — the crathur fretted 
 afther them it left behind it." 
 
 " No, confusion to the fret ; it had no raison in life when 
 it got a comrade to keep it company. Be me sowl it's I 
 that fretted, an' I dunna but I'm the greatest goose o' the 
 two for not wring in' its head off, an' puttin' a stop to a crew 
 o' women comin' to the place on the head of it. What's 
 wrong wid it now ? " 
 
 " Why, throth, I didn't know myself till Bid Maguigan 
 tould me. I thought it was sick, but it's not. Sure the 
 poor thing's goin' to clock, an' I must set the eggs for it 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " I hope you'll keep your word then," said Barney, " for 
 although it would go against me to harm the crathur, still, 
 I tell you, that if the crew I'm spaken of does be comin' 
 about the place undher pretence of it, be the crass I'll be 
 apt to give it a dog's knock sometime ; an' take care, Ailey, 
 that more geese than one won't come in for a knock." 
 
 In this instance, however, it so happened that Ailey had 
 truth on her side , the fact, indeed, was unquestionable, and 
 enabled the good women of the neighbourhood to keep 
 their angry husbands quiet for a considerable time after- 
 
MYSTERIOUS DOINGS AT SLATHBEG. 191 
 
 wards. With some of the latter the report gained ground 
 very slowly, but on ascertaining that it was a fact, many of 
 them felt considerably relieved. 
 
 The reader already sees that Barney Brady's goose was 
 really a goose of importance, whose out-goings and in- 
 comings, whose health or illness, weal or woe, involved the 
 ease and comfort, or the doubt and anxiety of a considerable 
 number of persons in the surrounding district. Barney 
 himself, however, felt that her incubation was rather a matter 
 of discomfort to him than otherwise ; for had she been up 
 and stirring, he knew that she might be liable to all the 
 " skyey influences " that geese are heirs to. Now, however, 
 Ailey had no apology arising from her to receive visits from 
 the black sheep of the neighbourhood, and yet he often 
 detected them, either in his house or leaving it. This 
 troubled him very much, but still Ailey failed not in her 
 excuse, and as he knew she seldom went out, he did not 
 suspect, much less believe, that his own house would or 
 could be made the scene of those private meetings, held by 
 such women as the Maguigans, or others still farther sunk 
 in the practices which were abroad. 
 
 Things, however, were ripening, for whilst Barney gravely 
 meditated upon the moral prospect that presented itself in 
 the country, the task of incubation was crowned by the 
 birth of a fine brood of goslins, amounting to eleven out of 
 twelve, every one of which appeared to be healthy, and to 
 give promise in due time of arriving at the full proportion 
 of a goodly goose, allowance being made as usual for fate 
 and foxes. 
 
 Our readers are now to suppose two things, first, that the 
 goodly brood is reared ; and, secondly, that the mysterious 
 but predominant vice of the neighbourhood is fast increasing. 
 Barney had promised himself a handsome return from the 
 sale of the geese, and hoped in a year or two, to be able, 
 from the proceeds, to buy a cow or a heifer, and never, 
 
192 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 besides, to be without a good fat dinner at Michaelmas. 
 All this was creditable, and becoming an industrious man. 
 In the meantime he thought that, somehow, the flock 
 appeared lessened in his eye ; that is to say, that they 
 looked as a whole, to be rather diminished in number. 
 The thing had struck him before, but in that feeble and 
 indistinct manner in which, in easy minds, leaves not an 
 impression behind it which ever leads to the following up 
 of the suggestion. But on this occasion, great was his 
 dismay and astonishment when, on reckoning them, he 
 found that three were most unaccountably missing. Here 
 was more mystery ; and, unfortunately, this discovery was 
 made at a time when he had every reason to suspect that 
 Aileen had at length been drawn into the prevalent practices- 
 The fact was, that many secret and guarded movements had 
 been of late noticed by him, of which, from motives of deep 
 and sagacious policy, he had determined to take no open 
 cognizance, being resolved to allow Aileen to lull herself 
 into that kind of false security which is usually produced 
 by indifference or stupidity on the part of the husband. 
 
 Here was a matter, however, that could not be overlooked, 
 and accordingly he demanded an explanation ; but this in a 
 manner so exceedingly sage and cunning, that we are sure 
 our readers cannot withhold from him the mark of their ap- 
 probation. 
 
 " Aileen," said he, without appearing to labour under any 
 suspicion whatsoever, " you had betther look afther therj 
 crathurs o' geese this mornin' ; there's three o' them missin' 
 I can reckon only eight, not countin' the gandher." 
 
 " Bad cess to your curiosity, Barney : you're as bad as a 
 woman, so you are, countin' the geese ! Musha go to 
 heaven." 
 
 " No, divil a foot," said her husband, starting up in a pas- 
 sion, an' be the holy vestment, if you don't tell me on the 
 nail what bekem of them, I won't lave a goose o' them alive 
 
MYSTERIOUS DOINGS AT SLATHBEG. 193 
 
 in twinty minnits. An' more than that, take care an' don't 
 — take care I say — don't exaggrawate me, I tell you." 
 
 " Well, throth, Barney, this is good ! afore your own 
 childre too. An' now if you want to know, I did nothin' 
 wrong wid thim, in regard that I knew well enough you'd 
 bring me over the coals about it ; ay did I. You gave me 
 two an' sixpence to pay my Aisther dues ; an' I met my 
 aunt, and my sisther an' her bachelor, Charley Cleary, an' I 
 axed thim in an' thrated them dacently wid your money, an' 
 of coorse I had to sell one o' the geese to make it up." 
 
 " Then of coorse, too, you ped your dues." 
 
 " Divil send you news whether I did or not. I'll tell you 
 what, Barney, sooner than I'd lead such a life, I'd " 
 
 " You'd what ? you'd what ? But I curb myself. To- 
 morrow's market day. Now I tell you, out you'll trudge 
 step for step along wid myself ; an' be the mortual man, 
 two o' the same geese must go afore you lave the town. 
 At your elbow I'll stay till they're sould ; an' every market 
 day till they're gone, a pair o' them must go." 
 
 " Why, then, you mane-spirited pittiouge, is it to sell geese 
 — arra what'll you come to at last, you blanket, you ? Sure 
 if I did wrong, can't you beat me ? So you'll stand at my 
 elbow till I sell my geese ? Be me soul if you do I'll bring 
 a blush in your face, if there's such a thing in it, which 
 there's not, or you wouldn't make an ould woman — a Molshy 
 — of yourself as you're doin'. Upon my dickens I wondher 
 you didn't sit on the eggs yourself; but, sure, I'll say you did, 
 to-morrow, an' then they'll bring three prices ! Saver above, 
 but I'm Ieadin' a happy life wid you an' you're geese ! 
 Musha bad luck be from them every day they rise, but they 
 have been a bitther pill to me from the beginnin'. Sure 
 yourself an' them's a common by-word. Can either of us 
 go to mass or market that the neighbours doesn't be axin' 
 wid a grin, 'how is Barney Brady's goose ? ' " 
 
 It would be acting rather unbecoming the dignity of a 
 
 14 
 
194 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 historian were we to dwell too minutely on the bitter feuds 
 which followed the sale of every goose until the last of the 
 clutch was disposed of. The truth is, that Barney, in spite 
 of all his authority and watchfulness and conscious wisdom 
 to boot, was never able to lay a finger upon a single penny 
 of the proceeds, nor could he with all his acuteness of scent, 
 smell out the purpose to which Aileen applied it. No : we 
 are wrong in this. He did find it out, and, as we have said, 
 strongly suspect it too ; but he was hitherto able in no in- 
 stance to detect Aileen so as perfectly to satisfy himself and 
 bring the proof home against her. 
 
 A circumstance, however, now occurred which brought the 
 whole dark secrecy of this proceeding to light. Barney, one 
 day, while searching in some corner for a hatchet, which he 
 wanted, stumbled upon a smooth round vessel with a handle 
 on one side, a pipe on the other, and a close-fitting lid on 
 the top. Cruikshank or Brooke would have enjoyed the 
 grin of malignant triumph which played upon his features, 
 as with one hand stretched under the bed, he lay curiously 
 feeling and examining the vessel in question. Very fortun- 
 ately for him Aileen was cutting some greens in the garden 
 for their dinner, and was consequently totally ignorant of 
 the discovery. The opportunity was too good to be lost, 
 and Barney, who, although he knew not the use to which 
 the vessel was applied, having never seen one before, yet 
 suspecting that it was part and parcel of the wicked system 
 which prevailed, resolved, now that the coast was clear, to 
 carry it to those who could determine its use and application. 
 He immediately whipped it out, took a hasty glance, and, 
 hiding it under his big coat, stole off, unperceived by Aileen, 
 to consult the two Maguigans. Here, however, was no 
 chance of solving the mystery, the Maguigans never having, 
 any more than himself, seen to their knowledge any vessel 
 of the kind before. Long and serious was their deliberation 
 respecting the steps necessary to be taken upon this im- 
 
MYSTERIOUS DOINGS AT SLATHBEG. 195 
 
 portant occasion ; one suggesting one thing, another an- 
 other. At length it occurred to them, that their best plan 
 would be to consult Kate Doorish, an old woman who was 
 considered an infallible authority. Barney, accordingly, 
 once more putting this delfic enigma under his coat, set off 
 to Kate's house, with something like a prophetic assurance 
 of success. In this again he was doomed to be disappointed, 
 Kate, in truth, was the very last person with whom, had he 
 known as much as his wife, he would or ought to have ex- 
 pected information. She it was who had chiefly corrupted 
 the good wives of the village, both by precept and example 
 and on her head of course did the original sin of the whole 
 neighbourhood lie. Barney found her at home, and took it 
 for granted that the difficulty must now be solved without 
 further trouble. 
 
 " God save you, Kate." 
 
 " God save you kindly, Barney. How is Aileen and the 
 childher ? " 
 
 " All as tight as tuppence, Kate. What's the news ? any 
 births or marriages abroad ? " 
 
 " Ay is there, as many as ever ; an' will be, plase God, to 
 the end o' the chapther, man." 
 
 " Why, thin, I believe you're right, Kate. While the sun 
 shines an' the wind blows, the world will still be goin' ; but, 
 Kate, betuxt you an' me, is it thrue that there's a dale o' 
 bad work goin' on among ourselves ? " 
 
 " Faix, I suppose so ; you men never wor good." 
 
 " Don't lift me till I fall, Kate ; I mane among the 
 women, I'm tould there's hardly one of them what she 
 ought to be." 
 
 " Why, barrin' the grace o' God that's thrue ; for, Barney, 
 where's the man or woman aither that is as they ought to 
 be ? glory be to God ! " 
 
 " To tell the thruth, Kate, I'm afeard my own wife's not 
 much betther than the rest" 
 
196 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 " Faith, if she's as good, man, you have no right to com- 
 plain. Isn't she good enough for you anyhow ? Is it a lady 
 you want ? Musha, cock you up, indeed ! " 
 
 " There's thim eleven geese, they're gone now, and not a 
 farden ever I touched of the price of any one of them, only 
 two hogs I got to help to buy leather for a pair of brogues." 
 
 " Well ! " 
 
 " But I say, Kate, it's not well. Now where did it go to? 
 — answer me that, I tell you she's as bad as the Maguigans, 
 an' of the three, worse. I can't keep them asundher, and 
 the lies they tell us is beyant belief. An' not only that, but 
 when they get together, we're their sport and maygame, 
 an' you know that very well." 
 
 " No, nor you don't." 
 
 " Don't I ? I tell you I cotch them." 
 
 " Cotch them ! at what ? pullin' down churches ? eh ? " 
 
 " Any way I as good as cotch them ; an' here's a piece o' 
 their villany," he added, producing the mystery from under 
 his coat. " Now, Kate, I'll give you share of half a pint if 
 you tell me the right name of this consarn." 
 
 " Why," replied Kate, " did you never see one o' these 
 before ; an' is it possible you don't know the name of it ? " 
 
 " No ; but I suspect." 
 
 " An' so you came here to know the name of it, an' what 
 it's for?" 
 
 " Divil a thing else brought me." 
 
 " An' you expect me to turn informer against the dacent 
 woman to satisfy your curiosity ! Get out, you mane-spirit- 
 ed blaggard, how dare you come to me on sich a business? 
 It's a salt herrin' you ought to have tied to your tail, an' be 
 turned out before a drag-hunt, you skulkin' vagabone. 
 Begone out o' this ! " 
 
 Discomfitted and grieved he returned home, almost 
 despairing of ever ascertaining the purpose for which the 
 mysterious and strangely-shapen vessel was employed. 
 
MYSTERIOUS DOINGS AT SLATHBEG. 197 
 
 Now it so happened that the priest of the parish, Father 
 O'Flaherty, held a station that day in the next townland, 
 and thither did honest Barney repair, that he might have 
 his reverence's opinion upon the vessel which he carried 
 under his coat. He accordingly bent his steps in that 
 direction, and arrived just as the priest had concluded the 
 business of the day. 
 
 " Well, Barney," said the priest, " I hope there's nothing 
 wrong." 
 
 Barney shook his head with a good deal of solemnity, 
 and replied — 
 
 "It's hard to say, your reverence, but I'd be glad to have 
 a word or two in private wid you, if it's agreeable." 
 
 The priest brought him into the room where he had been 
 confessing, and inquired what was the matter. 
 
 " But first sit down, Barney," said he ; " and how is the 
 wife and children ? " 
 
 " I'm much obliged to you, sir," replied Barney ; " but it's 
 not jist convanient to me to sit, in regard of what I'm 
 carryin' — the childre's all well, sir, thank God and your 
 reverence ; an' Aileen too, sir, as far as health is con- 
 sarned." 
 
 " But why don't you sit down, man ? " 
 
 "The divil a one of me can, sir, as I said ; I've a thing 
 here that I want to ax your reverence's opinion on ; for to 
 tell you the truth, sir, I suspect it to be nothing more or 
 less than a piece of the divil's invintion." 
 
 " Where did you get it ? " 
 
 " Why, sir, I was gropin' about to-day looking for a 
 hatchet, an' I stumbled on it by accident" 
 
 As he spoke, he slowly unfolded the skirts of his coth- 
 amore, and produced the " mystery of iniquity " to the 
 priest. 
 
 The priest, who was a bit of a humorist in his way, en 
 seeing what Barney carried with such secrecy, laughed 
 
19S AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 heartily, and commenced a stave or two of the old song, 
 familiar by the name of — " Oh, Tea-pot, are you there ? " 
 
 Oh for the muse of old Meonides, or that tenth lady 
 from Helicon who jogged the poetic elbow of our own 
 Mark Bloxam ! Oh for — but this is useless — one line of 
 Virgil will paint honest Barney, on ascertaining from the 
 priest, that the utensil he bore about with all the apparent 
 importance and caution of an antiquarian, was after all the 
 damnable realization of his worst terrors, and the confirma- 
 tion of his unprincipled wife's guilt, an accursed tea-pot : — 
 
 " Obstupuit, steteruntque comas, et voxfaucibus heesit." 
 
 Truly his dismay and horror could scarcely be painted ; he 
 started as if he had seen a spirit, his fingers spread, his eye- 
 brows were uplifted, and his eyes protruded almost out of 
 their sockets ; his very hair, as the poet says, stood upright, 
 and speech for nearly a minute was denied him. 
 
 But this paroxysm of Barney's on discovering what the 
 mystic vase actually was, demands a few words of explana- 
 tion. We believe it is pretty well known to most of our 
 aged readers (if it so happen that any old lady or gentle- 
 man will condescend to peruse us), that about half a 
 century ago, or even later, ere civilization had carried many 
 of its questionable advantages so far into the remote 
 recesses of humble life as it does in the present day, there 
 existed among the lower classes a prejudice against tea- 
 drinking, that was absolutely revolting, It is, to be sure, 
 difficult properly to account for this ; but the reader may 
 rest assured that so it was. In the time of which we speak, 
 any woman, especially a married one, suspected of " tay- 
 dhrinkin'," was looked upon as a marked sheep, and if 
 detected in the act, she was considered a disgrace to her 
 sex, and her name a reproach to her connexions. Many 
 circumstances went to create this not unwholesome pre- 
 judice, and we shall mention a few of them. 
 
MYSTERIOUS DOINGS AT SLATHBEG. 199 
 
 In the first place, tea at that time was by no means so 
 cheap a luxury as it is now ; and, besides, it brought still 
 more luxuries in its train. They could not use tea without 
 sugar ; and it was found that a loaf of " white bread " and 
 butter were a decided improvement. This costly indulgence 
 was naturally and justly looked upon as an act of domestic 
 profligacy, altogether unjustifiable on the part of the poor 
 and struggling classes, who must have distressed themselves 
 and wasted their means in striving to procure it. Nor was 
 this all. It was too frequently found that wives and 
 daughters did not scruple to steal, or otherwise improperly 
 make away with the property of their husbands and fathers, 
 rather than live without this fascinating beverage, which 
 had then the zest of novelty to recommend it. Neither 
 did its injurious consequences, in a moral point of view, end 
 here. Wives and daughters have been known to entail 
 still deeper disgrace upon their families, in order to obtaiw 
 it. The sons of half-sirs, and of independent farmers, mighf; 
 have been less successful in their gallantries among the 
 females of their father's tenantry, were it not for the silly 
 weakness which often yielded to temptation in this shape. 
 These facts of themselves were sufficient to create an 
 abhorrence against tea among the male portion of the lower 
 classes, and to render it almost infamy for any woman to 
 be known to drink it. Our catalogue of prejudices, how- 
 ever, does not end even here. It was reported — by the 
 husbands, we presume — that tea was every way unlucky 
 about a house, and that no poor family in which it was 
 drunk was ever known to thrive, — and for this reason, that 
 the devil was worshipped in the country from whence it 
 came, and that it was consequently " tJie devils plant" But 
 independently of this, did not they all know the wickedness 
 that took place in the high families, when men and women, 
 married and single, from the lord-lieutenant to the squire, 
 met in the middle of night, and in the pitch dark, to drink, 
 
200 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 every two of them — that is man and woman — their RAKING 
 POT OF TEA ! Sure it was well known that the devil was 
 always present, and made the " tay" himself; and as most 
 of the lords and gentlemen were members of the Hell-fire 
 Club, it stood to reason that the devil and they were all in 
 their glory. 
 
 Now, all this came of " tay dhrinking ; " and how, then, 
 could it happen but that the old boy must have had a hard 
 grip of any woman that took it. Our readers, we trust, 
 can now understand not only our friend Barney's horror, 
 on discovering that the vessel he carried about with him 
 ■was nothing more nor less than an unholy tea-pot, but also 
 the distress, and indignation, and jealous vigilance with 
 which he and the Maguigans kept watch upon the motions 
 of their inoffensive wives. Indeed, much of the simplicity 
 of character which then existed, is now gone, and we have 
 every reason to regret it, although not more than the un- 
 happy people themselves. It was truly amusing to witness 
 the harmless but covert warfare which went on between the 
 husbands and wives of a village, who assailed each other as 
 if from masked batteries, whilst a firm and incorruptible 
 espirit dn corps knit the individuals on each side together — 
 thus joining themselves into a most cunning league for the 
 purpose of circumventing the opposite party. And in 
 later times, when tea was sanctioned at least once a week 
 — to wit, on Sunday morning — it was highly diverting to 
 witness the manoeuvres resorted to by the good-wife or her 
 daughters, in order to have a cup of it more frequently. 
 Sometimes they salted the porridge made for breakfast so 
 villanously,that there was nothing for it but the "cup o'tay;" 
 sometimes the schoolmaster was to breakfast with them, and 
 when the strongest and most fragrant was ready drawn and 
 awaiting him, it was discovered that the whole matter was 
 a hoax, got up by the females of the family, that they 
 might secure it to themselves. But alas ! those good 
 
MYSTERIOUSDOINGSATSLATHBEG. 201 
 
 innocent days are gone, and we fear for ever ! — But to 
 return — 
 
 " Heaven and earth, your reverence ! " exclaimed Barney, 
 when he had recovered himself, " what's to be done ? I'm 
 a ruined man, an' my wife's worse." 
 
 Now nobody living understood the nature of Barney's 
 grievance better than the priest, to whom, upon the woful 
 subject of tea-drinking, many a sore complaint, heaven 
 knows, had been carried. 
 
 " Why, Barney," said he, pretending ignorance, " what is 
 wrong? " 
 
 " Wrong ! By the mortual man, your reverence — God 
 pardon me for swearin' in your presence — she's at it hard 
 and fast for the last nine months." 
 
 " Nine months ! how is that ? what do you mean ? " 
 
 "The devil's plant, the tay, sir. Aileen, my wife's to the 
 back bone into it. She an' them two rotten sheep, the 
 Maguigans' wives. Ay are they ; an' the truth, the naked 
 truth, is, sir, that they're all roddled wid the same stick — 
 divil a thing but truth I'm tellin' you." 
 
 " Tut ! you're dreaming, Barney. How could your wife 
 afford to drink tea? Where could she get the money 
 for it ? You have none to spare, I believe ; and if you 
 had, I don't think you'd allow it to her for such a 
 purpose." 
 
 " It ariz all along out of a damnable — heaven forgive me 
 agin' for taking its name afore you, sir — out of a damnable 
 goose I got from an aunt o' mine ; and may all the plagues 
 of Aygip light upon her, an' on the dotin' ould goose of a 
 gandher that's along wid her ! " 
 
 " W T hy, what has the goose to do with your wife's tea- 
 drinking? " 
 
 " Every thing, and be cursed to her — the dirty black- 
 guard fowl made me a laughin'-stock to the neighbours in 
 the beginnin', and now my wile has made me worse. God 
 
202 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 only knows what she has made me ; a tay-dhrinker, your 
 reverence knows, will do any thing." 
 
 " But the goose, Barney ? I can't connect the goose with 
 your wife's tea-drinking." 
 
 " TJwnom an dioual, sir — the same goose brought us a 
 clackin' of eleven as fine fat birds as ever you tasted in 
 your life ; an' confusion to the one of them but she drank 
 in tea, barrin' two shillings she gave me to buy leather for 
 a pair o' brogues, when my heels were on the stones." 
 
 " Is it the goose or your wife you're speaking of? " 
 
 " My wife, the thief." 
 
 " You don't mean that it was she brought you the clackin' 
 of " 
 
 " No, sir," replied Barney with a grin, which he could 
 not suppress ; " nor, be me sowl, it wasn't the goose drank 
 the tay aither. But what's to be done, your reverence ? " 
 
 " Is the goose fat now, Barney ? " 
 
 " Faith, sir, Squire Warnock's a skilleton to her ; she'd 
 want an arm chair to be rolled about in." 
 
 " Well, Barney, to get out of trouble, send me the goose 
 and gander, and make your mind easy. I'll cure the tea- 
 drinking ; or at all events, I'll undertake that your wife 
 won't taste a single cup without you knowing it." 
 
 "You shall have them, sir; but faith I say it's a bould 
 undertaking. God grant you may succeed in it — hopin' 
 always that it mayn't be too late, so far as I'm consarned ; 
 for they say that a tay-dhrinker has no scruples good or 
 bad. Oh murdher ! God pity the man that has a tay- 
 dhrinkin' wife, an' undhertakes to rear geese ! I'm nothing 
 but a marthyr to them." 
 
 " Barney, I'll tell you what you'll do," says the priest. 
 " Take this same tea-pot back to your own house, and 
 leave it, unknown to your wife, exactly in the spot where 
 you got it. After this, keep singing, ' Tea-pot, are you 
 there ? ' during the remainder of the day ; and you may 
 
MYSTERIOUSDOINGSATSLATHBEG. 203 
 
 throw out a hint to her that you have lately seen such a 
 thing ; then watch her well, and in a day or two let me 
 know how she'll act. Come now, put it under your tail 
 and be off. I have given you proper instructions." 
 
 Barney thanked the priest, rolled it up in the tail of his 
 great-coat as before, and made towards home ; but not 
 without a determination first to see and consult with the 
 Maguigans. This, indeed, was a bitter meeting. No 
 sooner had his two neighbours satisfied themselves that it 
 was a bona fide tea-pot, than they solemnly pledged them- 
 selves, heart and hand, to support Barney in any plan that 
 might enable them to put an end to tea-drinking for ever. 
 They then separated, having as good as sworn an oath 
 that they would mutually sustain and back one another in 
 this severe and opprobrious trial. 
 
 It was very fortunate for Barney that Aileen had gone 
 to bring in a pitcher of water for the supper, when he 
 reached home, as by that means he had an opportunity of 
 replacing the tea-pot without the possibility of her seeing 
 him. Great, however, was her astonishment, or rather con- 
 sternation, when on entering the house she heard Barney 
 singing, " O tea-pot, are you there ? " in a tone so jolly 
 and full of spirits, that she knew not in what light to 
 consider this unusual inclination to melody — whether as the 
 result of accident or design. 
 
 " Barney, dear," said she, with more affection than usual, 
 " where wor you ? " 
 
 " In several places, Aileen my honey, I seen many 
 strange sights to-day, Aileen." 
 
 " What wor they, Barney, darling ? Tell us one o' them." 
 
 " Why, I was lookin' about to-day, Aileen, for an article 
 I wanted — a hatchet, it was to mend a gate — and, upon 
 my throth, I found a jinteel tea-pot in anything but jinteel 
 company. ' O tea-pot, are you there ? ' " &c , &o, and he 
 gave her very sturdily a second stave of the same melody. 
 
204 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 This melodious system of bitter jocularity he continued 
 like a man on the rack for two or three days, during which 
 period he observed that several secret conferences took 
 place between Aileen and the tainted wives of her neigh- 
 bours, as was evident from her occasional absence and the 
 rapid expresses that passed from time to time between 
 them. The fact was, that the finding of the tea-pot proved 
 a very fortunate discovery, and was attended by a no less 
 important result than the breaking up of the tea-drinking 
 confederacy that existed in the village. 
 
 We have now solved and explained this great mystery 
 — and, like all other mysteries, discovery put an end to it. 
 Aileen made humble and sufficient apologies for having 
 been drawn into the grievous immorality of tea-drinking. 
 As a token that the wickedness was for ever abandoned, 
 the tea-pot was brought out and smashed with all due 
 ceremony. Father O'Flaherty too was induced to issue 
 from the altar so severe an interdict against the forbidden 
 beverage, as altogether suppressed the practice throughout 
 the parish. 
 
 CON D Y CULLEN: 
 and how he defeated the Exciseman. 
 
 YOUNG Condy Cullen was descended from a long line of 
 private distillers, and of course, exhibited in his own person 
 all the practical wit, sagacity, cunning, and fertility of 
 invention, which the natural genius of the family, sharpened 
 by long experience, had created from generation to genera- 
 tion, as a standing capital to be handed down from father 
 
THE EXCISEMAN DEFEATED. 205 
 
 to son. There was scarcely a trick, evasion, plot, scheme, 
 or manoeuvre that had ever been resorted to by his ancestors, 
 that Condy had not at his finger ends ; and though but a 
 lad of sixteen at the time we present him to the reader, yet 
 be it observed, that he had had his mind, even at that age, 
 admirably trained by four or five years of keen vigorous 
 practice, in all the resources necessary to meet the subtle 
 vigilance and stealthy circumvention of that prowling 
 animal — the gauger. In fact, Condy's talents did not 
 merely consist in an acquaintance with the hereditary tricks 
 of his family. These, of themselves, would prove but a 
 miserable defence against the ever-varying ingenuity with 
 which the progressive skill of the still-hunter masks his 
 approaches, and conducts his designs. On the contrary 
 every new plan of the gauger must be met and defeated by 
 a counter-plan equally novel, but with this difference in the 
 character of both, that whereas the exciseman's devices are 
 the result of mature deliberation — Paddy's, from the very 
 nature of the circumstances, must be necessarily extempor- 
 aneous and rapid. The hostility between the parties, being, 
 as it is, carried on through such varied stratagem on both 
 sides, and characterised by such adroit and able duplicity, 
 by so many quick and unexpected turns of incident — it 
 would be utter fatuity in either, to rely upon obsolete tricks 
 and stale manoeuvres. Their relative position and occupa- 
 tion do not, therefore, merely exhibit a contest between 
 Law and that mountain nymph, Liberty, or between the 
 Excise Board and the Smuggler — it presents a more 
 interesting point for observation, namely, the struggle 
 between mind and mind — between wit and wit — between 
 roguery and knavery. 
 
 It might be very amusing to detail from time to time, a 
 few of those keen encounters of practical cunning, which 
 take place between the potheen distiller and his lynx-eyed 
 foe, the gauger. They are curious as throwing light upon 
 
206 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 the national character of our people, and as evidences of 
 the surprising readiness of wit, fertility of invention, and 
 irresistible humour, which they mix up with almost every 
 actual concern of life, no matter how difficult or critical it 
 may be. Nay, it mostly happens that the character of the 
 peasant in all its fulness, rises in proportion to what he is 
 called upon to encounter, and that the laugh at, or the hoax 
 upon the gauger, keeps pace with the difficulty that is over- 
 come. But now to our short story. 
 
 Two men in the garb of gentlemen were riding along a 
 remote by-road, one morning in the month of October, about 
 the year 1827, or '28, I'm not certain which. The air was 
 remarkably clear, keen, and bracing ; a hoar frost for the 
 few preceding nights had set in, and then lay upon the fields 
 about them, melting gradually, however, as the sun got 
 strength, with the exception of the sides of such hills and 
 valleys as his beams could not reach, until evening chilled 
 their influence too much to absorb the feathery whiteness 
 which covered them. Our equestrians had nearly reached 
 a turn in the way, which we should observe in this place 
 skirted the brow of a small declivity that lay on the right. 
 In point of fact, it was a moderately inclined plane or slope 
 rather than a declivity ; but be this as it may, the flat at its 
 foot was studded over with furze bushes, which grew so 
 close and level, that a person might almost imagine it 
 possible to walk upon their surface. On coming within 
 about two hundred and fifty yards of this angle the horse- 
 men noticed a lad, not more than sixteen, jogging on 
 towards them, with a keg upon his back. The eye of one 
 of them was immediately lit with that vivacious sparkling 
 of habitual sagacity, which marks the practised gauger 
 among ten thousand. For a single moment he drew up his 
 horse, an action which, however slight in itself, intimated 
 more plainly than he could have wished, the obvious interest 
 which had just been excited in him. Short as was the 
 
THE EXCISEMAN DEFEATED. 207 
 
 pause, it betrayed him, for no sooner had the lad noticed it, 
 than he crossed the ditch and disappeared round the angle 
 we have mentioned, and upon the side of the declivity. To 
 gallop to the spot, dismount, cross the ditch also, and pursue 
 him, was only the work of a few minutes. 
 
 " We have him," said the gauger, ° we have him — one 
 thing is clear, he cannot escape us." 
 
 " Speak for yourself, Stinton," replied his companion — 
 " as for me, not being an officer of his Majesty's Excise, I 
 decline taking any part in the pursuit — it is a fair battle, so 
 fight it out between you — I am with you now only through 
 curiosity." He had scarcely concluded, when they heard a 
 voice singing the following lines, in a spirit of that hearty 
 hilarity which betokens a cheerful contempt of care, and an 
 utter absence of all apprehension : 
 
 " Oh ! Jemmy, she sez, you are my true lover, 
 You are all the riches that I do adore ; 
 I solemnly swear now, I'll ne'er have anoder, 
 My heart it is fixed to never love more." 
 
 The music then changed to a joyous whistle, and imme- 
 diately they were confronted by a lad, dressed in an old 
 red coat patched with grey frieze, who, on seeing them, ex- 
 hibited in his features a most ingenuous air of natural sur- 
 prise. He immediately ceased to whistle, and with every 
 mark of respect, putting his hand to his hat, said in a voice^ 
 the tones of which spoke of kindness and deference, — 
 
 " God save ye, gintlemen." 
 
 " I say, my lad," said the gauger, " where is the customer 
 with the keg on his back ? — he crossed over there this 
 moment." 
 
 "Where, when, sir?" said the lad with a stare of sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " Where ? when ? why this minute, and in this place.* 
 
 "And was it a whisky keg, sir ? " 
 
208 AMUSING HUSH TALES. 
 
 " Sir, I am not here to be examined by you," replied 
 Stinton, "confound me if the conniving young rascal is not 
 sticking me into a cross-examination already — I say, red 
 coat, where is the boy with the keg, sir ? " 
 
 " As for a boy, I did see a boy, sir ; but the never a keg 
 he had — hadn't he a grey frieze coat, sir ? " 
 
 " He had." 
 
 " And wasn't it a dauny bit short about the skirts, plase 
 your honour ? " 
 
 " Again he's at me. Sirra, unless you tell me where he 
 is in half a second, I shall lay my whip to your 
 shoulders ! " 
 
 " The sorra a keg I seen, then, sir — the last keg I seen 
 was 
 
 " Did you see a boy without the keg, answering to the 
 description I gave you ? " 
 
 " You gave no description of it, sir — but even if you did, 
 when I didn't see it, how could I tell your honour any 
 thing about it ? " 
 
 " Where is the fellow, you villain ? " exclaimed the 
 gauger in a fury, " where is he gone to ? You admit you 
 saw him ; as for the keg, it cannot be far from us — but 
 where is he ? " 
 
 " Dad I saw a boy wid a short frieze coat upon him, 
 crassing the road there below, and runnin' down the other 
 side of that ditch." 
 
 This was too palpable a lie to stand the test even of a 
 glance at the ditch in question ; which was nothing more 
 than a slight mound that ran down a long lea field, on 
 which there was not even the appearance of a shrub. 
 
 The gauger looked at his companion — then turning to 
 the boy — " Come, come, my lad," said he, " you know that 
 lie is rather cool. Don't you feel in your soul that a rat 
 could not have gone in that direction, without our seeing 
 it?" 
 
THE EXCISEMAN DEFEATED. 209 
 
 " Bedad an' I saw him," returned the lad, " wid a grey 
 coat upon him, that was a little too short in the tail — it's 
 better than half an hour agone." 
 
 " The boy I speak of you must have met," said Stinton ; 
 " it's not five minutes — no, not more than three, since he 
 came inside the field ? " 
 
 " That my feet may grow to the ground then if I seen a 
 boy in or about this place, widin the time, barrin' myself." 
 
 The gauger eyed him closely for a short space, and pull- 
 ing out half-a-crown, said — " Harkee, my lad, a word with 
 you in private." 
 
 The fact is, that during the latter part of this dialogue, 
 the worthy exciseman observed the cautious distance at 
 which the boy kept himself from the grasp of him and his 
 companion. A suspicion consequently began to dawn upon 
 him, that in defiance of appearances, the lad himself might 
 be the actual smuggler. On re-considering the matter, this 
 suspicion almost amounted to certainty ; the time was too 
 short to permit even the most ingenious cheat to render 
 himself and his keg invisible in a manner so utterly un- 
 accountable. On the other hand, when he reflected on the 
 open, artless character of the boy's song; the capricious 
 change to a light-hearted whistle, the surprise so naturally, 
 and the respect so deferentially expressed, joined to the 
 dissimilarity of dress, he was confounded again, and scarcely 
 knew on which side to determine. Even the lad's reluct- 
 ance to approach him might proceed from fear of the whip. 
 He felt resolved, however, to ascertain this point, and with 
 the view of getting the lad into his hands, he showed him 
 half-a-crown, and addressed him as already stated. 
 
 The lad on seeing the money, appeared to be instantly 
 
 caught by it, and approached him, as if it had been 
 
 a bait he could not resist ; a circumstance which again 
 
 staggered the gauger. In a moment, however, he seized 
 
 him. 
 
 15 
 
210 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 " Come, now," said he, unbuttoning his coat, " you will 
 oblige me by stripping." 
 
 " And why so ? " said the lad, with a face which might 
 have furnished a painter or sculptor with a perfect notion 
 of curiosity, perplexity, and wonder. 
 
 " Why so ? " replied Stinton — " we shall see — we shall 
 soon see." 
 
 " Surely you don't think I've hid the keg about me," said 
 the other, his features now relaxing into such an appear- 
 ance of utter simplicity, as would have certainly made any 
 other man but a gauger give up the examination as hope- 
 less, and exonerate the boy from any participation what- 
 soever in the transaction. 
 
 " No, no," replied the gauger, " by no means, you young 
 rascal. See here, Cartwright," he continued, addressing his 
 companion — " the keg, my precious ; " again turning to the 
 lad — " Oh ! no, no, it would be cruel to suspect you of any 
 thing but the purest of simplicity." 
 
 " Look here, Cartwright," having stripped the boy of his 
 coat and turned it inside out, " there's a coat — there's thrift 
 — there's economy for you — Come, sir, tuck on, tuck on 
 instantly ; here, I shall assist you — up with your arms — 
 straighten your neck ; it will be both straightened and 
 stretched yet, my cherub. What think you now, Cart- 
 wright ? Did you ever see a metamorphosis in your life 
 so quick, complete, and unexpected ? " 
 
 His companion was certainly astonished in no small 
 degree on seeing the red coat, when turned, become a 
 comfortable grey frieze, one precisely such as he who bore 
 the keg had on. Nay, after surveying his person and dress 
 a second time, he instantly recognised him as the same. 
 
 The only interest, we should observe, which this gentle- 
 man had in the transaction, arose from the mere gratifica- 
 tion which a keen observer of character, gifted with a 
 strong relish for humour, might be supposed to feel. The 
 
THE EXCISEMAN DEFEATED. 211 
 
 gauger, in sifting the matter, and scenting the trail of the 
 keg, was now in his glory, and certainly when met by so 
 able an opponent as our friend Condy, for it was indeed 
 himself, furnished a very rich treat to his friend. 
 
 "Now," he continued, addressing the boy again — "lose 
 not a moment in letting us know where you've hid the 
 keg." 
 
 " The sorra bit of it I hid — it fell of a' me, an' I lost it ; 
 sure I'm lookin* aft.her it myself, so I am ; " and he moved 
 over while speaking, as if pretending to search for it in g 
 thin hedge, which could by no means conceal it. 
 
 " Cartwright," said the gauger, "did you ever see any 
 thing so perfect as this, so ripe a rascal — you don't under- 
 stand him now. Here, you simpleton ; harkee, sirra, there 
 must be no playing the lapwing with me ; back here to 
 the same point. We may lay it down as a sure thing 
 that whatever direction he takes from this spot is the 
 wrong one ; so back here, you, sir, till we survey the 
 premises about us for your traces." 
 
 The boy walked sheepishly back, and appeared to look 
 about him for the keg, with a kind of earnest stupidity, 
 which was altogether inimitable. 
 
 " I say, my boy," asked Stinton ironically, " don't you 
 look rather foolish now ? can you tell your right hand from 
 your left ? " 
 
 " I can," replied Condy, holding up his left, " there's my 
 right hand." 
 
 " And what do you call the other ? " said Cartwright. 
 
 " My left, bedad, any how, an' that's true enough." 
 
 Both gentlemen laughed heartily. 
 
 " But it's carrying the thing a little too far" said the 
 gauger : " in the meantime let us hear how you prove it ? " 
 
 " Aisy enough, sir," replied Condy, " bekase I am left- 
 handed — this," holding up the left, " is the right hand to 
 me, whatever you may say to the conthrary." 
 
212 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 Condy's countenance expanded, after he had spoken, 
 into a grin so broad and full of grotesque sarcasm, that 
 Stinton and his companion both found their faces, in spite 
 of them, get rather blank under its influences. 
 
 " What the deuce ! " exclaimed the gauger, " are we to 
 be here all day ? Come, sir, bring us at once to the keg." 
 
 He was here interrupted by a laugh from Cartwright, so 
 vociferous, loud, and hearty, that he looked at him with 
 amazement — " Hey, dey," he exclaimed, " what's the 
 matter, what's the matter ; what new joke is this ? " 
 
 For some minutes, however, he could not get a word 
 from the other, whose laughter appeared as if never to 
 end ; he walked to and fro in absolute convulsions, bend- 
 ing his body and clapping his hands together, with a 
 vehemence quite unintelligible. 
 
 " What is it, man ? " said the other, " confound you, 
 what is it ? " 
 
 " Oh ! " replied Cartwright, " I am sick, perfectly feeble." 
 
 "You have it to yourself at all events," observed Stinton. 
 
 " And shall keep it to myself," said Cartwright, " for if 
 your sagacity is over-reached, you must be contented to 
 sit down under defeat — I won't interfere." 
 
 Now, in this contest between the gauger and Condy, 
 even so slight a thing as one glance of an eye by the latter, 
 might have given a proper cue to an opponent so sharp as 
 Stinton. Condy, during the whole dialogue, consequently 
 preserved the most vague and indefinable visage imagin- 
 able, except in the matter of his distinction between right 
 and left ; and Stinton, who watched his eye with the 
 shrewdest vigilance, could make nothing of it. Not so was 
 it between him and Cartwright ; for during the closing 
 paroxysms of his mirth, Stintcn caught his eye fixed upon 
 a certain mark barely visible upon the hoar frost, which 
 mark extended down to the furze bushes that grew at 
 the foot of the slope where they then stood. 
 
THE EXCISEMAN DEFEATED. 213 
 
 As a staunch old hound lays his nose to the trail of a 
 hare or fox, so did the gauger pursue the trace of the keg 
 down the little hill ; for the fact was, that Condy, having no 
 other resource, trundled it off towards the furze, into which 
 it settled perfectly to his satisfaction ; and with all the 
 quickness of youth and practice, instantly turned his coat, 
 which had been made purposely for such rencounters. This 
 accomplished, he had barely time to advance a few yards 
 round the angle of the hedge, and changing his whole 
 manner as well as his appearance, acquitted himself as the 
 reader has already seen. That he could have carried the 
 keg down to the cover, then conceal it, and return to the 
 spot where they met him, was utterly beyond the reach of 
 human exertion, so that in point of fact they never could 
 have suspected that the whisky lay in such a place. 
 
 The triumph of the gauger was now complete, and a com- 
 placent sense of his own sagacity sat visible on his features. 
 Condy's face, on the other hand, became considerably 
 lengthened, and appeared quite as rueful and mortified as 
 the other's was joyous and confident. 
 
 " Who's sharpest now, my knowing one ? " said he, "who 
 is the laugh against, as matters stand between us ? " 
 
 " The sorra give you good of it," said Condy sulkily. 
 
 " What is your name? " inquired Stinton. 
 
 "Barney Keerigan's my name," replied the other indig- 
 nantly ; " an' I'm not ashamed of it, nor afeard to tell it to 
 you or any man." 
 
 " What, of the Keerigans of Killoghan ? " 
 
 " Ay jist, of the Keerigans of Killoghan." 
 
 " I know the family," said Stinton, " they are decent in 
 their way — but come, my lad, don't lose your temper, and 
 answer me another question. Where were you bringing 
 this whisky ? " 
 
 " To a betther man than ever stood in your shoes," 
 replied Condy, in a tone of absolute defiance — " to a 
 
214 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 gintleman any way," with a peculiar emphasis on the word 
 gintleman. 
 
 " But what's his name ? " 
 
 " Mr. Stinton's his name — gauger Stinton." 
 
 The shrewd exciseman stood and fixed his keen eye on 
 Condy for upwards of a minute, with a glance of such 
 piercing scrutiny as scarcely any consciousness of imposture 
 could withstand. 
 
 Condy on the other hand, stood and eyed him with an 
 open, unshrinking, yet angry glance ; never winced, but 
 appeared by the detection of his keg, to have altogether 
 forgotten the line of cunning policy he had previously 
 adopted, in a mortification which had predominated over 
 duplicity and art. 
 
 He is now speaking truth, thought the gauger ; he has 
 lost his temper, and is completely off his guard. 
 
 " Well, my lad," he continued, " that is very good so far, 
 but who sent the keg to Stinton ? " 
 
 " Do you think," said Condy, with a look of strong con- 
 tempt at the gauger, for deeming him so utterly silly as to 
 tell him, "Do you think that you can make me turn 
 informer ? There's none of that blood in me, thank good- 
 ness." 
 
 " Do you know Stinton ? " 
 
 " How could I know the man I never seen," replied 
 Condy, still out of temper ; " but one thing I don't know, 
 gintlemen, and that is, whether you have any right to take 
 my whisky or not ? " 
 
 " As to that, my good lad, make your mind easy — I'm 
 Stinton." 
 
 " You, sir ! " said Condy, with well-feigned surprise. 
 
 " Yes," replied the other, " I'm the very man you were 
 bringing the keg to. And now I'll tell you what you must 
 do for me ; proceed to my house with as little delay as 
 possible ; ask to see my daughter — ask for Miss Stinton — 
 
THE EXCISEMAN DEFEATED. 215 
 
 take this key and desire her to have the keg put into the 
 cellar ; she'll know the key, and let it also be as a token, 
 that she is to give you your breakfast ; say I desired that 
 keg to be placed to the right of the five-gallon one I seized 
 on Thursday last, that stands on a little stillion under my 
 blunderbuss." 
 
 " Of coorse," said Condy, who appeared to have misgivings 
 on the matter, " I suppose I must, but somehow — " 
 
 " Why, sirra, what do you grumble now for ? " 
 
 Condy still eyed him with suspicion — " And, sir," said he, 
 after having once more mounted the keg, "am I to get 
 nothing for such a weary trudge as I had wid it, but my 
 breakfast ? " 
 
 "Here," said Stinton, throwing him half-a-crown, "take 
 that along with it, and now be off — or stop — Cartwright, 
 will you dine with me, to-day, and let us broach the keg ? 
 I'll guarantee its excellence, for this is not the first I have 
 got from the same quarter — that's entre nous." 
 
 " With all my heart," replied Cartwright, " upon the terms 
 you say, that of a broach." 
 
 " Then, my lad," said Stinton, " say to my daughter, that 
 a friend, perhaps a friend or two, will dine with me to-day 
 — that is enough." 
 
 They then mounted their horses and were proceeding as 
 before, when Cartwright addressed the gauger as follows : — 
 
 " Do you not put this lad, Stinton, in a capacity to over- 
 reach you yet ? " 
 
 " No," replied the other, " the young rascal spoke the 
 truth after the discovery of the keg, for he lost his temper, 
 and was no longer cool." 
 
 " For my part, hang me if I'd trust him." 
 
 " I should scruple to do so, myself," replied the gauger, 
 " but, as I said, these Keerigans — notorious illicit fellows, by 
 the way — send me a keg or two every year, and almost 
 always about this very time. Besides I read him to the 
 
216 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 heart and he never winced. Yes, decidedly, the whisky 
 was for me ; of that I have no doubt whatsoever." 
 
 " I most positively would not trust him." 
 
 " Not that perhaps I ought," said Stinton, " on second 
 thought, to place such confidence in a lad who acted so 
 adroitly in the beginning. Let us call him back and re- 
 examine him at all events." 
 
 Now Condy had, during this conversation, been discussing 
 the very same point with himself. 
 
 " Bad cess for ever attend you, Stinton agra," he exclaimed, 
 " for there's surely something over you — a lucky shot from 
 behind a hedge, or a break-neck fall down a cliff, or some- 
 thing of that kind. If the ould boy hadn't his croubs hard 
 and fast in you, you wouldn't let me walk away wid the 
 whisky, any how. Bedad it's well I thought o' the Keeri- 
 gans ; for sure enough I did hear Barney say, that he was 
 to send a keg in to him this week, some day : and he didn't 
 think I knew him aither. Faix it's many a long day since 
 I knew the sharp puss of him, wid an eye like a hawk. But 
 what if they follow me, and do up all ? Any way, I'll pre- 
 vint them from having suspicion of me, before I go a toe 
 further, the ugly rips." 
 
 He instantly wheeled about, a moment or two before 
 Stinton and Cartwright had done the same, for the purpose 
 of sifting him still more thoroughly — so that they found him 
 meeting them. 
 
 " Gintlemen," said he, "how do I know that aither of 
 yous is Mr. Stinton, or that the house you directed me to is 
 his ? I know that if the whisky doesn't go to him, I may 
 lave the counthry ! " 
 
 " You are either a deeper rogue, or a more stupid fool 
 than I took you to be," observed Stinton — " but what 
 security can you give us, that you will leave the keg safely 
 at its destination ? " 
 
 "If I thought you were Mr. Stinton, I'd be very glad to 
 
THE EXCISEMAN DEFEATED. 217 
 
 lave you the whisky where it is, and even to do widout my 
 breakfast — Gintlemen, tell me the truth, bekase I'd only be 
 murdhered out of the face." 
 
 " Why, you idiot," said the gauger, losing his temper and 
 suspicions both together, " can't you go to the town and 
 inquire where Mr. Stinton lives ? " 
 
 " Bedad thin, thrue enough, I never thought of that at all 
 at all, but I beg your pardon, gintlemen, an' I hope you 
 won't be angry wid me, in regard that it's kilt and quartered 
 I'd be if I let myself be made a fool of by any body." 
 
 " Do what I desire you," said the exciseman ; " inquire 
 for Mr. Stinton's house, and you may be sure the whisky 
 will reach him." 
 
 "Thank you, sir. Bedad I might have thought of that 
 myself." 
 
 This last clause, which was spoken in a soliloquy, would 
 have deceived a saint himself. 
 
 " Now," said Stinton, after they had recommenced their 
 journey, " are you satisfied ? " 
 
 "I am at length," said Cartwright; "if his intentions had 
 been dishonest, instead of returning to make himself certain 
 against being deceived, he would have made the best of his 
 way from us — a rogue never wantonly puts himself in the 
 way of danger or detection." 
 
 That evening, about five o'clock, Stinton, Cartwright, and 
 two others arrived at the house of the worthy gauger, to 
 partake of his good cheer. A cold frosty evening gave a 
 peculiar zest to the comfort of a warm room, a blazing fire, 
 and a good dinner. No sooner were the viands discussed, 
 the cloth removed and the glasses ready, than their gener- 
 ous host desired his daughter to assist the servant in broach- 
 ing the redoubtable keg. 
 
 " That keg, my dear," he proceeded, " which the country 
 lad, who brought the key of the cellar, left here to- 
 day." 
 
218 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 " A keg ! " repeated the daughter, with surprise. 
 
 " Yes, Maggy, my love, a keg ; I said so, I think." 
 
 " But, papa, there came no keg here to-day ! " 
 
 The gauger and Cartwright both groaned in unison. 
 
 " No keg ! " said the gauger. 
 
 " No keg ! " echoed Cartwright. 
 
 " No keg, indeed," re-echoed Miss Stinton — " but there 
 came a country boy with the key of the cellar, as a token 
 that he was to get the five gallon — " 
 
 " Oh ! " groaned the gauger, " I'm knocked up, outwitted, 
 —oh ! " 
 
 " Bought and sold," added Cartwright. 
 
 " Go on," said the gauger, " I must hear it out ? " 
 
 " As a token," proceeded Miss Stinton, " that he was to 
 get the five gallon keg on the little stillion, under the 
 blunderbuss, for Captain Dalton." 
 
 " And he got it ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, he got it ; for I took the key as a sufficient 
 token." 
 
 " But, Maggy — hell and fury, hear me, child — surely he 
 brought a keg here, and left it ; and of course it's in the 
 cellar ? " 
 
 " No, indeed, papa, he brought no keg here ; but he did 
 bring the five gallon one that was in the cellar away with 
 him." 
 
 " Stinton," said Cartwright, " send round the bottle." 
 
 " The rascal," ejaculated the gauger, " we shall drink his 
 health." 
 
 And on relating the circumstances, the company drank 
 the sheepish lad's health, that bought and sold the gauger. 
 
THE CONNAUGHT PIG-DRIVER. 219 
 
 PHIL PURCEL, 
 
 The C onnaught P ig- D river. 
 
 Phil Purcel was the son of a man who always kept a 
 pig. His father's house had a small loft, to which the 
 ascent was by a step-ladder through a door in the inside 
 gable. The first good thing ever Phil was noticed for, was 
 said on the following occasion. His father happened to be 
 called upon, one morning before breakfast, by his landlord, 
 who it seems occasionally visited his tenantry to encourage, 
 direct, stimulate, or reprove them, as the case might re- 
 quire. Phil was a boy then, and sat on the hob in the 
 corner, eyeing the landlord and his father during their con- 
 versation. In the meantime the pig came in, and deliber- 
 ately began to ascend the ladder with an air of authority 
 that marked him as one in the exercise of an established 
 right. The landlord was astonished at seeing the animal 
 enter the best room in the house, and could not help ex- 
 pressing his surprise to old Purcel. 
 
 " Why, Purcel, is your pig in the habit of treating himself 
 to the comforts of your best room ? " 
 
 "The pig is it, the crathur? Why, your haner," said 
 Purcel, after a little hesitation, " it sometimes goes up of a 
 mornin' to waken the childhre, particularly when the buck- 
 whist happens to be late. It doesn't like to be waitin' ; 
 and sure none of us like to be kept from the male's mate, 
 your haner, when we want it, no more than it, the crathur.' 
 
 " But I wonder your wife permits so filthy an animal to 
 have access to her rooms in this manner." 
 
 " Filthy ! " replied Mrs. Purcel, who felt herself called 
 upon to defend the character of the pig, as well as her own, 
 " why, one would think, sir, that any crathur that's among 
 Christyeen childhre, like one o' themselves, couldn't be 
 filthy. I could take it to my dyin' day, that there's not a 
 
220 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 claner or dacenter pig in the kingdom than the same pig. 
 It never misbehaves, the crathur, but goes out, as wise an' 
 riglar, jist by a look, your haner, the poor crathur ! " 
 
 " I think," observed Phil, from the hob, " that nobody 
 has a betther right to the run of the house, wedher upstairs 
 or downstairs, than htm that pays the rint." 
 
 " Well said, my lad !" observed the landlord, laughing at 
 the quaint ingenuity of Phil's defence. " His payment of 
 the rent is the best defence possible, and no doubt should 
 cover a multitude of his errors." 
 
 "A multitude of his shins you mane, sir," said Phil, " for 
 thrath he's all shin." 
 
 In fact, Phil from his infancy had an uncommon attach- 
 ment to these animals, and by a mind naturally shrewd and 
 observing made himself as intimately acquainted with their 
 habits and instincts, and the best modes of managing them, 
 as ever the celebrated Cahir na Cappul did with those of 
 the horse. Before he was fifteen he could drive the most 
 vicious and obstinate pig as quietly before him as a lamb ; 
 yet no one knew how nor by what means he had gained the 
 secret that enabled him to do it. Whenever he attended a 
 fair, his time was principally spent among the pigs, where 
 he stood handling and examining, and pretending to buy 
 them, although he seldom had half a crown in his pocket 
 At length, by hoarding up such small sums as he could 
 possibly lay his hands on, he got together the price of a 
 " slip," which he bought, reared, and educated in a manner 
 that did his ingenuity great credit. W r hen this was brought 
 to its ne plus ultra of fatness he sold it, and purchased two 
 more, which he fed in the same way. On disposing of 
 these, he made a fresh purchase, and thus proceeded, until 
 in the course of a few years, he was a well-known pig- 
 jobber. 
 
 Phil's journeys as a pig-driver to the leading sea-port 
 town nearest him were always particularly profitable. In 
 
THE CONNAUGHT PIG-DRIVER. 221 
 
 Ireland swine are not kept in sties, as they are among 
 English feeders, but permitted to go at liberty through 
 pasture fields, commons, and along roadsides, where they 
 make up as well as they can for the scanty pittance allowed 
 them at home during meal-times. We do not, however, 
 impeach Phil's honesty ; but simply content ourselves with 
 saying that when his journey was accomplished he mostly 
 found the original number with which he had set out in- 
 creased by three or four, and sometimes by half a dozen. 
 Pigs in general resemble each other, and it surely was not 
 Phil's fault if a stray one, feeding on the roadside or com- 
 mon, thought proper to join his flock and see the world. 
 Phil's object, we presume, was only to take care that his 
 original number was not diminished, its increase being a 
 matter in which he felt little concern. 
 
 He now determined to take a professional trip to Eng- 
 land, and that this might be the more productive, he resolved 
 to purchase a drove of the animals we have been describing. 
 No time was lost in this speculation. The pigs were 
 bought up as cheaply as possible, and Phil set out, for the 
 first time in his life, to try with what success he could 
 measure his skill against that of a Yorkshireman. On this 
 occasion he brought with him a pet, which he had with 
 considerable pains trained up for purposes hereafter to be 
 explained. 
 
 There was nothing remarkable in the passage, unless 
 that every creature on board was sea-sick, except the pigs ; 
 even to them, however, the change was a disagreeable one ; 
 for to be pent up in the hold of a ship was a deprivation of 
 liberty which, fresh as they were from their native hills, 
 they could not relish. They felt, therefore, as patriots, a 
 loss of freedom, but not a whit of appetite ; for, in truth, 
 of the latter no possible vicissitude short of death could de- 
 prive them. 
 
 Phil, however, with an assumed air of simplicity abso- 
 
222 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 lutely stupid, disposed of them to a Yorkshire dealer at 
 about twice the value they would have brought in Ireland, 
 though, as pigs went in England, it was low enough. He 
 declared that they had been fed on tip-top feeding ; which 
 was literally true, as he afterwards admitted that the tops 
 of nettles and potato stalks constituted the only nourish- 
 ment they had got for three weeks before. 
 
 The Yorkshireman looked with great contempt upon 
 what he considered a miserable essay to take him in. 
 
 " What a fule this Hirishmun mun bea," said he, " to 
 think to teake me in ! Had he said that them there Hirish 
 swoine were badly feade, I'd ha' thought it fairish enough 
 on un ; but to seay that they was oil weal feade on tip-top 
 feadin' ! Nea, nea ! I knaws weal enough that they was 
 noat feade on nothin' at oil, which meakes them looak so 
 poorish ! Howsomever, I shall fatten them, I'se warrant — 
 I'se warrant I shall ! " 
 
 When driven home to sties somewhat more comfortable 
 than the cabins of unfortunate Irishmen, they were well 
 supplied with food which would have been very often con- 
 sidered a luxury by poor Paddy himself, much less by his 
 pigs. 
 
 " Measther," said the boor who had seen them fed, " them 
 there Hirish pigs ha' not teasted nout for a moonth yet ; 
 they feade like nout I never seed o' my laife ! " 
 
 " Ay ! ay ! " replied the master, " I'se warrant they'll soon 
 fatten — I'se warrant they shall, Hodge — they be praime 
 feeders — I'se warrant they shall ; and then, Hodge, we've 
 bit the soft Hirishmun." 
 
 Hodge gave a knowing look at his master and grinned 
 at this observation. 
 
 The next morning Hodge repaired to the sties to see 
 how they were thriving ; when, to his great consternation, 
 he found the feeding troughs clean as if they had been 
 washed, and not a single Irish pig to be seen or heard about 
 
THE CONNAUGHT PIG-DRIVER. 223 
 
 the premises ; but to what retreat the animals could have 
 betaken themselves was completely beyond his compre- 
 hension. He scratched his head, and looked about him in 
 much perplexity. 
 
 " Dang un ! " he exclaimed, " I never seed nout like 
 this." 
 
 He would have proceeded in a strain of cogitation 
 equally enlightened, had not a noise of shouting, alarm, and 
 confusion in the neighbourhood excited his attention. He 
 looked about him, and to his utter astonishment saw that 
 some extraordinary commotion prevailed, that the country 
 was up, and the hills alive with people, who ran, and 
 shouted, and wheeled at full flight in all possible directions. 
 His first object was to join the crowd, which he did as soon 
 as possible, and found that the pigs he had shut up the 
 preceding night in sties whose enclosures were at least four 
 feet high had cleared them like so many chamois, and were 
 now closely pursued by the neighbours, who rose en massa 
 to hunt down and secure such dreadful depredators. 
 
 The waste and mischief they had committed in one 
 night were absolutely astonishing. Bean and turnip-fields, 
 and vegetable enclosures of all descriptions, kitchen-gardens, 
 corn-fields, and even flower-gardens, were rooted up and 
 destroyed with an appearance of system which would have 
 done credit to Terry Alt himself. 
 
 Their speed was the theme of every tongue. Hedges 
 were taken in their flight, and cleared in a style that oc- 
 casioned the country people to turn up their eyes and 
 scratch their thick, incomprehensive heads in wonder. 
 Dogs of all degrees bit the dust, and were caught up dead 
 in stupid amazement by their owners, who began to doubt 
 whether or not these extraordinary animals were swine at 
 all. The depredators in the meantime had adopted the 
 Horatian style of battle. Whenever there was an un- 
 generous advantage taken in the pursuit, by slipping dogs 
 
224 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 across or before their path, they shot off at a tangent 
 through the next crowd, many of whom they prostrated in 
 their flight ; by this means they escaped the dogs until the 
 latter were somewhat exhausted, when, on finding one in 
 advance of the rest, they turned, and with standing bristles 
 and burning tusks, fatally checked their pursuer in his full 
 career. To wheel and fly until another got in advance was 
 then the plan of fight ; but, in fact, the conflict was con- 
 ducted on the part of the Irish pigs with a fertility of ex- 
 pediency that did credit to their country, and established 
 for those who displayed it the possession of intellect far 
 superior to that of their opponents. The pigs now began 
 to direct their course towards the sties in which they had 
 been so well fed the night before. This being their last 
 flight, they radiated towards one common centre with a 
 fierceness and celerity that occasioned the women and 
 children to take shelter within doors. On arriving at the 
 sties, the ease with which they shot themselves over the 
 four-feet walls was incredible. The farmer had caught the 
 alarm, and just came out in time to witness their return ; 
 he stood with his hands driven down into the pockets of 
 his red, capacious waistcoat, and uttered not a word. When 
 the last of them came bounding into the sty, Hodge ap- 
 proached, quite breathless and exhausted. 
 
 " Oh, measter," he exclaimed, " these be not Hirish pigs 
 at oil, they be Hirish deevils ; and you mun ha' bought 'em 
 fra a cunning mon ! " 
 
 "Hodge," replied his master, " I'se be bit — I'se heard 
 feather talk about un. That breed's true Hirish ; but I'se 
 try and sell 'em to Squoire Jolly to hunt wi' as beagles, for 
 he wants a pack. They do say all the swoine that the 
 deeviis were put into ha' been drawned ; but for my peart, 
 I'se sure that some on un must ha' escaped to Hireland." 
 
 Phil, during the commotion excited by his knavery in 
 Yorkshire, was traversing the country in order to dispose 
 
THE CONNAUGHT PIG-DRIVER. 225 
 
 of his remaining pig ; and the manner in which he effected 
 his first sale of it was as follows : — 
 
 A gentleman was one evening standing with some 
 labourers by the wayside, when a tattered Irishman ap- 
 proached, equipped in a pair of white dusty brogues, stock- 
 ings without feet, old patched breeches, a bag slung across 
 his shoulder, his coarse shirt lying open about a neck 
 tanned by the sun into a reddish yellow, a hat nearly the 
 colour of the shoes, and a hay-rope tied for comfort about 
 his waist : in one hand he also held a straw-rope, that de- 
 pended from the hind leg of a pig which he drove before 
 him ; in the other was a cudgel, by the assistance of which 
 he contrived to limp on after it, his two shoulder-blades 
 rising and falling alternatively with a shrugging motion 
 that indicated great fatigue. 
 
 When he came opposite where the gentleman stood he 
 checked the pig, which instinctively commenced feeding 
 upon the grass by the edge of the road. 
 
 " Och," said he, wiping his brow with the cuff of his coat, 
 * my sorrow on you for a pig, but I'm kilt wit you. 
 Musha, Gad bless yer haner, an' maybe ye'd buy a slip of a 
 pig fwhrom me, that has my heart bruck, so she has, if ever 
 anybody's heart was bruck wit the likes of her ; an' sure so 
 there was, no doubt, or I wouldn't be as I am wit her. I'll 
 give her a dead bargain, sir ; for it's only to get her aff av 
 my hands I'm wantin', plase yer haner — silence, pig ! silence 
 you vagabond! — Be asy, an' me in conwersation wit his 
 haner here ! " 
 
 " You are an Irishman ? " the gentleman inquired. 
 
 " I am, sir, from Cannaught, yer haner, an' 'ill sell the 
 crathur dag cheap, all out. Asy, you thief! " 
 
 " I don't want the pig, my good fellow," replied the 
 Englishman, without evincing curiosity enough to inquire 
 how he came to have such a commodity for sale. 
 
 " She'd be the darlint in no time wit you, sir ; the run o' 
 
 16 
 
226 AMUSING IKISH TALES. 
 
 your kitchen 'ud make her up a beauty, your haner, along wit 
 no throuble to the sarwints about sweepin' it, or anything. 
 You'd only have to lay down the scrahag on the flure, or 
 the misthress, Gad bless her, could do it, an' not lave a 
 crumblin' behind her, besides sleepin', yer haner, in the 
 earner beyant, if she'd take the throuble." 
 
 The sluggish phlegm of the Englishman was stirred up a 
 little by the twisted and somewhat incomprehensible nature 
 of these instructions. 
 
 " How far do you intend to proceed to-night, Paddy ? " 
 said he. 
 
 " The sarra one o' myself knows, plase yer haner : sure 
 we've an ould sayin' of our own in Ireland beyant — that 
 he's a wise man can tell how far he'll go, sir, till he comes 
 to his journey's ind. I'll give this crathur to you at more 
 nor her value, yer haner." 
 
 " More ! — why the man knows not what he's saying," 
 observed the gentleman ; " less you mean, I suppose, 
 Paddy ? " 
 
 " More or less, sir, you'll get her a bargain ; an' Gad bless 
 you, sir ! " 
 
 " But it is a commodity which I don't want at present. 
 I am very well stocked with pigs as it is. Try elsewhere." 
 " She'd flog the counthry side, sir ; an' if the misthress 
 herself, sir, ud shake the wishp o' straw fwhor her in the 
 kitchen, sir, near the whoire. Yer haner could spake to her 
 about it ; an' in no time put a knife in her whin you plased. 
 In regard o' the other thing, sir, — she's like a Christyeen, 
 yer haner, an' no throuble, sir, if you'd be seein' company 
 or anything." 
 
 " It's an extraordinary pig this of yours." 
 
 " It's no lie fwhor you, sir ; she's as clane an' dacent a 
 
 crathur, sir ! Och, if the same pig ud come into the care o' 
 
 the misthress, Gad bless her ! an' I'm sure if she has as 
 
 much gudness in her face as the hanerable dinnha ousahl — 
 
THE CONNAUGHT PIG-DRIVER. 227 
 
 the handsome gintleman she's married upon ! — you'll have 
 her thrivin' bravely, sir, shartly, plase Gad, if you'll take 
 courage. Will I dhrive her up the aveny fwhor you, sir ? 
 A good gintlewoman I'm sure, is the same misthress ! Will 
 I dhrive her up fwhor you, sir ? " 
 
 " No, no ; I have no further time to lose ; you may go 
 forward." 
 
 " Thank yer haner : is it whorid toarst the house abow, 
 sir ? I wouldn't be standin' up, sir, wit you about a thrifle ; 
 an' you'll have her, sir, fwhor anything you plase beyant a 
 pound, yer haner ; an' 'tis throwin' her away it is : but one 
 can't be hard wit a rale gintleman, anyway." 
 
 " You only annoy me, man ; besides I don't want the 
 pig ; you lose time ; I don't want to buy it, I repeat to you." 
 
 " Gad bliss you, sir — Gad bliss you ! Maybe if I'd make 
 up to the misthress, yer haner ! Thrath she wouldn't turn 
 the crathur from the place, in regard that the tindherness 
 ow the feelin' would come ower her — the rale gintlewoman, 
 anyhow ! 'Tis dag chape you have her at what I said, sir ; 
 an' Gad bliss you ! " 
 
 " Do you want to compel me to purchase it whether I 
 will or no ? " 
 
 " Thrath, it's whor next to nothin' I'm givin' her to you, 
 sir ; but sure you can make your own price at anything 
 beyant a pound. Hurrish amuck — stadh ! anish — be asy, 
 you crathur, sure you're gettin' into good quarthers, any- 
 how — goin' to the hanerable English gintleman's kitchen ; 
 an' Gad knows it's a pleasure to dale wit 'em. Och, the 
 world's differ there is betuxt thim an' our own dirty 
 Irish buckeens, that 'ud shkin a bad skilleen, an' pay their 
 debts wit the remaindher. The gateman ud let me in, yer 
 haner, an' I'll meet you at the big house abow." 
 
 " Upon my honour, this is a good jest," said the gentle- 
 man, absolutely teased into compliance ; " you are forcing 
 me to buy that which I don't want." 
 
228 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 " Sure you will, sir ; you'll want more nor that yit, plase 
 Gad, if you be spared. Come, amuck — come, you crathur; 
 faix, you're in luck, so you are — gettin' so good a place 
 wid his haner here, that you won't know yourself shortly, 
 plase Gad." 
 
 He immediately commenced driving his pig towards the 
 gentleman's residence with such an air of utter simplicity 
 as would have imposed upon any man not guided by direct 
 inspiration. Whilst he approached the house, its pro- 
 prietor arrived there by another path a few minutes before 
 him, and, addressing his lady, said : 
 
 " My dear, will you come and look at a purchase which 
 an Irishman has absolutely compelled me to make? You 
 had better come and see himself too, for he's the greatest 
 simpleton of an Irishman I have ever seen." 
 
 The lady's curiosity was more easily excited than that of 
 her husband. She not only came out, but brought with her 
 some ladies who had been on a visit, in order to hear the 
 Irishman's brogue and to amuse themselves at his expense. 
 Of the pig, too, it appeared she was determined to know 
 something. 
 
 " George, my love, is the pig also from Ireland ? " 
 
 " I don't know, my dear ; but I should think so from its 
 fleshless appearance. I have never seen so spare an animal 
 of that class in this country." 
 
 " Juliana," said one of the ladies to her companion, " don't 
 go too near him. Gracious ! look at the bludgeon, or beam, 
 or something he carries in his hand, to fight and beat the 
 people, I suppose : yet," she added, putting up her glass, 
 " the man is actually not ill-looking ; and though not so 
 tall as the Irishman in Sheridan's Rivals, he is well made." 
 
 '•' His eyes are good," said her companion — " a bright 
 grey and keen ; and were it not that his nose is rather 
 short and turned up, he would be human." 
 
 " George, my love," exclaimed the lady of the mansion, 
 
THE CONNAUGHT PIG-DRIVER 229 
 
 " he is like most Irishmen of his class that I have seen ; 
 indeed, scarcely so intelligent, for he does appear quite a 
 simpleton, except, perhaps, a lurking kind of expression, 
 which is a sign of their humour, I suppose. Don't you 
 think so, my love ? " 
 
 " No, my dear ; I think him a bad specimen of the Irish- 
 man. Whether it is that he talks our language but im- 
 perfectly, or that he is a stupid creature, I cannot say ; but 
 in selling the pig just now he actually told me that he 
 would let me have it for more than it was worth." 
 
 " Oh, that was so laughable ! We will speak to him, 
 though." 
 
 The degree of estimation in which these civilised English 
 held Phil was so low that this conversation took place 
 within a few yards of him, precisely as if he had been an 
 animal of an inferior species, or one of the aborigines of 
 New Zealand. 
 
 " Pray what is your name ? " inquired the matron. 
 
 " Phadhrumshagh Corfuffle, plase yer haner : my fadher 
 carried the same name upon him. We're av the Corfuffles 
 av Leatheraum Laghy, my lady ; but my grandmudher 
 was a Dornyeen, an' my own mudher, plase yer haner, 
 was o' the Shudhurthaghans o' Ballymadoghy, my lady- 
 ship. StadJi anish, amuck bradagh — be asy, can't you, an' 
 me in conwershation wit the beauty o' the world that I'm 
 spakin' to." 
 
 "That's the Negus language," observed one of the young 
 ladies, who affected to be a wit and a blue-stocking; "its 
 Irish and English mixed." 
 
 " Thrath, an' but that the handsome young lady's so 
 purty," observed Phil, " I'd be sayin' myself that that's a 
 quare remark upon a poor unlarned man ; but Gad bless 
 her, she is so purty what can one say for lookin' an 
 her ! " 
 
 " The poor man, Adelaide, speaks as well as he can," 
 
230 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 replied the lady, rather reprovingly : " he is by no means 
 so wild as one would have expected." 
 
 " Candidly speaking, much tamer than / expected," 
 rejoined the wit. " Indeed, I meant the poor Irishman no 
 offence." 
 
 " Where did you get the pig, friend ? and how came you 
 to have it for sale so far from home ? " 
 
 " Fwhy it isn't whor sale, my lady," replied Phil, evading 
 the former question ; " the masther here, Gad bless him an' 
 spare him to you, ma'am ! — thrath an' it's his four quarthers 
 that knew how to pick out a wife, anyhow, whor beauty an' 
 all hanerable whormations o' grandheur — so he did ; an' 
 well he desarves you, my lady : faix, it's a fine houseful o' 
 thim you'll have, plase God — an' fwhy not ? whin it's all in 
 the coorse o' Providence, bein' both so handsome ; — he gev 
 me a pound note whor her, my ladyship, an' his own plisure 
 aftherwards : an' I'm now watin' to be ped." 
 
 "What kind of a country is Ireland, as I understand 
 you are an Irishman ? " 
 
 " Thrath, my lady, it's like fwhat maybe you never seen 
 — a fool's purse, ten guineas goin' out whor one that goes in." 
 
 " Upon my word, that's wit," observed the young blue- 
 stocking. 
 
 " What is your opinion of Irishwomen ? " the lady con- 
 tinued ; " are they handsomer than the English ladies, 
 think you ? " 
 
 " Murdher, my lady," says Phil, raising his caubeen, and 
 scratching his head, in pretended perplexity, with his 
 finger and thumb, " fwhat am I to say to that, ma'am, and 
 all of yees to the fwhore ? But the sarra one av me will 
 give it agin the darlins beyant." 
 
 "But which do you think the more handsome? " 
 
 " Thrath, I do, my lady ; the Irish and English women 
 would flog the world, an' sure it would be a burnin' shame 
 to go to set them agin one another fwhor beauty." 
 
THE CONNAUGHT PIG-DRIVER. 231 
 
 " Whom do you mean by the ' darlins beyant ' ? " in- 
 quired the blue-stocking attempting to pronounce the words. 
 
 " Faix, miss, who but the crathurs ower the wather, that 
 kills us entirely, so they do." 
 
 " I cannot comprehend him," she added to the lady of 
 the mansion. 
 
 " Arrah, maybe I'd make bould to take up the manners 
 from you fwhor a while, my lady, plase yer haner ? " said 
 Phil, addressing the latter. 
 
 "I do not properly understand you," she replied, "speak 
 plainer." 
 
 " Throth, that's fwhat they do, yer haner ; they never 
 gos about the bush wit yees — the gintlemen, ma'am, of our 
 counthry, fwhin they do be coortin' yees : an' I want to ax, 
 ma'am, if you plase, fwhat you think of thim, that is, if ever 
 any of them had the luck to come acrass you, my lady ? " 
 
 "I am quite anxious to know how you came by the pig, 
 Paddy ? " said the wit. 
 
 " Arrah, miss, sure 'tisn't pigs you're thinkin' on, an' us 
 discoorsin' about the gintlemen from Ireland, that you're 
 all so fond ow here ; faix, miss, they're the boys that can 
 fwoight for yees, an' ud rather be bringin' an Englishman 
 to the sad fwhor your sakes, nor atin' braad an' butther. 
 Fwhy, now, miss, if you were beyant wit us, the sarra ounce 
 o' gunpowdher we'd have in no time, for love or money." 
 
 " Upon my word, I should like to see Ireland ! " ex- 
 claimed the blue-stocking; "and why would the gunpowder 
 get scarce, pray ? " 
 
 " Faix, fightin' about you, miss, an' all of yees sure ; for 
 myself sees no differ at all in your hanerable fwhormations 
 of beauty an' grandeur, an' all high-flown admirations." 
 
 " But tell us where you got the pig, Paddy ? " persisted 
 the wit, struck naturally enough with the circumstance. 
 "How do you come to have an Irish pig so far from home?" 
 
 " Fwhy thin, miss, 'twas to a brodher o' my own I was 
 
232 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 bringin' it, that was livin' down the counthry here, an' fwhin 
 I came to fwhere he lived, the sarra one o' me knew the 
 place, in regard o' havin' forgot the name of it entirely, an' 
 there was I wit the poor crathur an my hands, till his haner 
 here bought it whrom me — Gad bless you, sir ! " 
 
 "As I live, there's a fine Irish blunder," observed the wit; 
 " I shall put it in my common-place book — it will be so 
 genuine. I declare I'm quite delighted ! " 
 
 " Well, Paddy," said the gentleman, " here's your money. 
 There's a pound for you, and that's much more than the 
 miserable animal is worth." 
 
 " Thrath, sir, you have the crathur at what we call in 
 Ireland a bargain. Maybe yer haner ud spit upon the 
 money fwhor luck, sir. It's the way we do, sir, beyant." 
 
 " No, no, Paddy, take it as it is. Good heavens ! what 
 barbarous habits these Irish have in all their modes of life, 
 and how far they are removed from anything like civiliza- 
 tion ! " 
 
 " Thank yer haner. Faix, sir, this'll come so handy for 
 the landlord at home, in regard o' the rint for the bit o' 
 phatie ground, so it will, if I can get home agin widout 
 brakin' it. Arrah, maybe yer haner ud give me the price 
 o' my bed, an' a bit to ate, sir, an' keep me from brakin' in 
 upon this, sir, Gad bless the money ! I'm thinkin' o' the 
 poor wife an' childher, sir — strivin', so I am, to do fwhor 
 the darlins." 
 
 " Poor soul," said the lady, " he is affectionate in the 
 midst of his wretchedness and ignorance." 
 
 " Here — here," replied the Englishman, anxious to get 
 rid of him, " there's a shilling, which I give because you 
 appear to be attached to your family." 
 
 " Och, och, fwhat can I say, sir, only that long may you 
 reign ower your family an' the hanerable ladies to the 
 fwhore, sir. Gad fwhor ever bliss you, sir, but you're the 
 kind, noble gintleman, an' all belongin' to you, sir ! " 
 
THE CONNAUGHT PIG-DRIVER. 233 
 
 Having received the shilling, he was in the act of 
 departing, when, after turning it deliberately in his hand, 
 shrugging his shoulders, two or three times, and scratching 
 his head, with a vacant face he approached the lady. 
 
 " Musha, ma'am, an' maybe ye'd have the tindherness in 
 your heart, seein' that the gudness is in yer hanerable face, 
 anyway, an' it would save the skillyeen that the masther 
 gev'd me for payin' my passage, so it would, jist to bid the 
 steward, my ladyship, to ardher me a bit to ate in the 
 kitchen below. The hunger, ma'am, is hard upon me, my 
 lady ; an' fwhat I'm doin', sure, is in regard o' the wife at 
 home, an' the childher, the crathurs, an' me far fwhrom 
 them, in a sthrange counthry, Gad help me ! " 
 
 " What a singular being, George ! and how beautiful is the 
 economy of domestic affection exemplified, notwithstanding 
 his half-savage state, in the little plans he devises for the 
 benefit of his wife and children ! " exclaimed the good lady, 
 quite unconscious that Phil was a bachelor. "Juliana, my 
 love, desire Simmons to give him his dinner. Follow this 
 young lady, good man, and she will order you refreshment." 
 
 " Gad's blessin' upon your beauty an' gudness, my lady ; 
 an' a man might thravel far afore he'd meet the likes o' you 
 for aither o' them. Is it the other handsome young lady 
 I'm to folly, ma'am ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied the young wit, with an arch smile ; " come 
 after me." 
 
 " Thrath, miss, an' it's an asy task to do that, anyway ; 
 wit a heart an' half I go, acushla ; an' I seen the day, miss, 
 that it's not much o' mate an' dhrink ud trouble me, if I 
 jist got lave to be lookin' at you, wit nothin' but yourself to 
 think an. But the wife an' childher, miss, makes great 
 changes in us entirely." 
 
 " Why, you are quite gallant, Paddy." 
 
 " Thrath, I suppose I am now, miss ; but you see, my 
 hanerable young lady, that's our fwhailin' at home ; the 
 
234 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 counthry's poor, an' we can't help it, whedher or not. We're 
 fwhorced to it, miss, whin we come ower here, by you, an' 
 the likes o' you, mavourneen ! " 
 
 Phil then proceeded to the house, was sent to the kitchen 
 by the young lady, and furnished through the steward with 
 an abundant supply of cold meat, bread, and beer, of which 
 he contrived to make a meal that somewhat astonished the 
 servants. Having satisfied his hunger, he deliberately, but 
 with the greatest simplicity of countenance, filled the 
 wallet, which he carried slung across his back, with what- 
 ever he had left, observing as he did it : — 
 
 " Fwhy, thin, 'tis sthrange it is that the same custom is 
 wit us in Ireland beyant that is here ; fwhor whinever a 
 traveller is axed in, he always brings fwhat he doesn't ate 
 along wit him. An' sure enough it's the same here amongst 
 yees," he added, packing up the bread and beef as he spoke; 
 "but Gad bliss the custom, anyhow, fwhor it's a good one!" 
 
 When he had secured the provender, and was ready to 
 resume his journey, he began to yawn, and to exhibit the 
 most unequivocal symptoms of fatigue. 
 
 " Arrah, sir," said he to the steward, " you wouldn't have 
 e'er an ould barn that I'd throw myself in fwhor the night ? 
 The sarra leg I have to put undher me, now that I've got 
 stiff wit the sittin' so lang ; that, an' a wishp o' sthraw, sir, 
 to sleep an, an' Gad bliss you ! " 
 
 " Paddy, I cannot say," replied the steward ; " but I shall 
 ask my master, and if he orders it, you shall have the 
 comfort of a hard floor and clean straw, Paddy — that you 
 shall." 
 
 " Many thanks to you, sir : it's in your face, in thrath, the 
 same gudness an' ginerosity." 
 
 The gentleman, on hearing Phil's request to be permitted 
 a sleeping place in the barn, was rather surprised at his 
 wretched notion of comfort than at the request itself. 
 
 " Certainly, Timmins, let him sleep there," he replied ; 
 
THE CONNAUGflT PIG-DRIVER. 235 
 
 " give him sacks and straw enough. I daresay he will feel 
 the privilege a luxury, poor devil, after his fatigue. Give 
 him his breakfast in the morning,Timmins. Good heavens," 
 he added, " what a singular people ! What an amazing 
 progress civilization must make before these Irish can be 
 brought at all near the commonest standard of humanity ! " 
 
 At this moment Phil, who was determined to back the 
 steward's request, approached them. 
 
 " Paddy," said the gentleman, anticipating him, " I have 
 ordered you sacks and straw in the barn, and your break- 
 fast in the morning before you set out." 
 
 " Thrath," said Phil, " if there's e'er a sthray blissin' goin', 
 depind an it, sir, you'll get it, fwhor your hanerable giner- 
 osity to the sthranger. But about the ' slip/ sir — if the 
 misthress herself ud shake the wishp o' sthraw fwhor her in 
 the far earner o' the kitchen below, an' see her gettin' her 
 supper, the crathur, before she'd put her to bed, she'd be 
 thrivin' like a salmon, sir, in less than no time ; an' to 
 ardher the sarwints, sir, if you plase, not to be defraudin' 
 the crathur of the big piatees. Fwhor in regard it cannot 
 spake fwhor itself, sir, it frets as wise as a Christyeen, when 
 it's not honestly thrated." 
 
 " Never fear, Paddy ; we shall take good care of it." 
 
 " Thank you, sir. But I aften heerd, sir, that you dunna 
 how to feed pigs in this counthry in ardher to mix the 
 fvvhat an' lane, lair (layer) about." 
 
 " And how do you manage that in Ireland, Paddy ? " 
 
 " Fwhy, sir, I'll tell you how the mishthress, Gad bless 
 her, will manage it fwhor you. Take the crathur, sir, an' 
 feed it to-morrow till it's as full as a tick — that's fwhor the 
 fwhat, sir ; thin let her give it nothin' at all the next day, 
 but keep it black fwhastin' — that's fwhor the lane (lean). 
 Let her stick to that, sir, keepin' it atin' one day an' fastin' 
 anodher, for six months, thin put a knife in it, an' if you 
 don't have the fwhat an' lane, lair about, beautiful all out, 
 
236 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 fvvhy niver bleeve Phadrumshagh Corfuffle agin. Ay, 
 indeed!" 
 
 The Englishman looked keenly at Phil, but could only 
 read in his countenance a thorough and implicit belief in 
 his own recipe for mixing the fat and lean. It is impossible 
 to express his contempt for the sense and intellect of Phil ; 
 nothing could surpass it but the contempt which Phil 
 entertained for him. 
 
 The next morning he failed to appear at the hour of 
 breakfast, but his non-appearance was attributed to his 
 fatigue, in consequence of which he was supposed to have 
 overslept himself. On going, however, to call him from the 
 barn, they discovered that he had decamped ; and on look- 
 ing after the "slip" it was found that both had taken 
 French leave of the Englishman. Phil and the pig had 
 actually travelled fifteen miles that morning before the hour 
 on which he was missed — Phil going at a dog's trot, and 
 the pig following at such a respectful distance as might not 
 appear to identify them as fellow-travellers. In this manner 
 Phil sold the pig to upwards of two dozen intelligent 
 English gentlemen and farmers, and after winding up his 
 bargains successfully, both arrived in Liverpool, highly de- 
 lighted by their commercial trip through England. 
 
 When Phil arrived at the vessel, he found the captain in 
 a state of peculiar difficulty. About twelve or fourteen 
 gentlemen of rank and property, together with a score or 
 upwards of highly respectable persons, but of less considera- 
 tion, were in equal embarrassment. The fact was, that as 
 no other vessel left Liverpool that day, about five hundred 
 Irishmen, mostly reapers and mowers, had crowded upon 
 deck, each determined to keep his place at all hazards. 
 The captain, whose vessel was small, and none of the stout- 
 est, flatly refused to put to sea with such a number. He 
 told them it was madness to think of it ; he could not risk 
 the lives of the other passengers, nor even their own, by 
 
THE CONNAUGHT PIG-DRIVER. 237 
 
 sailing with five hundred on the deck of so small a vessel. 
 If one half would withdraw peaceably, he would carry the 
 other half, which was as much as he could possibly ac- 
 complish. They were very willing to grant that what he 
 said was true ; but, in the meantime, not a man of them 
 would move, and to clear out such a number of fellows, 
 who loved nothing better than fighting, armed, too, with 
 sickles and scythes, was a task beyond either his ability or 
 inclination to execute. He remonstrated with them, en- 
 treated, raged, swore, and threatened, but all to no purpose. 
 His threats and entreaties were received with equal good 
 humour. Gibes and jokes were broken on him without 
 number, and as his passion increased, so did their mirth, 
 until nothing could be seen but the captain in vehement 
 gesticulation, the Irishmen huzzaing him so vociferously 
 that his damns and curses, uttered against them, could not 
 reach even his own ears. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said he to his cabin passengers, " for the 
 love of Heaven, tax your invention to discover some means 
 whereby to get one-half of these men out of the vessel, 
 otherwise it will be impossible that we can sail to-day. I 
 have already proffered to take one-half of them by lot, but 
 they will not hear of it ; and how to manage I am sure I 
 don't know." 
 
 The matter, however, was beyond their depth : the thing 
 seemed utterly impracticable, and the chances of their 
 putting to sea were becoming fainter and fainter. 
 
 " Bl — t their eyes !" he at length exclaimed, " the ragged, 
 hungry devils ! If they heard me with decency, I could 
 bear their obstinacy better : but no, they must turn me in- 
 to ridicule, and break their jests and turn their cursed 
 barbarous grins upon me in my own vessel. I say, boys," 
 he added, proceeding to address them once more — " I say, 
 savages, I have just three observations to make. The first 
 is " 
 
238 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 " Arrah, captain, avourneen, hadn't you betther get upon 
 a stool," said a voice, " an' put a text before it, thin divide 
 it dacently into three halves, an' make a sarmon of it." 
 
 " Captain, you wor intinded for the Church," added 
 another. " You're the moral of a Methodist preacher, if 
 you wor dressed in black." 
 
 " Let him alone," said a third ; " he'd be a jinteel man 
 enough in a wilderness, an' ud make an illigant dancin'- 
 masther to the bears." 
 
 " He's as graceful as a shaved pig on its hind legs, 
 dancin' the ' Baltihorum jig.' " 
 
 The captain's face was literally black with passion : he 
 turned away with a curse, which produced another huzza, 
 and swore that he would rather encounter the Bay of 
 Biscay in a storm than have anything to do with such an 
 unmanageable mob. 
 
 " Captain," said a little, shrewd-looking Connaught man, 
 " what ud you be willin' to give anybody, over an' abow his 
 free passage, that ud tell you howto get one half o' them out?" 
 
 " I'll give him a crown," replied the captain, " together 
 with grog and rations to the eyes : I'll be hanged if I don't." 
 
 "Then I'll do it fwhor you, sir, if you keep yor word wit me." 
 
 " Done," said the captain, " it's a bargain, my good 
 fellow, if you accomplish it ; and what's more, I'll consider 
 you a knowing one." 
 
 " I'm a poor Cannaught man, your haner," replied our 
 friend Phil, " but what's to prevint me thryin' ! Tell thim," 
 he continued, " that you must go ; purtind to be fwhor 
 takin' thim wit you, sir. Put Munshther agin Cannaught, 
 one half an this side, an' the odher an that, to keep the 
 crathur of a ship steady, your haner ; an' fwhin you have 
 thim half an' half, wit a little room betuxt thim, ' Now, 
 says your haner, ' boys, you're divided into two halves ; if 
 one side kicks the other out o' the ship, I'll bring the cun- 
 quirors." 
 
THE CONNAUGHT PIG-DRIVER. 239 
 
 The captain said not a word in reply to Phil, but im- 
 mediately ranged the Munster and Connaught men on each 
 side of the deck — a matter which he found little difficulty 
 in accomplishing, for each party, hoping that he intended 
 to take themselves, readily declared their province, and 
 stood together. When they were properly separated, there 
 still remained about forty or fifty persons belonging to 
 neither province ; but, at Phil's suggestion, the captain 
 paired them off to each division, man for man, until they 
 were drawn up into two bodies. 
 
 " Now," said he, " there you stand : let one half of you 
 drub the other out of the vessel, and the conquerors shall 
 get their passage." 
 
 Instant was the struggle that ensued for the sake of 
 securing a passage, and from the anxiety to save a shilling, 
 by getting out of Liverpool on that day. The saving of 
 the shilling is, indeed, a consideration with Paddy which 
 drives him to the various resources of begging, claiming 
 kindred with his resident countrymen in England, pretend- 
 ed illness, coming to be passed from parish to parish, and 
 all the turnings and shiftings which his reluctance to part 
 with money renders necessary. Another night, therefore, 
 and probably another day in Liverpool would have been 
 attended with expense. This argument prevailed with all ; 
 with Munster as well as with Connaught, and they fought 
 accordingly. 
 
 When the attack first commenced each party hoped to 
 be able to expel the other without blows. This plan was 
 soon abandoned. In a few minutes the sticks and fists 
 were busy. Throttling, tugging, cuffing, and knocking 
 down — shouting, hallooing, huzzaing, and yelling gave 
 evident proofs that the captain, in embracing Phil's pro- 
 posal, had unwittingly applied the match to a mine whose 
 explosion was likely to be attended with disastrous con- 
 sequences. As the fight became warm, and the struggles 
 
240 AMUSING IRISH TALES. - 
 
 more desperate, the hooks and scythes were resorted to • 
 blood began to flow, and men to fall, disabled and appar- 
 ently dying. The immense crowd which had now assem- 
 bled to witness the fight among the Irishmen could not 
 stand tamely by and see so many lives likely to be lost, 
 without calling in the civil authorities. A number of con- 
 stables in a few minutes attended ; but these worthy officers 
 of the civil authorities experienced very uncivil treatment 
 from the fists, cudgels, and sickles of both parties. In fact, 
 they were obliged to get from among the rioters with all 
 possible celerity, and to suggest to the magistrates the 
 necessity of calling in the military. 
 
 In the meantime the battle rose into a furious and bitter 
 struggle for victory, The deck of the vessel was actually 
 slippery with blood, and many were lying in an almost 
 lifeless state. Several were pitched into the hold, and had 
 their legs and arms broken by the fall ; some were tossed 
 over the sides of the vessel, and only saved from drowning 
 by the activity of the sailors ; and not a few of those who 
 had been knocked down in the beginning of the fray were 
 trampled into insensibility. 
 
 The Munster men at length gave way ; and their oppo- 
 nents, following up their advantage, succeeded in driving 
 them to a man out of the vessel just as the military arrived. 
 Fortunately their interference was unnecessary. The 
 ruffianly captain's object was accomplished; and as no 
 lives were lost, nor any injury more serious than broken 
 bones and flesh wounds sustained, he got the vessel in 
 readiness and put to sea. 
 
THE HOLDING OF THE STATION. 241 
 
 FATHER PHILEMY. 
 
 The Holding of the Station. 
 
 OUR readers are to suppose the Reverend Philemy M'Guirk, 
 parish priest of Tir-neer, to be standing upon the altar of 
 the chapel, facing the congregation, after having gone 
 through the canon of the mass ; and having nothing more 
 of the service to perform than the usual prayers with which 
 he closes the ceremony. 
 
 " Take notice, that the Stations for the following week 
 will be held as follows : — 
 
 " On Monday, in Jack Gallagher's of Corraghnamoddagh. 
 Are you there, Jack ? " 
 
 " To the fore, yer reverence." 
 
 "Why, then, Jack, there's something ominous — something 
 auspicious — to happen, or we wouldn't have you here ; for 
 it's very seldom that you make part or parcel of the present 
 congregation ; seldom are you here, Jack, it must be con- 
 fessed : however, you know the old classical proverb, or if 
 you don't, / do, which will just answer as well — Non semper 
 ridit Apollo — it's not every day Manus kills a bullock ; so,, 
 as you are here, be prepared for us on Monday." 
 
 " Never fear, yer reverence, never fear ; I think you ought 
 to know that the grazin' at Corraghnamoddagh's not bad." 
 
 " To do you justice, Jack, the mutton was always good 
 with you, only if you would get it better killed it would be 
 an improvement." 
 
 " Very well, yer reverence, I'll do it." 
 
 " On Tuesday, in Peter Murtagh's, of the Crooked 
 Commons. Are you there, Peter ? " 
 
 " Here, yer reverence." 
 
 " Indeed, Peter, I might know you are here ; and I wish 
 
 17 
 
242 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 that a great many of my flock would take example by you: 
 if they did, I wouldn't be so far behind in getting in my 
 dues. Well, Peter, I suppose you know that this is 
 Michaelmas ? " 
 
 " So fat, yer reverence, that they're not able to wag ; but, 
 any way, Katty has them marked for you — two fine young 
 crathurs, only last year's fowl, and the ducks isn't a taste 
 behind them — she's crammin' them this month past." 
 
 " I believe you, Peter, and I would take your word for 
 more than the condition of the geese — remember me to 
 Katty, Peter." 
 
 " On Wednesday, in Parr ah More S levin's of Mullaghfadh. 
 Are you there, Parrah More ? " — No answer. " Parrah 
 More Slevin ? " — Silence. " Parrah More Slevin, of 
 Mullaghfadh ? "—No reply. " Dan Fagan ? " 
 
 " Present, sir." 
 
 " Do you know what keeps that reprobate from mass ? " 
 
 " I bleeve he's takin' advantage, sir, of the frast, to get 
 in his praties to-day, in respect of the bad footin', sir, for 
 the horses in the bog when there's not a frast. Anyhow, 
 betune that and a bit of a sore head that he got, yer 
 reverence, on Thursday last in takin' part wid the 
 O'Scallaghans agin the Bradys, I believe he had to stay 
 away to-day." 
 
 " On the Sabbath day, too, without my leave ! Well, 
 tell him from me that I'll make an example of him to the 
 whole parish, if he doesn't attend mass better. Will the 
 Bradys and the O'Scallaghans never be done with their 
 quarrelling? I protest, if they don't live like Christians I'll 
 read them out from the altar. Will you tell Parrah More 
 that I'll hold a station in his house on next Wednesday ? " 
 
 " I will, sir ; I will, yer reverence." 
 
 " On Thursday, in Phaddhy Sheemns Phaddhy's of the 
 Esker. Are you there, Phaddhy ? " 
 
 t' Wid the help of God, I'm here, sir." 
 
THE HOLDING OF THE STATION. 243 
 
 "Well, Phaddhy, how is yer son Briney, that's at the 
 Latin ? I hope he's coming on well at it ? " 
 
 " Why, sir, he's not more nor a year and a half at it yet, 
 and he's got more books amost nor he can carry — he'll 
 break me buying books for him." 
 
 " Well, that's a good sign, Phaddhy, but why don't you 
 bring him to me till I examine him ? " 
 
 " Why, never a one of me can get him to go, sir, he's so 
 much afeard of your reverence." 
 
 " Well, Phaddhy, we were once modest and bashful our- 
 selves, and I'm glad to hear that he's afraid of his clargy ; 
 but let him be prepared for me on Thursday, and maybe 
 I'll let him know something he never heard before ; I'll 
 give him a Maynooth touch." 
 
 " Do you hear that, Briney," said the father, aside, to the 
 son, who knelt at his knee — "ye must give up yer hurling and 
 idlingnow,yousee. Thankyer reverence, thank you, docthor." 
 
 " On Friday, in Barny O'Darbys, alias Barny Butter's. 
 Are you there, Barny ? " 
 
 " All that's left of me is here, sir." 
 
 " Well, Barny, how is the butter trade this season ? " 
 
 " It's a little on the rise now, sir ; in a month or so I'm 
 expecting it will be brisk enough ; Boney> sir, is doing that 
 much for us, any way." 
 
 " Ay, and Barny, he'll do more than that for us ; God 
 prosper him at all events — I only hope the time's coming, 
 Barny, when everyone will be able to eat his own butter 
 and his own beef, too." 
 
 " God send it, sir." 
 
 " Well, Barny, I didn't hear from your brother Ned these 
 two or three months ; what has become of him ? " 
 
 " Ah, yer reverence, Pentland done him up." 
 
 " What, the gauger ? " 
 
 " He did, the thief; but maybe he'll sup sorrow for it 
 afore he's much oulder." 
 
244 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 " And who do you think informed, Barny ? " 
 
 " Oh, I only wish we knew that, sir." 
 
 "I wish /knew it ; and if I thought any miscreant here 
 would become an informer I'd make an example of him. 
 Well, Barny, on Friday next ; but I suppose Ned has a 
 drop still — eh, Barny ? " 
 
 " Why, sir, we'll be apt to have something stronger nor 
 wather, anyhow." 
 
 "Very well, Barny: your family was always a dacent 
 and spirited family, I'll say that for them : but tell me, 
 Barny, did you begin to dam the river yet ? I think the 
 trouts and eels are running by this time." 
 
 " The creels are made, yer reverence, though we did not 
 set them yet ; but on Tuesday night, sir, wid the help 
 o' God, we'll be ready." 
 
 " You can corn the trouts, Barny, and the eels too ; but 
 should you catch nothing, go to Pat Hartigan, Captain 
 Sloethorn's gamekeeper, and if you tell him it's for me, he'll 
 drag you a batch out of the fish-pond." 
 
 " Ah ! then, your reverence, it's 'imself that 'ill do that 
 wid a heart an' a half." 
 
 Such was the conversation which took place between the 
 Reverend Philemy M'Guirk and those of his parishioners in 
 whose houses he had appointed to hold a series of stations 
 for the week ensuing the Sunday laid in this, our account, of 
 that hitherto undescribed portion of the Romish discipline. 
 
 Now, the reader is to understand that a station in this 
 sense differs from a station made to any peculiar spot re- 
 markable for local sanctity. There, a station means the 
 performance of a pilgrimage to a certain place, under peculiar 
 circumstances, and the going through a stated number of 
 prayers and other penitential ceremonies, for the purpose of 
 wiping out sin in this life, or of relieving the soul of some 
 relation from the pains of purgatory in the other ; here, it 
 simply means the coming of the parish priest and his curate 
 
THE HOLDING OF THE STATION. 245 
 
 to some house in the townland, on a day publicly announced 
 from the altar for that purpose on the preceding Sabbath. 
 
 Father Con, the curate, arrived first ; Phaddhy and Kitty 
 were instantly at the door to welcome him. 
 
 " Musha, and it's you that's welcome, from my heart out, 
 to our house, Father Con, avourneen ! " said Kitty, dropping 
 him a low curtsy, and spreading her new brown quilted 
 petticoat as far out on each side of her as it would go. 
 
 " I thank you," said honest Con, who, as he knew not 
 her name, did not pretend to know it. 
 
 " Well, Father Con," said Phaddhy, " this is the first time 
 you have ever come to us this-a-way ; but plase God it 
 won't be the last, I hope." 
 
 " I hope not, Phaddhy," said Father Con, who, notwith- 
 standing his simplicity of character, loved a good dinner in 
 the very core of his heart ; " I hope not indeed, Phaddhy." 
 
 He then threw his eye about the premises, to see what 
 point he might set his temper to during the remainder of 
 the day ; for it is right to inform our readers that a priest's 
 temper, at a station, generally rises or falls according to the 
 prospect of his cheer. 
 
 Here, however, a little vista or pantry, jutting out from 
 the kitchen, and left ostentatiously open, presented him with 
 a view which made his very nose curl with kindness. What it 
 contained we do not pretend to say, not having seen it our- 
 selves ; we judge, therefore, only by its effect on his 
 physiognomy. 
 
 Breakfast was laid in Katty's best style, and with an 
 originality of arrangement that scorned all precedent. 
 Two tables were placed, one after another, in the kitchen ; 
 for the other rooms were not sufficiently large to accom- 
 modate the company. Father Philemy filled the seat of 
 honour at the head of the table, with his back to an im- 
 mense fire. On his right hand sat Father Con ; on his left, 
 Phaddy himself, " to keep the clargy in company ; " and, in 
 
246 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 due succession after them, their friends and neighbours, 
 each taking precedence according to the most scrupulous 
 notions of respectability. Beside Father Con sat " Pether 
 Malone," a " young collegian," who had been sent home 
 from Maynooth to try his native air for the recovery of his 
 health, which was declining. He arrived only a few 
 minutes after Father Philemy, and was a welcome rein- 
 forcement to Phaddy in the arduous task of sustaining the 
 conversation with suitable credit. 
 
 With respect to the breakfast I can only say that it was 
 super-abundant — that the tea was as black as bog water — 
 that there were hen, turkey, and geese eggs — plates of 
 toast soaked, crust and crumb, in butter, and, lest there 
 might be a deficiency, one of the daughters sat on a stool at 
 the fire, with her open hand, by way of a fire-screen, across 
 her red, half-scorched brows, toasting another plateful ; and, 
 to crown all, on each corner of the table was a bottle of 
 whisky. At the lower board sat the youngsters, under the 
 surveillance of Katty's sister, who presided in that quarter. 
 When they were commencing breakfast, " Father Philemy," 
 said Katty, "won't yer rev'rence bless the mate, if ye plase ? " 
 
 " If I don't do it myself," said Father Philemy, who was 
 just after sweeping the top off a turkey egg, "I'll get them 
 that will. Come," said he to the collegian, " give us grace, 
 Peter, you'll never learn younger." 
 
 This, however, was an unexpected blow to Peter, who 
 knew that an English grace would be incompatible with his 
 " college breeding/' yet was unprovided with any in Latin. 
 The eyes of the company were now fixed upon him, and 
 he blushed like scarlet on finding himself in a predicament 
 so awkward and embarrassing. " Aliquid, Pctre, aiiquid ; 
 1 de profundis' — si habes nihil aliud" said Father Philemy, 
 feeling for his embarrassment, and giving him a hint. This 
 was not lost, for Peter began, and gave them the De pro- 
 fundis, a Latin psalm which Roman Catholics repeat for 
 
THE HOLDING OF THE STATION. 247 
 
 the relief of the souls in purgatory. They forgot, however, 
 that there was a person in company who considered him- 
 self as having an equal claim to the repetition of at least 
 the one-half of it ; and accordingly, when Peter got up and 
 repeated the first verse, Andy Lawlor got also on his legs, 
 and repeated the response. This staggered Peter a little, 
 who hesitated, as uncertain how to act. 
 
 " Perge, Petre, Perge" said Father Philemy, looking 
 rather wistfully at his egg — " Perge, stultus est et asinus 
 quoque." Peter and Andy proceeded until it was finished, 
 when they resumed their seats. 
 
 The conversation during breakfast was as sprightly, as 
 full of fun and humour, as such breakfasts usually are. 
 The priest, Phaddy, and the young collegian had a topic of 
 their own, whilst the rest were engaged in a kind of by- 
 play until the meal was finished. 
 
 " Father Philemy," said Phaddy, in his capacity of host, 
 "before we begin we'll all take a dhrop of what's in the bottle, 
 if it's not displasing to yer reverence ; and, sure, I know 
 'tis the same doesn't come wrong at a station, anyhow." 
 
 This, more majorum, was complied with ; and the glass, as 
 usual, went round the table, beginning with their reverences. 
 
 " Are you all ready now ? " said the priest, after breakfast, 
 to a crowd of country people who were standing about the 
 kitchen door, pressing to get the " first turn " at the tribunal, 
 which, on this occasion, consisted of a good oak chair with 
 his reverence upon it. 
 
 " Why do you crush forward in that manner, you ill-bred 
 spalpeens ? Can't you stand back and behave yourselves 
 like common Christians ? — back with you, or, if you make 
 me get my whip, I'll soon clear you from about the dacent 
 man's door. Hagarty, why do you crush them two girls 
 there, you great Turk, you ? Look at the vagabonds ! — 
 Where's my whip ? " said he, running in, and coming out in 
 a fury, when he commenced cutting about him, until they 
 
248 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 dispersed in all directions. He then returned into the house ; 
 and, after calling in about two dozen, began to catechise 
 them as follows, still holding the whip in his hand, while many 
 of those individuals, who, at a party quarrel in fair or 
 market, or in the more inhuman crimes of murder or nightly 
 depradations, were as callous and hardened specimens of 
 humanity as ever set the laws of civilised society at defiance, 
 stood trembling before him like slaves, absolutely pale and 
 breathless with fear. 
 
 " Come, Kelly," said he to one of them, " are you fully 
 prepared for the two blessed sacraments of Penance and the 
 Eucharist, that you area bout to receive ? Can you read, sir?" 
 
 "Can I read, is id ? — my brother Barney can, yer reverence," 
 replied Kelly, sensible, amid all the disadvantages around 
 him, of the degradation of his ignorance. 
 
 " What's that to me, sir," said the priest, " what your 
 brother Barney can do — can you not read yourself? — and, 
 maybe," he continued, parenthetically, "your brother 
 Barney's not much the holier for his knowledge." 
 
 " I cannot, your reverence," said Kelly, in a tone of regret. 
 
 " I hope you have your Christian Doctrine, at all events," 
 said the priest — " Go on with the Confiteor." 
 
 Kelly went on — "Confectur Dimniportenti batchy Mary 
 scmplar virginy, batchy Mickletoe Archy Angeloe batchy Johnny 
 Bartisty, sancttis postlis — Petrum hit Paulum, omnium 
 scantris, et tabby, pasture quay a pixavit minus coglety ashy 
 Jiony verbum et offer him smaxy quilta S7naxy quilta smaxy 
 maxin in quilta." 
 
 " Very well, Kelly, right enough, all except the pronounc- 
 ing, which wouldn't pass muster in Maynooth, however. 
 How many kinds of commandments are there ? " 
 
 " Two, sir." 
 
 " What are they ? " 
 
 " God's and the Church's." 
 
 " Repeat God's share of them." 
 
THE HOLDING OF THE STATION. 249 
 
 He then repeated the first commandment according to 
 his catechism. 
 
 " Very good, Kelly, very good. Now you must know 
 that the heretics split that into two, for no other reason in 
 the world only to knock our blessed images on the head ; 
 but we needn't expect them to have much conscience. 
 Well, now repeat the commandments of the Church." 
 
 " First — Sundays and holidays, Mass thou shalt sartinly 
 hear; 
 
 Second — All holidays sanctificate throughout all the 
 whole year. 
 
 Third — Lent, Ember days, and Virgils, thou shalt be 
 sartin to fast ; 
 
 Fourth — Fridays and Saturdays flesh thou shalt not, 
 good, bad, or indifferent, taste. 
 
 Fifth — In Lent and Advent, nuptial fastes gallantly for- 
 bear ; 
 
 Sixth — Confess your sins, at laste once dacently and 
 soberly every year. 
 
 Seventh — Receive your God at confission about great 
 Easter-day ; 
 
 Eighth — And to his Church and his own frolicsome 
 clargy neglect not tides to pay." 
 
 " Well," said his reverence, " now, the great point is, do 
 you understand them ? " 
 
 " Wid the help of God, I hope so, yer rev'rence — and I 
 have also the three thriptological vartues." 
 " Theological, sirrah ! " 
 
 " Theojollyological vartues ; the four sins that cry to 
 heaven for vingeance ; the five carnal vartues — prudence, 
 justice, timptation, and solitude; the six holy Christian 
 
 gifts ; the seven deadly sins ; the eight grey attitudes " 
 
 " Grey attitudes ! Oh ! the Bceotian ! " exclaimed his 
 reverence : " listen to the way in which he's playing havoc 
 among them— stop, sir," for Kelly was going on at full 
 
250 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 speed — " stop, sir ; I tell you it's not grey attitudes, but bay 
 attitudes — doesn't everyone know the eight beatitudes ? " 
 
 " The eight bay attitudes ; the nine ways of being guilty 
 of another's sins ; the ten commandments ; the twelve 
 fruits of a Christian ; the fourteen stations of the cross ; the 
 fifteen mystheries of the passion " 
 
 " Kelly," said his reverence, interrupting him, and herald- 
 ing the joke, for so it was intended, with a hearty chuckle, 
 " you're getting fast out of you're teens, ma bouchal ! " and 
 this was, of course, honoured with a merry peal, extorted 
 as much by an effort at softening the rigour of examination, 
 as by the traditionary duty which entails upon the Irish 
 laity the necessity of laughing at a priest's jokes, without 
 any reference at all to their quality. Nor was his 
 reverence's own voice the first to subside into that gravity 
 which became the solemnity of the occasion ; for, even 
 whilst he continued the interrogatories, his eye was laugh- 
 ing at the conceit, with which it was evident the inner man 
 was not competent to grapple. " Well, Kelly, I can't say 
 but you've answered very well, as far as the repeating of 
 them goes : but do you perfectly widerstand all the 
 commandments of the Church?" 
 
 " I do, sir," replied Kelly, whose confidence kept pace 
 with his reverence's good humour. 
 
 " Well, what is meant by the fifth ? " 
 
 " The fifth, sir," said the other, rather confounded — " I 
 must begin agin', sir, and go on till I come to it." 
 
 " Well," said the priest, " never mind that ; but tell us 
 what the eighth means ? " 
 
 Kelly stared at him a second time, but was not able to 
 advance. " First — Sundays and holidays, mass thou shalt 
 hear ; " but before he had proceeded to the second, a person 
 who stood at his elbow began to whisper to him the proper 
 reply, and, in the act of doing so, received a lash of the 
 whip across the ear for his pains. 
 
THE HOLDING OF THE STATION. 251 
 
 " You blackguard, you ! " exclaimed Father Philemy, 
 " take that — how dare you attempt to prompt any person 
 that I'm examining ? " 
 
 Those who stood round Kelly now fell back to a safe 
 distance, and all was silence, terror, and trepidation once 
 more. 
 
 " Come, Kelly, go on — the eighth ? " 
 
 Kelly was still silent 
 
 " Why, you Ninny, you, didn't you repeat it just now. 
 ' Eighth — And to his Church neglect not tithes to pay.' 
 Now that I have put the words in your mouth, what does 
 it mean ? " 
 
 Kelly having thus got the cue, replied in the words of 
 the catechism, " To pay tides to the lawful pasterns of the 
 Church, sir." 
 
 " Pasterns / oh, you ass, you ; pasterns ! You poor, 
 base, contemptible, crawling reptile ; as if we trampled you 
 under our hooves — oh, you scruff of the earth ! Stop, I 
 say — it's pastors! 1 
 
 " Pasthors of the Church." 
 
 "And tell me, do you fulfil that commandment?" 
 
 "I do, sir." 
 
 " It's a lie, sir," replied the priest, brandishing the whip 
 over his head, whilst Kelly instinctively threw up his 
 guard to protect himself from the blow ; " It's a lie, sir," 
 repeated his reverence, " you don't fulfil it, What is the 
 Church?" 
 
 " The Church is the congregation of the faithful that 
 purfiss the true faith, and are obadient to the pope." 
 
 " And who do you pay your tithes to ? " 
 
 " To the parson, sir." 
 
 "And, you poor varmint you, is he obadient to the pope?" 
 
 Kelly only smiled at the want of comprehension which 
 prevented him from seeing the thing according to the view 
 which his reverence took of it. 
 
252 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 " Well, now," continued Father Philemy, " who are the 
 laivful pastors of God's Church ? " 
 
 " You are, sir, and all our own priests." 
 
 " And who ought you to pay your tithes to ? " 
 
 " To you, sir, in coorse ; sure I always knew that, yer 
 rev'rence." 
 
 " And what's the reason, then, you don't pay them to me 
 instead of the parson ? " 
 
 This was a puzzler to Kelly, who only knew his own 
 side of the question. " You have me there, sir," he replied 
 with a grin. 
 
 " Because," said his reverence, " the Protestants, for the 
 present, have the law of the land on their side, and power 
 over you to compel the payment of tithes to themselves ; 
 but we have right, justice, and the law of God on ours ; 
 and, if everything was in its proper place, it is not to the 
 parsons, but to us, that you would pay them." 
 
 " Well, well, sir," replied Kelly, who now experienced a 
 community of feeling upon the subject with his reverence 
 that instantly threw him into a familiarity of manner which 
 he thought the point between them justified — "who knows, 
 sir ? " said he, with a knowing smile, " there's a good time 
 coming, yer rev'rence." 
 
 " Ay," said Father Philemy, " wait till we get once into 
 the Big House, and if we don't turn the scales — if the 
 Established Church doesn't go down, why, there's no truth 
 in Scripture. Now, Kelly, all's right but the money — have 
 you brought your dues ? " 
 
 " Here it is, sir," said Kelly, handing him his dues for 
 the last year. 
 
 It is to be observed here that, according as the penitents 
 went to be examined, or to kneel down to confess, a certain 
 sum was exacted from each, which varied according to the 
 arrears that might have been due to the priest. Indeed, it 
 is not unusual for the host and hostess, on these occasions, 
 
THE HOLDING OF THE STATION. 253 
 
 to be refused a participation in the sacrament until they 
 pay this money, notwithstanding the considerable expense 
 they are put to in entertaining, not only the clergy, but a 
 certain number of their own friends and relations. 
 
 " Well, stand aside, I'll hear you first ; and now come up 
 here, you young gentleman, that laughed so heartily a 
 while ago at my joke — ha, ha, ha ! — come up here, child." 
 
 A lad now approached him whose face, on a first view, 
 had something simple and thoughtless in it, but in which, 
 on a closer inspection, might be traced a lurking, sarcastic 
 humour, of which his reverence never dreamt. 
 
 " You're for confession, of course ? " said the priest. 
 
 " Of coorse^ said the lad, echoing him, and laying a stress 
 upon the word, which did not much elevate the meaning 
 of the blind compliance in general with the rite in question. 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed the priest, recognising him when he 
 approached — " you are Dan Fegan's son, and designed for 
 the Church yourself; you are a good Latinist, for I 
 remember examining you in Erasmus about two years ago — 
 Quomodo se habet corpus tunm Charmn lignum saceraotis ? " 
 
 " Valde, Domine" replied the lad, " Quomodo se habet 
 anima tua, charum exemplar sacerdotage, et fulcrum robust- 
 issimum Ecclesics sacrosanctcz." 
 
 " Very good, Harry," replied his reverence, laughing — 
 " stand aside ; I'll hear you after Kelly." 
 
 He then called up a man with a long, melancholy face, 
 which he noticed before to have been proof against his 
 joke, and after making two or three additional fruitless 
 experiments upon his gravity, he commenced a cross fire 
 of peevish interrogatories, which would have excluded him 
 from the "tribunal " on that occasion, were it not that the 
 man was remarkably well prepared, and answered the 
 priest's questions very pertinently. 
 
 This over, he repaired to his room, where the work of abso- 
 lution commenced ; and, as there was a considerable number 
 
254 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 to be rendered sinless before the hour of dinner, he contrived 
 to unsin them with an alacrity that was really surprising. 
 
 That a station is an expensive ordinance to the peasant 
 who is honoured by having one held in his house, no one 
 who knows the characteristic hospitality of the Irish people 
 can doubt. I have reason, however, to think, that since the 
 Church of Rome and her discipline have undergone so 
 rigorous a scrutiny by the advocates of scriptural truth, she 
 has been much more cautious in the manner in which they 
 have been conducted. The policy of Romanism has uni- 
 formly been to adapt herself to the circumstances by which 
 she may be surrounded, and as the unbecoming licentious- 
 ness, which about twenty, or even so late as fifteen years 
 ago trod so closely upon the heels of a ceremony which the 
 worship of God and the administration of sacramental rites 
 should have in a peculiar manner solemnized, was utterly 
 disgraceful and shocking — she felt that it was expedient, 
 as knowledge advanced around her, to practise a greater 
 degree of external decorum and circumspection, lest her 
 little ones should be scandalized. This, however, did not 
 render it necessary that she should effect much reformation 
 on this point in those parts of the kingdom which are ex- 
 clusively Catholic ; and accordingly stations, with some ex- 
 ceptions in a certain diocese, go on much in the old manner 
 as to the expense which they occasion the people to incur, 
 and the jolly, convivial spirit which winds them up. 
 
 About four o'clock the penitents were at length all de- 
 spatched ; and those who were to be detained for dinner, 
 many of whom had not eaten anything until then, in con- 
 sequence of the necessity of receiving the Eucharist fast- 
 ing, were taken aside to taste some of Phaddhy's poteen. 
 Of course, no remorse was felt at the impiety of mingling 
 it so soon with the sacrament they had just received, be- 
 lieving, as they did, the latter to contain the immaculate 
 Deity ; but, indeed, their reverences at breakfast had set 
 
THE HOLDING OF THE STATION. 255 
 
 them a pretty example on that point. At length the hour 
 of dinner arrived, and along with it the redoubtable Parrah 
 More Slevin, Captain Wilson, and another nephew of 
 Father Philemy's, who had come to know what detained 
 his brother who had conducted the auxiliary priest to 
 Phaddhy's. It is surprising, on these occasions, to think 
 how many uncles, and nephews, and cousins, to the forty- 
 second degree, find it needful to follow their reverences on 
 messages of various kinds ; and it is equally surprising to 
 observe with what exactness they drop in during the hour of 
 dinner. Of course, any blood-relation or friend of the priest's 
 must be received with cordiality ; and consequently they do 
 not return without solid proofs of the good-natured hospitality 
 of poor Paddy, who feels no greater pleasure than in show- 
 ing his " dacency " to any belonging to his reverence. 
 
 I daresay it would be difficult to find a more motley and 
 diversified company than sat down to the ungarnished fare 
 which Katty laid before them. There were first, Fathers 
 Philemy, Con, and the auxiliary from the far part of the 
 diocese ; next followed Captain Wilson, Peter Malone, and 
 Father Philemy's two nephews ; after these came Phaddhy 
 himself, Parrah More Slevin, with about two dozen more 
 of the most remarkable and uncouth personages that could 
 sit down to table. There were besides about a dozen of 
 females, most of whom by this time, owing to Katty 's pri- 
 vate kindness, and a slight thirst occasioned by the long 
 fast, were in a most independent and placid state of feeling. 
 Father Philemy, ex officio, filled the chair — he was a small 
 man, with cherub cheeks as red as roses, black twinkling 
 eyes, and double chin ; was of the fat-headed genus, and, if 
 phrenologists be correct, must have given indications of 
 early piety, for he was bald before his time, and had the 
 organ of veneration standing visible on his crown ; his hair, 
 from having once been black, had become an iron-grey, and 
 hung down behind his ears, resting on the collar of his coat, 
 
256 AMUSING IRISH TALES. 
 
 according to the old school, to which, I must remark, he 
 belonged, having been educated on the Continent. His 
 coat had large double breasts, the lappels of which hung 
 down loosely on each side, being the prototype of his waist- 
 coat, whose double breasts fell downwards in the same 
 manner ; his black small-clothes had silver buckles at the 
 knees, and the gaiters, which did not reach up so far, 
 discovered a pair of white lamb's- wool stockings, somewhat 
 retreating from their original colour. 
 
 Father Con was a tall, muscular, able-bodied young man, 
 with an immensely broad pair of shoulders, of which he 
 was vain ; his black hair was cropped close, except a thin 
 portion of it, which was trimmed quite evenly across his 
 eyebrows; he was rather bow-limbed, and when walking 
 looked upwards, holding out his elbows from his body, and 
 letting the lower parts of his arms fall down, so that he 
 went as if he carried a keg under each ; his coat, though 
 not well made, was of the best glossy broadcloth, and his 
 long clerical boots went up about his knees like a 
 dragoon's ; there was an awkward stiffness about him, in 
 very good keeping with a dark, melancholy cast of count- 
 enance, in which, however, a man might discover an air of 
 simplicity not to be found in the visage of his superior, 
 Father Philemy. 
 
 The latter gentleman filled the chair, as I said, and 
 carved the goose ; on his right sat Captain Wilson ; on his 
 left the auxiliary — next to them Father Con, the nephews, 
 Peter Malone, et cetera. To enumerate the items of the 
 dinner is unnecessary, as our readers have a pretty accurate 
 notion of them from what we have already said. We can 
 only observe that when Phaddhy saw it laid, and all the 
 wheels of the system fairly set a-going, he looked at Parrah 
 More with an air of triumph which he could not conceal. 
 
 THE END. 
 
ffffbfb 
 
 U DAY USE 
 
 RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED 
 
 LOAN DEPT. 
 
 This book is due on the last date stamped below, or 
 
 on the date to which renewed. 
 
 Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. 
 
 INTER-LIBRARY 
 
 
 LOAN 
 
 |Apr'65SW 
 
 
 
 
 R &C'D LD 
 
 
 SEP 8 -65 . sp 
 
 M 
 
 
 i 
 
 
 
 JUL % 2 
 
 1879 
 
 
 
 RtC.CIR.JANl o'8G 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ln „, sn „ , ,«., General Library 
 

 I - , * S> '*«V: 
 
 
 
 m 
 
 ■ - , .-.TV I 
 
 ■ I I 
 
 ■ 
 
 HI 
 
 :.*«*'