LIBRARY ^University of Californi IRVINE At* JLEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND (FIRST SERIES) BY SAMUEL LOVER EDITED WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES BY D. J. OTONOGHUE Author of "THE LIFE OF WILLIAM CABLETON" " THE LIFE OF JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN " " THE POETS OF IRELAND " and editor of " THE HUMOUR OF IRELAND " : TRAITS AND STORIES OF THE IRISH PEASANTRY," ETC WESTMINSTER ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & Co. 2 WHITEHALL GARDENS 1899 PR. TO SIR MARTIN ARCHER SHEE, P. R. A. A PAINTER A POET AND AN IRISHMAN, THIS VOLUME IS VEBY BESPECTFTTLLY INSCBIBED, BY THE AUTHOR. CONTENTS Page PREFACE IX INTRODUCTION XIII EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION xxi KINO O'TOOLE AND SAINT KEVIN A LEGEND OF GLENDALOUGH 1 LOUGH CORRIB 15 MS. FROM THE CABINET OF MRS. 18 THE WHITE TROUT A LEGEND OF CONG 29 THE BATTLE OF THE BERRINS ... 40 FATHER ROACH 56 THE PRIEST'S STORY 62 THE KING AND THE BISHOP A LEGEND OF CLONMACNOISE. . . 73 AN ESSAY ON FOOLS 91 THE CATASTROPHE 100 THE DEVIL'S MILL 122 THE GRIDIRON 136 PADDY THE PIPER 148 THE PRIEST'S GHOST l6l NEW POTATOES AN IRISH MELODY 166 PADDY THE SPORT 176 NATIONAL MINSTRELSY 204 NOTES 233 PREFACE Though the sources whence these stories are derived are open to every one, yet chance or choice may prevent thousands from making such sources available ; and though the village crone and mountain guide have many hearers, still their circle is so circumscribed, that most of what I have ventured to lay before my readers, is, for the first time, made tangible to the greater portion of those who do me the favour to become such. In one story alone "Paddy the Piper" I have no claim to authorship, and this I take the earliest oppor- tunity of declaring, and as I have entered upon my confessions, it is, perhaps, equally fair to state that although most of the tales are authentic, there is one purely my invention, namely, "The Gridiron' 1 . Many of them were originally intended merely for the diversion of a few friends round my own fireside : there, recited in the manner of those from whom I heard them, they made their debut, and the flattering reception they met on so minor a stage led to their appearance before larger audiences ; subsequently, I was induced to publish two of them in the Dublin Literary Gazette, and the X PREFACE favourable notice j from contemporary prints which they received has led to the publication of the present volume. I should not have troubled the reader with this account of the "birth, parentage and education"" of my literary bantlings, but to have it understood that some of them are essentially oral in their character, and, I fear, suffer materially when reduced to writing. This I mention, en passant, to the critics; if I meet but half as good- natured readers as I have hitherto found auditors, I shall have cause to be thankful. But, previously to the perusal of the following pages, there are a few observations that I feel are necessary, and which I shall make as concise as possible. Most of the stories are given in the manner of the peasantry ; and this has led to some peculiarities that might be objected to, were not the cause explained namely, frequent digressions in the course of the narrative, occasional adjurations, and certain words unusually spelt. As regards the first, I beg to answer that the stories would be deficient in national character without it; the Irish are so imaginative, they never tell a story straight forward, but constantly indulge in episode ; for the second, it is only fair to say, that in most cases the Irish peas- ant's adjurations are not meant to be in the remotest degree irreverent, but arise merely from the impassioned manner of speaking, which an excitable people are prone to; and I trust that such oaths as " thunder-and-turf," or maledictions, as "bad cess to you," will not be con- PREFACE XI sidered very offensive. Nay, I will go farther, and say, that their frequent exclamations of " Lord be praised," "God betune us and harm," &c. have their origin in a deeply reverential feeling, and a reliance on the protect- ion of Providence. As for the orthographical dilemmas into which an attempt to spell their peculiar pronunciation has led me, I have ample and most successful precedent in Mr. Banim's works. Some general observations, however, it may not be irrelevant to introduce here, on the pro- nunciation of certain sounds in the English language by the Irish peasantry. And here I wish to be distinctly understood, that I speak only of the midland and western districts of Ireland and chiefly of the latter. They are rather prone to curtailing their words; of, for instance, is very generally abbreviated into o 1 or i\ except when a succeeding vowel demands a consonant; and even in that case they would substitute v. The letters d and , as finals, they scarcely ever sound; for example, pond, hand, slept, kept, are pronounced pon, han, skp, Jeep. These letters, when followed by a vowel, are sounded as if the aspirate h intervened, as tender, letter tindher, letther. Some sounds they sharpen, and vice versa. The letter e, for instance, is mostly pronounced like i in the word litter, as lind for lend, mind for mend, &c. ; but there are exceptions to this rule Saint Kevin, for example, which they pronounce Kavin. The letter o they sound like a in some words, as off, off or av thus softening f into v , beyond, bet/ant thus sharpening the XII PREFACE final d to t, and making an exception to the custom of not sounding d as a final; in others they alter it to ow as old, owld. Sometimes o is even converted into i as spoil, spile. In a strange spirit of contrariety, while they alter the sound of e to that of ?', they substitute the latter for the former sometimes as hinder, hendher cinder, cendher : s they soften into z as us, uz. There are other peculiarities which this is not an appropriate place to dilate upon. I have noticed the most obvious. Nevertheless, even these are liable to exceptions, as the peasantry are quite governed by ear as in the word o/, which is variously sounded o\ ?, ov, av> or it>, as best suits their pleasure. It is unnecessary to remark how utterly unsystematic I have been in throwing these few remarks together. Indeed, to classify (if it were necessary) that which has its birth in ignorance, would be a very perplexing under- taking. But I wished to notice these striking peculiarities of the peasant pronunciation, which the reader will have frequent occasion to observe in the following pages. SAMUEL LOVER. INTRODUCTION AFTER my Stories were printed, I began to think what name I should give the volume ; and this has puzzled me more than writing it. Though the matter in the follow- ing pages is perfectly new and unlike any thing which has gone before it, yet the name that I have been obliged to adopt might lead the public to infer that a certain resemblance cannot but attach where a similarity of title exists, and that a family likeness must follow a family name. This, I beg to say, is not the case; and with the extensive family of "Legends," (fairy or otherwise,) "Stories, 1 ' "Traits," "Sketches," &c. there is not a rela- tionship, even within the seventh degree. So much the worse, perhaps, for its goodness; but I am anxious to plead for its novelty only, and therefore has giving it a name been no small trouble to me. "What's in a name?" says Shakspeare : but, did he live in our days, he would know its value. In whatsoever light you view it in whatsoever scale it may be weighed name is a most important concern now-a-days. In fashion, (place anx XIV INTRODUCTION dames,) literature, politics, arts, sciences, &c., &c. name does wonders it might be almost said everything whether for the introduction of a measure in Parliament, or in the length of a waist, for the success of a bad book, a new system, or an old picture. Name, like the first blow, is half the battle. Impressed with this conviction, every huckster now calls his hovel a PROVISION STORE a barber's shop is elevated into a Maga- sin des Modes the long line of teachers, under the names of French-master, dancing-master, fencing-master, and all the other masters have dignified themselves with the self- bestowed title of " PROFESSOR " a snuff and tobacco shop is metamorphosed, for the benefit of all " true believers, 11 into a "cigar divan;" and, in St. StephenVGreen, who does not remember the "PANTHEON PHUSITEKNIKON ? " which, being rendered into English by Mr. B , the ironmonger, proprietor of the same, meant "Pots, pans, and kettles to mend." Nay, the very vendors of soaps, cosmetics, and wig-oil, seem to understand the importance of this pass to public patronage, and storm its difficult heights accordingly, with the most jaw-breaking audacity. We have Rowland's Kalydor Turkish Sidki-Areka, or Betel-nut Charcoal, Milk of Roses, &c., &c. A circumnavigation of the globe is undertaken to replenish their vocabularies, and the Arctic regions are ransacked for " Bears 1 Grease, 11 and the Tropics are rifled for " Macassar OIL"" Enviable name ! Thou shalt live to future ages, when INTRODUCTION XV thy ingenious inventor shall be no more! when the heads thou hast anointed shall have pressed their last pillow! Nay, when the very humbug that bears thy name shall have fallen into disuse thou, felicitous name! shalt be found embalmed in "immortal verse,"" for the mighty Byron has enshrined thee in his couplets : " In virtues nothing earthly could surpass her, Save thine ' incomparable oil,' Macassar." So saith Byron of Donna Inez. Descending still lower than the vendors as aforesaid noticed, the very dogs are concerned in this all-important thing, a name; for you know the memorable old saying, that declares, "You may as well kill a dog as give him a bad name."" Pardon, then, the anxiety of an unfortunate dog like me, for some name that may lift him out of his own insignificance ; or, to pursue the image, may " help a lame dog over the stile. 11 But a name that I could wish for my book is not to be had ; so many authors have been before me, that all the good names are gone, like the good hats at a party. I therefore must only put the best that is left on the head of my poor little book, and send it into the world to take its chance. But, lest any prejudice should arise against it, from wearing a mubeen instead of a beaver, I had better tell my readers what they shall find in the following pages. And as, in the Island of Laputa, there were certain functionaries XVI INTRODUCTION called " flappers," whose duty it was to keep people alive to their business, by hitting them in the face with blad- ders charged with air and a few peas, I am now going to undertake the office of flapper, to awaken people to a notion of what they are to expect in the terra incognita before them though I shall not indulge in so inflated a manner of doing so as the Laputans. But time is a treasure (though one would not suppose I think so, from the way in which I am now wasting it), and as its return is beyond our power, we should riot take that from others which we cannot restore. Don't be afraid, sweet reader I am not going to moralise; it is what I am seldom guilty of: besides, you might, haply, think of Monsieur Jacques, when you hear "The fool thus moralise upon the time;" and I have no desire that " your lungs begin to crow like Chanticleer " at me, however I hope they may at my stories. But to the point : I do not wish, I say, to swindle respectable gentlemen or ladies out of their time ; therefore, I beg to recommend all serious persons your masters of arts, your explorers of science, star-gazing philosophers, and moon-struck maidens, LL.D.s, F.R.S.s, and all other three-letter gentlemen, to lay down this book, even at this very period. But, if you be of the same mind with that facetious gentleman, Rigdum Funnidos, and agree with him, that "An ounce of mirth is worth a pound of sorrow," INTRODUCTION XVII then, I say, you may as well go on, and throw away your time in laughing at my book, as in any other way whatsoever. Deep in the western wilds of Ireland have I been gathering these native productions, called Rigmaroles, to contribute to your pleasure. If you be a lover of rho- domontade, or, as Paddy calls it, Rogermontade, you had better, in true Irish fashion, "take a short stick in your hand," and trudge away boldly through my post octavo. As for ladies who are "Darkly, deeply, beautifully blue, As some one somewhere sings about the sea, (Excuse me, Byron, that I steal from you) Do not, like Nanny do not 'gang with me';" for there are no raptures nor Italian quotations for you. But if you have not outlived the charm which the won- ders of the nursery tale produced, or if you are yet willing to commit such a vulgarism as a laugh, pray take my arm, and allow me to lead you into the next page. I would say a good deal more, but that I fear, instead of fulfilling my office of " flapper,' 1 I should only set people to sleep. I shall therefore conclude, by saying a word or two about the illustrations. They are my first attempts upon copper; and what- ever affinity there may be between that and brass, which, thanks to my country, I may not be so much unused to, yet I can assure the critics there is a marvellous difference between etching and impudence. Let me not be accused XVIIT INTRODUCTION then of the latter, in having attempted the former, but some indulgence be granted to a coup d'essai. So much for the executive part ; and, for the designs, I beg to say a few words more, which I shall offer in the form of a NOTICE TO THE ANTIQUARIAN SOCIETY. Should any such august personage as an Antiquary chance to cast his eyes over the illustrations of this little book, it is humbly requested that his repose be not disturbed in fancied anachronisms in the costumes. We say, fantied for considerable pains have been bestowed in ascertaining the true style of dress in which each of our heroes flourished, from the narrators of their several histories and who could possibly know so well ? Upon the testimony of the aforesaid credible authority, King CTToole wore a snuff-coloured, square-cut coat, with hanging sleeves, and silver buttons black velvet inexpressibles, trunk hose, and high-heeled shoes with buckles. This monarch is said to have had a foible (what monarch is without?) in paying particular attention to his queue, of which he was not a little vain. He constantly, moreover, wore a crown upon his head, which Joe Irwin protested was "full half a hundredweight o 1 goold." Had this fact been known to the commentators upon INTRODUCTION XIX Shakspeare, they might have been better able to appreciate that line of the immortal bard's " Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown ! " Saint Kevin had a little failing of his own also an inconsiderate indulgence in smoking, which all antiquaries are aware is an ancient usage in Ireland. The pipe in his hat, therefore, is especially indicative of the Saint. It is further understood (such pains have been taken to be accurate) that the Saint "blew his cloud" from the corner of his mouth, and not directly forwards, as com- monly practised. In what slight things is character developed ! It is quite natural that a circumventing person, like Saint Kevin, should have dealt in the puff oblique. SAMUEL LOVER. EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION IF one were asked to name the writings of Lover which would stand any reasonable critical test, one could not avoid naming his " Legends and Stories," which, notwith- standing their occasional weakness, are still the most finished things he has left behind him. They are at the same time the best known of his works. For one reader of "Handy Andy" or "Rory O'More" there must be at least a dozen who can remember the inimitable adventures of Barny O'Reirdon, Paddy the Sport, and the Little Weaver of Duleek Gate, or the equally amusing incidents which form the groundwork of " Paddy the Piper," " The Gridiron" and so on. It is in telling an anecdote or in describing a ludicrous adventure that Lover most excels, and the success of his larger works depends almost entirely upon that gift. Whenever the plot of " Handy Andy," if plot it can be called, flags, Lover manages to hold the reader's atten- tion by the skilful introduction of a humorous episode, which would of itself make an admirable conte. Accordingly, XXII EDITOR S INTRODUCTION one expects to find Lover at his best in the short legends, or stories or sketches which made up his two first volumes, and to which he gave the present title. And certainly he has never done anything better than some of these. " The Gridiron," for example, is perfect of its kind. Read in the right spirit by anyone possessing the natural brogue of the narrator, not the forced brogue which it is one's painful task to listen to on many occasions in theatres and at other public entertainments nothing could be more delectable to the hearer. The same may be said of " Paddy the Piper," which, however, Lover admitted was written by a friend of his, and other pieces in this volume. It was the author's intention at first to string the stories together, but seeing the difference in the char- acter of each, he wisely abandoned the intention after having written the first two or three of them. They stand alone to better advantage than if they were joined by some artificial bond which could only be meant to carry the reader on, and would almost certainly be quite unneces- sary for such a purpose. The discriminating Irish reader will notice in the earlier stories of this first series a lack of familiarity with, or, rather, an inability to express per- fectly the characteristic Irish idiom which Lover completely mastered before he had finished his volume. He was evidently doubtful about certain phrases, which he uses in a gingerly manner, and one notices a less confident treat- ment of peculiarities of the Irish nature than became usual later. In the second series, and indeed before the EDITORS INTRODUCTION XXIII end of the first, this hesitation has disappeared. In truth, it was not until after several of the sketches had appeared in periodicals that Lover perfected his knowledge of the Irish peasantry by frequent visits into the remoter parts of the country parts which he had previously not visited at all, or only hurriedly for urgent artistic purposes, including the sketching of notable ruins for a Dublin magazine. His first stories are generally based on some popular legend or tradition, such as that of "St. Kevin and King O'Toole." This was one of the stock tales of the Glen- dalough guides, and Lover has immensely improved it, and has imparted fresh humour into the narrative. " New Potatoes'" is altogether admirable. It is a more life-like reproduction of the accent and manners of the lower Dublin classes than anything the present writer has ever read. It forecasts, too, the author's subsequent success as a dramatist in its mastery of dialogue, and is rich in dra- matic possibilities. In "Paddy the Sport,"" the character- drawing is extremely clever, and Paddy stands out before us in all his charming naivete and insouciance. " National Minstrelsy," though neither a " legend " nor a " story " is one of the most interesting things in the first series, and should be read in company with Dr. Maginn's brilliant and vigorous handling of the pseudo-Irish lyric. The famous doctor, however, only dealt with the degrading cockney attempts to write Irish songs, in which such appalling nomenclature as " Bulgruddery " and " Mactwolter" XXIV EDITORS INTRODUCTION and "Quipes" (almost Gulliverian in their suggestive remoteness) are paraded as characteristic of Ireland. Lover's paper, on the other hand, treats of genuine Irish efforts of the muse the local or "hedge-school " variety. These are known in Ireland as " Come-all-ye's," from the fondness of the bard for that inspiring phrase as an opening. Maginn denounced the cockney rhymes of "window" and "cinder" and " O'Reilly " and " bailie," which betrayed their origin, while Lover simply makes merry over the Irish assonances and the peculiarly Irish habit of the country bards of ridiculous allusion to all the heathen gods and goddesses and ancient heroes and heroines. Carleton, in his immortal "Traits and Stories of the Irish Peasantry" has given a sketch of the " hedge " schoolmaster, which deliciously exposes the predilection of that worthy person for big words, imperfectly understood by himself, which would give his pupils an appreciation of his " laming." But even Goldsmith, nearly a century before Carleton, had noticed this little infirmity of the Irish country schoolmasters. If he wished to convey to the vulgar his opinion that the day would be wet, your Irish pedagogue would scorn to say so in everyday English but would fling some such sentence as : "I conjecture from the nebulosity of the atmosphere that the vesper of to-day will be pluvious" at the astonished rustic. Lover might have quoted hundreds of examples of the rustic ballad with its invariable "Come all ye" or "As I roved out one morning," and he might certainly have sampled the EDITOR S INTRODUCTION XXV exquisite absurdity known as " Sweet Castle Hyde," * with its extraordinary misuse of English words, and one of whose couplets runs : "There the trout and salmon they play back-gammon, In the pleasant waters of Sweet Castle Hyde." The verse of "Brian O'Linn" quoted by Lover is almost certainly his own though Mr. W. J. Fitzpatrick, in his biography of Charles Lever, attributes it, without any evidence, to the latter writer (then editing the magazine in which Lover's essay appeared). In the second series of "Legends and Stories'" we have the never-to-be-forgotten "Barny O'Reirdon, the Navi- gator," "The Little Weaver of Duleek Gate" (forming portion of the rather artificial "White Horse of the Peppers") and other stories, overflowing with humour. "The Little Weaver" is certainly not specifically Irish in idea, but rather German, yet Lover has made it Irish through and through in the telling of it. It is one of his happiest efforts in acclimatization, and the humour of it, so rich, so arch, so abundant, is essentially Irish. So is that of "Barny O'Reirdon," which may have been suggested by, though it has no real likeness to, a notable piece of Irish humour called "Darby Doyle's Voyage to Quebec," written by one Thomas Ettingsall, a Dublin * A lovely spot on the River Blackwater in Cork, once the seat of the Hyde family. XXVI EDITOR S INTRODUCTION fishing-tackle manufacturer, about a year before Lover's sketch. Wherever Lover got his ideas, his conceptions, his humour is at least all his own. Judged by his "Legends and Stories" alone, he ranks with Carleton and Lever among the greatest of Irish humourists. D. J. CTDONOGHUE. KING OTOOLE AND ST. KEVIN A LEGEND OF GLENDALOUGH "By that lake, whose gloomy shore Sky-lark never warbles o'er, Where the cliff hangs high and steep, Young Saint Kevin stole to sleep." MOORE. WHO has not read of St. Kevin, celebrated as he has been by Moore in the melodies of his native land, with whose wild and impassioned music he has so intimately entwined his name ? Through him, in the beautiful ballad whence the epigraph of this story is quoted, the world already knows that the sky-lark, through the intervention of the saint, never startles the morning with its joyous note in the lonely valley of Glendalough. In the same ballad the unhappy passion which the saint inspired, and the " unholy blue " eyes of Kathleen, and the melancholy fate of the heroine by the saint's being "unused to the melting mood," are also celebrated ; as well as the super- stitious finale of the legend, in the spectral appearance of the love-lorn maiden. "And her ghost was seen to glide Gently o'er the fatal tide." 2 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND Thus has Moore given, within the limits of a ballad, the spirit of two legends of Glendalough, which otherwise the reader might have been put to the trouble of reaching after a more round-about fashion. But luckily for those coming after him, one legend he has left to be " touched by a hand more unworthy" and instead of a lyrical essence, the raw material in prose is offered, nearly verbatim as it was furnished to me by that celebrated guide and bore, Joe Irwin, who traces his descent in a direct line from the old Irish kings, and warns the public in general that "there's a power of them spalpeens sthravaigin about, sthrivin' to put their comether upon the quol'ty; 1 and callin'' themselves Irwin (knowing the thieves o"* the world, how his name had gone far and near, as the rale guide,) for to deceave dacent people ; but never for to b'lieve the likes for it was only mulvatherin people they wor." For my part, I promised never to put faith in any but himself; and the old rogue's self-love being satisfied, we set out to explore the won- ders of Glendalough. On arriving at a small ruin, situated on the south-eastern side of the lake, my guide assumed an air of importance, and led me into the ivy-covered remains, through a small square doorway, whose simple structure gave evidence of its early date : a lintel of stone lay across two upright supporters, after the fashion of such religious remains in Ireland. " This, Sir," said my guide, putting himself in an atti- KING OTOOLE AND ST. KEVIN 3 tude, "is the chapel of King CTToole av coorse y'iv often heerd o' King O'Toole, your honour ? " "Never," said I. " Musha, thin, do you tell me so ? " said he ; " by Gor, I thought all the world, far and near, heerd o' King O'Toole well ! well ! ! but the darkness of mankind is ontellible. Well, Sir, you must know, as you didn't hear it afore, that there was wonst a king, called King O'Toole, who was a fine ould king in the ould ancient times, long ago; and it was him that ownded the Churches in the airly days." "Surely,"" said I, "the Churches were not in King OToole's time? 1 ' "Oh, by no manes, your honour troth, it's yourself that's right enough there; but you know the place is called 'The Churches,' bekase they wor built afther by St. Kavin, and wint by the name o' the Churches iver more; and therefore, av coorse, the place bein' so called, I say that the king ownded the Churches and why not, Sir, seein' 'twas his birthright, time out o' mind, beyant the flood ? Well, the king, you see, was the right sort he was the rale boy, and loved sport as he loved his life, and huntin ' in partic'lar ; and from the risin ' o' the sun, up he got, and away he wint over the mountains beyant afther the deer : and the fine times them wor ; for the deer was as plinty thin, aye throth, far plintyer than the sheep is now; and that's the way it was with the king, from the crow o' the cock to the song o' the redbreast. 4 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND " In this counthry, Sir," added he, speaking parentheti- cally in an undertone, "we think it onlooky to kill the redbreast, for the robin is God's own bird." Then, elevating his voice to its former pitch, he pro- ceeded : "Well, it was all mighty good, as long as the king had his health ; but, you see, in coorse o' time, the king grewn old, by raison he was stiff in his limbs and when he got sthricken in years, his heart failed him, and he was lost intirely for want o' divarshin, bekase he couldn't go a huntin' no longer ; and, by dad, the poor king was obleeged at last for to get a goose to divart him." Here an involuntary smile was produced by this regal mode of recreation, "the royal game of goose." "Oh, you may laugh, if you like," said he, half affronted, "but it's truth I'm tellin' you; and the way the goose divarted him was this-a-way : you see, the goose used for to swim acrass the lake, and go down divin' for throut, (and not finer throut in all Ireland than the same throut,) and cotch fish an a Friday for the king, and flew every other day round about the lake, divartin' the poor king, that you'd think he'd break his sides laughin' at the frolicksome tricks av his goose; so in coorse o' time the goose was the greatest pet in the counthry, and the biggest rogue, and divarted the king to no end, and the poor king was as happy as the day was long. So that's the way it was; and all went on mighty well, antil, by dad, the goose got KING O'TOOLE AND ST. KEVIN 5 sthricken in years, as well as the king, and grewn stiff in the limbs, like her masther, and couldn't divart him no longer; and then it was that the poor king was lost complate, and didn't know what in the wide world to do, seein' he was done out of all divarshin, by raison that the goose was no more in the flower of her blume. "Well, the king was nigh-hand broken-hearted, and melancholy intirely, and was walkin' one mornin' by the edge of the lake, lamentin' his cruel fate, an' thinkin' o' drownin' himself that could get no divarshin in life, when all of a suddint, turnin' round the corner beyant, who should he meet but a mighty dacent young man comin' up to him. " * God save you,' says the king, (for the king was a civil-spoken gintleman, by all accounts,) 'God save you,' says he to the young man. " ' God save you, kindly,' says the young man to him back again, ' God save you,' says he, * King O'Toole.' " ' True for you,' says the king, * I am King O'Toole,' says he, ' prince and plennypenny tinchery 2 o' these parts,' says he; 'but how kem you to know that?' says he. " * O, never mind,' says Saint Kavin. "For you see," said old Joe, in his undertone again, and looking very knowingly, "it was Saint Kavin, sure enough the saint himself in disguise and nobody else. 'Oh, never mind,' says he, 'I know more than that,' says he, 'nor twice that.' 6 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND " * And who are you ? ' said the king, * that makes so bowld who are you at all at all?' " ' Oh, never you mind,' says Saint Kavin, ' who I am ; you'll know more o' me before we part, King O'Toole,' says he. " * I'll be proud o' the knowledge o' your acquaintance, sir,' says the king, mighty p'lite. " ' Troth, you may say that,' says Saint Kavin. * And now, may I make bowld to ax, how is your goose, King O'Toole?' says he. " * Blur-an-agers, how kem you to know about my goose?' says the king. " * O, no matther ; I was given to understand it,' says Saint Kavin. " * Oh, that's a folly to talk,' says the king ; * bekase myself and my goose is private frinds,' says he ; * and no one could tell you,' says he, 'barrin' the fairies.' " ' Oh thin, it wasn't the fairies,' says Saint Kavin ; 'for Td have you to know,' says he, 'that I don't keep the likes o' sitch company.' " * You might do worse then, my gay fellow,' says the king ; * for it's they could show you a crock o' money as aisy as kiss hand; and that's not to be sneezed at,' says the king, 'by a poor man,' says he. " * Maybe I've a betther way of making money myself,' says the saint. " * By gor,' says the king, ' barrin' you're a coiner,' says he, 'that's impossible!' KING OTOOLE AND ST. KEVIN 7 " * Fd scorn to be the like, my lord ! ' says Saint Kavin, mighty high, 'I'd scorn to be the like,' says he. " ' Then, what are you ? ' says the king, ' that makes money so aisy, by your own account.' " ' I'm an honest man,' says Saint Kavin. " * Well, honest man,' says the king, * and how is it you make your money so aisy?* " * By makin' ould things as good as new,' says Saint Kavin. " ' Blur-an-ouns, is it a tinker you are ? ' says the king. " * No,' says the saint ; * I'm no tinker by thrade, King O'Toole; I've a betther thrade than a tinker,' says he k what would you say,' says he, 'if I made your old goose as good as new.' "My dear, at the word o' makin' his goose as good as new, you'd think the poor ould king's eyes was ready to jump out iv his head, 'and,' says he 'troth thin I'd give you more money nor you could count,' says he, ' if you did the like : and I'd be behoulden to you into the bargain.' "*I scorn your dirty money,' says Saint Kavin. " ' Faith then, I'm thinkin' a trifle o' change would do you no harm,' says the king, lookin' up sly at the ould caubeen that Saint Kavin had on him. " ' I have a vow agin it,' says the saint ; ' and I am book sworn,' says he, 'never to have goold, silver, or brass in my company.' " ' Barrin' the trifle you can't help,' says the king, mighty 'cute, and looking him straight in the face. 8 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND " ' You just hot it,' says Saint Kavin ; ' but though, I can't take money,' says he, 'I could take a few acres o' land, if you'd give them to me.' " ' With all the veins o' my heart,' says the king, ' if you can do what you say.' " ' Thry me ! ' says Saint Kavin. ' Call down your goose here,' says he, * and I'll see what I can do for her.' "With that, the king whistled, and down kem the poor goose, all as one as a hound, waddlin' up to the poor ould cripple, her masther, and as like him as two pays. The minute the saint clapt his eyes an the goose, Til do the job for you,' says he, 'King O'Toole!' "'By Jaminee,' says King O'Toole, 'if you do, bud I'll say you're the cleverest fellow in the sivin parishes.' "Oh, by dad,' says Saint Kavin, 'you must say more nor that my horn's not so soft all out,' says he, 'as to repair your ould goose for nothin'; what'll you gi' me, if I do the job for you? that's the chat,' says Saint Kavin. " ' I'll give you whatever you ax,' says the king ; ' isn't that fair?' '"Divil a fairer,' says the saint; 'that's the way to do business. Now,' says he, ' this is the bargain I'll make with you, King O'Toole : will you gi' me all the ground the goose flies over, the first offer afther I make her as good as new?' '"I will,' says the king. " ' You won't go back o' your word ? ' says Saint Kavin. KING O'TOOLE AND ST. KEVIN 9 " ' Honour bright ! ' says King OToole, howldin' out his fist." Here old Joe, after applying his hand to his mouth, and making a sharp, blowing sound (something like "thp") extended it to illustrate the action. 8 " ' Honour bright,' says Saint Kavin, back agin, ' it's a bargain,' says he. ' Come here ! ' says he to the poor ould goose 'come here, you unfort'nate ould cripple,' says he, 'and it's I that '11 make you the sportin' bird.' "With that, my dear, he tuk up the goose by the two wings 'criss o' my crass an you,' says he, markin' her to grace with the blessed sign at the same minute and thro win' her up in the air. 'Whew!' says he, jist givin' her a blast to help her; and with that, my jewel, she tuk to her heels, flyin' like one o' the aigles themselves, and cuttin' as many capers as a swallow before a shower of rain. Away she wint down there, right forninst you, along the side o' the clift, and flew over Saint Kavin's bed, (that is where Saint Kavin's bed is now, but was not thin, by raison it wasn't made, but was conthrived afther by Saint Kavin himself, that the women might lave him alone,) and on with her undher Lugduff, and round the ind av the lake there, far beyant where you see the watherfall (though indeed it's no watherfall at all now, but only a poor dhribble iv a thing; but if you seen it in the winther, it id do your heart good, and it roarin' like mad, and as white as the dhriven snow, and rowlin' down the big rocks before it, all as one as childher 10 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND playin' marbles) and on with her thin right over the lead mines o' Luganure, (that is where the lead mines is now, but was not thin, by raison they worn't discovered, but was all goold in Saint Kavin's time.) Well, over the ind o' Luganure she flew, stout and sturdy, and round the other ind av the little lake, by the Churches, (that is, av coorse, where the Churches is now, but was not thin, by raison they wor not built, but aftherwards by St. Kavin,) and over the big hill here over your head, where you see the big clift (and that clift in the moun- tain was made by Fan Ma Cool, 4 where he cut it acrass with a big swoord, that he got made a purposs by a blacksmith out o' Rathdrum, a cousin av his own, for to fight a joyant that dar'd him an the Curragh o 1 Kildare ; and cut it down into a gap, as is plain to this day; and faith, sure enough, it's the same sauce he sarv'd the joyant, soon and suddent, and chopped him in two like a pratie, for the glory of his sowl and owld Ireland) well, down she flew over the clift, and flutterin 1 over the wood there at Poulanass, (where I showed you the purty watherfall and by the same token, last Thursday was a twelvemonth sence, a young lady, Miss RafFerty by name, fell into the same watherfall, and was nigh-hand drownded and indeed would be to this day, but for a young man that jumped in afther her; indeed a smart slip iv a young man he was he was out o' Francis- street, I hear, and coorted her sence, and they wor mar- ried, Tm given to undherstand an indeed a purty KING OTOOLE AND ST. KEVIN 11 couple they wor.) Well as I said afther fluttherin' over the wood a little bit, to plaze herself, the goose flew down, and lit at the fut o' the king, as fresh as a daisy, afther flyin' roun' his dominions, just as if she hadn't flew three perch. "Well, my dear, it was a beautiful sight to see the king standin' with his mouth open, lookin' at his poor ould goose flyin' as light as a lark, and betther nor ever she was: and when she lit at his fut, he patted her an the head, and l ma vourneenj says he, 'but you are the darlint o' the world.' " ' And what do you say to me,' says Saint Kavin, * for makin' her the like?' "'By gor,' says the king, 'I say nothin' bates the art o' man, barrin' the bees.' " ' And do you say no more nor that ? ' says Saint Kavin. " ' And that I'm behoulden to you,' says the king. " ' But will you gi'e me all the ground the goose flewn over?' says Saint Kavin. '"I will,' says King O'Toole, 'and you're welkim to it,' says he, 'though it's the last acre I have to give.' " ' But you'll keep your word thrue ? ' says the saint. " ' As thrue as the sun,' says the king. " ' It's well for you,' says Saint Kavin, mighty sharp 'it's well for you, King O'Toole, that you said that word,' says he; 'for if you didn't say that word, the divil receave the bit o' your goose id ever fly agin,' says Saint Kavin. 12 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND "Oh, you needn't laugh, 11 said old Joe, half offended at detecting the trace of a suppressed smile ; " you needn't laugh, for it's truth Tm tellin 1 yez. "Well, whin the king was as good as his word, Saint Kavin was plazed with him, and thin it was that he made himself known to the king. 'And, 1 says he, 'King OToole, you're a dacent man, 1 says he; 'for I only kem here to thry you. You don^ know me, 1 says he, 'bekase Tm disguised. 15 " ' Troth, then, youVe right enough, 1 says the king, 'I didn't perceave it, 1 says he; 'for indeed I never seen the sign o 1 sper'ts an you.' " ' Oh ! that's not what I mane, 1 says Saint Kavin ; ' I mane I'm deceavin 1 you all out, and that I'm not myself at all.' " ' Blur-an-agers ! thin, 1 says the king, ' if you're not yourself, who are you?' " ' I'm Saint Kavin, 1 said the saint, blessin 1 himself. " ' Oh, queen iv heaven ! 1 says the king, makin" the sign o 1 the crass betune his eyes, and fallin 1 down an his knees before the saint. 'Is it the great Saint Kavin, 1 says he, ' that I've been discoorsin 1 all this time, without knowin' it, 1 says he, ' all as one as if he was a lump iv a gossoon? and so you're a saint? 1 says the king. " * I am, 1 says Saint Kavin. " * By gor, I thought I was only talking to a dacent boy, 1 ' says the king. " ' Well, you know the differ now,' says the saint, KING O'TOOLE AND ST. KEVIN 13 'I'm Saint Kavin,' says he, 'the greatest of all the saints."* "For Saint Kavin, you must know, Sir," added Joe, treating me to another parenthesis, "Saint Kavin is counted the greatest of all the saints, bekase he went to school with the prophet Jeremiah. "Well, my dear, that's the way that the place kem, all at wanst, into the hands of Saint Kavin; for the goose flewn round every individyial acre o' King O'Toole's property you see, bein' let into the saycret by Saint Kavin, who was mighty 'cute ; and so, when he done the ould king out iv his property for the glory o' God, he was plazed with him, and he and the king was the best o' frinds iver more afther (for the poor ould king was doatin', you see), and the king had his goose as good as new, to divart him as long as he lived : and the saint supported him after he kem into his property, as I tould you, antil the day iv his death and that was soon afther; for the poor goose thought he was ketchin' a throut one Friday; but, my jewel, it was a mistake he made and instead of a throut, it was a thievin' horse- eel ; 7 and, by gor, instead iv the goose killin' a throut for the king's supper by dad, the eel killed the king's goose and small blame to him ; but he didn't ate her, bekase he darn't ate what Saint Kavin laid his blessed hands on. " Howsumdever, the king never recovered the loss iv his goose, though he had her stuffed (I don't mane 14 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND stuffed with praties and inyans, but as a curiosity,) and presarved in a glass case for his own divarshin; and the poor king died an the next Michaelmas-day, which was remarkable. Throth it's truth I'm tellin 1 you ; and when he was gone Saint Kavin gev him an illigant wake and a beautiful berrin'; and more betoken, he said mass for his sowl, and tuk care av his goose."" 8 LOUGH CORRIB " These things to hear Would Desdemona seriously incline." OTHELLO. IT chanced, amongst some of the pleasantest adven- tures of a tour through the West of Ireland, in 1824, that the house of Mr. of received me as a guest. The owner of the mansion upheld the proverbial reputation of his country's hospitality, and his lady was of singularly winning manners and possessed of much intelligence an intelligence, arising not merely from the cultivation result- ing from careful education, but originating also from the attention which persons of good sense bestow upon the circumstances which come within the range of their ob- servation. Thus, Mrs. , an accomplished English woman, instead of sneering at the deficiencies which a poorer country than her own laboured under, was willing to be amused by observing the difference which exists in the national character of the two people, in noticing the prevalence of certain customs, superstitions, etc.; while the popular tales of the neighbourhood had for her a charm, which en- livened a sojourn in a remote district, that must other- wise have proved lonely. 16 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND To this pleasure was added that of admiration of the natural beauties with which she was surrounded; the noble chain of the Mayo mountains, linking with the majestic range of those of Joyce's country, formed no in- considerable source of picturesque beauty and savage grandeur ; and when careering over the waters of Lough Corrib that foamed at their feet, she never sighed for the grassy slopes of Hyde-park, 9 nor that unruffled pond, the Serpentine river. In the same boat which often bore so fair a charge have I explored the noble Lough Corrib to its remotest extremity, sailing over the depths of its dark waters, amidst solitudes whose echoes are seldom awakened but by the scream of the eagle. From this lady I heard some characteristic stories and prevalent superstitions of the country. Many of these she had obtained from an old boatman, one of the crew that manned Mr. 's boat ; and often as he sat at the helm, he delivered his "round, unvarnished tale; 11 and, by the way, in no very measured terms either, whenever his subject happened to touch upon the wrongs his country had sustained in her early wars against England, although his liege lady was a native ot the hostile land. Never- theless, the old Corribean (the name somehow has a charm- ingly savage sound about it) was nothing loth to have his fling at " the invaders 11 a term of reproach he always cast upon the English. Thus skilled in legendary lore, Mrs. proved an ad- LOUGH CORRIB IT mirable guide to the "lions" of the neighbourhood; and it was previously to a projected visit to the Cave of Cong, that she entered upon some anecdotes relating to the romantic spot, which led her to tell me, that one legend had so particularly excited the fancy of a young lady, a friend of hers, that she wrought it into the form of a little tale, which, she added, had not been consi- dered ill done. " But," said she, " 'tis true we were all friends who passed judgment, and only drawing-room critics. You shall therefore judge for yourself, and hearing it before you see the cave, will at least rather increase your interest in the visit." And, forthwith, drawing from a little cabinet a manuscript, she read to me the fol- lowing tale much increased in its effect by the sweet voice in which it was delivered. MANUSCRIPT FROM THE CABINET OF MRS *** A LEGEND OF LOUGH MASK "All things that we ordained festival Turn from their office to black funeral: Our instruments, to melancholy bells ; Our wedding cheer, to a sad burial feast; Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change ; Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse, And all things change them to the contrary." ROMEO and JULIET. THE evening was closing fast, as the young Cormac O'Flaherty had reached the highest acclivity of one of the rugged passes of the steep mountains of Joyce's country. He made a brief pause not to take breath, fair reader Cormac needed no breathing time, and would have considered it little short of an insult to have had such a motive attributed to the momentary stand he made, and none that knew the action of the human figure would have thought it; for the footing which one beautifully-formed leg held with youthful firmness on the mountain-path, while the other, slightly thrown behind, rested on the half-bent foot, did not imply repose, but rather suspended action. In sooth, young Cormac, to the eye of a painter, might have seemed a living Antinous all the grace of that beautiful antique, all the youth, A LEGEND OF LOUGH MASK 19 all the expression of suspended motion were there, with more of vigour and impatience. He paused not to take breath, Sir Walter Scott ; for, like your Malcolm Graeme, "Right up Ben Lomond could he press, And not a sob his toil confess;" and our young O'Flaherty was not to be outdone in breasting up a mountain-side, by the boldest Graeme of them all. But he lingered for a moment to look back upon a scene at once sublime and gorgeous; and cold must the mortal have been who could have beheld, and had not paused. On one side, the Atlantic lay beneath him, brightly reflecting the glories of an autumnal setting sun, and expanding into a horizon of dazzling light ; on the other, lay the untrodden wilds before him, stretching amidst the depths of mountain valleys, whence the sun-beam had long since departed, and mists were already wreathing round the overhanging heights, and veiling the distance in vapoury indistinctness : as though you looked into some wizard's glass, and saw the uncertain conjuration of his wand. On the one side all was glory, light, and life on the other all was awful, still, and almost dark. It was one of Nature's sublimest moments; such as are seldom witnessed, and never forgotten. 10 Ere he descended the opposite declivity, Cormac once more bent back his gaze; and now it was not one 20 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND exclusively of admiration ; there was a mixture of scrutiny in his look, and turning to Diarmid, a faithful adherent of his family, and only present companion, he said, " That sunset forebodes a coming storm ; does it not, Diarmid ? " "Ay, truly does it," responded the attendant, "and there's no truth in the clouds, if we haven't it soon upon us." "Then let us speed," said Cormac "for the high hill and the narrow path must be traversed ere our journey be accomplished." And he sprang down the steep and shingly pass before him, followed by the faithful Diarmid. "'Tis sweet to know there is an eye to mark Our coming and grow brighter when we come." And there was a bright eye watching for Cormac, and many a love-taught look did Eva cast over the waters of Lough Mask, impatient for the arrival of the O'Flaherty. " Surely he will be here this evening," thought Eva, " yet the sun is already low, and no distant oar disturbs the lovely quiet of the lake but may he not have tarried beyond the mountains? he has friends there," recollected Eva. But soon the maiden's jealous fancy whispered, "he has friends here too" and she reproached him for his delay; but it was only for a moment. "The accusing spirit blushed" as Eva continued her train of conjecture. "'Tis hard to part from pressing friends," thought she, "and Cormac is ever welcome in the hall, and heavily closes the portal after his departing footsteps." A LEGEND OF LOUGH MASK 21 Another glance across the lake. 'Tis yet unrippled by an oar. The faint outline of the dark grey mountains, whose large masses lie unbroken by the detail which day- light discovers the hazy distance of the lake, whose extremity is undistinguishable from the overhanging cliffs which embrace it the fading of the western sky the last lonely rook winging his weary way to the adjacent wood the flickering flight of the bat across her windows all all told Eva that the night was fast approaching ; yet Cormac was not come. She turned from the case- ment with a sigh. Oh ! only those who love can tell how anxious are the moments we pass in watching the approach of the beloved one. She took her harp : every heroine, to be sure, has a harp : but this was not the pedal harp, that instrument par excellence of heroines, but the simple harp of her country, whose single row of brazen wires had often rung to many a sprightly plarwcty long, long before the double action of Erard had vibrated to some fantasia from Ros- sini or Meyerbeer, under the brilliant finger of a Bochsa or a Labarre. But now the harp of Eva did not ring forth the spirit-stirring planxty, but yielded to her gentlest touch one of the most soothing and plaintive of her native melodies ; and to her womanly sensibility, which long expectation had excited, it seemed to breathe an unusual flow of tenderness and pathos, which her heated imagin- ation conjured almost into prophetic wailing. Eva paused 22 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND she was alone ; the night had closed her chamber was dark and silent. She burst into tears, and when her spirits became somewhat calmed by this gush of feeling, she arose, and dashing the lingering tear-drops from the long lashes of the most beautiful blue eyes in the world, she hastened to the hall, and sought in the society of others to dissipate those feelings by which she had been overcome. The night closed over the path of Cormac, and the storm he anticipated had swept across the waves of the Atlantic, and now burst in all its fury over the moun- tains of Joyce's country. The wind rushed along in wild gusts, bearing in its sweeping eddy heavy dashes of rain, which soon increased to a continuous deluge of enormous drops, rendering the mountain gullies the channels of temporary rivers, and the path that wound along the verge of each precipice so slippery, as to render its passage death to the timid or unwary, and dangerous even to the firmest or most practised foot. But our hero and his attendant strode on the torrent was re- solutely passed, its wild roar audible above the loud thunder peals that rolled through the startled echoes of the mountains; the dizzy path was firmly trod, its dan- gers rendered more perceptible by the blue lightnings, half revealing the depth of the abyss beneath; and Cormac and Diarmid still pressed on towards the shores of Lough Mask, unconscious of the interruption that yet awaited them, fiercer than the torrent, and more deadly than the lightning. A LEGEND OF LOUGH MASK 23 As they passed round the base of a projecting crag that flung its angular masses athwart the ravine through which they wound, a voice of brutal coarseness suddenly arrested their progress, with the fiercely uttered word of " Stand !" Cormac instantly stopped as instantly his weapon was in his hand; and with searching eye he sought to discover through the gloom, what bold intruder dared cross the path of the O'Flaherty. His tongue now de- manded what his eye failed him to make known; and the same rude voice that first addressed him, answered, " Thy mortal foe ! thou seek'st thy bride, fond boy, but never shalt thou behold her never shalt thou share the bed of Eva." " Thou liest ! foul traitor ! " cried Cormac, fiercely, " avoid my path avoid it, I say, for death is in it ! " "Thou say'st truly," answered the unknown, with a laugh of horrid meaning; "come on, and thy word shall be made good ! " At this moment a flash of lightning illumined the whole glen with momentary splendour, and discovered to Cormac, a few paces before him, two armed men of gigantic stature, in one of whom he recognised Eman O'Flaherty, one of the many branches of that ancient and extensive family, equally distinguished for his personal prowess and savage temper. "Ha!" exclaimed Cormac, "is it Eman Dubh?" for the black hair of Eman had obtained for him this de- 24 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND nomination of " Black Edward, 11 a name fearfully suitable to him who bore it. " Yes, 11 answered he tauntingly, " it is Eman Dubh who waits the coming of his fair cousin ; you have said death is in your path come on, and meet it. 11 Nothing daunted, however shocked at discovering the midnight waylayer of his path in his own relative, Cor- mac answered, " Eman Dubh, I have never wronged you ; but since you thirst for my blood, and cross my path, on your own head be the penalty. Stand by me, Diar- mid ! " said the brave youth ; and rushing on his Hercu- lean enemy, they closed in mortal combat. Had the numbers been equal, the colossal strength of Eman might have found its overmatch in the activity of Cormac, and his skill in the use of his weapon. But oh ! the foul, the treacherous Eman he dared his high- spirited rival to advance, but to entrap him into an ambuscade; for as he rushed upon his foe, past the beetling rock that hung over his path, a third assassin, unseen by the gallant Cormac, lay in wait; and when the noble youth was engaged in the fierce encounter, a blow, dealt him in the back, laid the betrothed of Eva lifeless at the feet of the savage and exulting Eman. Restlessly had Eva passed that turbulent night each gust of the tempest, each flash of living flame and burst of thunder awakened her terrors, lest Cormac, the beloved of her soul, were exposed to its fury: but in the lapses of the storm, hope ventured to whisper he yet lingered A LEGEND OF LOUGH MASK 25 in the castle of some friend beyond the mountains. The morning dawned, and silently bore witness to the com- motion of the elements in the past night. The riven branch of the naked tree, that in one night had been shorn of its leafy beauty; the earth strown with foliage half green, half yellow, ere yet the autumnal alchemy had converted its summer verdure quite to gold, gave evidence that an unusually early storm had been a fore- runner of the equinox. The general aspect of nature too, though calm, was cold; the mountains wore a dress of sombre grey, and the small scattered clouds were straggling over the face of heaven, as though they had been rudely riven asunder, and the short and quick lash of the waters upon the shore of Lough Mask, might have told to an accustomed eye, that a longer wave and a whiter foam had broken on its strand a few hours before. But what is that upthrown upon the beach ? And who are those who surround it in such consternation? It is the little skiff that was moored at the opposite side of the lake on the preceding eve, and was to have borne Cormac to his betrothed bride, and they who identify the shattered boat are those to whom Eva's happiness is dear; for it is her father and his attendants, who are drawing ill omens from the tiny wreck. But they con- ceal the fact, and the expecting girl is not told of the evil-boding discovery. But days have come and gone, and Cormac yet tarries. At length 'tis past a doubt ; 26 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND and the father of Eva knows his child is widowed ere her bridal widowed in heart, at least. And who shall tell the fatal tale to Eva? Who shall cast the shadow o'er her soul, and make the future darkness ? Alas ! ye feeling souls that ask it, that pause ere you can speak the word that blights for ever, pause no longer, for Eva knows it. Yes ! from tongue to tongue by word on word from many a quivering lip, and meanings darkly given, the dreadful certainty at last arrived to the bewildered Eva. It was nature's last effort at comprehension; her mind was filled with the one fatal knowledge Cormac was gone for ever ; and that was the only mental consciousness that ever after employed the lovely Eva. The remainder of the melancholy tale is briefly told. Though quite bereft of reason, she was harmless as a child, and was allowed to wander round the borders of Lough Mask, and its immediate neighbourhood. A favou- rite haunt of the still beautiful maniac was the Cave of Cong, where a subterranean river rushes from be- neath a low natural arch in the rock, and passing for some yards over a strand of pebbles, in pellucid swift- ness, loses itself in the dark recesses of the cavern with the sound of a rapid and turbulent fall. This river is formed by the waters of Lough Mask becoming engulfed at one of its extremities, and hurrying through a subter- ranean channel, until they rise again in the neighbour- hood of Cong, and become tributary to Lough Corrib. Here the poor girl would sit for hours; and, believing A LEGEND OF LOUGH MASK 27 that her beloved Cormac had been drowned in Lough Mask, she hoped, in one of those half-intelligent dreams which haunt a distempered brain, to arrest his body, as she fancied it must pass through the Cave of Cong, borne on the subterranean river. Month after month passed by ; but the nipping winter and the gentle spring found the lovely Eva still watch- ing by the stream, like some tutelary water nymph beside her sacred fountain. At length she disappeared and though the strictest search was made, the broken- hearted Eva was never heard of more ; and the tradition of the country is, that the fairies took pity on a love so devoted, and carried away the faithful girl, to join her betrothed in fairyland! Mi's. closed the manuscript, and replaced it in the little cabinet. "Most likely ,* said I, "poor Eva, if ever such a person existed " " If ! " said the fair reader. " Can you be so ungrateful as to question the truth of my legend, after all the trouble I have had in reading it to you? Get away! A sceptic like you is only fit to hear the commonplaces of the daily press." "I cry your pardon, fair lady," said I. "I am most orthodox in legendary belief, and question not the exis- tence of your Eva. I was only about to say that per- 28 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND chance she might have been drowned in, and carried away by, the river she watched so closely." " Hush, hush,' 1 said the fair chronicler " As you hope for favour or information in our fair counties of Galway or Mayo, never dare to question the truth of a legend never venture a 'perhaps' for the purpose of making a tale more reasonable, nor endeavour to substitute the reign of common sense, in hopes of superseding the em- pire of the fairies. Go to-morrow to the Cave of Cong, and if you return still an unbeliever, I give you up as an irreclaimable infidel." . THE WHITE TROUT A LEGEND OF COXG "Oh! I would ask no happier bed Than the chill wave my love lies under; Sweeter to rest together, dead. Far sweeter than to live asunder." LALLA ROOKH. THE next morning I proceeded alone to the cave to witness the natural curiosity of its subterranean river, my interest in the visit being somewhat increased by the foregoing tale. Leaving my horse at the village of Cong, I bent my way on foot through the fields, if you may venture to give that name to the surface of this immediate district of the county Mayo, which, presenting large flat masses of limestone, intersected by patches of verdure, gives one the idea much more of a burial- ground covered with monumental slabs, than a formation of nature. Yet (I must make this remark en passant), such is the richness of the pasture in these little verdant interstices, that cattle are fattened upon it in a much shorter time than on a meadow of the most cultured aspect; and though to the native of Leinster, this land (if we may be pardoned a premeditated bull) would appear all stones, the Mayo farmer knows it from experience to 30 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND be a profitable tenure. Sometimes deep clefts occur between these laminae of limestone rock, which, closely overgrown with verdure, have not unfrequently occasioned serious accidents to man and beast; and one of these chasms, of larger dimensions than usual, forms the entrance to the celebrated cave in question. Very rude steps of unequal height, partly natural and partly artificial, lead the explorer of its quiet beauty, by an abrupt descent, to the bottom of the cave, which contains an enlightened area of some thirty or forty feet, whence a naturally vaulted passage opens, of the deepest gloom. The depth of the cave may be about equal to its width at the bot- tom: the mouth is not more than twelve or fifteen feet across; and pendant from its margin clusters of ivy and other parasitic plants hang and cling in all the fantastic variety of natural festooning and tracery. It is a truly beautiful and poetical little spot, and particularly inter- esting to the stranger, from being unlike any thing else one has ever seen, and having none of the noisy and vulgar pretence of regular show-places, which calls upon you every moment to exclaim " Prodigious ! " An elderly and decent-looking woman had just filled her pitcher with the deliciously cold and clear water of the subterranean river that flowed along its bed of small, smooth, and many-coloured pebbles, as I arrived at the bottom ; and perceiving at once that I was a stranger, she paused, partly perhaps with the pardonable pride of displaying her local knowledge, but more from the native A LEGEND OF CONG 31 peasant politeness of her country, to become the tempor- ary cicerone of the cave. She spoke some words of Irish and hurried forth on her errand a very handsome and active boy, of whom she informed me, she was the great- grandmother. " Great-grandmother ! " I repeated, in unfeigned astonish- ment. " Yes, your honour," she answered, with evident pleasure sparkling in her eyes, which time had not deprived of their brightness, or the soul-subduing influence of this selfish world bereft of their kind-hearted expression. "You are the youngest woman I have ever seen,"" said I, "to be a great-grandmother." "Troth, I don't doubt you, Sir," she answered. " And you seem still in good health, and likely to live many a year yet," said I. "With the help of God, Sir," said she, reverently. " But," I added, " I perceive a great number of persons about here of extreme age. Now, how long generally do the people in this country live?" "Troth, Sir," said she, with the figurative drollery of her country, "we live here as long as we like." "Well, that is no inconsiderable privilege," said I; " but you, nevertheless, must have married very young ? " "I was not much over sixteen, your honour, when I had my first child at my breast." "That was beginning early," said I. "Thrue for you, Sir; and faith, Noreen (that's my 32 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND daughter, Sir) Noreen herself lost no time either; I suppose she thought she had as good a right as the mother before her she was married at seventeen, and a likely couple herself and her husband was. So you see, Sir, it was not long before I was a granny. Well, to make the saying good, 'as the ould cock crows, the young bird chirrups, 1 and faiks, the whole breed, seed, and generation, tuk after the owld woman (that's my- self, Sir); and so, in coorse of time, I was not only a granny, but a grate granny ; and, by the same token, here comes my darling Paudeen Bawn, with what I sent him for." Here the fine little fellow I have spoken of, with his long fair hair curling about his shoulders, descended into the cave, bearing some faggots of bogwood, a wisp of straw, and a lighted sod of turf. "Now, your honour, it's what you'll see the pigeon- hole to advantage." "What pigeon-hole?" said I. " Here where we are," she replied. "Why is it so called?" I inquired. "Because, Sir, the wild pigeons often builds in the bushes and the ivy that's round the mouth of the cave, and in here too," said she, pointing into the gloomy depth of the interior. "Blow that turf, Paudeen;" and Paudeen, with dis- tended cheeks and compressed lips, forthwith poured a few vigorous blasts on the sod of turf, which soon A LEGEND OF CONG 33 flickered and blazed, while the kind old woman lighted her faggots of bog-wood at the flame. "Now, Sir, follow me, 11 said my conductress. "I am sorry you have had so much trouble on my account," said I. " Oh, no throuble in life, your honour, but the greatest of pleasure ; " and so saying, she proceeded into the cave, and I followed, carefully choosing my steps by the help of her torch-light, along the slippery path of rock that overhung the river. When she had reached a point of some little elevation, she held up her lighted pine branches, and waving them to and fro, asked me could I see the top of the cave. The effect of her figure was very fine, illumined as it was, in the midst of utter darkness, by the red glare of the blazing faggots; and as she wound them round her head, and shook their flickering sparks about, it required no extraordinary stretch of imagination to suppose her, with her ample cloak of dark drapery, and a few strag- gling tresses of grey hair escaping from the folds of a rather Eastern head-dress, some Sybil about to commence an awful rite, and evoke her ministering spirits from the dark void, or call some water demon from the river, which rushed unseen along, telling of its wild course by the turbulent dash of its waters, which the reverberation of the cave rendered still more hollow. She shouted aloud, and the cavern-echoes answered to her summons. "Look!" said she and she lighted the 3 34 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND wisp of straw, and flung it on the stream : it floated rapidly away, blazing in wild undulations over the per- turbed surface of the river, and at length suddenly disap- peared altogether. The effect was most picturesque and startling : it was even awful. Her light being nearly expired, we retraced our steps, and emerging from the gloom, stood beside the river, in the enlightened area I have described. "Now, Sir,"" said my old woman, "we must thry and see the White Throut; and you never seen a throut o' that colour yet, I warrant." I assented to the truth of this. "They say it's a fairy throut, your honour, and tells mighty quare stories about it." "What are they?" I inquired. " Troth, it's myself doesn't know the half o' them only partly : but sthrive and see it before you go, Sir ; for there's them that says it isn't lucky to come to the cave, and lave it without seein' the white throut ; and if you're a bachelor, Sir, and didn't get a peep at it, throth you'd never be married ; and sure that 'id be a murther ? " " "Oh," said I, "I hope the fairies would not be so spiteful" "Whisht whisht!" said she, looking fearfully around; then, knitting her brows, she gave me an admonitory look, and put her finger on her lip, in token of silence, and then coming sufficiently near me to make herself audible in a whisper, she said, "Never speak ill, your A LEGEND OF CONG 35 honour, of the good people beyant all, in sitch a place as this for it's in the likes they always keep; and one doesn't know who may be listenin'. God keep uz! But look, Sir! look!" And she pointed to the stream "There she is." "Who? what?" said I. "The throut, Sir." I immediately perceived the fish in question, perfectly a trout in shape, but in colour a creamy white, heading up the stream, and seeming to keep constantly within the lighter region of it. "There it is, in that very spot evermore," continued my guide, "and never anywhere else." " The poor fish, I suppose, likes to swim in the light," said I. " Oh, no, Sir," said she, shaking her head significantly, "the people here has a mighty owld story about that throut." "Let me hear it, and you will oblige me." "Och! it's only laughin' at me you'd be, and call me an ould fool, as the misthriss beyant in the big house often did afore, when she first kem among us but she knows the differ now." " Indeed I shall not laugh at your story," said I, " but on the contrary, shall thank you very much for your tale." "Then sit down a minit, Sir," said she, throwing her apron upon the rock, and pointing to the seat. "And I'll tell you to the best of my knowledge;" and seating 36 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND herself on an adjacent patch of verdure, she began her legend. "There was wanst upon a time, long ago, a beautiful young lady that lived in a castle up by the lake beyant, and they say she was promised to a king's son, and they wor to be married : when, all of a suddent, he was mur- thered, the crathur, (Lord help us,) and threwn into the lake abow, 12 and so, of coorse he couldn't keep his promise to the fair lady, and more's the pity. "Well, the story goes, that she wint out iv her mind, bekase av loosin' the king's son -for she was tindher- hearted, God help her, like the rest iv us! and pined away after him, until, at last, no one about seen her, good or bad ; and the story wint, that the fairies took her away. "Well, Sir, in coorse o' time, the white throut, God bless it, was seen in the sthrame beyant; and sure the people didn't know what to think av the crathur, seein' as how a white throut was never heerd av afore nor sence; and years upon years the throut was there, just where you seen it this blessed minit, longer nor I can tell ay throth, and beyant the memory o 1 th* ouldest in the village. " At last the people began to think it must be a fairy ; for what else could it be? and no hurt nor harm was iver put an the white throut, antil some wicked sinners of sojers kem to these parts, and laughed at all the people, and gibed and jeered them for thinkin' o 1 the likes; and one o 1 them in particlar, (bad luck to him! A LEGEND OF CONG 37 God forgi' me for say in' it!) swore he'd catch the throut, and ate it for his dinner the blackguard! " Well, what would you think o' the villiany of the sojer ? sure enough he cotch the throut ; and away wid him home, and puts an the fryin'-pan, and into it he pitches the purty little thing. The throut squealed all as one as a Christhan crathur, and, my dear, you'd think the sojer id split his sides laughin' for he was a harden'd villian : and when he thought one side was done, he turns it over to fry the other; and what would you think, but the divil a taste of a burn was an it at all at all ; and sure the sojer thought it was a quare throut that couldn't be briled; 'but,' says he, Til give it another turn by and by' little thinkin' what was in store for him, the haythen. " Well, when he thought that side was done, he turns it again and lo and behould you, the divil a taste more done that side was nor the other : ' Bad luck to me,' says the sojer, 'but that bates the world,' says he; 'but I'll thry you agin, my darlint,' says he, 'as cunnin' as you think yourself,' and so, with that, he turns it over and over; but the divil a sign av the fire was an the purty throut. 'Well,' says the desperate villian (for sure, Sir, only he was a desperate villian entirely, he might know he was doing a wrong thing, seem' that all his endayvours was no good); 'well,' says he, 'my jolly little throut maybe you're fried enough, though you don't seem over- well dress'd ; but you may be betther than you 38 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND look, like a singed cat, and a tit-bit, afther all,' says he; and with that he ups with his knife and fork to taste a piece o' the throut but, my jew'l, the minit he put his knife into the fish, there was murtherin' screech, that you'd think the life id lave you if you heerd it, and away jumps the throut out av the fryin'pan into the middle o' the flure; and an the spot where it fell, up riz a lovely lady the beautifullest young crathur that eyes ever seen, dressed in white, with a band o' goold in her hair, and a sthrame o' blood runnin' down her arm. "'Look where you cut me, you villian, 1 says she, and she held out her arm to him and, my dear, he thought the sight id lave his eyes. "'Couldn't you lave me cool and comfortable in the river where you snared me, and not disturb me in my duty?' says she. " Well, he thrimbled like a dog in a wet sack, and at last he stammered out somethin', and begged for his life, and ax'd her ladyship's pardin, and said he didn't know she was an duty, or he was too good a sojer not to know betther nor to meddle wid her. " ' I was on duty then,' says the lady ; ' I was watchin' for my thrue love, that is comin' by wather to me,' says she; 'an' if he comes while I am away, an' that I miss iv him, I'll turn you into a pinJceen, and I'll hunt you up and down for evermore, "while grass grows or wather runs."' "Well, the sojer thought the life id lave him, at the A LEGEND OF CONG 39 thoughts iv his bein' turned into a pMeeen, and begged for marcy : and with that, says the lady " ' Renounce your evil coorses,' says she, ' you villian, or you'll repint it too late; be a good man for the futhur, and go to your duty 1S reglar. And now,' says she, 'take me back, and put me into the river agin, where you found me.' " ' Oh, my lady," says the sojer, ' how could I have the heart to drownd a beautiful lady like you?' "But before he could say another word, the lady was vanished, and there he saw the little throut an the ground. Well, he put it an a clane plate, and away he run for the bare life, for fear her lover would come while she was away ; and he run, and he run, ever till he came to the cave agin, and threw the throut into the river. The minit he did, the wather was as red as blood for a little while, by rayson av the cut, I suppose, until the sthrame washed the stain away; and to this day there's a little red mark an the throut's side, where it was cut. u "Well, Sir, from that day out the sojer was an althered man, and reformed his ways, and wint to his duty reg'lar, and fasted three times a week though it was never fish he tuk an fastin' days; for, afther the fright he got, fish id never rest an his stomach, God bless us savin' your presence. But, anyhow, he was an althered man, as I said before ; and in coorse o' time he left the army, and turned hermit at last; and they say he used to pray evermore for the sowl of the White Throut." THE BATTLE OF THE BERRINS 15 OB THE DOUBLE FUNERAL "Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, you rogue ; is this a place to roar in ? .... .... Fetch me a dozen staves, and strong ones these are but switches to them I'll scratch your heads!" I WAS sitting alone in the desolate church-yard of , intent upon my "silent art," lifting up my eyes from my portfolio, only to direct them to the interesting ruin I was sketching when the deathlike stillness that prevailed was broken by a faint and wild sound, unlike anything I had ever heard in my life. I confess I was startled I paused in my occupation, and listened in breathless ex- pectation. Again this seemingly unearthly sound vibrated through the still air of evening, more audibly than at first, and partaking of the vibratory quality of tone I have noticed, in so great a degree as to resemble the remote sound of the ringing of many glasses crowded together. I arose and looked around no being was near me and again this heart-chilling sound struck upon my ear; its wild and wailing intonation reminding me of the ^Eolian harp. Another burst was wafted up the hill; and then THE BATTLE OF THE BERRINS 41 it became discernible that the sound proceeded from many voices raised in lamentation. It was the ulican. I had hitherto known it only by report; for the first time, now, its wild and appalling cadence had been heard by me ; and it will not be wondered at by those acquainted with it that I was startled on hearing it under such circumstances. I could now perceive a crowd of peasants of both sexes, winding along a hollow way that led to the church-yard where I was standing, bearing amongst them the coffin of the departed; and ever and anon a wild burst of the ulican would arise from the throng and ring in wild and startling unison up the hill until, by a gradual and plaintive descent through an octave, it dropped into a subdued wail ; and they bore the body onward the while, not in the measured, and solemn step that custom (at least our custom) deems decent, but in a rapid and irre- gular manner, as if the violence of their grief hurried them on, and disdained all form. The effect was certainly more impressive than that of any other funeral I had ever witnessed, however much their "pride, pomp, and circumstance; 11 for no hearse with sable plumes, nor chief mourners, nor pall-bearers, ever equalled in poetry or picturesque these poor people, bearing along on their shoulders, in the stillness of evening, the body of their departed friend to its "long home." The women raising their arms above their heads, in the untaught action of grief ; their dark and ample 42 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND cloaks waving wildly about, agitated by the varied motions of their wearers, and their wild cry raised in lament "Most musical, most melancholy." At length they reached the cemetery, and the coffin was borne into the interior of the ruin, where the women still continued to wail for the dead, while half a dozen athletic young men immediately proceeded to prepare a grave ; and seldom have I seen finer fellows, or men more full of activity : their action, indeed, bespoke so much life and vigour, as to induce an involuntary and melan- choly contrast with the object on which the action was bestowed. Scarcely had the spade upturned the green sod of the burial-ground, when the wild peal of the ulican again was heard at a distance. The young men paused in their work, and turned their heads, as did, all the bystanders, towards the point whence the sound proceeded. We soon perceived another funeral procession wind round the foot of the hill, and immediately the grave makers renewed their work with redoubled activity, while exclamations of anxiety on their part, for the completion of their work, and of encouragement from the lookers-on, resounded on all sides ; and such ejaculations as " Hurry, boys, hurry!" "Stir yourself, Paddy! 11 "That's your sort, Mike!" "Rouse your sowl!" etc., etc., resounded on all sides. At the same time, the second funeral party that was advancing, no sooner perceived the church-yard already THE BATTLE OF THE BERRINS 43 occupied, than they directly quickened their pace, as the wail rose more loudly and wildly from the train; and a detachment, bearing pick and spade, forthwith sallied from the main body, and dashed with headlong speed up the hill. In the meantime, an old woman, with streaming eyes and dishevelled hair, rushed wildly from the ruin where the first party had borne their coffin, towards the young athletes I have already described as working with "might and main," and addressing them with all the passionate intensity of her country, she exclaimed, "Sure you wouldn't let them have the advantage of uz, that- a-way, and lave my darlin' boy wandherin' about, dark an' 'lone in the long nights. Work, boys! work! for the bare life, and the mother's blessin' be an you, and let my poor Paudeen have rest," I thought the poor woman was crazed, as indeed her appearance and vehemence of manner, as well as the (to me) unintelligible address she had uttered, might well induce me to believe, and I questioned one of the bystanders accordingly. "An' is it why she's goin' wild about it, you're axin ?" said the person I addressed, in evident wonder at my question. " Sure then I thought all the world knew that, let alone a gintleman like you, that ought to be know- ledgeable : and sure she doesn't want the poor boy to be walkin', as of coorse he must, barrin' they're smart." " What do you mean ? " said I, " I don't understand you." "Whisht! whisht!" said he; "here they come, by the 44 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND powers, and the Gallaghers at the head of them, 11 as he looked towards the new-comers 1 advanced-guard, who had now gained the summit of the hill, and, leaping over the boundary-ditch of the cemetery, advanced towards the group that surrounded the grave, with rapid strides and a resolute air. "Give over there, I bid you, 11 said a tall and ably- built man of the party, to those employed in opening the ground, who still plied their implements with energy. "Give over, or it 1 !! be worse for you. Didn't you hear me, Rooney ? " said he, as he laid his muscular hand on the arm of one of the party he addressed, and arrested him in his occupation. " I did hear you, 11 said Rooney ; " but I didn^ heed you."" " Fd have you keep a civil tongue in your head, 11 said the former. "You're mighty ready to give advice that you want yourself, 11 rejoined the latter, as he again plunged the spade into the earth. "Lave off, I tell you! 11 said our Hercules, in a higher tone; "or, by this and that, Til make you sorry! 11 "Arrah! what brings you here at all? 11 said another of the grave-makers, "breedin 1 a disturbance? 11 "What brings him here but mischief? 11 said a grey- haired man, who undertook, with national peculiarity, to answer one interrogatory by making another "there's always a quarrel wherever there's a Gallagher. 11 For it was indeed one of "the Gallaghers" that the peasant I THE BATTLE OF THE BERRINS 45 spoke to noticed as being "at the head o' them, 1 ' who was assuming so bold a tone. "You may thank your grey hairs that I don't make you repent o' your words," said Gallagher, and his brow darkened as he spoke. " Time was," said the old man, " when I had something surer than grey hairs to make such as you respect me;" and he drew himself up with an air of patriarchal dig- nity, and displayed, in his still expansive chest and com- manding height, the remains of a noble figure, that bore testimony to the truth of what he had just uttered. The old man's eye kindled as he spoke but 'twas only for a moment; and the expression of pride and defiance was succeeded by that of coldness and contempt. "Fd have beat you blind the best day ever you seen," said Gallagher, with an impudent swagger. "Troth you wouldn't, Gallagher!" said a contemporary of the old man : " but your consait bates the world! " "That's thrue," said Rooney. "He's a great man in- tirely, in his own opinion. I'd make a power of money if I could buy Gallagher at my price, and sell him at his own." A low and jeering laugh followed this hit of my friend Rooney; and Gallagher assumed an aspect so lowering, that a peasant, standing near me, turned to his com- panion and said, significantly, "By gor, Ned, there'll be wigs an the green afore long!" And he was quite right. 46 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND The far-off speck on the horizon, whence the prophetic eye of a sailor can foretell the coming storm is not more nicely discriminated by the mariner, than the symptoms of an approaching fray by an Irishman ; and scarcely had the foregoing words been uttered, than I saw the men tucking up their long frieze coats in a sort of jacket- fashion thus getting rid of their tails, like game-cocks before a battle. A more menacing grip was taken by the bearer of each stick (a usual appendage of Hiber- nians); and a general closing-in of the bystanders round the nucleus of dissatisfaction, made it perfectly apparent that hostilities must soon commence. I was not long left in suspense about such a catas- trophe, for a general outbreaking soon took place, com- mencing in the centre with the principals already noticed, and radiating throughout the whole circle until a general action ensued, and the belligerents were dispersed in various hostile groups over the churchyard. I was a spectator from the topmost step of a stile lead- ing into the burial-ground, deeming it imprudent to linger within the precincts of the scene of action, when my attention was attracted by the appearance of a horseman, who galloped up the little stony road, and was no sooner at my side, than he dismounted, exclaiming, at the top of his voice, " O ! you reprobates, lave off, I tell you, you heathens ! Are you Christians at all ? " I must here pause a moment to describe the person of the horseman in question. He was a tall, thin, pale THE BATTLE OF THE BERRINS 47 man having a hat, which, from exposure to bad weather, had its broad slouching brim crimped into many fantastic involutions its crown somewhat depressed in the middle, and the edges of the same exhibiting a napless paleness, very far removed from its original black ; no shirt-collar sheltered his angular jaw-bones a narrow cravat was drawn tightly round his spare neck a single-breasted coat of rusty black, with standing collar, was tightly buttoned nearly up to his chin, and a nether garment of the same, with large silver knee-buckles, meeting a square cut and buckram-like pair of black leather boots, with heavy, plated spurs, that had seen the best of their days, completed the picture. His horse was a small well-built hack, whose long rough coat would have been white, but that soiled litter had stained it to dirty yellow; and taking advantage of the liberty which the abandoned rein afforded, he very quietly turned him to the little fringe of grass which bordered each side of the path, to make as much profit of his time as he might, before his rider should resume his seat in the old high-pommelled saddle, which he had vacated in uttering the ejaculations I have recorded. This person, then, hastily mounting the stile on which I stood, with rustic politeness, said, " By your leave, Sir, " as he pushed me in haste, and jumping from the top of the wall, proceeded with long and rapid strides towards the combatants, and brandishing a heavy long whip which he carried, he began to lay about him with equal vigour 48 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND and impartiality on each and every of the peace-breakers, both parties sharing in the castigation thus bestowed with the most even, and I might add, heavy-handed justice. My surprise was great on finding that all the blows inflicted by this new belligerent, instead of being resented by the assaulted parties, seemed taken as if resistance against this potent chastiser were vain, and in a short time they all fled before him, like so many frightened school-boys before an incensed pedagogue, and huddled themselves together in a crowd, which at once became pacified at his presence. Seeing this result, I descended from my perch, and ran towards the scene that excited my surprise in no ordinary degree. I found this new-comer delivering to the multi- tude he had quelled, a severe reproof of their ' unchrist- ian doings, 1 as he termed them; and it became evident that he was the pastor of the flock, and it must be acknowledged, a very turbulent flock he seemed to have of it. This admonition was soon ended. It was certainly impres- sive, and well calculated for the audience to whom it was delivered, as well from the simplicity of its language as the solemnity of its manner, which was much enhanced by the deep and somewhat sepulchral voice of the speaker. " And now," added the pastor, " let me ask you for what you were fighting like so many wild Indians; for surely your conduct is liker to savage creatures than men that have been bred up in the hearing of God's word?" 49 A pause of a few seconds followed this question ; and, at length, some one ventured to answer from amongst the crowd, that it was "in regard of the berrin." "And is not so solemn a sight," asked the priest, "as the burial of the departed, enough to keep down the evil passions of your hearts?" " Troth then, and plase your Riverince, it was nothin ' ill-nathured in life, but only a good-nathured turn we wor doin' for poor Paudeen Money, that's departed ; and sure it's to your Riverince we'll be goin' immediately for the masses for the poor boy's sowl." Thus making interest in the offended quarter, with an address for which the Irish peasant is pre-eminently distinguished. "Tut! tut!" rapidly answered the priest; anxious, per- haps, to silence this very palpable appeal to his own interest. "Don't talk to me about doing a good-natured turn. Not," added he, in a subdued under-tone, "but that prayers for the souls of the departed faithful are enjoined by the Church; but what has that to do with your scandalous and lawless doings that I witnessed this minute? and you yourself," said he, addressing the last speaker, " one of the busiest with your cdpeen ? I'm afraid you're rather fractious, Rooney take care that I don't speak to you from the altar." " Oh, God forbid that your Riverince id have to do the like," said the mother of the deceased, already noticed, in an imploring tone, and with the big tear-drops chasing each other down her cheeks ; " and sure it was only they 4 50 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND wanted to put my poor boy in the ground first, and no wondher sure, as your Riverince knows, and not to have my poor Paudeen " "Tut! tut! woman," interrupted the priest, waving his hand rather impatiently, "don't let me hear any folly."" "I ax your Riverince's pardon, and sure it's myself that id be sorry to offind my clargy God's blessin' be an them night and day! But I was only goin' to put in a word for Mike Rooney, and sure it wasn't him at all, nor wouldn't be any of us, only for Shan Gallagher, that wouldn't lave us in peace." "Gallagher!" said the priest, in a deeply-reproachful tone. "Where is he?" Gallagher came not forward, but the crowd drew back, and left him revealed to the priest. His aspect was that of sullen indifference, and he seemed to be the only person present totally uninfluenced by the presence of his pastor, who now advanced towards him, and extending his attenuated hand in the attitude of denunciation towards the offender, said very solemnly " I have already spoken to you in the house of worship, and now, once more, I warn you to beware. Riot and battle are found wherever you go, and if you do not speedily reform your course of life, I shall expel you from the pale of the Church, and pronounce sentence of ex- communication upon you from the altar." Every one appeared awed by the solemnity and severity of this address from the onset, but when the word "ex- THE BATTLE OF THE BERRINS 51 communication " was uttered, a thrill of horror seemed to run through, the assembled multitude ; and even Gallagher himself I thought betrayed some emotion on hearing the terrible word. Yet he evinced it but for a moment, and turning on his heel, he retired from the ground with something of the swagger with which he entered it. The crowd opened to let him pass, and opened widely, as if they sought to avoid contact with one so fearfully de- nounced. "You have two coffins here," said the clergyman, "proceed, therefore, immediately to make two graves, and let the bodies be interred at the same time, and I will read the service for the dead." No very great time was consumed in making the necessary preparation. The "narrow beds" were made, and as their tenants were consigned to their last long sleep, the solemn voice of the priest was raised in the "De Profundis;" and when he had concluded the short and beautiful psalm, the friends of the deceased closed the graves, and covered them neatly with fresh-cut sods, which is what Paddy very metaphorically calls "Putting the daisy quilt over him." The clergyman retired from the church-yard, and I followed his footsteps for the purpose of introducing myself to "his reverence," and seeking from him an ex- planation of what was still a most unfathomable mystery to me, namely, the cause of quarrel, which, from certain 52 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND passages in his address to the people, I saw he understood, though so slightly glanced at. Accordingly, I overtook the priest, and as the Irish song has it, "To him I obnoxiously made my approaches." He received me with courtesy, which, though not savour- ing much of intercourse with polished circles, seemed, to spring whence all true politeness emanates from a good heart. I begged to assure him it was not an impertinent curiosity which made me desirous of becoming acquainted with the cause of the fray which I had witnessed and he had put a stop to in so summary a manner; and hoped he would not consider it an intrusion if I applied to him for that purpose. "No intrusion in life, Sir, 11 answered the priest very frankly, and with a rich brogue, 16 whose intonation was singularly expressive of good nature. It was the speci- men of brogue I have never met but in one class, the Irish gentleman of the last century an accent, which, though it possessed all the characteristic traits of "the brogue," was at the same time divested of the slightest traces of vulgarity. This is not to be met with now, or at least very rarely. An attempt has been made by those who fancy it genteel, to graft the English accent upon the brogue stem and a very bad fruit it has pro- duced. The truth is, the accents of two countries could never be happily blended; and far from making a pleasing THE BATTLE OF THE BERRINS 53 amalgamation, it conveys the idea that the speaker is endeavouring to escape from his own accent for what he considers a superior one; and it is this attempt to be fine, which so particularly allies the idea of vulgarity with the tone of brogue so often heard in the present day. Such, I have said, was not the brogue of the Rev. Phelim Roach, or Father Roach, as the peasants called him ; and his voice, which I have earlier noticed as almost sepulchral, I found derived that character from the feel- ing of the speaker when engaged in an admonitory address ; for when employed on colloquial occasions, it was no more than what might be called a rich and deep manly voice. So much for Father Roach, who forthwith proceeded to enlighten me on the subject of the funeral, and the quarrel arising therefrom. "The truth is, Sir, these poor people are possessed of many foolish superstitions; and however we may, as men, pardon them, looking upon them as fictions originating in a warm imagination, and finding a ready admission into the minds of an unlettered and susceptible peasantry, we cannot, as pastors of the flock, admit their belief to the poor people committed to our care. " This was quite new to me; to find a clergyman of the religion I had hitherto heard as being par excellence abounding in superstition, denouncing the very article in question. But let me not interrupt Father Roach. "The superstition I speak of, 11 continued he, "is one 54 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND of the many these warm-hearted people indulge in, and is certainly very poetical in texture. "But, Sir," interrupted my newly-made acquaintance, pulling forth a richly chased gold watch of antique work- manship, that at once suggested ideas of the l bon vieux temps' 1 "I must ask your pardon. I have an engagement to keep at the little hut I call my home, which obliges me to proceed there forthwith. If you have so much time to spare as will enable you to walk with me to the end of this little road, it will suffice to make you acquainted with the nature of the superstition in question. " I gladly assented; and the priest, disturbing the nib- bling occupation of his hack, threw the rein over his arm, and the docile little beast following him on one side as quietly as I did on the other, he gave me the following account of the cause of all the previous riot, as we wound down the little stony path that led to the main road. "There is a belief among the peasantry in this parti- cular district, that the ghost of the last person interred in the church-yard, is obliged to traverse, unceasingly, the road between this earth and purgatory, carrying water to slake the burning thirst of those confined in that 'limbo large;' and that the ghost is thus obliged to walk 'Through the dead waste and middle of the night/ until some fresh arrival of a tenant to the ' narrow house,' supplies a fresh ghost to 'relieve guard', if I may be THE BATTLE OF THE BERRINS 55 allowed so military an expression; and thus, the supply of waters to the sufferers in Purgatory is kept up unceasingly. 17 Hence it was that the fray had arisen, and the poor mother's invocation, " that her darling boy should not be left to wander about the church-yard, dark and lone in the long nights," became at once intelligible. Father Roach gave me some curious illustrations of the different ways in which the superstition influenced his " poor people, " as he constantly called them ; but I suppose my readers have had quite enough of the subject, and I shall therefore say no more of other "cases in point," contented with having given them one example, and recording the existence of a superstition, which, however wild, undoubtedly owes its existence to an affectionate heart and a poetic imagination. FATHER ROACH I FOUND the company of Father Roach so pleasant, that I accepted an invitation which he gave me, when we arrived at the termination of our walk, to breakfast the next morning at his little hut, as he called the un- pretending but neat cottage he inhabited, a short mile distant from the church-yard where we first met. I repaired, accordingly, the next morning, at an early hour, to my appointment, and found the worthy pastor ready to receive me. He met me at the little avenue, (not that I mean to imply an idea of grandeur by the term,) which led from the main road to his dwelling it was a short narrow road, bordered on each side by alder bushes, and an abrupt awkward turn placed you in front of the humble dwelling of which he was master: the area before it, however, was clean, and the offensive dunghill, the in- trusive pig, and barking cur-dog, were not the dis- tinguishing features of this, as unfortunately they too often are of other Irish cottages. On entering the house, an elderly and comfortably-clad woman curtsied as we crossed the threshold, and I was led across an apartment, whose " Neatly sanded floor " FATHER ROACH 57 (an earthen one, by the way) we traversed diagonally to an opposite comer, where an open door admitted us into a small but comfortable boarded apartment, where breakfast was laid, unostentatiously but neatly, and in- viting to the appetite, as far as that could be stimulated by a white cloth, most promising fresh butter, a plate of evidently fresh eggs, and the best of cream, whose rich white was most advantageously set off by the plain blue ware of which the ewer was composed ; add to this, an ample cake of fresh griddle bread, and "Though last, not least/' the savoury smell that arose from a rasher of bacon, which announced itself through the medium of more senses than one ; for its fretting and fuming in the pan, where it played many an ingenious variation upon "fiz and whiz!" "Gave dreadful note of preparation." But I must not forget to notice the painted tin tea canister of mine host, which was emblazoned with the talismanic motto of "O'Connell and Liberty;" and underneath the semi-circular motto aforesaid, appeared the rubicund visage of a lusty gentleman in a green coat, holding in his hand a scroll inscribed with the dreadful words, "Catholic rent," "Unpl easing most to Brunswick ears," 58 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND which was meant to represent no less a personage than the "Great Liberator" himself. While breakfast was going forward, the priest and my- self had made no inconsiderable advances towards intimacy. Those who have mingled much in the world, have often, no doubt, experienced like myself, how much easier it is to enter at once, almost, into friendship with some, before the preliminaries of common acquaintance can be established with others. Father Roach was one of the former species. We soon sympathised with each other, and becoming, as it were, at once possessed of the keys of each other's freemasonry ; we mutually unlocked our confidence. This led to many an interesting conversation with the good father, while I remained in his neighbourhood. He gave me a sketch of his life in a few words. It was simply this : he was a descendant of a family that had once been wealthy and of large possession in the very county where, as he said himself, he was "a pauper." "For what else can I call myself," said the humble priest, "when I depend on the gratuitous contributions of those who are little better than paupers themselves, for my support? But God's will be done." His forefathers had lost their patrimony by repeated forfeitures, under every change of power that had distracted the unfortunate island of which he was a native ; and for him and his brothers, nothing was left but personal exertion. "The elder boys would not remain here," said he, FATHER ROACH 59 "where their religion was a barrier to their promotion. They went abroad, and offered their swords to the service of a foreign power. They fought and fell under the ban- ners of Austria, who disdained not the accession of all such strong arms and bold hearts, that left their native soil to be better appreciated in a stranger land. "I, and a younger brother, who lost his father ere he could feel the loss, remained in poor Ireland. I was a sickly boy, and was constantly near my beloved mother God rest her soul! who early instilled into my infant mind, deeply reverential notions of religion, which at length imbued my mind so strongly with their influence, that I determined to devote my life to the priesthood. I was sent to St. Omer to study, and on my return, was ap- pointed to the ministry, which I have ever since exer- cised to the best of the ability that God has vouchsafed to his servant."" Such was the outline of Father Roach's personal and family history. In some of the conversations which our intimacy origin- ated, I often sought for information, touching the pecu- liar doctrines of his Church, and the discipline which its followers are enjoined to adopt. I shall not attempt to weary the reader with an account of our arguments; for the good Father Roach was so meek as to condescend to an argument with one unlearned as myself, and a heretic to boot ; nor to detail some anecdotes that to me were interesting on various points in question. I shall 60 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND reserve but one fact and a most singular one it is to present to my readers on the subject of confession. Speaking upon this point, I remarked to Father Roach, that of all the practices of the Roman Catholic Church, that of confession I considered the most beneficial within the range of its discipline. He concurred with me in admitting it as highly ad- vantageous to the sinner. I ventured to add that I con- sidered it very beneficial also to the person sinned against. "Very true," said Father Roach; "restitution is often made through its agency." "But in higher cases than those you allude to," said I; "for instance, the detection of conspiracies, unlawful meetings, etc., etc." "Confession," said he, somewhat hesitatingly, "does not immediately come into action in the way you allude to." I ventured to hint, rather cautiously, that in this king- dom, where the Roman Catholic religion was not the one established by law, that there might be some reserve between penitent and confessor, on a subject where the existing government might be looked upon something in the light of a step-mother. A slight flush passed over the priest's pallid face " No, no," said he ; " do not suspect us of any foul play to the power under which we live. No ! But recollect, the doc- trine of our Church is this that whatsoever penance may be enjoined on the offending penitent by his confession, his crime, however black, must in all cases be held sacred, FATHER ROACH 61 when its acknowledgment is made under the seal of con- fession." " In all cases ? " said I. "Without an exception," answered he. "Then, would you not feel it your duty to give a murderer up to justice?" The countenance of Father Roach assumed an instan- taneous change, as if a sudden pang shot through him his lip became suddenly ashy pale, he hid his face in his hands, and seemed struggling with some deep emotion. I feared I had offended, and feeling quite confused, began to stammer out some nonsense, when he interrupted me. " Do not be uneasy," said he. " You have said nothing to be ashamed of, but your words touched a chord," and his voice trembled as he spoke, "that cannot vibrate without intense pain;" and wiping away a tear that glistened in each humid eye, " I shall tell you a story, 11 said he, "that will be the strongest illustration of such a case as you have supposed;" and he proceeded to give me the following narrative. THE PRIEST'S STORY "I HAVE already made known to you, that a younger brother and myself were left to the care of my mother best and dearest of mothers ! " said the holy man, sighing deeply, and clasping his hands fervently, while his eyes were lifted to heaven, as if love made him conscious that the spirit of her he lamented had found its eternal rest there "thy gentle and affectionate nature sank under the bitter trial that an all-wise Providence was pleased to visit thee with ! Well, sir, Frank was my mother's darling; not that you are to understand, by so saying, that she was of that weak and capricious tone of mind which lavished its care upon one at the expense of others far from it : never was a deep store of mater- nal love more equally shared, than among the four brothers; but when the two seniors went away, and I was some time after sent, for my studies, to St. Omer, Frank became the object upon which all the tenderness of her affectionate heart might exercise the little maternal cares that hitherto had been divided amongst many. Indeed, my dear Frank deserved it all : his was the gentlest of natures, combined with a mind of singular strength and brilliant imagination. In short, as the phrase has it, he was ' the flower of the flock, 1 and great THE PRIEST'S STORY 63 things were expected from him. It was some time after my return from St. Omer, while preparations were making for advancing Frank in the pursuit which had been selected as the business of his life that every hour which drew nearer to the moment of his departure made him dearer, not only to us, but to all who knew him, and each friend claimed a day that Frank should spend with him, to be passed in recalling the happy hours they had already spent together, in assurances given and received of kindly remembrances that should be still cherished, and in mutual wishes for success, with many a hearty prophecy from my poor Frank's friends, 'that he would one day be a great man.' "One night, as my mother and myself were sitting at home beside the fire, expecting Frank's return from one of these parties, my mother said, in an unusually anxious tone, 'I wish Frank was come home.' " * What makes you think of his return so soon ? ' said I. "'I don't know,' said she; 'but somehow, I'm uneasy about him.' '"Oh, make yourself quiet,' said I, 'on that subject; we cannot possibly expect Frank for an hour to come yet.' "Still my mother could not become calm, and she fidgeted about the room, became busy in doing nothing, and now and then would go to the door of the house to listen for the distant tramp of Frank's horse; but Frank came not. "More than the hour I had named as the probable 64 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND time of his return, had elapsed, and my mother's anxiety had amounted to a painful pitch ; and I began myself to blame my brother for so long and late an absence. Still, I endeavoured to calm her, and had prevailed on her to seat herself again at the fire, and commenced reading a page or two of an amusing book, when suddenly she stopped me, and turned her head to the window, in the attitude of listening. "'It is! it is!' said she; 'I hear him coming. 1 " And now the sound of a horse's feet in a rapid pace became audible. She rose from her chair, and with a deeply-aspirated * Thank God ! ' went to open the door for him herself. I heard the horse now pass by the window ; in a second or two more, the door was opened, and instantly a fearful scream from my mother brought me hastily to her assistance. I found her lying in the hall in a deep swoon the servants of the house hastily crowded to the spot, and gave her immediate aid. I ran to the door to ascertain the cause of my mother's alarm, and there I saw Frank's horse panting and foaming, and the saddle empty. That my brother had been thrown and badly hurt, was the first thought that suggested itself; and a car and horse were immediately ordered to drive in the direction he had been returning; but in a few minutes, our fears were excited to the last degree, by discovering there was blood on the saddle. " We all experienced inconceivable terror at the discovery, but, not to weary you with details, suffice it to say, THE PRIESTS STORY 65 that we commenced a diligent search, and at length arrived at a small by-way that turned from the main road, and led through a bog, which was the nearest course for my brother to have taken homewards, and we accordingly began to explore it. I was mounted on the horse my brother had ridden, and the animal snorted violently, and exhibited evident symptoms of dislike to retrace this by-way, that, I doubted not, he had already travelled that night ; and this very fact made me still more appre- hensive that some terrible occurrence must have taken place, to occasion such excessive repugnance on the part of the animal. However, I urged him onward, and telling those who accompanied me, to follow with what speed they might, I dashed forward, followed by a faithful dog of poor Frank's. At the termination of about half a mile, the horse became still more impatient of restraint, and started at every ten paces; and the dog began to traverse the little road, giving an occasional yelp, sniffing the air strongly, and lashing his sides with his tail, as if on some scent. At length he came to a stand, and beat about within a very circumscribed space yelping occasionally, as if to draw my attention. I dismounted immediately, but the horse was so extremely restless, that the difficulty I had in holding him prevented me from observing the road by the light of the lantern which I carried. I perceived, however, it was very much trampled hereabouts, and bore evidence of having been the scene of a struggle. I shouted to the party in the rear, who soon came up and lighted some faggots of bog-wood which they brought with them to assist in our search, and we now more clearly distinguished the marks I have alluded to. The dog still howled, and indicated a par- ticular spot to us ; and on one side of the path, upon the stunted grass, we discovered a quantity of fresh blood, and I picked up a pencil-case that I knew had belonged to my murdered brother for I now was compelled to consider him as such; and an attempt to describe the agonised feelings which at that moment I experienced would be vain. We continued our search for the dis- covery of his body for many hours without success, and the morning was far advanced before we returned home. How changed a home from the preceding day ! My beloved mother could scarcely be roused for a moment from a sort of stupor that seized upon her, when the paroxysm of frenzy was over, which the awful catastrophe of the fatal night had produced. If ever heart was broken, hers was. She lingered but a few weeks after the son she adored, and seldom spoke during the period, except to call upon his name. "But I will not dwell on this painful theme. Suffice it to say she died; and her death, under such circum- stances, increased the sensation which my brother's mysterious murder had excited. Yet, with all the horror which was universally entertained for the crime, and the execrations poured upon its atrocious perpetrator, still, the doer of the deed remained undiscovered ! and even I, THE PRIESTS STORY 67 who of course was the most active in seeking to develop the mystery, not only could catch no clue to lead to the discovery of the murderer, but failed even to ascertain where the mangled remains of my lost brother had been deposited. "It was nearly a year after the fatal event, that a penitent knelt to me, and confided to the ear of his confessor the misdeeds of an ill-spent life; I say of his whole life for he had never before knelt at the con- fessional. "Fearful was the catalogue of crime that was revealed to me unbounded selfishness, oppression, revenge, and lawless passion had held unbridled influence over the unfortunate sinner, and sensuality in all its shapes, even to the polluted home and betrayed maiden, had plunged him deeply into sin. "I was shocked I may even say I was disgusted, and the culprit himself seemed to shrink from the recapitu- lation of his crimes, which he found more extensive and appalling than he had dreamed of, until the recital of them called them all up in fearful array before him. I was about to commence an admonition, when he interrupted me he had more to communicate. I desired him to proceed he writhed before me. I enjoined him in the name of the God he had offended, and who knoweth the inmost heart, to make an unreserved disclosure of his crimes, before he dared to seek a reconciliation with his Maker. At length, after many a pause and convulsive 68 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND sob, he told me, in a voice almost suffocated by terror, that he had been guilty of bloodshed. I shuddered, but in a short time I recovered myself, and asked how and where he had deprived a fellow- creature of life ? Never, to the latest hour of my life, shall I forget the look which the miserable sinner gave me at that moment. His eyes were glazed, and seemed starting from their sockets with terror; his face assumed a deadly paleness he raised his clasped hands up to me in the most im- ploring action, as if supplicating mercy, and with livid and quivering lips he gasped out and if you could lind me the loan of a gridiron,' says I, 'I'd be entirely obleeged to ye.' " By gor, they all stared at me twice worse nor before ; THE GRIDIRON 145 and with that, says I, (knowin' what was in their minds,) * indeed, it's thrue for you,' says I 'I'm tatthered to pieces, and God knows I look quare enough but it's by raison of the storm,' says I, ' which dhruv us ashore here below, and we're all starvin',' says I. " So then they began to look at each other agin ; and myself seeing at wanst dirty thoughts was in their heads, and that they tuk me for a poor beggar, comin' to crave charity with that, says I, ^Oh! not at all,' says I, 'by no manes we have plenty o' mate ourselves, there below, and we'll dhress it,' says I, 'if you would be plased to lind us the loan of a gridiron,' says I, makin' a low bow. "Well, Sir, with that, throth they stared at me twice worse nor ever and, faith, I began to think that maybe the captain was wrong, and that it was not France at all at all; and so says I, 'I beg pardon, Sir,' says I, to a fine ould man, with a head of hair as white as silver ' maybe I'm undher a mistake,' says I ; ' but I thought I was in France, Sir : aren't you furriners ? ' says I ' Parly voo frangsay ? ' "'We, munseer,' says he. '"Then would you lind me the loan of a gridiron,' says I, 'if you plase?' "Oh, it was thin that they stared at me as if I had siven heads; and, faith, myself began to feel flusthered like, and onaisy and so says I, makin' a bow and scrape agin, ' I know it's a liberty I take, Sir,' says I, ' but it's 10 146 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND only in the regard of bein' cast away; and if you plase, Sir, 1 says I, 'Parly voo Jrongsay J" "We, munseer,' says he, mighty sharp. " ' Then would you lind me the loan of gridiron ? ' says I, 'and you'll obleege me.' "Well, Sir, the ould chap began to munseer me, but the divil a bit of a gridiron he'd gi' me ; and so I began to think they wor all neygars, for all their fine manners; and throth my blood begun to rise, and says I, * By my sowl, if it was you was in disthriss,' says I, 'and if it was to ould Ireland you kem, it's not only the gridiron they'd give you, if you ax'd it, but something to put an it too, and the dhrop o' dhrink into the bargain, and cead mile failte, ,' " Well, the word cead mile failte seemed to sthreck his heart, and the ould chap cocked his ear, and so I thought I'd give him another offer, and make him sinsible at last ; and so says I, wanst more, quite slow, that he might undherstand * Parly vooJrongsay, munseer ? ' "'We, munseer,' says he. "'Then lind me the loan of a gridiron,' says I, 'and bad scran to you.' "Well, bad win to the bit of it he'd gi' me, and the ould chap begins bowin' and scrapin,' and said something or other about a long tongs. !B "'Phoo! the divil sweep yourself and your tongs,' says I, 'I don't want a tongs at all at all; but can't you listen to raison,' says I ' Parly voo frongsay ? ' THE GRIDIRON 147 " * We, munseer. 1 "'Then lind me the loan of a gridiron, 1 says I, 'and howld your prate. 1 "Well, what would you think but he shook his owld noddle as much as to say he wouldn't; and so says I, ' Bad cess to the likes o 1 that I ever seen -throth if you wor in my counthry it's not that-a-way they'd use you ; the curse o 1 the crows an you, you owld sinner, 1 says I, 'the divil a longer I'll darken your door. 1 "So he seen I was vex 1 d, and I thought, as I was turnin 1 away, I seen him begin to relint, and that his conscience throubled him ; and, says I, turnin 1 back, ' Well, Til give you one chance more you ould thief are you a Chrishthan at all at all? are you a furriner? 1 says I, 'that all the world calls so p'lite. Bad luck to you, do you undherstand your own language ?-^-Parly voo frong- say?" 1 says I. "'We, munseer, 1 says he. " ' Then, thunder an turf ! ' says I, ' will you lind me the loan of a gridiron? 1 " Well, Sir, the divil resave the bit of it he'd gi 1 me and so with that, 'the curse o 1 the hungry an you, you ould negarly villian, 1 says I : ' the back o 1 my hand and the sowl o 1 my fut to you, that you may want a gridiron yourself yit, 1 says I; 'and wherever I go, high and low, rich and poor, shall hear o 1 you, 1 says I; and with that I left them there, Sir, and kem away and in throth it's often sence that I thought that it was remarkable. 11 PADDY THE PIPER Dogberry. Marry, Sir, they have committed false reports; moreover, they have spoken untruths ; second- arily, they are slanderers ; sixthly and lastly, they have belied a lady ; thirdly, they have verified unjust things ; and to conclude, they are lying knaves." MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. "I'LL tell you, Sir, a mighty quare story, and it's as thrue as I'm standin' here, and that's no lie: " It was in the time of the ruction, 81 whin the long summer days, like many a fine fellow's precious life, was cut short by raison of the martial law that wouldn't let a dacent boy be out in the evenin', good or bad; for whin the day's work was over, divil a one of uz dar go to meet a frind over a glass, or a girl at the dance, but must go home, and shut ourselves up, and never budge, nor rise latch, nor dhraw boult, antil the morn- ing kem agin. " Well, to come to my story : 'Twas afther nightfall, and we wor sittin' round the fire, and the praties wor boilin', and the noggins of butthermilk was standin' ready for our suppers, whin a knock kem to the door. " * Whisht ! ' says my father, ' here's the sojers come upon us now,' says he; 'bad luck to thim, the villians, PADDY THE PIPER 149 Tm afeard they seen a glimmer of the fire through the crack in the door,' says he. "'No, 1 says my mother, 'for Fm afther hangin' an ould sack and new petticoat agin it, a while ago/ '"Well, whisht, anyhow, 1 says my father, 'for there's a knock agin ; ' and we all held our tongues till another thump kem to the door. " ' Oh, it's a folly to purtind any more,' says my father 'they're too cute to be put off that-a-way,' says he. 'Go, Shamus,' says he to me, 'arid see who's in it.' " ' How can I see who's in it in the dark ? ' says I. " ' Well,' says he, ' light the candle thin, and see who's in it, but don't open the door, for your life, ban-in' they brake it in,' says he, 'exceptin' to the sojers, and spake thim fair, if it's thim.' "So with that I wint to the door, and there was another knock. "'Who's there?' says I. '"It's me,' says he. " ' Who are you ?' says I. "'A frind,' says he. " ' Baiihershin] says I ' who are you at all ? ' "'Arrdh! don't you know me?' says he. '"Divil a taste,' says I. '"Sure I'm Paddy the piper,' says he. "'Oh, thunder an turf,' says I, 'is it you, Paddy, that's in it?' "'Sorra one else,' says he. 150 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND " ' And what brought you at this hour ? ' says I. "'By gor,' says he, 'I didn't like gom"* the roun' by the road, 1 says he, 'and so I kem the short cut, and that's what delayed me/ says he. " ' Oh, bloody wars ! ' says I * Paddy, I wouldn't be in your shoes for the king's ransum,' says I; 'for you know yourself it's a hangin' matther to be cotched out these times,' says I. '"Sure I know that,' says he, 'God help me; and that's what I kem to you for,' says he; 'and let me in for ould acquaintance sake,' says poor Paddy. " ' Oh, by this and that,' says I, ' I darn't open the door for the wide world; and sure you know it; and throth, if the Husshians or the Yeos S2 ketches you,' says I, 'they'll murther you, as sure as your name's Paddy.' "'Many thanks to you,' says he, 'for your good intintions; but, plaze the pigs, I hope it's not the likes o' that is in store for me, anyhow.' "'Faix then,' says I, 'you had betther lose no time in hidin' yourself,' says I ; ' for, throth I tell you, it's a short thrial and a long rope the Husshians would be afther givin' you for they've no justice, and less marcy, the villians ! ' "'Faith thin, more's the raison you should let me in, Shamus,' says poor Paddy. " ' It's a folly to talk,' says I, ' I darn't open the door.' " ' Oh then, mlll'ia murther ! ' says Paddy, ' what'll become of me at all at all ? ' says he. PADDY THE PIPER 151 "'Go aff into the shed,' says I, 'behin' the house, where the cow is, and there there's an iligant lock o' straw, that you may go sleep in," says I, 'and a fine bed it id be for a lord, let alone a piper/ "So aff Paddy set to hide in the shed, and throth it wint to our hearts to refuse him, and turn him away from the door, more by token when the praties was ready for sure the bid and the sup is always welkim to the poor thraveller. Well, we all wint to bed, and Paddy hid himself in the cow-house ; and now I must tell you how it was with Paddy : " You see, afther sleeping for some time, Paddy wakened up, thinkin' it was mornin', but it wasn't mornin' at all, but only the light o' the moon that desaved him ; but at all evints, he wanted to be stirrin' airly, bekase he was goin' off to the town hard by, it bein' fair-day, to pick up a few ha'pence with his pipes for the divil a betther piper was in all the counthry round, nor Paddy ; and every one gave it up to Paddy that he was iligant an the pipes, and played 'Jinny bang'd the Weaver,' beyant tellin', and the ' Hare in the Corn,' that you'd think the very dogs was in it, and the horsemen ridin' like mad. " Well, as I was sayin', he set aff to go to the fair, and he went meandherin' along through the fields, but he didn't go far, antil climbin' up through a hedge, when he was comin' out at t'other side, his head kem plump agin somethin' that made the fire flash out iv his eyes. 152 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND So with that he looks up and what do you think it was, Lord be raarciful to us, but a corpse hangin' out of a branch of a three. " * Oh, the top o' the mornin 1 to you, Sir, 1 says Paddy, 'and is that the way with you, my poor fellow? throth you tuk a start out o' me, 1 says poor Paddy ; and 'twas thrue for him, for it would make the heart of a stouter man nor Paddy jump, to see the like, and to think of a Chrishthan crathur being hanged up, all as one as a dog. " Now, 'twas the rebels that hanged this chap bekase, you see, the corpse had got clothes an him, and that's the raison that one might know it was the rebels by raison that the Husshians and the Orangemen never hanged any body wid good clothes an him, but only the poor and definceless crathurs, like uz; so, as I said before, Paddy knew well it was the boys that done it; 'and, 1 says Paddy, eyein' the corpse, ' by my sowl, thin, but you have a beautiful pair of boots an you,' says he, 'and it's what I'm thinkin' you won't have any great use for thim no more; and sure it's a shame to see the like o' me,' says he, 'the best piper in the sivin counties, to be trampin' wid a pair of ould brogues not worth three traneens, and a corpse with such a iligant pair o' boots, that wants some one to wear thim.' So, with that, Paddy lays hould of hfm by the boots, and began a pullin' at thim, but they wor mighty stiff; and whether it was by raison of their bein' so tight, or the branch of the three a-jiggin' up an down, all as one as a weighdee buckettee. PADDY THE PIPER 153 an not lettin' Paddy cotch any right hould o' thim he could get no advantage o' thim at all and at last he gev it up, and was goin' away, whin lookin' behind him agin, the sight of the iligant fine boots was too much for him, and he turned back, detarmined to have the boots, anyhow, by fair means or foul ; and I'm loath to tell you now how he got thim for indeed it was a dirty turn, and throth it was the only dirty turn I ever knew Paddy to be guilty av ; and you see it was this a- way ; 'pon my sowl, he pulled out a big knife, and, by the same token, it was a knife with a fine buck-handle, and a murtherin' big blade, that an uncle o' mine, that was a gardener at the lord's, made Paddy a prisint av; and, more by token, it was not the first mischief that knife done, for it cut love between thim that was the best of friends before; and sure 'twas the wondher of every one, that two knowledgeable men, that ought to know betther, would do the likes, and give and take sharp steel in frindship ; but I'm forgettin' well, he outs with his knife, and what does he do, but he cuts off the legs of the corpse; 'and, 1 says he, 'I can take off the boots at my convaynience ; ' and throth it was, as I said before, a dirty turn. "Well, Sir, he tuck'd the legs undher his arms, and at that minit the moon peeped out from behind a cloud 'Oh! is it there you are?' says he to the moon, for he was an impidint chap and thin, seein' that he made a mistake, and that the moon-light deceaved him, and 154 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND that it wasn't the airly dawn, as he conceaved; andbein" friken'd for fear himself might be cotched and trated like the poor corpse he was afther a malthreating, if he was found walking the counthry at that time by gor, he turned about, and walked back agin to the cow-house, and, hidin' the corpse's legs in the sthraw, Paddy wint to sleep agin. But what do you think ? the divil a long Paddy was there antil the sojers came in airnest, and by the powers, they carried off Paddy and faith it was only sarviii* him right for what he done to the poor corpse. "Well, whin the mornin' kem, my father says to me, * Go, Shamus,' says he, * to the shed, and bid poor Paddy come in, and take share o' the praties, for, I go bail, he's ready for his breakquest by this, anyhow.' "Well, out I wint to the cow-house, and called out * Paddy ! ' and afther callin' three or four times, and gettin' no answer, I wint in, and called agin, and divil an answer I got still. * Blood-an-agers ! ' says I, ' Paddy, where are you at all at all?' and so, castin' my eyes about the shed, I seen two feet sticking out from undher the hape o' sthraw ' Musha ! thin,' says I, ' bad luck to you, Paddy, but you're fond of a warm corner, and maybe you haven't made yourself as snug as a flay in a blanket ? but I'll disturb your dhrames, I'm thinkin',' says I, and with that I laid hould of his heels, (as I thought, God help me,) and givin' a good pull to waken him, as I intinded, away I wint, head over heels, and my brains was a'most knocked out agin the wall. PADDY THE PIPER 155 "Well, whin I recovered myself, there I was an the brood o' my back, and two things stickin' out o' my hands like a pair o' Husshian's horse-pist'ls and I thought the sight 'id lave my eyes, when I seen they wor two mortial legs. "My jew 1 !, I threw them down like a hot pratee, and jumpin' up, I roared out mittia murther. 'Oh, you murtherin' villian,' says I, shakin' my fist at the cow Oh, you unnath'ral baste,' says I, * you've ate poor Paddy, you thievin' cannible, you're worse than a neygar,' says I ; * and bad luck to you, how dainty you are, that nothin' 'id sarve you for your supper but the best piper in Ire- land. Weirasthru! Weirasthru, what'll the whole counthry say to such a unnath'ral murther? and you lookin' as innocent there as a lamb, and atin' your hay as quite as if nothin' happened.' With that, I run out for, throth, I didn't like to be near her and, goin' into the house, I tould them all about it. "'Arrah! be aisy,' says my father. "'Bad luck to the lie I tell you,' says I. "'Is it ate Paddy?' 83 says they. "'Divil a doubt of it,' says I. '"Are you sure, Shamus?' says my mother. " ' I wish I was as sure of a new pair o' brogues,' says I. 'Bad luck to the bit she has left iv him but his two legs.' " ' And do you tell me she ate the pipes too ? ' says my father, " ' By gor, I b'lieve so,' says I. 156 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND "'Oh, the divil fly away wid her, 1 says he, 'what a cruel taste she has for music! 1 lll Arrah!' > says my mother, 'don't be cursin 1 the cow, that gives the milk to the childher. 1 "'Yis, I will," 1 says my father, 'why shouldn't I curse sich an unnath'ral baste? 1 " ' You oughtn't to curse any livin 1 thing that's undher your roof, 1 says my mother. '"By my sowl, thin,' says my father, 'she shan't be undher my roof any more; for I'll sind her to the fair this minit,' says he, 'and sell her for whatever she'll bring. Go aff, 1 says he, 'Shamus, the minit you've ate your breakquest, and dhrive her to the fair. 1 "'Thrbth I don't like to dhrive her,' says I. " Arrah, don't be makin 1 a g-ommoch of yourself, 1 says he. "'Faith, I don't,' say I. "'Well, like or no like, 1 says he, 'you must dhrive her.' "'Sure, father,' says I, 'you could take more care iv her yourself.' '"That's mighty good,' says he, 'to keep a dog and bark myself;' and, faith, I rec'llected the saying from that hour; 'let me have no more words about it,' says he, 'but be aff wid you.' "So, aff I wint and it's no lie I'm tellin 1 whin I say it was sore agin my will I had any thing to do with sich a villian of a baste. But, howsomever, I cut a brave long wattle, that I might dhrive the thief, as she was, without bein' near her, at all at all. PADDY THE PIPER 157 " Well, away we wint along the road, and mighty throng it wuz wid the boys and the girls and, in short, all sorts, rich and poor, high and low, crowdin' to the fair. "'God save you,' says one to me. " * God save you, kindly,' says I. "'That's a fine baste you're dhrivin',' says he. "'Throth she is,' says I; though God knows it wint agin my heart to say a good word for the likes of her. " ' It's to the fair you're goin', I suppose,' says he, 'with the baste?' (He was a snug-lookin' farmer, ridin' a purty little gray hack.) "'Faith, thin, you're right enough,' says I, 'it is to the fair I'm goin'.' '"What do you expec' for her?' says he. '"Faith, thin, myself doesn't know,' says I and that was thrue enough, you see, bekase I was bewildhered like about the baste, entirely. " ' That's a quare way to be goin' to market,' says he, 'and not to know what you expec' for your baste.' " ' Och,' says I not likin' to let him suspict there was any thing wrong wid her 'Och,' says I, in a careless sort of a way, 'sure no one can tell what a baste 'ill bring, antil they come to the fair,' says I, 'and see what price is goin'.' " ' Indeed, that's nath'ral enough,' says he. ' But if you wor bid a fair price before you come to the fair, sure you might as well take it,' says he. "'Oh, I've no objection in life,' says I. 158 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND "'Well, thin, what Mil you ax for her?' says he. " ' Why, thin, I wouldn't like to be onraysonable,' says I (for the thruth was, you know, I wanted to get rid iv her) 'and so Til take four pounds for her,' says I, 'and no less.' '"No less!' says he. "'Why, sure that's chape enough,' says I. " ' Throth it is,' says he ; ' and I'm thinkin' it's too chape it is,' says he ; ' for if there wasn't something the matther, it's not for that you'd be sellin' the fine milch cow, as she is to all appearance.' "'Indeed thin,' says I, 'upon my conscience, she is a fine milch cow.' " ' Maybe,' says he, ' she's gone off her milk, in regard that she doesn't feed well?' "'Och, by this and that,' says I, 'in regard of feedin' there's not the likes of her in Ireland ; so make your mind aisy and if you like her for the money, you may have her.' "'Why, indeed, I'm not in a hurry,' says he, 'and I'll wait to see how they go in the fair.' "'With all my heart,' says I, purtendin' to be no ways consarned but in throth I began to be afeard that the people was seem' somethin' unnath'ral about her, and that we'd never get rid of her, at all at all. At last we kem to the fair, and a great sight o' people was in it throth, you'd think the whole world was there, let alone the standins o' gingerbread and iligant ribbins, and makins o' beautiful gownds, and pitch-and-toss, and PADDY THE PIPER. 159 merry-go-rouns, and tints with the best av dhrink in thim, and the fiddles play in' up t' incourage the boys and girls ; but I never minded thim at all, but detarmint to sell the thievin' rogue of a cow afore I'd mind any divarshin in life ; so an I dhriv her into the thick av the fair, whin all of a suddint, as I kem to the door av a tint, up sthruck the pipes to the tune av * Tatther Jack Welsh, 1 and, my jew'l, in a minit the cow cock'd her ears, and was makin' a dart at the tint. " ' Oh, murther ! ' says I, to the boys standin' by, 4 hould her,' says I, ' hould her she ate one piper already, the vagabone, and, bad luck to her, she wants another now.' 4 "Is it a cow for to ate a piper?' says one o' thim. "'Divil a word o' lie in it, for I seen his corpse my- self, and nothin' left but the two legs,' says I; 'and it's a folly to be sthrivin' to hide it, for I see she'll never lave it aff as poor Paddy Grogan knows to his cost, Lord be marciful to him.' " * Who's that takin' my name in vain ? ' says a voice in the crowd; and with that, shovin' the throng a one side, who the divil should I see but Paddy Grogan. to all appearance. "'Oh, hould him too,' says I; 'keep him aff me, for it's not himself at all, but his ghost,' says I; 'for he was kilt last night to my sartin knowledge, every inch av him, all to his legs.' " Well, Sir, with that, Paddy for it was Paddy himself, as it kem out afther fell a laughin", that you'd think 160 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND his sides 'ud split; and whin he kem to himself, he ups and he tould uz how it was, as I towld you already ; and the likes av the fun they made av me was beyant tellin', for wrongfully misdoubtin' the poor cow, and layin' the blame iv atin' a piper an her. So we all wint into the tint to have it explained, and, by gor, it tuk a full gallon o' sper'ts t' explain it ; and we dhrank health and long life to Paddy and the cow, and Paddy played that day beyant all tellin', and many a one said the like was never heerd before nor sence, even from Paddy himself and av coorse the poor slandhered cow was dhruv home agin, and many a quite day she had wid us afther that ; and whin she died, throth my father had sitch a regard for the poor thing, that he had her skinned, and an iligant pair of breeches made out iv her hide, and it's in the fam'ly to this day ; and isn't it mighty remarkable it is, what I'm goin' to tell you now, but it's as thrue as I'm here, that from that out, any one that has thim breeches an, the minit a pair o' pipes sthrikes up, they can't rest, but goes jiggin' and jiggin' in their sate, and never stops as long as the pipes is playin' and there," said he, slapping the garment in question that covered his sinewy limb, with a spank of his brawny hand that might have startled nerves less tender than mine " there, there is the very breeches that's an me now, and a fine pair they are this minit." THE PRIEST'S GHOST " Hermione. Pray you sit by us, And tell's a tale. Mamilius. Merry or sad, shall' t be ? Her. As merry as you will. Mam. A sad tale's best for winter; I have one of sprites and goblins." WINTER'S TALE. " A SAD tale's best for winter," saith the epigraph ; and it was by the winter's hearth that I heard the following ghost-story, rendered interesting from the air of reveren- tial belief with which it was delivered from the withered lips of an old woman. Masses for the souls of the dead are among the most cherished items of the Roman Catholic peasant's belief; and it was to prove how sacred a duty the mass for the "soul of the faithful departed" is considered before the etenial judgment-seat, that the tale was told, which I shall endeavour to repeat as nearly as my memory will serve in the words of the original narrator. It was a certain eve of St. John, as well as I can remember, that the old dame gave as the date of the supernatural occurrence. " Whin Mary O'Malley, a friend of my mother's, (God rest her sowl !) and 'twas herself tould me the story ; 11 162 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND Mary O'Malley was in the chapel hearin' vespers an the blessed eve o' St. John, whin, you see, whether it was that she was dhrowsy or tired afther the day's work for she was all day teddin' the new-cut grass, for 'twas hay- makin' sayson; or whether it was ordhered, 34 and that it was all for the glory of God, and the repose of a throu- bled sowl, or how it was, it doesn't become me to say ; but, howsomever, Mary fell asleep in the chapel, and sound enough she slep', for never a wink she wakened antil every individhial craythur was gone, and the chapel doors was locked. Well, you may be sure it's poor Mary O'Malley was freken'd, and thrimbl'd till she thought she'd ha' died on the spot, and sure no wondher, con- sidherin' she was locked up in a chapel all alone, and in the dark, and no one near her. " Well, afther a time she recovered herself a little, and she thought there was no use in life in settin' up a phillelew, sthrivin' to make herself heerd, for she knew well no livin' sowl was within call; and so, on a little considheration, whin she got over the first fright at being left alone that-a-way, good thoughts kern into her head to comfort her: and sure she knew she was in God's own house, and that no bad sper't dar come there. So, with that, she knelt down agin, and repated her crados and pather-and-aves, over and over, antil she felt quite sure in the purtection of hiv'n and then, wrappin' herself up in her cloak, she thought she might lie down and sthrive to sleep till mornin', whin may the Lord keep uz!" THE PRIESTS GHOST 163 piously ejaculated the old woman, crossing herself most devoutly, " all of a suddint a light shined into the chapel as bright as the light of day, and with that, poor Mary, lookin ' up, seen it shinin ' out of the door of the vesthry, and im- mediately, out walked, out of the vesthry, a priest, dhressed in black vestments, and going slowly up to the althar, he said, 'Is there any one here to answer this mass? 1 "Well, my poor dear Mary thought the life 'id lave her, for she dhreaded the priest was not of this world, and she couldn't say a word; and whin the priest ax'd three times was there no one there to answer the mass, and got no answer, he walked back agin into the vesthry, and in a minit all was dark agin ; but before he wint, Mary thought he looked towards her, and she said she'd never forget the melancholy light of his eyes, and the look he gave her quite pityful like; and she said she never heerd before nor since such a wondherful deep voice. "Well, Sir, the poor craythur, the minit the sper't was gone for it was a sper't, God be good to us that minit the craythur fainted dead away; and so I suppose it was with her, from one faint into another, for she knew nothin' more about any thing antil she recovered and kem to herself in her mother's cabin, afther being brought home from the chapel next mornin' whin it was opened for mass, and she was found there. " I hear thin it was as good as a week before she could lave her bed, she was so overcome by the mortial terror she was in that blessed night, blessed as it was, 164 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND bein' the eve of a holy saint, and more by token, the manes of givin' repose to a throubled sper't; for you see whin Mary tould what she had seen and heerd to her clargy, his Riverence, under God, was enlightened to see the maynin' of it at all ; and the maynin ' was this, that he undherstood from hearin' of the priest appearm' in black vestments, that it was for to say mass for the dead that he kem there; and so he supposed that the priest durin' his lifetime had forgot to say a mass for the dead that he was bound to say, and that his poor sowl couldn't have rest antil that mass was said; and that he must walk antil the duty was done. "So Mary's clargy said to her, that as the knowledge of this was made through her, and as his Riverence said she was chosen, he ax'd her would she go and keep ano- ther vigil in the chapel, as his Riverence said and thrue for him for the repose of a sowl. So Mary bein' a stout girl, and always good, and relyin' on doin' what she thought was her duty in the eyes of God, said she'd watch another night, but hoped she wouldn't be ax'd to stay long in the chapel alone. So the priest tould her 'twould do if she was there a little afore twelve o'clock at night; for you know, Sir, that people never appears antil afther twelve, and from that till cock-crow ; and so accordingly Mary wint on the night of the vigil, and before twelve down she knelt in the chapel, and began a countin' of her beads, and, the craythur, she thought every minit was an hour antil she'd be relaysed. THE PRIEST'S GHOST 165 "Well, she wasn't kep' long; for soon the dazzlin' light burst from out of the vesthry door, and the same priest kem out that appeared afore, and in the same melancholy voice he ax'd when he mounted the althar, 'Is there any one here to answer this mass?' "Well, poor Mary sthruv to spake, but the craythur thought her heart was up in her mouth, and not a word could she say ; and agin the word was ax'd from the althar, and still she couldn't say a word ; but the sweat ran down her forehead as thick as the winther's rain, and imme- diately she felt relieved, and the impression was taken aff her heart like; and so, whin for the third and last time the appearance said, ' Is there no one here to answer this mass?' poor Mary mutthered out, 'Yis,' as well as she could. "Oh, often I heerd her say the beautiful sight it was to see the lovely smile upon the face of the sper't, as he turned round, and looked kindly upon her, saying these remarkable words ' It's twenty years,' says he, * I have been askin' that question, and no one answered till this blessed night, and a blessin' be on her that an- swered, and now my business on earth is finished;' and with that he vanished, before you could shut your eyes. " So never say, Sir, it's no good praying for the dead ; for you see that even the sowl of a priest couldn't have pace, for forgettin' so holy a thing as a mass for the sowl of the faithful departed." NEW POTATOES AN IRISH MELODY "Great cry, a little wool." OLD SAYING. IN the merry month of June, or thereabouts, the afore- said melody may be heard, in all the wailing intonation of its minor third, through every street of Dublin. We Irish are conversational, the lower orders particu- larly so ; and the hawkers, who frequent the streets, often fill the lapses that occur between their cries, by a current conversation with some passing friend, occasionally broken by the deponent "labouring in her calling," and yelling out, " Brave lemons," or " Green pays," in some awkward interval, frequently productive of very ludicrous effects. Such was the case, as I happened to overhear a con- versation between Katty, a black-eyed dealer in "New pittayatees!" and her friend Sally, who had "Fine fresh Dublin-bay herrings!" to dispose of. Sally, to do her justice, was a very patient hearer, and did not interrupt her friend with her own cry in the least ; whether it was from being interested in her friend's little misfortunes, or that Katty was one of those " out-and-outers " in story- telling, who, when once they begin, will never leave off, NEW POTATOES 167 nor even allow another to edge in a word, as "thin as a sixpence,' I will not pretend to say; but certain it is, Katty, in the course of her history, had it all her own way, like "a bull in a chaynee-shop," as she would have said herself. Such is the manner in which the following sketch from nature came into my possession. That it is altogether slang, I premise ; and give all fastidious persons fair warn- ing, that if a picture from low life be not according to their taste, they can leave it unread, rather than blame me for too much fidelity in my outline. So here goes at a scena, as the Italians say. "MY NEW PITTA YATEES !" Enter Katty, with a gray cloak, a dirty cap, and a black eye ; a sieve of potatoes on her head, and a "thrifle o' sper'ts" in it. Katty meanders down Patrick-street. KATTY My new Pittayatees! My-a-new Pittayatees! My new " (Meeting a friend.) Sally, darlin', is that you? SALLY Throth, it's myself: and what's the matther wid you, Katty? KAT. 'Deed my heart's bruk cry in' " New pittayatees" cryin' afther that vagabone, SAL. Is it Mike? KAT. Throth, it's himself indeed. SAL. And what is it he done? 168 LEGENDS AND STORIES OP IRELAND KAT. Och! he ruined me with his "Newpittayatees!" with his goins-an the ould thing, my dear SAL. Throwin' up his little finger, S5 I suppose ? KAT. Yis, my darlint : he kem home th' other night, blazin' blind dhrunk, cryin' out " New pittay-a-tees F roar- in' and bawlin', that you'd think he'd rise the roof aff o' the house. " Bad luck attend you ; bad cess to you, you pot- walloppin' varmint," says he, (maynin' me, i' you plaze) " wait till I ketch you, you sthrap, and it's I'll give you your fill iv" ''''New pittayatees /" "your fill iv a licking, if ever you got it," says he. So, with that, I knew the villian was mulvathered, let alone the heavy fut o' the miscrayint an the stairs, that a child might know he was done for " My new pittayatees /" Throth, he was done to a turn, like a mutton-kidney. SAL. Musha! God help you, Katty. KAT. Oh, wait till you hear the ind o' "New pit- tayatees /" o' my troubles, and it's then you'll open your eyes "My new pittayatees /" SAL. Oh, bud I pity you. KAT. Oh, wait wait, my jewel wait till you hear what became o' " My new pittayatees ! " wait till I tell you the ind of it. Where did I lave aff? Oh, ay, at the stairs. Well, as he was comin' up stairs, (knowin' how it 'id be,) I thought it best to take care o' " New pittayatees /" to take care o' myself; so with that I put the bo wit an NEW POTATOES 169 the door, betune me and danger, and kep' listenin' at the key-hole ; and sure enough, what should I hear but "New p&tayaleet!* the vagabone gropin' his way round the cruked turn in the stair, and tumblin' afther into the hole in the flure an the landin'; and whin he come to himself he gev a thunderin' thump at the door. " Who's there ? " savs I : says he " New pittayatees ! " " Let me in," says he, "you vagabone, (swarm"* by what I wouldn't mintion,) or by this and that, I'll massacray you,"" says he, " within an inch o' 'New pittayatees ! ' within an inch o" your life," says he. "Mike darlint," says I, sootherin' him. SAL. Why would you call sitch a 'tarnal vagabone, darlint ? KAT. My jew'l, didn't I tell you I thought it best to soother him with " New pittayatees ! " with a tindher word : so, says I, " Mike, you villian, you're disguised," says I, "you're disguised, dear." "You lie," says he, "you impident sthrap, I'm not disguised ; but, if I'm disguised itself," says he, " I'll make you know the differ," says he. Oh ! I thought the life id lave me, when I heerd him say the word; and with that I put my hand an "My new pittayatees /" an the latch o' the door, to purvint it from slippin'; and he ups and he gives a wicked kick at the door, and says he, "If you don't let me in this minit," says he, "I'll be the death o' your "New pittayatees!' 1 '' o' yourself and your dirty 170 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND breed," says he. Think o' that, Sally dear, to abuse my relations. SAL. Oh, the ruffin. KAT. Dirty breed, indeed ! By my sowkins, they're as good as his any day in the year, and was never behoulden to "New pittayatees ! " to go a beggin' to the mendicity for their dirty " New pittayatees ! " their dirty washins o' pots, and sarvints' lavins, and dogs' bones, all as one as that cruk'd disciple of his mother's cousin's sisther, the ould dhrunken asperseand, as she is. SAL. No, in throth, Katty dear. KAT. Well, where was I? Oh, ay, I left off at " New pittayatees ! " I left off at my dirty breed. Well, at the word " dirty breed," I knew full well the bad dhrop was up in him and, faith, it's soon and suddint he made me sinsible av it, for the first word he said was "New pittayatees !" to put his shoulder to the door, and in he bursted the door, fallin' down in the middle o' the flure, cry in' out "New pittayatees!" cryin' out, "bad luck attind you," says he, "how dar you refuse to lit me into my own house, you sthrap," says he, "agin the law o' the land," says he, scramblin' up on his pins agin, as well as he could ; and, as he was risin', says I " New pittayatees /" says I to him, (screeching out loud, that the neighbours in the flure below might hear me,) " Mike, my darlint," says I. "Keep the pace, you vagabone," says he; and with that, he hits me a lick av a " New pittayatees ! " a lick NEW POTATOES 171 av a stick he had in his hand, and down I fell, (and small blame to me,) down I fell an the flure, cryin' " New pittayatees ! " cryin' out, " Murther ! Murther ! " SAL. Oh, the villian ! KAT. Oh, that's all ! As I was risin', my jew'l, he was goin 1 to strek me agin ; and with that, I cried out " New pittayatees ! " I cried out, " Fair play, Mike," says I ; " don't sthrek a man down ; " but he wouldn't listen to rayson, and was goin 1 to hit me agin, whin I put up the child that was in my arms betune me and harm. " Look at your babby, Mike," says I. " How do I know that, you flag-hoppin' jade, 11 says he. (Think o' that, Sally jew'l misdoubtin 1 my vartue, and I an honest woman, as I am. God help me ! ! !) SAL. Oh ! bud you're to be pitied, Katty dear. KAT. Well, puttin 1 up the child betune me and harm, as he was risin' his hand "Oh !" says I, "Mike, darlint, don't sthrek the babby;" but, my dear, before the word was out o 1 my mouth, he sthruk the babby. (I thought the life 'id lave me.) And, iv coorse, the poor babby, that never spuk a word, began to cry " New pittayatees !"" began to cry, and bawl, and no wondher. SAL. Oh, the haythen, to go sthrek the child. KAT. And, my jew'l, the neighbours in the flure below, hearin' the skrimmage, kem runnin' up the stairs, cryin' out "New pittayatees'''' cryin' out, "Watch, watch, Mikee M'Evoy," says they, "would you mur- ther your wife, you villian ? " " What's that to you ?" 172 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND says he; "isn't she my own?"" says he, "and if I plaze to make her feel the weight o' my 'New pittayatees'' the weight o' my fist, what's that to you ? " says he ; " it's none o' your business, anyhow, so keep your tongue in your jaw, and your toe in your pump, and 'twill be betther for your ' New pittayatees ' 'twill be betther for your health, I'm thinkin'," says he; and with that he looked cruked at thim, and squared up to one o' thim (a poor definceless craythur, a tailor). "Would you fight your match," says the poor in- nocent man. "Lave my sight," says Mike, "or, by jingo, I'll put a stitch in your side, my jolly tailor," says he. " Yiv put a stitch in your wig already," says the tailor, "and that'll do for the present writin'." And with that, Mike was goin' to hit him with a "New plttayatee'" a lift-hander; but he was cotch howld iv before he could let go his blow ; and who should stand up forninst him, but "My new pittayatees'''' but the tailor's wife ; (and, by my sowl, it's she that's the sthrapper, and more's the pity she's thrown away upon one o' the sort;) and says she, "Let me at him," says she, "it's I that's used to give a man a lickin' every day in the week ; you're bowld an the head now, you vagabone,% says she ; " but if I had you alone," says she, " no matther if I wouldn't take the consait out o' your ' New pit- tayatees'' out o' your braggin' heart;" and that's the way she wint an ballyraggin' him ; and, by gor, they all NEW POTATOES 173 tuk patthern afther her, and abused him, my dear, to that degree, that I vow to the Lord, the very dogs in the sthreet wouldn't lick his blood. SAL. Oh, my blessin' an thim. KAT. And with that, one and all, they began to cry "New pittayatees !" they began to cry him down; and, at last, they all swore out, " Hell's bell attind your berrin," says they, "you vagabone," as they just tuk him up by the scruff o' the neck, and threwn him down the stairs; every step he'd take, you'd think he'd brake his neck, (Glory be to God !) and so I got rid o' the ruffin ; and then they left me cry in' " New pittayatees !" cryin' afther the vagabone though the angels knows well he wasn't desarvin' o' one precious dhrop that fell from my two good-lookin' eyes : and, oh ! but the condition he left me in. SAL. The Lord look down an you ! KAT. And a purty sight it id be, if you could see how I was lyin' in the middle o' the flure, cryin' "New pittayatees!" cryin' and roarin', and the poor child, with his eye knocked out, in the corner, cryin' "New pittayatees!"" and, indeed, every one in the place was cryin' "New pittayatees !" was cryin' murther. SAL. And no wondher, Katty dear. KAT. Oh, bud that's not all. If you seen the con- dition the place was in afther it; it was turned upside down, like a beggar's breeches. Throth, I'd rather be at a bull-bait than at it enough to make an honest woman cry "New pittayatees /" to see the daycent room rack'd and ruin'd, and my cap tore aff my head into tatthers throth, you might riddle bull-dogs through it; and bad luck to the hap'orth he left me, but a few "New pittayatees /" a few coppers; for the morodin' thief spint all his "New pittayatees!" all his wages o' the whole week in makin' a baste iv himself; and, God knows, but that comes aisy to him ! and divil a thing had I to put inside my face, nor a dhrop to dhrink, barrin' a few "New pittayatees!" a few grains o' tay, and the ind iv a quarther o' sugar, and my eyes as big as your fist, and as black as the pot (savin 1 your presence,) and a beautiful dish iv "New pittayatees!" dish iv delf, that I bought only last week in Timple-bar, bruk in three halves, in the middle o' the ruction and the rint o' the room not ped and I dipindin only an "New pittayatees" an cryin' a sieve-full o' pratees, or screechin' a lock o' savoys, or the like. But Til not brake your heart any more, Sally dear; God's good, and never opens one door but he shuts another, and that's the way iv it; an* strinthins the wake with " New pittayatees " with his purtection and may the widdy and the orphin's blessin' be an his name, I pray ! And my thrust is in divine providence, that was always good to me and sure I don't despair; but not a night that I kneel down to say my prayers, that I don't pray for "New pittayatees" for all manner o' NEW POTATOES 175 bad luck to attind that vagabone, Mike M'Evoy. My curse light an him this blessid minit; and [A voice at a distance calls, "Potatoes."] KAT. Who calls? (Perceives her ctistomer.) Here, Ma'am, Good-bye, Sally darlint good-bye. "New pit- tay-a-tees? [Exit Katty by the Cross Poddle. 36 ] PADDY THE SPORT " My lord made himself much sport out of him ; by his authority he remains here, which he thinks is a patent for his sauciness." "He will lie, Sir, with such volubility, that you would think truth were a fool. Drunkenness is his best virtue." ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. DURING a sojourn of some days in the county of , visiting a friend, who was anxious to afford as much amusement to his guests as country sports could furnish, "the dog and the gun" were, of course, put into requi- sition; and the subject of this sketch was a constant attendant on the shooting-party. He was a tall, loose-made, middle-aged man, rather on the elder side of middle-age, perhaps fond of wearing an oil-skinned hat and a red waistcoat much given to lying and tobacco, and an admirable hand at filling a game-bag or emptying a whiskey flask ; and if game was scarce in the stubbles, Paddy was sure to create plenty of another sort for his master's party, by the marvellous stories he had ever at his command. Such was "Paddy the Sport, 11 as the country-people invariably called him. Paddy was fond of dealing in mystification, which he practised often on the peasants, whom he looked upon as an inferior class of beings to himself considering that his PADDY THE SPORT 177 office of sportsman conferred a rank upon him that placed him considerably above them, to say nothing of the re- spect that was due to one so adroit in the use of the gun as himself; and by the way, it was quite a scene to watch the air of self-complacency that Paddy, after letting fly both barrels into a covey, and dropping his brace of birds as dead as a stone, quietly let down the piece from his shoulder, and commenced reloading, looking about him the while with an admirable carelessness, and when his piece was ready for action again, returning his ramrod with the air of a master, and then, throwing the gun into the hollow of his arm, walk forward to the spot where the birds were lying, and pick them up in the most business-like manner. But to return to Paddy's love of mystification. One day I accompanied him, or perhaps it would be fitter to say, he acted as guide, in leading me across a country to a particular point, where I wanted to make a sketch. His dogs and gun, of course, bore him company, though I was only armed with my portfolio ; and we beat across the fields, merrily enough, until the day became overcast, and a heavy squall of wind and rain forced us to seek shelter in the first cottage we arrived at. Here the good woman's apron was employed in an instant in dusting a three-legged stool to offer to " the gintleman," and " Paddy the Sport" was hailed with welcome by every one in the house, with whom he entered into conversation in his usual strain of banter and mystification. 12 178 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND I listened for some time to the passing discourse; but the bad weather still continuing, I began amusing myself until it should clear, in making an outline of a group of dogs that were stretched upon the floor of the cabin, in a small green-covered sketching-book that I generally carry about me for less important memoranda. This soon caused a profound silence around me; the silence was succeeded by a broken whispering, and Mr. Paddy, at last approaching me with a timidity of manner I could not account for, said "Sure, Sir, it wouldn't be worth your while to mind puttin ' down the pup ? " pointing to one that had approached the group of dogs, and had commenced his awkward gambols with his seniors. I told him I considered the pup as the most desirable thing to notice; but scarcely were the words uttered, until the old woman cried out, "Terry, take that cur out o 1 that Fm sure I don't know what brings all the dogs here : " and Terry caught up the pup in his arms, and was running away with him, when I called after him to stop; but 'twas in vain. He ran like a hare from me; and the old lady, seizing a branch of a furze-bush from a heap of them, that were stowed beside the chim- ney corner for fuel, made an onset on the dogs, and drove them yelping from the house. I was astonished at this, and perceived that the air of every one in the cottage was altered towards me, and, instead of the civility which had saluted my entrance, estranged looks, or direct ones of no friendly character, PADDY THE SPORT 179 were too evident. I was about to inquire the cause, when Paddy the Sport, going to the door and casting a weather-wise look abroad, said, "I think, Sir, we may as well be goin' and, indeed the day's clearin' up fine afther all, and 'ill be beautiful yit. Good-bye to you, Mrs. Flannerty ," and off went Paddy; and I followed immediately, having expressed my thanks to the aforesaid Mrs. Flannerty, making my most engaging adieu, which, however, was scarcely returned. On coming up with my conductor, I questioned him touching what the cause might be of the strange alteration in the manner of the cottagers, but all his answers were unsatisfactory or evasive. We pursued our course to the point of destination. The day cleared, as was prophesied Paddy killed his game I made my sketch and we bent our course home- ward, as the evening was closing. After proceeding for a mile or two, I pointed to a tree in the distance, and asked Paddy what very large bird it could be that was sitting in it. After looking sharply for some time, he said : " It a bird, is it? throth, it's a bird that never flew yit." "What is it then?" said I. "It's a dog that's hangin'," said he. And he was right for, as we approached, it became more evident every moment. But my surprise was excited, when, having scarcely passed the suspended dog, another tree rose up in my view, in advance, decorated by a pendant brace of the same breed. 180 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND " By the powers ! there's two more o' thim," shouted Paddy. "Why, at this rate, they've had more sportin' nor myself, 11 said he. And I could see an expression of mischievous delight playing over the features of Mr. Paddy, as he uttered the sentence. As we proceeded, we perceived almost every second bush had been converted into a gallows for the canine race; and I could not help remarking to my companion, that we were certainly in a very hang-dog country. "Throth, thin, you may thank yourself for it, 11 said he, laughing outright; for, up to this period, his mirth, though increasing at every fresh execution perceived, had been smothered. "Thank myself! 11 said I "how? 11 "By my sowl, you frekened the whole country this mornin 1 , 11 said he, " with that little green book o 1 yours " "Is it my sketch-book? 1 ' said I. "By gor, all the people thought it was a ketch-book, sure enough, and that you wer goin 1 round the counthry, to ketch all the dogs in it, and make thim pay " "What do you mean? 11 said I. "Is it what I mane you want to know, sir? throth, thin, I don't know how I can tell it to a gintleman, at all at all. 11 "Oh, you may tell me. 11 "By gor, Sir, I wouldn't like offindin 1 your honour; but you see, (since you must know, sir,) that whin you tuk that little green book out iv your pocket, they tuk PADDY THE SPORT 181 you for savin' your presence by gor, I don't like tellin' you." "Tut, nonsense, man,"" said I. "Well, sir, (since you must know,) by dad, they tuk you I beg your honour's pardon but, by dad, they tuk you for a tax-gatherer." "A tax-gatherer!" "Divil a lie in it; and whin they seen you takin' off the dogs, they thought it was to count thim, for to make thim pay for thim; and so, by dad, they thought it best, I suppose, to hang them out o' the way." "Ha! Paddy," said I, "I see this is a piece of your knavery, to bewilder the poor people." "Is it me?" says Paddy, with a look of assumed in- nocence, that avowed, in the most provoking manner, the inward triumph of Paddy in his own hoax. "'Twas too much, Paddy," said I, "to practise so far on innocent people." "Innocent!" said Paddy. "They're just about as in- nocent as a coal o' fire in a bag o' flax." "And the poor animals, too!" said I. "Is it the blackguard curs?" said Paddy, in the most sportsmanlike wonder at my commiserating any but a spaniel or pointer. "Throth, thin, sir, to tell you thruth, I let thim go an in their mistake, and I seen all along how 'twould be, and, 'pon my conscience, but a happy riddance the counthry will have o' sich riff-raff varmint of cabin curs. 182 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND Why, sir, the mangy mongrels goes about airly in the sayson, moroding through the corn, and murthers the young birds, and does not let them come to their full time, to be killed in their nath'ral way, and ruinin' gintlemen's sport into the bargain, and sure hangin' is all that's good for thim." So much for Paddy's mystifying powers. Of this coup he was not a little vain, and many a laugh he has made at my expense afterwards, by telling the story of the "painter gintleman that was mistuk for a tax-gatherer." Paddy being a professed story-teller, and a notorious liar, it may be naturally inferred that he dealt largely in fairy tales and ghost stories. Talking on fairies one day, for the purpose of exciting him to say something of them, I inquired if there were many fairies in that part of the country. "Ah! no, sir!" said he, with the air of a sorrowing patriot "not now. There was wanst a power o' fairies used to keep about the place ; but sence the rale quol'ty the good old families has left it, and the upstarts has kem into it the fairies has quitted it all out, and wouldn't stay here, but is gone farther back into Connaught, where the ould blood is." "But, I dare say, you have seen them sometimes?" "No, indeed, sir. I never saw thim, barrin wanst, and that was whin I was a boy ; but I heerd them often." "How did you know it was fairies you heard?" "Oh, what else could it be; sure it was crossin 1 out PADDY THE SPORT 183 over a road, I was, in the time o' the 'ruction', and heerd full a thousand men marchin' down the road, and, by dad, I lay down in the gripe o' the ditch, not wishin' to be seen, nor liken to be throublesome to thim ; and I watched who they wor, and was peepin' out iv a tuft o' rishes, when what should I see but nothin' at all, to all appear- ance, but the thrampin' o' min, and clashin', andajinglin', that you'd think the infanthry, and yeomanthry, and cavalry was in it, and not a sight iv any thing to be seen, but the brightest o 1 moonlight that ever kem out o 1 the hivins." "And that was all?" " Divil a more ; and, by dad, 'twas more nor I'd like to see or to hear agin." "But you never absolutely saw any fairies?" "Why, indeed, sir, to say that I seen thim, that is with my own eyes, wouldn't be thrue, barrin' wanst, as I said before, and that's many a long day ago, whin I was a boy, and I and another chap was watchin' turf in a bog; and whin the night was fallin' and we wor goin' home. ' What would you think,' says I, * Charley, if we wor to go home by owld Shaughnessey's field, and stale a shafe o' pays ? ' So he agreed, and off we wint to stale the pays ; but whin we got over the fince, and was creepin' along the furrows for fear of bein' seen, I heerd some one runnin' afther me, and I thought we wor cotch, my- self and the boy, and I turned round, and with that I seen two girls dhressed in white throth, I never seen 184 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND sitch white in my born days they wor as white as the blown snow, and runnin 1 like the wind, and I knew at wanst that they wor fairies, and I threw myself down an my face, and, by dad, I was afeard to look up for nigh half an hour. 11 I inquired of him what sort of faces these fine girls had. "Oh, the divil a stim o 1 their faytures I could see; for the minit I clapt my eyes an thim, knowin 1 they wor fairies, I fell down, and darn't look at then twicet. 11 "It was a pity you did not remark them, 11 said I. "And do you think it's a fool I am, to look twice at a fairy, and maybe have my eyes whipt out iv my head, or turned into stones, or stone blind, which is all as one. 11 "Then you can scarcely say you saw them? 11 said I. "Oh, by dad, I can say I seen thim, and sware it for that matther; at laste, there was somethin 1 I seen as white as the blown snow/ 1 "Maybe they were ghosts, and not fairies, 11 said I; "ghosts, they say, are always seen in white." "Oh, by all that's good, they warn't ghosts, and that I know full well, for I know the differ betune ghosts and fairies. 11 "You have had experience then in both, I suppose. 11 "Faix you may say that. Oh I had a wondherful great appearance wanst that kem to me, or at laste to the house where I was, for, to be sure, it wasn^ to me it kem, why should it? But it was whin I was livin 1 at PADDY THE SPORT 185 the lord's in the next county, before I kem to live with his honour here, that I saw the appearance." "In what shape did it come?" "Throth thin I can't well tell you what shape; for you see whin I heerd it comin' I put ray head undher the clothes, and never looked up, nor opened my eyes until I heerd it was gone." "But how do you know that it was a ghost?" " Oh, sure all the counthry knew the house was throubled, and, indeed, that was the rayson I had for lavin 1 it, for when my lord turned me aff, he was expectin 1 that I'd ax to be tuk back agin, and, faith, sorry he was, I go bail, that I didn't, but I wouldn't stay in the place and it hanted." "Then it was haunted!" " To be sure it was ; sure I tell you, sir, the sper't kem to me." "Well, Paddy, that was only civil returning a visit; for I know you are fond of going to the spirits occasionally." "Musha, but your honour is always jokin' me about the dhrop. Oh, but, faith, the sper't kem to me, and whin I hid my head undher the clothes, sure didn't I feel the sper't sthrivin' to pull them aff o' me. But wait and I'll tell you how it was. You see, myself and another sarvant was sleepin' in one room, and by the same token, a thievin' rogue he was, the same sarvant, and I heerd a step comin' down the stairs, and they wor stone stairs, and the latch was riz, but the door was 186 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND locked, for I turned the key in it myself; and when the sper't seen the latch was fast, by dad, the key was turned in the door, (though it was inside, av coorse,) and the sper't walked in, and I heerd the appearance walkin 1 about the place, and it kem and shuk me; but, as I tould you, I shut my eyes, and rowled my head up in the clothes; well with that, it went and raked the fire, (for I suppose it was cowld,) but the fire was almost gone out, and with that it went to the turf-bucket to see if there was any sods there to throw an the fire; but not a sod there was left, for we wor sittin 1 up late indeed, (it bein 1 the young lord's birthday, and we wor drinkin 1 his health,) and when it couldn't find any turf in the bucket, bad cess to me, but it began to kick the bucket up and down the room for spite, and divil sitch a clatter I ever heerd as the sper't made, kickin 1 the turf-bucket like a fut-ball round the place; and whin it Avas tired plazin 1 itself that-a-way, the appearance came and shuk me agin, and I roared and bawled at last, and thin away it wint, and slammed the door afther it, that you'd think it id pull the house down. 11 "I'm afraid, Paddy, 11 said I, "that this was nothing more than a troublesome dream. 11 " Is it a dhrame, your honour ! That a dhrame ! By my sowl, that id be a quare dhrame ! Oh, in throth it was no dhrame it was, but an appearance; but indeed, afther, I often thought it was an appearance for death, for the young lord never lived to see another birthday. PADDY THE SPORT 187 Oh, you may look at me, sir, but it's thruth. Aye, and I'll tell you what's more ; the young lord, the last time I seen him out, was one day he was hunting and he came in from the stables, through the back yard, and passed through that very room to go up by the back stairs, and as he wint in through that very door that the appearance slammed afther it what would you think, but he slammed the door afther him the very same way ; and indeed I thrimbled when I thought iv it. He was in a hurry, to be sure ; but I think there was some may- nin' in it" and Paddy looked mysterious. After the foregoing satisfactory manner in which Paddy showed so clearly that he understood the difference between a ghost and a fairy, he proceeded to enlighten me with the further distinction of a spirit, from either of them. This was so very abstruse, that I shall not attempt to take the elucidation of the point out of Paddy's own hands ; and should you, gentle reader, ever have the good fortune to make his acquaintance, Paddy, I have no doubt, will clear up the matter as fully and clearly to your satisfaction as he did to mine. But I must allow Paddy to proceed in his own way. "Well, Sir, before I go an to show you the differ betune the fairies and sper'ts, I must tell you about a mighty quare thrick the fairies was goin' to play at the lord's house, where the appearance kem to me, only that the nurse (and she was an aunt o' my own) had the good luck to baulk thim. You see the way it was, was this. 188 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND The child was a man-child, and it was the first boy was in the fam'ly for many a long day; for they say there was a prophecy standin' agin the family, that there should be no son to inherit; but at last there was a boy, and a lovely fine babby it was, as you'd see in a summer's day; and so, one evenin', that the fam'ly, my lord and my lady, and all o 1 thim was gone out, and gev the nurse all sorts o' charges about takin' care o' the child, she was not long alone, whin the housekeeper kem to her, and ax'd her to come down stairs, where she had a party ; and they expected to be mighty pleasant, and was to have great goins an ; and so the nurse said she didn't like lavin' the child, and all to that; but, howsomever, she was beguiled into the thing; and she said at last that as soon as she left the child out iv her lap, where she was hushing it to sleep, forninst the fire, that she'd go down to the rest o' the sarvants, and take share o' what was goin'. " Well, at last the child was fast asleep, and the nurse laid it an the bed, as careful as if it was goolden diamonds, and tucked the curtains roun' about the bed, and made it as safe as Newgate, and thin she wint down, and joined the divarshin and merry enough they wor, at playin' iv cards, and dhrinkin' punch, and dancin', and the like o' that. "But I must tell you, that before she wint down at all, she left one o' the housemaids to stay in the room, and charged her, on her apparel, s7 not to lave the place PADDY THE SPORT 189 until she kem back ; but, for all that, her fears wouldn't let her be aisy; and, indeed, it was powerful lucky that she had an inklin' o' what was goin' an. For, what 'id you think, but the blackguard iv a housemaid, as soon as she gets the nurse's back turned, she ups and she goes to another party as was in the sarvant's hall, wid the undher-sarvants ; for whin the lord's back was turned, you see, the house was all as one as a play-house, fairly turned upside down. " Well, as I said, the nurse (under God) had an inklin' o' what was to be : for, though there was all sorts o' divarshin goin' an in the housekeeper's room, she could not keep the child out iv her head, and she thought she heerd the screeches av it ringin' in her ear every minit, although she knew full well she was far beyant where the cry o' the child could be heerd but still the cry was as plain in her ear as the ear-ring she had in it; and so at last she grewn so onaisy about the child, that she was goin' up stairs' agin but she was stopped by one, and another coaxed her, and another laughed at her, till at last, she grew ashamed of doin' what was right, (and God knows, but many a one iv uz is laughed out o' doin right things,) and so she sat down agin but the cry in her ears wouldn't let her be aisy ; and at last she tuk up her candle, and away she wint up stairs. " Well, afther passin' the two first flights, sure enough she heerd the child a screechin', that id go to your heart ; and with that she hurried up so fast that the candle 190 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND a'most wint out with the draught ; and she run into the room, and wint up to the bed, callin' out my lanna bawn, and all to that, to soother the child ; and pullin' open the bed-curtain, to take the darlin' up but what would you think, not a sign o' the child was in the bed, good, bad, or indifferent ; and she thought the life id lave her ; for thin she was afeard the child dhropped out o' the bed though she thought the curtains was tucked so fast and so close, that no accident could happen; and so she run round to the other side, to take up the child, (though, indeed, she was afeard she'd see it with its brains dashed out,) and lo and behould you, divil a taste av it was there, though she heerd it screechin 1 as if it was murtherin' : and so thin she didn't know what in the wide world to do; and she run rootin' into every corner o' the room, lookin' for it ; but bad cess to the child she could find whin, all iv a suddint, turnin' her eyes to the bed agin, what did she persave, but the fut-carpet that wint round the bed, goin' by little and little undher it, as if some one was pullin' it ; and so she made a dart at the carpet, and cotch hould o' the ind iv it and, with that, what should she see, but the baby lyin' in the middle o' the fut-carpet, as if it was dhrawin' down into the flure, undher the bed ; one half o' the babby was out o' sight already, under the boords, whin the nurse seen it, and it screechin' like a say-gull, and she laid houl' iv it ; and, faith, she often towl' myself, that she was obleeged to give a good sthrong pull before she could get the child from the fairies " PADDY THE SPORT 191 " Then it was the fairies were taking the child away ?" said I. " Who else would it be ? " said Paddy. " Sure the carpet wouldn't be runnin' under the bed itself, if it wasn't pulled by the fairies! besides, I tow? you there was a prophecy stannin' agin the male boys of the lord's fam'ly." "I hope, however, that boy lived?" "Oh yes, sir, the charm was bruk that night; for the other childer used to be tuk away always by the fairies; and that night the child id have been tuk, only for the nurse, that was givin (undher God) to undherstan' the screechin' in her ears, and arrived betimes to ketch howlt o' the carpet, and baulk the fairies ; for all knowledgeable people I ever heerd, says, that if you baulk the fairies wanst, they'll lave you alone evermore." " Pray, did she see any of the fairies that were stealing the child?" " No, sir ; the fairies doesn't love to be seen, and seldom at all you get a sight iv them ; and that's the differ I was speakin' iv to you betune fairies and sper'ts. Now the sper'ts is always seen in some shape or other; and maybe it id be a bird, or a shafe o' corn, or a big stone, or a hape o' dung, or the like o' that, and you'd never know 'twas a sper't at all, antil you wor made sinsible av it, somehow or other; maybe it id be that you wor comin' home from a friend's house late at night, and you might fall down, and couldn't keep a leg undher you, and not know why, barrin' it was a sper't misled you 192 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND and maybe it's in a ditch you'd find yourself asleep in the mornin' when you woke. 11 "I dare say, Paddy, that same has happened to your- self before now?"" "Throth, and you may say that, sir; but the com- monest thing in life is for a sper't for to take the shape iv a dog which is a favourite shape with sper'ts and, indeed, Tim Moony, the miller, in the next town, was a'most frekened out iv his life by a sper't that-a-way ; and he'd ha 1 been murthered, only he had the good look to have a rale dog wid him and a rale dog is the finest thing in the world agin sper'ts." "How do you account for that, Paddy? 11 "Bekase, sir, the dog's the most sinsible, and the bo widest baste, barrin 1 the cock, which is bowldher for his size than any o 1 God's craythurs; and so, whin the cock crows, all evil sper'ts vanishes; and the dog bein', as I said, bowld, and sinsible also, is mighty good ; besides, you couldn't make a cock your companion it wouldn't be nath'ral to ray son, you know and therefore a dog is the finest thing in the world for a man to have with him in throublesome places: but I must tell you, that though sper'ts dhreads a dog, a fairy doesn't mind him for I have heerd o' fairies ridin' a dog, all as one as a monkey and a lanthern also is good, for the sper't o' darkness dhreads the light. But this is not tellin' you about Mooney the miller : he was comin' home, you see, from a neighbour's, and had to pass by a rath ; and when PADDY THE SPORT 193 he just kem to the rath, his dog that was wid him (and a brave dog he was, by the same token) began to growl, and gev a low bark ; and with that, the miller seen a great big baste of a black dog comin 1 up to thim, and walks a one side av him, all as one as if he was his masther : with that Mooney's own dog growled agin, and runs betune his masther's legs, and there he staid walkin' on wid him, for to purtect him ; and the miller was frekened a'most out iv his life, and his hair stood up sthrait an his head, that he was obleeged to put his hand up to his hat, and shove it down an his head, and three times it was that way, that his hair was risin' the hat aff his head wid the fright, and he was obleeged to howld it down, and his dog growlin 1 all the time, and the black thief iv a dog keepin 1 dodgin' him along, and his eyes like coals o' fire, and the terriblest smell of sulphur, I hear, that could be, all the time, till at last they came to a little sthrame that divided the road ; and there, my dear, the sper't disappeared, not bein 1 able to pass runnin' wather ; for sper'ts, sir, is always waken'd with wather." "That I believe," said I; "but, I think, Paddy, you seldom put spirits to so severe a trial." " Ah thin, your honour, will you never give over jeerin' me about the dhrop. But, in throth, what I'm tellin 1 you is thrue about it runnin' wather desthroys sper'ts." "Indeed, Paddy, I know that is your opinion." "Oh! murther, murther! there I made a slip agin, and never seen it till your honour had the advantage o' 13 me. Well, no matther, it's good any way; but, indeed, I think it has so good a good name iv its own that it's a pity to spile it, baptizin it any more. 1 " Such were the marvellous yarns that Paddy was con- stantly spinning. Indeed he had a pride, I rather think, in being considered equally expert at "the long-bow" as at the rifle; and if he had not a bouncer to astonish his hearers with, he endeavoured that his ordinary strain of conversation, or his answer to the commonest question, should be of a nature to surprise them. Such was his reply one morning to his master, when he asked Paddy what was the cause of his being so hoarse. "Indeed, sir," answered Paddy, "it's a cowld I got, and indeed myself doesn't know how I cotch cowld, barrin' that I step' in a field last night, and forgot to shut the gate afther me." "Ah, Paddy," said the squire, "the old story you were drunk as usual, and couldn't find your Vvay home. You are a shocking fellow, and you'll never get on, as long as you give yourself up to whiskey." " Why thin, your honour, sure that's the rayson I ought to get an the fasther ; for isn't a ' spur in the head worth two in the heel,' as the ould sayin' is?" Here a laugh from the squire's guests turned the scale in Paddy's favour. "I give you up, Paddy," said the master "you're a sad dog worse than Larry Lanigan." " Oh, murther! Is it Lanigan you'd be afther comparin' PADDY THE SPORT 195 me to," said Paddy. "Why, Lanigan is the complatest dhrinker in Ireland by my sowkins more whiskey goes through Lanigan than any other worm 38 in the county. Is it Lanigan ? Faiks, that's the lad could take the consait out iv a gallon o' sper'ts, without quittin' it. Throth, Lanigan is just the very chap that id go to first mass every mornin' in the year, if holy wather was whiskey." This last reply left Paddy in possession of the field, and no further attack was made upon him on the score of his love of "the dhrop!" and this triumph on his part excited him to exert himself in creating mirth for the gentlemen who formed the shooting party. One of the company retailed that well-known joke made by Lord Norbury, so viz., when a certain gentleman declared that he had shot twenty hares before breakfast, his lordship replied that he must have fired at a wig. Here Paddy declared that he thought "it was no great shootin' " to kill twenty hares, for that he had shot seventy- five brace of rabbits in one day. "Seventy-five brace!" was laughed forth from every one present. "Bad look to the lie in it," said Paddy. "Oh, be easy, Paddy," said his master. " There it is now ; and you won't b'live me ? Why thin, in throth it's not that I'm proud iv it, I tell you, for I don't think it was any great things iv shootin' at all at all." Here a louder burst of merriment than the former hailed Paddy's declaration. 196 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND "Well now," said Paddy, "if yiz be quiet, and listen to me, 111 explain it to your satisfaction. You see, it was in one iv the islands aff the shore there," and he pointed seawards "it was in one o' the far islan's out there, where the rabbits are so plinty, and runnin' so thick that you can scarcely see the grass." "Because the island is all sand," said his master. " No, indeed, now ! though you thought you had me there," said Paddy, very quietly. "It's not the sandy islann', at all, bud one farther out." "Which of them?" "Do you know the little one with the black rocks?" "Yes." "Well, it's not that. But you know" " Arrah! can't you tell his honour," said a peasant who was an attendant on the party, to carry the game " can't you tell his honour at wanst, and not be delayin' " Paddy turned on this plebeian intruder with the coolest contempt, and said, " Hurry no man's cattle, get a jack- ass for yourself "and then resumed " Well, sir, bud you know the islan with the sharp headlan' " "Yes," " Well, it's not that either ; but if you" "At this rate, Paddy," said the squire, "we shall never hear which island this wonderful rabbit-burrow is in. How would you steer for it after passing Innismoyle?" "Why, thin, you should steer about nor'-west, and when you cleared the black rocks you'd have the sandy PADDY THE SPORT 197 islan' bearin' over your larboard bow, and thin you'd see the islan' I spake av, when you run about as far as " "Pooh! pooh!" said the squire, "you're dreaming, Paddy; there's no such island at all." "By my sowl, there is, beggin' your honour's pardon." "It's very odd I never saw it." "Indeed it's a wondher, sure enough." " Oh ! it can't be," said the squire. " How big is it ?" " Oh ! by dad, it's as big as ever it'll be," said Paddy, chuckling. This answer turned the laugh against the Squire again, who gave up further cross-questioning of Paddy, whose readiness of converting his answer into jokes generally frustrated any querist who was hardy enough to engage with Paddy in the hope of puzzling him. " Paddy," said the Squire, " after that wonderful rabbit adventure, perhaps you would favour the gentlemen with that story you told me once, about a fox?" "Indeed and I will, plaze your honour," said Paddy, " though I know full well the divil a one word iv it you b'live, nor the gintlemen won't either, though you're axin' me for it but only want to laugh at me, and call me a big liar, whin my back's turned." " Maybe we wouldn't wait for your back being turned, Paddy, to honour you with that title." " Oh, indeed, I'm not sayin' you wouldn't do it as soon foreninst my face, your honour, as you often did before, and will agin, plaze God, and welkim " 198 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND " Well, Paddy, say no more about that, but let's have the story." "Sure I'm losin' no time, only tellin' the gintlemen beforehand, that it's what they'll be calling it, a lie and indeed it's ancommon, sure enough : but you see, gintle- men, you must remimber that the fox is the cunnin'est baste in the world, barrin' the wran " Here Paddy was questioned why he considered the wren as cunning a baste as the fox. "Why, sir, bekase all birds build their nest wid one hole to it only, excep'n the wran ; but the wran builds two holes to the nest, and so that if any inimy comes to disturb it upon one door, it can go out an the other. But the fox is 'cute to that degree, that there's many a mortial a fool to him and, by dad, the fox could buy and sell many a Christian, as you'll soon see by-and-by, when I tell you what happened to a wood-ranger that I knew wanst, and a dacent man he was, and wouldn't say the thing in a lie. "Well, you see, he kem home one night, mighty tired for he was out wid a party in the domain, cock- shootin' that day; and whin he got back to his lodge, he threw a few logs o' wood an the fire, to make himself comfortable, and he tuk whatever little matther he had for his supper; and, afther that, he felt himself so tired, that he wint to bed. But you're to understhan' that, though he wint to bed, it was more for to rest himself like, than to sleep, for it was airly ; and so he jist wint PADDY THE SPORT 199 into bed, and there he divarted himself lookin' at the fire, that was blazin' as merry as a bonefire an the hearth. " Well, as he was lyin' that-a-way, jist thinkin' o' nothin' at all, what should come into the place but a fox. But I must tell you, what I forgot to tell you before, that the ranger's house was on the bordhers o' the wood, and he had no one to live wid him but himself, ban-in' the dogs that he had the care iv, that was his only companions, and he had a hole cut an the door, with a swingin' boord to it, that the dogs might go in or out accordin' as it plazed thim ; and, by dad, the fox came in, as I tould you, through the hole in the door, as bould as a ram, and walked over to the fire, and sat down foreninst it. "Now, it was mighty provokin' that all the dogs was out they wor rovin' about the wood, you see lookin' for to ketch rabbits to ate, or some other mischief, and so it happened that there wasn't as much as one individual dog in the place ; and, by gor, I'll go bail the fox knew that right well, before he put his nose inside the ranger's lodge. "Well, the ranger was in hopes some o' the dogs id come home and ketch the chap, and he was loath to stir hand or fut himself, afeard o' freghtenin' away the fox ; but, by gor, he could hardly keep his timper at all at all, when he seen the fox take his pipe aff o' the hob, where he left it afore he wint to bed, and puttin' the bowl o' the pipe into the fire to kindle it, (it's as thrue 200 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND as I'm here,) he began to smoke foreninst the fire, as nath'ral as any other man you ever seen. " ' Musha, bad luck to your impidence, you long-tailed blaguard,' says the ranger, 'and is it smokin' my pipe you are? Oh, thin, by this and by that, if I had my gun convaynient to me, it's fire and smoke of another sort, and what you wouldn't bargain for, I'd give you,' says he. But still he was loath to stir, hopin' the dogs id come home; and, 'by gor, my fine fellow,' says he to the fox, ' if one o' the dogs comes home, salpethre wouldn't save you, and that's a sthrong pickle.' " So, with that, he watched antil the fox wasn't mindin' him, but was busy shakin' the cindhers out o' the pipe, whin he was done wid it, and so the ranger thought he was goin' to go immediately after gettin' an air o' the fire and a shough o' the pipe; and so, says he, 'faiks, my lad, I won't let you go so aisy as all that, as cunnin' as you think yourself;' and with that he made a dart out o' bed, and run over to the door, and got betune it and the fox; and 'now,' says he, 'your bread's baked, my buck, and maybe my lord won't have a fine run out o' you, and the dogs at your brish every yard, you mo- rodin' thief, and the divil mind you,' says he, 'for your impidence for sure, if you hadn't the impidence of a highwayman's horse, it's not into my very house, undher my nose, you'd dar for to come ; ' and with that, he began to whistle for the dogs; and the fox, that stood eyein' him all the time while he was spakin', began to think PADDY THE SPORT 201 it was time to be joggin' whin he heard the whistle and says the fox to himself: 'Throth, indeed, you think yourself a mighty great ranger now,' says he, 'and you think you're very 'cute, but upon my tail, and that's a big oath, I'd be long sorry to let sitch a mallet-headed bog-throtter as yourself take a ^dirty advantage o' me, and I'll engage,' says the fox, 'I'll make you lave the door soon and suddint ; ' and with that, he turned to where the ranger's brogues was lyin' hard by beside the fire, and, what would you think, but the fox tuk up one 'o the brogues^ and wint over to the fire and threw it into it. "'I think that 'ill make you start,' says the fox. "'Divil resave the start,' says the ranger 'that won't do, my buck,' says he ; ' the brogue may burn to cindhers,' sais he, 'but out o' this I won't stir;' and thin, puttin' his fingers into his mouth, he gev a blast iv a whistle you'd hear a mile off, and shouted for the dogs. '"So that won't do,' says the fox. 'Well, I must thry another offer,' says he ; and, with that, he tuk up the other brogue, and threw it into the fire too. "'There, now,' says he, 'you may keep the other company,' says he, 'and there's a pair o' ye now, as the divil said to his knee-buckles." " ' Oh, you thievin' varmint,' says the ranger, ' you won't lave me a tack to my feet; but no matther,' says he, ' your head's worth more nor a pair o' brogues to me, any day ; and, by the Piper o' Blessintown 40 you're money 202 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND in my pocket this minit,' says he ; and with that, the fingers was in his mouth agin, and he was goin' to whistle, whin, what would you think, but up sits the fox an his hunkers, and puts his two forepaws into his mouth, makin' game o' the ranger (bad luck to the lie I tell you). " Well, the ranger, and no wondher, although in a rage as he was, couldn't help laughin' at the thought o' the fox mockin' him, and, by dad, he tuk sitch a fit o' laughin', that he couldn't whistle, and that was the 'cuteness o' the fox to gain time; but whin his first laugh was over the ranger recovered himself, and gev another whistle; and so says the fox, 'By my sowl,' says he, 'I think it wouldn't be good for my health to stay here much longer, and I mustn't be thriflin' with that blackguard ranger any more,' says he, 'and I must make him sinsible that it is time to let me go : and though he hasn't under- stan'in' to be sorry for his brogues, I'll go bail I'll make him lave that,' says he, 'before he'd say sparables' and, with that, what do you think the fox done? By all that's good and the ranger himself towld me out iv his own mouth and said he would never have b'lieved it, only he seen it the fox tuk a lighted piece iv a log out o' the blazin' fire, and run over wid it to the ranger's bed and was goin' to throw it into the sthraw, and burn him out of house and home; so when the ranger seen that, he gev a shout out iv him '"Hilloo ! hilloo ! you murdherin' villian,' says he, 'you're worse nor Captain Rock 41 ; is it going to burn me out you PADDY THE SPORT 203 are, you red rogue iv a Ribbonman,' and he made a dart betune him and the bed, to save the house from bein' burned ; but, my jew'1, that was all the fox wanted and as soon as the ranger quitted the hole in the door that he was standin' foreninst, the fox let go the blazin' faggit, and made one jump through the door, and escaped. " But before he wint, the ranger gev me his oath that the fox turned round and gev him the most contimptible look he ever got in his life, and showed every tooth in his head with laughin'; and at last he put out his ton- gue at him, as much as to say ' You've missed me, like your mammy's blessin',' and aff wid him ! like a flash o' lighteninV NATIONAL MINSTRELSY BALLADS AND BALLAD-SINGERS "Give me the making of a people's ballads, and let who will enact their laws." Fletcher of Saltoun. "Valdius oblectat populum, meliusque moratur, Quam versus inopes return, nugseque canorae." Hor. A .P. IT is well remarked by Mr. Addison, in his justly cele- brated paper on the ballad of "The Children in the Wood," of which Mr. Godwin has lately given us so ad- mirable an amplification in his novel of " Cloudesley, 11 that " those only who are endowed with true greatness of soul and genius can divest themselves of the little images of ridicule, and admire nature in her simplicity and naked- ness" of beauty. We trust, therefore, that we shall not only be forgiven, but commended by our most thinking public, for the zeal and diligence with which we have, according to the Horatian precept, devoted sleepless nights and days to the recovery of some of those precious gems of taste and genius, which adorn what may, in the strict- est sense, be termed " our national literature, 11 and which, according to the notion of the grave Scotch politician quoted above, moves and influences the people, "And wields at will the fierce democracy," more than any other species of writing whatever. NATIONAL MINSTRELSY 205 Notwithstanding the laborious researches of our coun- tryman, Mr. Edward Bunting, 42 and the elegant adapta- tions of Mr. Moore, we confess that we indulge in a pleasing belief that now, for the first time, most of the reliques which will be found embalmed in the following paper, are rescued from the chilling gripe of forgetfulness, and reserved as a xryiiot, sq asi a possession for ever; to the envy of surrounding nations, and the admiration of the world. Your ballad- singer, let us tell you, is a person of no despicable renown, whatever you, reader, gentle or simple, may think ay, or say to the contrary. It may be, that you rejoice in possessing the luxury of a carnage, and so rolling along our metropolitan world, escaping the jar and jostle of us wayfaring pedestrians, by the sliding smoothness of patent axles and Macadam you have heard but the distant murmur of the ballad strain, and asked, perhaps in a wondering tone, "What means that faint halloo?" Or, haply, you are an equestrian exquisite, and your charger has taken fright at the admiring auditory throng- ing round the minstrel, and spared your fashionable ears nearly at the expense of your still more fashionable neck, starched into the newest stiffness; or you may chance to be a dandy of inferior grade, and only ride that homely yet handy animal, yclept, in the vulgar tongue, Shanks' Mare, and are forced to be contented with the "bare 206 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND ground," consoling yourself for this contact with mere citizens, by staring every woman you meet out of coun- tenance, and preserving yourself from the tainted atmos- phere of the dross of humanity that surrounds you by the purifying influence of a cigar. To each and all of you, then, we confidently affirm, that you are not prepared to give any opinion on the subject; and we enjoin you, therefore, to a sacred silence, while we sing " strains never heard before" to the merry and hearty. You may, if you like it, go on reading this article, and enlighten your benighted understandings, or turn over to the next, and remain in your "fat contented ignorance" of the subli- mity and beauty of our national ministrelsy. Your ballad-monger is of great antiquity. Homer him- self, "The blind old man of Scio's rocky shore, The father of soul-moving poesy" sat by the wayside, or roved from town to town and sang " His own bright rhapsodies." But if this be going too far back, and you are inclined to tax us with affectation for so classical an authority for Bartle Corcoran's vocation, we shall jump over a hand- ful of centuries, and bring you down " at one fell swoop" to the middle ages, citing the troubadours and jongleurs as examples of the ballad-monger's craft. To be sure, all sentimental young ladies will cry shame upon us at this, NATIONAL MINSTRELSY 207 and think of L. E. L. 4S and the Improvisatrice, and re- member the fatal fame of Raoul de Couci. But, gentle young ladies, start not our ballad-singers are the true descendants of those worthies, the troubadours ; some- thing the worse for the wear perhaps, just the least in the world degenerated or so, like many another romantic thing of the same day. For instance, your gentle page of Jayre ladye is, in modern times, a pert servant-boy, with a snub nose, vying in brilliancy with the scarlet collar that overflaps his blue jacket. Your faithful bower- woman has rather a poor representative in the roguish petite maitresse of a French maid, who is, for all the world, like a milliner's doll, except in the article of silence. Your gallant knight himself no longer bestrides a proudly-prancing war-horse, sheathed " in complete steel," with spear in rest, ready to "answer all comers' 1 in the lists, at the behest of his ladye love. No. Your warrior, now-a-days, is no longer a "gintleman in the tin clothes," as Jerry Sullivan de- scribes him, but a very spruce person, in superfine scarlet, ready to answer all invitations to dinner. Your warder or warden, is, in fact, now a mere hall-porter, and the high-sounding "donjon-keep" nothing more nor less than Newgate. And now, having, we think, successfully proved that your ballad-singer comes from an "ould ancient family," we trust we have influenced the aristocratic feelings of our readers in his favour; and hoping for a patient reading, 208 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND we shall plunge directly into our subject, first asking pardon for this somewhat lengthy introduction, into which our anxiety for the reputation of the ancient and respectable craft of ballad- singing has betrayed us. When the day begins to wane, and the evening air is fresh, (if any thing can ever be fresh in a city,) and people are sauntering along the streets, as if the business of all were over of all, save the lamplighter, he, the only active being amongst a world of loungers, skipping along from lamp to lamp, which one by one " start into light " with perspective regularity, telling of the flight of the "flaming minister" up the long street before you then we say, it is pleasant to roam along the quays, for instance, and halt at the foot of each bridge, or branch off into Capel-street or Parliament-street, 41 or proceed further westward to the more vocal neighbourhood of Bridge or Barrack-streets, and listen to the ballad-singers of all denominations that, without fail, are labouring in their vocation in these quarters. Music, they say, sounds sweetest upon water ; and hence the reason, we suppose, of the ballad-singer choosing the vicinity of the river for his trade; and like that other notorious songster, the nightingale, he, too, prefers the evening for his strains. Ballad-singers, to be sure, may be heard at all times of the day, making tuneful the corners of every street of the city, and moving the vocal air " to testify their hidden residence ; " but, by the in- itiated in ballads, they are detected at once for scurvy NATIONAL MINSTRELSY 209 pretenders. No ballad-singer of any eminence in his or her profession ever appears until the sun is well down ; your she ballad-singers, in particular, are all " maids that love the moon;" and indeed the choicest amongst them like your very fashionable people at a party, do not con- descend to favour their friends by their presence until a good while after the others have made their entree. The amateur in ballads well knows where he may ex- pect to find good entertainment, just as one calculates the sort of party he may expect to meet by the address on the card of invitation. Your amateur, for instance, would no more lose his time in listening to a perfor- mance in Merrion-square, than an officer of the guards would go to a rout in Skinner's-row. No, no Merrion- square is far too genteel for anything good in the ballad line. But oh! sweet High-street, and Corn-market Cut- purse-row, too (by the bye, always leave your watch and sovereigns at home, and carry your pocket-handkerchief in your hat, when you go a larking in search of ballad minstrelsy,) and so on to Thomas-street. Your desperate explorer, who, with a Columbian courage, pants for greater and more western discoveries, will push on to the Cross- poddle, (as far as which point we once ventured our- selves, and fished for city trout in the Brithogue,) double the cape of Tailor's close, turn the corner of Elbow-alley, and penetrate the mysteries of Fumbally's-lane, rife in the riches of ballad lore, returning to the civilised haunts of men by the purlieus of Patrick's- close, Golden-lane, and 210 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND so on through Sqeezegut-alley, until he gets into port that is, Kevin's-port and there, at the corner of Chea- ter's-lane, it is hard if he don't get an honest hap'orth of ballad. They are generally loving and pathetic in this quarter, Kevin-street, as if the music of the region were, with an antithetical peculiarity, of a different turn from the hard-hearted saint whose name it hears. Saint Kevin- street is endeared to us by many tender recollections, and here it was that the iron entered our sole as we listened for the first time, to the following touching effusion : "Oh Jz'mnu-a, Jim-my, I lOve you well, i Love T/OU bet/Aer nor my tonguE Can tell- / love you well, but I dar not show it, I loVe you well, but let no one kNow it." What a beautiful union of affection and delicacy in the last line! the generous confidence of a devoted heart, with the tender timidity of the blushing maid shrinking at the thought of the discovery of her passion to the multitude: with the sincerity of a Juliet, she openly avows her flame "I love you well;" but at the same time wishing to be, as Moore says, " Curtain'd from the sight Of the gross world," she cautiously adds, "But let no one know it." NATIONAL MINSTRELSY 211 This is, perhaps, an inferior specimen of the amatory ballad, but as it is one of the early impressions made on our young imaginations, we hope we may be pardoned for giving it place even before those loftier pretensions : "On revient toujours A ses premiers amours." The ballad, though coming generally under the deno- mination of lyric poetry, may be classified under various heads. First, in order due, we class the amatory ; then there are the political and the polemical ; though, indeed, we should follow, we are inclined to think, the order adopted in the favourite corporation phrase of "church and state," and so we shall arrange our ballads more fitly by giving the polemicals the pas; the order will then stand thus : AMATORY, POLEMICAL, PATRIOTIC, BACCHANALIAN, DESCRIPTIVE, POLITICAL, and NON-DESCRIPTIVE. Sometimes, in the AMATORY, the bewitching blandish- ments of the fair are pourtrayed with a force and vivid simplicity which Catullus might envy; thus, in depicting LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND the "taking ways," of Miss Judith O'Reilly, who had, it would seem, a penchant for leading soft-hearted youths "the other way," as Mr. Moore delicately expresses it, the minstrel describes the progress of the potent spell. "Och, Judy Riley, you use me viley, And like a child me do coax and decoy It's myself that's thinkin' while you do be winkin So soft upon me, you will my heart destroy." Again, the poet often revels in the contemplation, of the joint attractions of his mistress's beauties and ac- complishments; and at the same time that he tells you she is "As lovely as Diania/' he exults in announcing that "She plays on the piania." While in the description of a rurial swain by his in- namorata, we are informed that "Apollo's Gooldzn hair with his could not compare Astonished were All the behowlders." Sometimes our ballad bards become enamoured of the simple beauties of nature, and leaving the imagery of the heathen mythology, of which they are so fond, and which they wield with a richness and facility peculiar to them- selves, they give us a touch of the natural, as will be NATIONAL MINSTRELSY 213 seen in the following. "The Star of Sweet Dundalk ;" and observe, Dundalk being a seaport, with a very just and accurate perception of propriety, the poem has been headed with an elegant wood-cut representing a ship in full sail. THE STAR OF SWEET DUND-ALK. "In beauteous spring when birds do sing, And cheer each mertle shade, And shepherd's s Wains surnades the Planes, To find their lambs that st Rayed." This novel application of serenading must strike every one with admiration. "nigh Roden's Grove I chanced to rove To take a run'al walk, when to my sight appeared in White The star of sweet dundalk." The lady having, most luckily for the rhyme, appeared in white, the perambulating lover addresses her ; and after having "struggled for to talk" to this most resplendent " Star of sweet Dundalk, 1 ' he assures her he is bewildered, and that his heart is bleeding, and thus continues : "Your beauteous face my wounds encrase And SKin more white than chaLK, Makes me regret the day i met The STar of sweet dundalk." 214 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND But the lady very prudently replies "Now, sir, if I would cwmply And give to you my HanD, Perhaps that you would prove untrue Be pleased to understand." How polite!! Here she divides our admiration! for we know not whether most to applaud her discretion on her good manners. At length he only requests to become her "slave, poor swain, and friend." This proposition is listened to, but still she is intent on " minding her busi- ness, as she ought to do," like the celebrated O'Rafferty, 4!S and insists on first " milking her cow ; " after which we are favoured with this information: "When she had done Then off we come and carelessly did walk, and slowly paced To her sweet pLace Convaynient to sweet Dundalk." She then brings him into her father's house, which is " as white as chalk," and (of course) " nigh-hand to sweet Dundalk ; " and we discover at last, that he has a warm shebeen-house, and a drop of comfort for the traveller : so our hero calls for a glass to drink the health of this "Star of sweet Dundalk," and enable him, doubtless, to see her charms double ; but she still, " minding her busi- NATIONAL MINSTRELSY 215 ness," O'Rafferty-like, hands him a glass; and very duti- fully to her father, though, we regret to say, very unsenti mentally to her lover, the aforesaid glass "She mark'd it up in chalk; and as this must at once destroy all romantic interest in the "Star of sweet Dundalk," we shall say no more about a heroine that so unworthily degenerates into an avaricious bar-maid. But, by way of counterpoise, we shall give an example of a " holier flame " and after the money-loving Dundalker, it is really " refreshing " to meet an instance proving the utter devotedness of the female heart, when once imbued with the tender passion. Can there be a more disinterested love than this? "Oh, Thady Brady, you are my darlin, You are my looking-glass from night till morning, I love you better without one fardin Than Brian Gallagher wid house and garden." What fitness, too, there is in the simile, "you are my looking-glass ! " the dearest thing under the sun to a woman. In the POLEMICAL line, the ballad in Ireland is per- fectly national; and no other country, we believe, sings polemics; but religion, like love, is nourished by oppres- sion ; and hence a cause may be assigned why the Roman. Catholic population of Ireland enjoyed, with peculiar zest, the ballads that praised their persecuted faith. But of the many fatal results of the relief bill, not the least de- 216 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND plorable is the "dark oblivion" into which this exalted class of composition is fast passing away. We rejoice to rescue from the corroding fangs of time a specimen in praise of the Virgin Mary, and hitting hard at such ultra Protestants as busied themselves "in the convartin 1 line, 11 for the good of their brethren : "The blessed Vergin that we prize The fairest fair above the skies On her the Heretics tells lies When they would make convArsions." But of the polemical, we candidly confess that we are but ill prepared to speak at large; whether it be that, unlike the gentle Desdemona, we do not "seriously incline, 11 or our early polemico-ballad hunting essays were not successful, we shall not venture to decide. But one evening, at the corner of MaryVabbey an appropriate place for religious strains we heard a female ballad- hawker (the men, by-the-bye, do not deal in this line; the Frenchman was right when he said a woman's life was taken up between love and religion) and whether it was that we could not fairly hear the lady, in consequence of the windows of Ladly^ tavern being open, and letting out, along with a stream of very foul air, some very queer air also, that was let out of a fiddle ; or that we chanced to fall upon an infelicitous passage in her chant, we cannot say, but the first audible couplet was NATIONAL MINSTRELSY 217 "Tran-a-sub-a-stan-a-si-a-ey-a-shin Is de fait in which we do Diffind. and this fairly bothered us. Such a jaw-breaker and peace-breaker as transubstantiation quod versu dicere non est actually done into verse ! ? We took to our heels, and this polysyllabic polemical gave us a distaste for any more controversial cantatas. In the POLITICAL line, no land abounds in ballads like our own sweet Emerald Isle. In truth, every Irishman is, we verily believe, by birth a politician. There are many causes assigned for this ; and your long-headed philosopher could, no doubt, write a very lengthy article on that head. But it is not our affair at present ; suffice it, therefore, to say, politicians they are, and the -virus breaks out in divers and sundry ballads, varying in style and subject, according to the strength of the disease in the sufferer. Some abound in laments for Ireland's forlorn condition, but many more are triumphant effusions to the honour and glory of the "men of the people. 11 We remember one ould dowager in particular, rather thick in the wind, who wheezed out many a week's work in asth- matic praises of Richard Sheil and Daniel CTConnell, Esquires ; but, after the exertion of puffing out one line, she was obliged to pause for breath before giving the following one ; and a comical effect was sometimes produced by the lapses, as in the well-known instance of the Scotch precentor. At last, when she did come to the burthen 218 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND of her song; she threatened, with a significant shake of her head, which one eye, and a bonnet both black and fiercely cocked, rendered particularly impressive, that " They (the parliament) had better take care about what they are at For Shiel is the lad that will give them the chat With a Ballynamona, oro ! Ballynamona, oro ! Ballynamona, oro ! Brave Shiel and O'Connell for me !" There was a Patagonian fair one of the craft, who patronised O'Connell in particular, always got drunk on the strength of his success, and generally contrived to have a long chorus or burthen to her song, and when, with some difficulty, she picked her way through the difficulties of articulation in each verse, it was very divert- ing to observe the complacency with which she dropt into the chorus, and seemed to repose herself, as it were, upon its easy monotony, which ran thus; " Consillar och hone ! och hone ! och hone ! consillar och hone ! and och hone-i-o ! ConSillur och hone ! och hone ! och hone ! And it's you that can stand alone-i-o !" But the Shan Van Vogh ! was the grand popular effusion in the great agitator's praise, when he threatened to take the House of Common's by storm at the first election. Of this we may venture to give two verses : NATIONAL MINSTRELSY 219 " Into parliament you'll go, says the Shan Van Vogh, To extricate our woe, says the Shan Fan Vogh; Our foes you will amaze, And all Europe you will Plaze, And owld Ireland's now at Aise, Says the Shan Van Vogh. "Our worthy brave O'Connell, says the Shan Van Vogh, To have you in we're longing, says the Shan Van Vogh; Sure you we well have tried, And you're always at our side, And you never tuk a bribe, Says the Shan Van Vogh." But the following is one which we cannot resist giving in full we vouch for its being a true attested copy ; and those who do not like to read it, may adopt the practice of the country schoolmaster when he meets a long word that proves a jaw-breaker, id est, to " schkip and go on." O'CONNELL'S FAREWELL MEETING IN THE CORN-EXCHANGE. " As O'Connell and Shiels wor convarsin about the rent, Jack lawless 48 stepp'd in and asked him what news, Saying are you preparing to go into Parliamint. Where a loyal Catholic he can't be re/used, The time is fast approaching when Catholics will iaJce their seats ; No Laws can prevant tham Bruns-wieker* are deranged In the Defince of Britain their loyalty and aid was lent This conversation passed in the Corn Exchange. 220 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND "Brave O'Gorman Mahon' fl spoke as the Association did' begin, Saying GewtlemEn i Pray don't think me rude, In jThis mon/h of February how the bigots the will grinn Like Paul Pry Daniel he drops in you think will he intrud. The Lawyers of the Miwstry they cant prevent his entry, We know a war vfilh him They'll wage, In spite of tAeir Dexterity we'll have religious liberty This conversation passed in the Corn Exchange, " Farewell Dearest Danyel Hibernias confidential frind Our blemn Go along wid you wnto the british shore, Nobility and Gintery to Parliamint will you attind, Likewise be accompained wit/z The blessings of the Poor. Our foes within the house a* mute as any mouse, To see the Agitator Triumphantly arranged, No .... or factious claw shall daunt the people's man ; This conversation passed in the Corn Exchange. "TAe worthys, of Hzbernia's He may fortune On those heroc* smile, And every frind in Parlamint That does support the claims, Brave Grattan 4 " Plunket 40 andBurdet" 1 Brave ^nglissy. 48 We'll never forget this hero's memory in our brest Shall ever rEiw. Here's to maTchless Shee!' 40 and gallant Steall, 41 and Noble Dawson 40 of Dundalk The foes of religious liberty the wzll assail For the n'tes of millions The contind, may God protect dear Dan our FrinD. Pray for his Sa/e return to owld Ireland agin." These are no contemptible specimens of the political, but they only bear on our "internal resources," as the parliamentary phrase is, and evidently were the work of the " secretary for the home department," in ballad affairs. NATIONAL MINSTRELSY 221 But be it known unto all men by these presents, that we have had our "secretary for foreign affairs " also, and the political chances of Europe have been descanted upon by the Thomas-street muses of our Balladian Parnassus : BOXAPARTE was the " God of their idolatry," and his victories have been the theme of their hope and triumph, ingeniously conveyed in drollery or sarcasm, as his down- fall was of their most doleful ditties, of which we well remember the mournful burthen of one, "From his throne, och, hoch, hone, Like a spalpeen he was hurled." Yet even in their 'flat despair, 1 they "Cast one longing, lingering look behind," and each verse of another cantata, we have often listened to with pensive delight, recording his by-gone glories, although it was wailingly wound up with this dismal though euphonious couplet, "But he's gone over saes and the high mount-i-ayn-ya, He is gone far away to the Isle of St. Helenia." We hope our readers properly appreciate the fertility of invention and boldness of execution, that produced for the occasion so novel and so able an example of the callida junctura of Horace, upon which Bishop Hurd has written so much, as is evinced in this truly musical variety of the common-place word 'mountain'. Subsequently, however, a strain of jubilee for the re- 222 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND establishment of Napoleon's dynasty, was long and loudly, though perhaps somewhat prematurely indulged in ; and we well remember hearing the detail of anticipated glories, " many a time and oft," in a certain song, whose exultant chorus, "piercing the night's dull ear," promised great things to the drooping Bonapartists : "When the young King of roome from the coort of Vianna Will bring his father back from the isle of St. Helanna!" As an example of the PATRIOTIC, we picked up a morfeau in the "west end," one evening while we stood amongst many admiring and apostrophising auditors, which is quite too rich to give en masse to our readers ; we would not surfeit them with the good things of the ballad world, and they must be content, therefore, with some extracts from "the bran new ballad," called, by way of title, "The Wild Irishman," which a Herculean Hibernian, with a voice like thunder, was pouring from his patriotic throat; he commenced by informing his audience that "When God made the sowl of a wild Irishman He filled him with love and creation's wide span And gev him perfictions that never is seen In statue he's matchless an angel in face. (Our friend certainly was an exception.) The invy of mankind in iligance and grace At foot ball and hurlin agility's sons (And her daughters so fair, all as spotless as nuns) When victorious all mercy Oh, Erin the green." NATIONAL MINSTRELSY 223 Erin the green's forlorn condition was very feelingly depicted in the two succeeding stanzas ; and fearing there was no human probability of her situation being bettered, the saints were thus characteristically invoked. "Oh St. Patrick acushla! St. Bridget asthore! Collum cuil mavourneen your mastAer implore, To look down with compassion on Erin the green." This appeal to "the masther" is quite irresistible. But in this it will be perceived there is a mixture of the political mingled with the patriotic; a tint of devo- tion to party tinged the love of country. The poem having its birth in the Liberties, it is possible that the poet, influenced by the localities, wrought his verses as the weaver works his stuff, and so his production is shot, as the technical phrase is, with two materials, and reminds us of the alternate flickering of green and red that we see in the national tabinet dresses of our fair countrywomen. Of the BACCHANALIAN, some falsely imagine " Patrick's Day 1 ' to be an example; English people, in particular, suppose "Patrick's Day," in words and music, must be the beau ideal of an Irish song whereas, in neither is it a happy specimen; as for the words, there is amongst them a couplet that pronounces, at once, damning sen- tence against the whole composition. "And we will be merry And drinking of sherry." 224 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND Bah! sherry indeed; no Irish ballad laureate ever wrote two such lines, it is the production of a bungler, especi- ally when we consider that any but a thorough blockhead could have so easily rhymed it thus: "And we will be frisky A drinking of whiskey On Patrick's day in the morning." " Garryowen," that much superior air, which, in our opinion, ought to be the national one instead, is dis- figured, in like manner, by a word which grates harshly upon the ear of the connoisseur : "Then come, my boys, we'll drink bi-own ale We'll pay the reck'ning on the nail And devil a man shall go to jail From Ganyowen my glory." We confess we cannot bear this ale; something ails us at the sound, and it disturbs our association of ideas : ale, at once, refers us to England ; and portly John Bulls and Bonifaces, instead of muscular Paddies, present them- selves to our " mind's-eye : " it is a pity, for the other lines are good, particularly the third, which displays that noble contempt of the laws so truly characteristic of our heroes of the south. But here follows a touch of the true Bacchanalian, in which our national beverage is victoriously vindicated : "The ould ladies love coniac The sailors all brag of their rum It's a folly to talk, Paddy whack Knows there's nothing like whiskey for fun NATIONAL MINSTRELSY 225 They may talk of two birds in a bush, Bud I'd rather have one in the hand, For if rum is the pride of the Say "Tis whiskey's the pride of the land." What a logical deduction is here drawn from a proverb that is "somewhat musty," as our friend Hamlet says " A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush." Argal, whiskey is much better drinking than rum. The inference is as clear as ditch-water. The bard next proceeds to exult in our superiority over other nations in the native tipple, which he thus felicitously illustrates : '.'The Dutchman he has a big butt Full of gin, and the munseers drinks port To the divil I pitch such rot-gut, For to drink it wouldn't be any sport 'Tis the juice of the shamrock at home That is brew'd in brave Bacchus's still, Bates the world, and it's of sweet Innishowen I wish that I now had my fill. Here is a happy adaptation of classical knowledge to the subject in hand; Bacchus's still is a great hit. Burns himself indulges in a similar liberty, when he uses his national dialect to name the fount of Castaly : "Castalia's burn, an' a' that." But, as the Bacchanalian must be an uninteresting theme to our fair readers, we shall content ourselves with 15 226 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND the specimens already given in that line, and hurry on to the next in order of succession, viz., DESCRIPTIVE. We Irish are found of dilating on whatsoever subject we treat, (perchance, indeed, at this moment we are giving a practical example,) and in the descriptive line of ballad, there is "ample verge" for indulging in this natural propensity, whether it concern places or persons, men or manners, town or country, morning, noon, or night. As a specimen in the local line, a brilliant one exists in that far-famed ditty that so pathetically sets forth how, "A Sailor coorted a Farmer's daughter That lived Conwzynient to the Isle of Man." Here, though with that native delicacy which always characterises true genius, the name of the false fair one is withheld, her "local habitation" is considered matter of importance; and with admirable precision it is laid down, as seamen say, in the most chart-like fashion, "Convaynient to the Isle of Man." An additional interest is thus excited for the heroine, who must have been (as far as we could gather from our visit to Douglas, at the late regatta) either a mermaid or some amphibious charmer, whom, with much critical judgment, the poet has selected as the "desaver" of a naval hero. Another felicitous specimen exists in a very old and favourite ballad, giving " the whole, full, thrue, and par- NATIONAL MINSTRELSY 227 tic'lar account" of how a certain highway hero fulfils his criewel fate. The description of the entire trial, including the examination of witnesses, is very graphically given; and when sentence of death is at length pronounced against him, you are thus most affectingly informed, in the first person : "When they did sintence me to Die, The Judge and the jury they riz a Murnful cry; My Tind/ier Wife she did roar and Bawl W 7 hile the bitt/ier Tears from her Eyes did fall, Oh! the curse o' Jasus light an yez all!" When he comes to the gallows he gives a very exemp- lary exhortation to "the throng;"" and with a sort of a predictive consciousness that he shall live in verse, though he must die in fact, he addresses to the multitude, viva voce, this posthumous appeal: "And now Tm dead, and let my disgrace Be never threw in my Childer's face, For they are Young and desarves no blame Altho' their Father is come to Shame." This sudden adoption of the first person is, however, by no means a singular species of metabasis ; on the contrary, we find it a favourite figure of speech in such compositions ; for example, in "Thamama Hulla:"" "I have heerd the town clock give its usual warning I am asleep, and don't waken me." 228 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND And again, in the far-famed " Fanny Blair. 1 ' The victim of Fanny's false-swearing, after giving this admonitory couplet to all "sportin 1 young blades, 1 ' "Beware of young women that follys [follows] bad rules For that's why I'm cut off in the flower of my bl?/me," concludes by very piously ejaculating, "And now it's your blessin, dear parents, I crave Likewise my dear mother that did me consave." (He had, it would seem, a supernumerary parent on this occasion.) "And now I am dead and laid in the mould The Lord may have mercy on my poor sinful Sowl!" The renowned "Brian O'Lynn 11 has been the hero of description to a great extent ; his apparel even has been deemed worthy of note. Few of our readers, we trust, have had their education so utterly neglected as to be still in ignorance of the first stanza of this incomparable effusion : "Brian O'Lynn had no breeches to wear, So he bought him a sheepskin to make him a pair; With the skinny side out and the woolly side in, They are pleasant and cool, says Brian O'Lynn!" But Brian is anxious to cut a figure in the world, and laments the want of that most necessary appendage to "ginteel clothin" 1 a watch: but how to come by it is the question. At last Brian hits upon an expagement^ NATIONAL MINSTRELSY 229 (as a literary friend of ours says,) which, for originality of invention, leaves rail-roads and steam-carriages far be- hind. It is with satisfaction that we claim the modest merit of first introducing to public regard and admiration the following inimitable stanza : "Brian O'Lynn had no watch to put on, So he scooped out a turnip to make him a one; He next put a cricket clone undAer the sAkin, 'Whoo! they'll think it is tickin'/ says Brian O'Lynn." Rarisstmus Briney! What can surpass this? But the personal attractions of the fair form the most inexhaustible theme for the poet's fancy, and give a wider scope to his invention in the discovery of apt images : par exemple "Her waist is taper, None is completer Like the tuneful nine or the lambs at play ; And her two eyes shinin Like rowlin diamonds, And her breath as sweet as the flowers in May. We cannot too much admire the richness and perspi- cuity of the description : rich in the display of the lady's charms, which combine the united beauties of the " tune- ful nine " with the innocent frolicsomeness of the " lambs at play ; " and perspicuous even to the agreeable fact that she has two eyes, and both are bright. But we must not venture to trespass too far on thy 230 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND patience, gentle reader. On this subject we could never tire of writing, nor shouldst thou of reading, hadst thou but the felicity of being tinctured, like ourselves, with the true ballad passion. But we must "Lure the tassel-gentle back again/' and therefore shall hasten to a conclusion for the present. The NON-DESCRIPT last claims our exemplifying notice, and indeed our memory abounds with illustrations in point; we shall, however, content ourselves with one which we look upon as choice, and deserving to be marked with three R's, as Domino Sampson says, denoting the rarest excellence : "THE RHYME FOR THE RAM:" which rhyme is declared to be a mystery far beyond the poet's comprehension, hitherto undiscovered, and to be classed only with the philosopher's stone or such arcana of nature. We have all heard of the difficulty of finding a rhyme for silver, which our countryman overcame at once by adducing childer as a satisfactory solution ; but the bard on this occasion soars to sublime flights : No one could discover From Calais to Dover, The house of Hanover, and the town Dunleer. Nor they who belie us, And freedom deny us, Ould Mr. M 's could never come near; NATIONAL MINSTRELSY 231 For no Methodist preacher, Nor nate linen blacher, The keenest of teachers, nor the wisdom of man ; Not Joanna Southcoat, tt Nor Fitz Garild the pole, 49 Nor iver yet wrote a fit rhyme for the Ram. What a wide range the Muse has taken here in search of this rhythmatical treasure ! In the depths of the sea, between Calais and Dover, she is too straitened : next she throws herself, with as little success, upon the muni- ficence of the House of Brunswick, which, by the most perfect association of ideas in the world, reminds her of the town of Dunleer. The new light is next appealed to unavailingly ; and the " wisdom of man " very naturally reminds her of Joanna Southcote, who is surpassed in the climax by that still greater humbug, Fitzgerald the poet. This we fearlessly put forward as the most brilliant specimen of the non-descript in the world. FINIS, NOTES NOTES NOTE 1. Quality. The Irish peasantry very generally call the higher orders "the quality." (S. Lover.) NOTE 2. Plenny penny tinchery. Plenipotentiary. NOTE 3. Thp. This royal mode of concluding a bargain has descended in its original purity from the days of King O'Toole to the present time and is constantly practised by the Irish peasantry. We believe something of luck is attributed to this same sharp blowing we have noticed, and which, for the sake of "ears polite," we have not ventured to call by its right name, for, to speak truly, a slight escapement of saliva takes place at the time. It is thus hansel is given and received; and many are the virtues attributed by the lower order of the Irish to "fasting spittle." (S. Lover.) NOTE 4. Fan ma Cool. Fionn mac Cumhail, as the Irish spell it, was one of the ancient chieftains, who has been handed down in folklore as a giant- killer and general wonder-worker. NOTE 5. Disguised. A person in a state of drunkenness is said to be "disguised." (S. Lover.) NOTE 6. Dacent boy. The English reader must not imagine the saint to have been very juvenile, from this expression of the king's. In Ireland a man in the prime of life is called "a stout boy." (S. Lover.) NOTE 7. Horse-eel. Eels of uncommon size are said to exist in the upper lake of Glendalough: the guides invariably tell marvellous stories of them: they describe them of forbidding aspect, with manes large as a horse's. One of these " slippery rogues " is said to have amused himself by entering a pasture on the borders of the lake and eating a cow maybe 'twas a bull! (S. Lover.) 236 NOTES NOTE 8. St. Kevin and King O'Toole. There is a very popular ballad on this story, written, it is said, by one Thomas Shalvey, a gardener of Dublin, It begins thus: St. Kevin wanst was travelling through a place called Glendalough ; He chanced to meet with King O'Toole, and asked him for a shough, Says the King, "you are a stranger, and your face I've never seen, But if you have a taste of weed, I'll lend you my dhudeen!" NOTE 9. Hyde-Park. Lover's reference to the "grassy slopes" of Hyde Park will seem strange to modern visitors to that locality. NOTE 10. Connemara Scenery. The view from the Pass of Salnick in Connemara, commanding at once, on one side, the great Killery harbour, and on the other the Atlantic Ocean, once afforded me just such a magnificent pro- spect as the one described. (S. Lover.) NOTE 11. Mitrther. A great pity. (S. Lover.) NOTE 12. Abow. Above. NOTE 13. Duty. The Irish peasant calls his attendance at the confessional " going to his duty." NOTE 14. The trout. The fish has really a red spot on its side. (S. Lover.) NOTE 15. Berrins. Burials. NOTE 16. Brogue. There seems to be no reason for the speech of the Irish peasant being called brogue, the Irish for shoe. In any case, its origin is not known. NOTE 17. Souls in Purgatory. A particularly affectionate husband, before deposit- ing the remains of his departed wife in the grave, placed a pair of now brogues in her coffin, that she might not have to walk all the way to purgatory. This was vouched for as a fact. (S. Lover.) NOTES 237 NOTE 18. The seal of confession. This story is a fact, and the comment of the judge upon the priest's fidelity, I am happy to say, is true. (S. Lover.) NOTE 19. The King and the Bishop. This was Lover's first contribution to the literature of fiction, and appeared in a small Dublin magazine edited by Charles Lever. NOTE 20. Pattern. The pattern or patron day is a certain saint's day on which a popular feast is held. NOTE 21. Scrimmage. Evidently derived from the French escrlmer. (S. Lover.) NOTE 22. Hard word. Warning or caution. NOTE 23. Bushe and PlunTcet. Charles Kendal Bushe, afterwards the Irish Chief Justice, and William Conyngham Plunket, afterwards Lord Chancellor of Ireland, were two of the most notable of Irish wits and orators. NOTE 24. Jimmy. This is the name almost universally applied to fools in Ire- land. Tom seems to be the one in use in England, even as far back as Shakespeare's time, but Jimmy is the established name in Ireland. (S. Lover.) NOTE 25. Taw. A marble is called by Irish boys a taw. NOTE 26. Popery, wooden shoes, etc. This is one of the toasts of the Orangemen to William, Prince of Orange, "who delivered us from popery, slavery, arbitrary power, brass money and wooden shoes." NOTE 27. Selling the pass. An allusion to a post of importance that was betrayed in some of the battles between William III and James II. (S. Lover.) 238 NOTES NOTE 28. The Gridiron. Lover seems to have seen many possibilities in a grid- iron. Headers will remember, the use he has made of it in "Rory O'More." NOTE 29. Longtongs. Some mystification of Paddy's touching the French n'entends. (S. Lover.) NOTE 30. Paddy the Piper. Lover admits that he did not write this sketch, but obtained it from a friend. There is a popular song telling the story of the cow eating the piper. NOTE 31. Suction. The insurrection of '98. The word is evidently derived from insurrection. NOTE 32. Husshians and Yeos. The Hessians and the Yeomanry regiments com- mitted frightful excesses during the rebellion of '98. NOTE 33. Is it ate Paddy ? This is a common idiom in Ireland, and might puzzle an English reader. The sentence might be read "Do you mean to say that she ate Paddy?" NOTE 34. Ordered. A reverential mode the Irish have of implying a dispensation of Providence. NOTE 35. Throwing up the little fingers. Getting drunk. (S. Lover.) NOTE 36. The Cross Poddle. This is a small stream in the neighbourhood of St. Patrick's Cathedral, but now built over. NOTE 87. Apparel. Parole. NOTE 88. Worm. The "worm is an important part of a still. Illicit distilling was of course extremely common in Ireland in the days of "Paddy the Sport." NOTES 239 NOTE 39. Lord Norbury. John Toler, Earl of Norbury, a celebrated Irish judge, whose wit and inhumanity are equally well remembered by his countrymen. NOTE 40. By the Piper of Blessin'town. A familiar Irish saying. There was once, it would seem, a notable piper at Blessington, a village in the Co. Wick- low hence the allusion. NOTE 41. Captain Rock. The name was given to an imaginary leader of an Irish agrarian movement, whose followers were called Rockites. He was, to a certain extent, the Captain Moonlight of his day the tithe imposition being one of his principal aversions. Moore wrote an eloquent and patriotic book called "Memoirs of Captain Bock," and there was in London in the twenties an Irish political journal called "Captain Rock in London," edited by an able Irish writer named Michael James Whitty. NOTE 42. Edward Bunting. A collector of ancient Irish music, whose three series were largely utilised by Thomas Moore for the airs of his "Irish melo- dies." Bunting was a native of Armagh, and an organist in Belfast. For information concerning his work see " Catalogue of the Musical Loan Exhibition held in connection with the Feis Ceoil, Dublin, May 1899 compiled by D. J. O'Donoghue." (Published at 19 Lincoln Place, Dublin.) NOTE 43. L. E. L. Letitia E. Landon, the poetess, editor of several fashionable annuals in the twenties. NOTE 44. Capel Street, Parliament St. etc. Parliament St., Dublin, runs from the City Hall, formerly the Royal Exchange, on the South side of the Liffey, to Grattan Bridge, which reaches the foot of Capel St. on the north side. NOTE 45. O'Bafferty. An allusion to the popular song of "Paudeen O'Rafferty." NOTE 46. Jack Lawless, CP Gorman Mahon, etc. These names are those of celebrated Irish and English leaders of the time. The names of Grattan, Plunket, Shiel, O'Connell require no comment here. Lawless was an able Irish journalist and publicist, whose acquaintance Shelley made in Ireland; Burdett was of course Sir Francis Burdett, the English agitator ; Anglesey was a popular Viceroy of Ireland; Steele ("Honest Tom Steele") was O'Connell's faithful henchman; O'Gorman Mahon died within the last 240 NOTES decade, after a stormy public career of nearly a century ; Dawson of Dundalk was a local celebrity whose name and services, if he ever rendered any, are long since forgotten. NOTE 47. Expagement. Expedient. NOTE 48. Joanna Southcote. A self-styled prophetess and leader of a sect which expected her (vainly) to bear, without sin, a child who should be a new Messiah. Everything was ready for the delivery, costly clothing, cradle and all, subscribed for by the numerous dupes of the new religion, but Joanna Southcote died without vouchsafing any offspring to the expectant sectaries, NOTE 49. Fitzgerald the poet. William Thomas Fitzgerald, a wretched rhymester, whose ultra loyal and inane effusions were the butt of all the wits of the day. 1'rintcd by the Motley Press: London ofjice, 18 Eldon St., E.C. DATE DUE 3DOC FEB6 19 70 nr.i REC'D ft B 6 i~97& CAYLORD PRINT ED IN U.S.A. UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY A 000812720 1