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 Latest Date stamped below. 
 
 University of Illinois Library 
 
 J -I *^ 
 
 L161— H41
 
 ./
 
 TRAITS AND STORIES 
 
 ;'^ 
 
 THE IRISK PEASANTRY. 
 
 v'n'h^ 
 
 INfes ON .W^ 
 W. H. BROOKE, fkq. A. R-HjAj, 
 
 SIX ETCHINGS, AND ENG|^VINfes ON .\V^Ot>, ^BY 
 
 7' 
 
 VOL 
 
 il^T\et.)^'^ Vv 
 
 THIRD EDITION, CORRECTED. 
 
 DUBLIN : 
 WILLIAM FREDERICK WAKEMAN, 
 
 9, D'OLIER-STREET; 
 
 SIMPKIN AND MARSHALL, AND RICH. GROOMBRIDGE, 
 
 LONDON. V 
 
 MDCCQXX^IV,
 
 DUBLIN: 
 
 PRINTED BY P. DIXON IIARDT, CECILIA-STREET.
 
 
 V. \ 
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 Page 
 Preface. 
 
 Ned M'Keovvn — Introduction..... 1 
 
 The Three Tasks, or the Little House under 
 THE Hill — a Legend 49 
 
 Shane Fadh's Wedding 113 
 
 Larry M'Farland's Wake 193 
 
 The Battle of the Factions , 267 
 
 S-]^3
 
 PREFACE TO THE FIRST EBITION. 
 
 In presenting the following " Traits and Stories" 
 to the Public, the Author can with confidence as- 
 sure them, that what he offers is, both in manu- 
 facture and material, genuine Irish ; yes, genuine 
 Irish as to character — drawn by one born amidst 
 the scenes he describes — reared as one of the peo- 
 ple whose characters and situations he sketches — 
 and who can cut and dress a shillaly as well as 
 any man in his Majesty's dominions ; ay, and use 
 it too : so let the critics take care of themselves. 
 Conversant with the pastimes, festivals, feasts, and 
 feuds he details— he may well say of what he has 
 described — " quorum pars magna fui.*' Moreover, 
 the Author assumes, that in the ground he has 
 taken, he stands in a great measure without a com- 
 petitor ; particularly as to certain sketches, pecu-
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 liar, in the habits and manners delineated in them, 
 to the "Northern Irish. These last — the Ulster 
 Creachts — as they were formerly called — are as 
 characteristically distinct from the Southern or 
 Western Milesians, [as the people of Yorkshire 
 are from the natives of Somerset ; yet they are 
 still as Irish, and as strongly imbued with the cha- 
 racter of their country. The English reader, per- 
 haps, may be sceptical as to the deep hatred which 
 prevails among Roman Catholics in the north of 
 Ireland, against those who differ from them in 
 party and religious principles ; but when he reflects 
 thaTthey were driven before the face of the Scotch 
 invader, and divested by the Settlement of Ulster 
 of their pleasant vales, forced to quench their fires 
 on their fathers' hearths, and retire to the moun- 
 tain ranges of Tyrone, Donegal, and Derry, per- 
 haps he will grant, after all, that the feeling is na- 
 tural to^a people treated as they have been. Upon 
 this race, surrounded by Scotch and English set- 
 tlers, and hid amongst the mists of their highland 
 retreats, education, until recently, had made little 
 progress ; — superstition, and prejudice, and an- 
 cient animosity, held their strongest sway ; and 
 the Priests, the poor pastors of a poorer people, 
 were devoid of the wealth, the self-respect, and 
 the learning, which prevailed amongst their better 
 endowed brethren of the South.
 
 PREFACE. vii 
 
 The Author, in the different scenes and charac- 
 ters he describes, has endeavoured to give his por- 
 traits as true to nature as possible; and requests 
 his readers to give him credit when he asserts* 
 that without party, object, or engagement, he dis^ 
 claims subserviency to any political purpose what- 
 soever. His desire is neither to distort his coun- 
 trymen into demons, nor to enshrine them as suf- 
 fering innocents and saints — but to exhibit them 
 as they really are — warm-hearted, hot-headed, af- 
 fectionate creatures — the very fittest materials in 
 the world for the poet or romance writer — capable 
 of great culpability, and of great and energetic 
 goodness — sudden in their passions as the red and 
 rapid gush of their mountain-streams — variable in 
 their temper as the climate that sends them the 
 mutability of sun and shower — at times, rugged 
 and gloomy as the moorland sides of their moun- 
 tains — oftener sweet, soft, and gay, as the sun-lit 
 meadows of their pleasant vales. 
 
 The Author — though sometimes forced to touch 
 upon their vices, expose their errors, and laugh at 
 their superstitions, — loves also (and it has formed, 
 as he may say, the pleasure of his pen) to call up 
 their happier qualities, and exhibit them as can- 
 did, affectionate, and faithful. Nor has he ever 
 foregone the hope — his heart's desire and his 
 anxious wish — that his own dear, native mountain
 
 vin PREFACE. 
 
 people may, through the influence of education, 
 by the leadings of purer knowledge, and by the 
 festerings of a paternal government, become the 
 pride, the strength, and support of the British 
 empire, instead of, as now, forming its weakness 
 and its reproach. 
 
 The reader may finally believe that these vo- 
 lumes contain probably a greater number of facts 
 than any other book ever published on Irish life. 
 The Author's acquaintance with the people was so 
 intimate and extensive, and the state of Ireland 
 so unsettled, that he had only to take incidents 
 which occurred under his eye, and by fictitious 
 names and localities, exhibit through their medium, 
 the very prejudices and manners which produced 
 the incidents themselves. 
 
 In the language and expressions of the northern 
 peasantry he has studiously avoided local idiom, 
 and that intolerable Scoto-Hibernic jargon which 
 pierces the ear so unmercifully ; but he has pre- 
 served every thing Irish, and generalized the 
 phraseology, so that the book, wherever it may 
 go, will exhibit a truly Hibernian spirit. 
 
 In the beginning of the first volume there will 
 be remarked a greater portion of the Doric than 
 perhaps will be relished ; the Author, however, by 
 the advice of a judicious friend, has changed this 
 ere more than a few pages were printed, and made
 
 PREFACE. ix 
 
 his characters — ^without being less idiomatic — 
 speak less broadly. 
 
 It depends on the patronage which the Public 
 may bestow on these volumes, whether other at- 
 tempts, made under circumstances less discourag- 
 ing, and for which there are ample materials, calcu- 
 lated to exhibit Irish life in a manner, perhaps, more 
 practically useful, shall be proceeded with. 
 
 Dublin^ \st March, 1830.
 
 NED M«KEOWN.
 
 TRAITS AI?i) .STOFJE3; 
 
 OF .THE . , , ^, ,-, 
 
 IRISH PEASANTRY 
 
 NED M'KEOWN. 
 
 Ned M'Keown's house stood exactly in an angle, 
 formed by the cross-roads of Kilrudden. It was a 
 long, whitewashed building, well thatched, and 
 furnished with the usual appurtenances of yard 
 and offices. Like most Irish houses of the better 
 sort, it had two doors, one opening into a garden 
 that sloped down from the rear in a southern 
 direction. The barn was a continuation of the 
 dwelling-house, and might be distinguished from it 
 by a darker shade of colour, being only rough-cast. 
 It was situated on a small eminence, but, with re- 
 spect to the general locality of the country, in a 
 delightful vale, which runs up, for twelve or four- 
 teen miles, between two ranges of dark, well-de- 
 fined mountains, that give to the interjacent coun- 
 
 B
 
 5* NED M'KEOWN. 
 
 try the form of a low, inverted arch. This valley, 
 which altogethei;,, alio wing for the occasional breaks 
 and irite^sectioKii: of liill-j-anges, extends upwards 
 of thirty mil^s in Jepjgth, .is tlp^e celebrated valley 
 of the I"; Black", Pig, "".so ;\» 61) known in the politico- 
 traditional history ,of Ireland, and the legends con- 
 nected' if ith; the iafaiou^ l^eal Dearg. That part of 
 it where Ned M'Keown resided was peculiarly 
 beautiful and romantic. From the eminence on 
 which the house stood, a sweep of the most fertile 
 meadow-land stretched away to the foot of a se- 
 ries of intermingled hills and vales, which bounded 
 this extensive carpet towards the nofth. Through 
 these meadows ran a smooth river, called the 
 Mullin-hurn, which wound its way through them 
 with such tortuosity, that it was proverbial in the 
 neighbourhood to say of any man remarkable for 
 dishonesty, " he's as crooked as the MuUin-bum," 
 — an epithet which was sometimes, although un- 
 justly, applied to Ned himself. This deep but 
 narrow river had its origin in the glens and ra- 
 vines of a mountain which bounded the vale in a 
 south-eastern direction; and after sudden and heavy 
 rains, it tumbled down with such violence and 
 impetuosity over the crags and rock-ranges in its 
 way, and accumulated so amazingly, that on 
 reaching the meadows, it inundated their surface, 
 carrying away sheep, cows, and cocks of hay,
 
 NED M^KEOWN. » 
 
 upon its yellow flood. It also boiled, and eddied, 
 and roared with a hoarse sughy that was heard at 
 a considerable distance. 
 
 On the north-west side ran a ridge of high hills, 
 with the cloud-capped peak of Knockmany rising 
 in lofty eminence above them : these, as they ex- 
 tended towards the south, became gradually deep- 
 er in their hue, until at length they assumed the 
 shade and form of heath-clad mountains, dark and 
 towering. The prospect on either range is highly 
 pleasing, and capable of being compared with any 
 I have ever seen, in softness, variety, and that 
 serene lustre which reposes only on the surface 
 of a country rich in the beauty of fertility, and 
 improved by the hand of industry and taste. Op- 
 posite Knockmany, at a distance of about four 
 miles, on the south-eastern side, rose the huge 
 and dark outline of CuUimore, standing out in 
 gigantic relief against the clear blue of a summer 
 sky, and flinging down his frowning and haughty 
 shadow, almost to the firm-set base of his lofty 
 rival ; or, in winter, wrapped in a mantle of clouds, 
 and crowned with unsullied snow, reposing in un- 
 disturbed tranquillity, whilst the loud voice of 
 storms howled around him. 
 
 To the northward, immediately behind CuUi- 
 more, lies Althadhawan, a deep, craggy, precipit- 
 ous glen, running up to its very base, and stud- 
 
 B 2
 
 4 NED M'KEOWN. 
 
 ded with oak, hazel, rowan-tree, and holly. Thi» 
 picturesque glen extends two or three miles, until 
 it melts into the softness of grove and meadow, 
 in the rich landscape below. Then, again, on the 
 opposite side, is Lumford's Glen, with its over- 
 hanging rocks, whose yawning depth and silver 
 waterfall, of one hundred and fifty feet, are at 
 once finely and fearfully contrasted with the ele- 
 vated peak of Knockmany, rising into the clouds 
 above it. 
 
 From either side of these mountains may be 
 seen six or eight country towns — the beautiful 
 grouping of hill and plain, lake, river, grove, and 
 dell — the grey reverend cathedral, the white- 
 washed cottage, and the comfortable farm-house. 
 To these may be added the wild upland and the 
 cultivated demesne, the green sheep-walk, the 
 dark moor, the splendid mansion, and ruined cas- 
 tle of former days. Delightful remembrance ! 
 Many a day, both of sunshine and storm, have I, 
 in the strength and pride of happy youth, bounded, 
 fleet as the mountain roe, over these blue hills ! 
 Many an evening, as the yellow beams of the 
 setting sun shot slantingly, like rafters of gold, 
 across the depth of this blessed and peaceful val- 
 ley, have I followed, in solitude, the impulses of 
 a wild and wayward fancy, and sought the quiet 
 dell, or viewed the setting sun, as he scattered his
 
 NED M'EEOWN. 5 
 
 glorious and shining beams through the glowing 
 foliage of the trees, in the vista where I stood ; 
 or wandered along the river, whose banks were 
 fringed with the hanging willow, whilst I listened 
 to tie thrush singing among the hazels that 
 crowned the sloping green above me, or watched 
 the plashing otter, as he ventured from the dark 
 angles and intricacies of the upland glen, to seek 
 his prey in the meadow-stream during the favour- 
 able dusk of twilight. Many a time have I heard 
 the simple song of Roger M'Cann, coming from 
 the top of brown Dunroe, mellowed, by the still- 
 ness of the hour, to something far sweeter to the 
 heart than all that the laboured pomp of musical 
 art and science can effect ; or, the song of Kjiatrty ; , .. 
 Roy, the beauty of the villagej>^tf fining across 
 the purple-flowered moor, // >/\i"^* "OV 
 
 "Sweet as the shepherd's pipe vpon the iWmteins.** 
 
 Many a time, too, have I bee^^ratified^ in th^V'^^ 
 same poetical hour, by the sweet shtHt^^^n^fles*^*'*'^^ 
 Ned M'Keown's ungreased cart-wh€eis, clacking, 
 when nature seemed to have fallen asleep after 
 the day-stir and animation of rural business — for 
 Ned was sometimes a carman — on his return from 
 Dublm with a load of his own groceries, without 
 as much money in his pocket as would purchase 
 oil, wherewith to silence the sounds which the
 
 6 NED M'KEOWN. 
 
 friction produced — regaling his own ears the 
 while, as well as the music of the cart would per- 
 mit his melody to be heard, with his favourite 
 tune of Cannie Soogah. 
 
 Honest, blustering, good-humoured Nec^ was 
 tlie indefatigable merchant of the village ; ever 
 engaged in some ten or twenty pound speculation, 
 the capital of which he was sure to extort, per- 
 haps for the twelfth time, from the savings* of 
 Nancy's frugality, by the equivocal test of a month 
 or six weeks' consecutive sobriety, and which said 
 speculation he never failed to wind up by the to- 
 tal loss of the capital for Nancy, and the capital 
 loss of a broken head for himself. Ned had eter- 
 nally some bargain on his hands : at one time you 
 might see him a yarn-merchant, planted in the 
 next market-town, upon the upper step of Mr. 
 Bimie's hall-door, where the yarn-market was 
 held, surrounded by a crowd of eager country- 
 women, anxious to give Ned the preference — first, 
 because he was a well-wisher ; secondly, because 
 he hadn't his heart in the penny; and thirdly, 
 because he gave sixpence a spangle more than 
 any other man in the market. 
 
 There might Ned be found, with his twenty 
 pounds of hard silver jingling in the bottom of a 
 green bag, as a decoy to his customers, laughing 
 loud as he piled tlie yarn in an ostentatious heap,
 
 NED M'KEOWN. 7 
 
 which, in the pride of his commercial sagacity, 
 he had purchased at a dead loss. Again you 
 might see him at a horse-fair, cantering about on 
 the back of some sleek, but broken-winded jade, 
 with spavined legs, imposed on hira as " a great 
 bargain entirely," by the superior cunning of 
 some rustic sharper ; — or standing over a hogs- 
 head of damaged flaxseed, in the purchase of 
 which he shrewdly suspected himself of having 
 overreached the seller, by allowing him for it a 
 greater price than the prime seed of the market 
 would have cost him. In short, Ned was never 
 out of a speculation, and whatever he undertook 
 was sure to prove a complete failure. But he had 
 one mode of consolation, which consisted in sit- 
 ting down with the fag-ends of Nancy's capital in 
 his pocket, and drinking night and day with this 
 neighbour and that, whilst a shilling remained ; 
 and when he found himself at the end of his 
 tether, he was sure to fasten a quarrel on some 
 friend or acquaintance, and to get his head broken 
 for his pains. 
 
 None of all this blustering, however, happened 
 within the range of Nancy's jurisdiction. Ned, 
 indeed, might drink and sing, and swagger and 
 fight — and he contrived to do so ; but notwith- 
 standing all his apparent courage, there was one 
 eye which made him quail, and before which he
 
 8 NED M'KEOWN. 
 
 never put on the hector ; — there was one, m 
 whose presence the loudness of his song would 
 fall away into a very awkward and unmusical 
 quaver, and under whose glance his laughing face 
 often changed to the visage of a man who is dis- 
 posed to any thing but mirth. 
 
 The fact was this : Whenever Ned found that 
 his speculation was gone a shaugliran,^ as he termed 
 it, he fixed himself in some favourite public-house, 
 from whence he seldom stirred while his money 
 lasted, except when dislodged by Nancy, who 
 usually, upon learning where he had taken cover, 
 paid him an unceremonious visit, to which Ned's 
 indefensible delinquency gave the colour of legi- 
 timate authority. Upon these occasions, Nancy, 
 accompanied by two sturdy servant-men, would 
 sally forth to the next market-town, for the pur- 
 pose of bringing home " graceless Ned," as she 
 called him. And then you might see Ned between 
 the two servants, a few paces in advance of Nancy, 
 having very much the appearance of a man 
 performing a pilgrimage to the gallows, or of a 
 deserter guarded back to his barrack, in order to 
 become a target for the musquets of his comrades. 
 Ned's compulsory return always became a matter 
 of some notoriety ; for Nancy's excursion in quest 
 of the " graceless' was not made without frequent 
 denunciations of wrath against him, and many 
 • Gone astray.
 
 NED M'KEOWN. 9 
 
 melancholy apologies to the neighbours for enter- 
 ing upon the task of personally securing him. 
 By this means her enterpries was sure to get wind, 
 and a mob of all the idle y oung men and bare- 
 footed urchins of the village, with Bob M'Cann, 
 ** a three-quarter clift,^'* or mischievous fellow, 
 half knave, half fool, was to be found a little below 
 the village, upon an elevation of the road that 
 commanded a level stretch of half a mile or so, 
 in anxious expectation of the procession. No 
 sooner had this arrived at the point of observation, 
 than the little squadron would fall rereward of the 
 principal group, for the purpose of extracting from 
 Nancy a full and particular account of the capture. 
 " Indeed, childher, it's no wonder for yees to 
 enquire ! Where did I get him, Dick ? — musha, 
 and where would I get him but in the ould place, 
 a-hagur ; with the ould set : don't yees know that 
 a dacent place or dacent company wouldn't sarve 
 Ned? — nobody but Shane Martin, and Jimmy 
 Tague, and the other blackguards." 
 
 " And what will you do with him, Nancy ?" 
 " Och ! thin, Dick, avourneen, it's myself that's 
 jist tired thinking of that ; at any rate, consuming 
 to the loose foot he'll get this blessed month to 
 come, Dick, agra !" 
 
 • This is equal to the proverb — "he wants a square," that 
 i». though knavish not thoroughly rational. 
 
 B 3
 
 10 NED M*KEOWN. 
 
 " Throth, Nancy," another mischievous monkey- 
 would exclaim, " if you hadn't great patience 
 entirely you couldn't put up with such thratment, 
 at all at all." 
 
 " Why thin, God knows, it's true for you, Bar- 
 ney. D'ye hear that * graceless ?' the very 
 childher making a laughing-stock and a may game 
 of you ! — but wait till we get under the roof, any 
 how." 
 
 " Ned," a third would say, " isn't it a burning 
 shame for you to break the poor crathur's heart, 
 this a-way ? Throth, but you ought to hould 
 down your head, sure enough — a dacent woman ! 
 that only for her you wouldn't have a house over 
 you, so you wouldn't." 
 
 "And throth and the same house is going, 
 Tim," Nancy would exclaim, " and when it goes, 
 let him see thin who'll do for him : let him try 
 if his blackguards will stand to him, whin he 
 won't have poor foolish Nancy at his back." 
 
 During these conversations, Ned would walk 
 on between his two guards, with a dogged-looking 
 and condemned face, Nancy behind him, with 
 his own cudgel, ready to administer an occa- 
 sional bang, whenever he attempted to slacken 
 his pace, or throw over his shoulder a growl of 
 dissent or justification. 
 
 On getting near home, the neighbours would
 
 NED M^KEOWN. 11 
 
 occasionally pop out their heads, with a smile of 
 good-humoured satire on their faces, which Nancy- 
 was very capable of translating : 
 
 "Ay," she would say, addressing them, "I've 
 caught him — here he is to the fore. Indeed you 
 niay well laugh, Katty RafFerty ; not a one of 
 myself blames you for it. — Ah, ye mane erathur," 
 aside to Ned, " if you had the blood of a hen in 
 you, you wouldn't have the neighbours braking 
 their hearts laughing at you in sich a way ; and 
 above all the people in the world, them RafFerty's, 
 that got the decree against us at the last sessions, 
 although I offered to pay within fifteen shillings 
 of the differ — the grubs !" 
 
 Having seen her hopeful charge safely depo- 
 sited on the hob, Nancy would throw her cloak 
 into this corner, and her bonnet into that, with 
 the air of a woman absorbed by the consideration 
 of some vexatious trial ; she would then sit down, 
 and, lighting her doodeen,^ exclaim, 
 
 " Wurrah, wurrah ! but it's me that's the heart- 
 scalded erathur with that man's four quarters ! 
 The Lord may help me, and grant me patience 
 with him, any way ! — to have my little, honest, 
 hard-earned, penny spint among a pack of yaga- 
 bonds, that don't care if him and me wor both 
 
 • A short pipe.
 
 12 NED M^KEOWN. 
 
 down the river, so they could get their skinful of 
 drink out of him. No matther, agra ! things 
 can't long be this a-way ; — but what does Ned 
 care? — give him drink and fighting, and his 
 blackguards about him, and that's his glory. 
 There now's the landlord coming down upon us 
 for the rint, and unless he takes the cows out of 
 the byre, or the bed from anundher us, what in 
 the wide earth is there for him ?" 
 
 The current of this lecture was never inter- 
 rupted by a single observation from Ned, who 
 usually employed himself in silently playing with 
 " Bunty," a little black cur, without a tail, and a 
 great favourite with Nancy ; or, if he noticed any 
 thing out of its place in the house, he would ar- 
 range it with great apparent care. In the mean 
 time Nancy's v/rath generally evaporated with the 
 smoke of the pipe — a circumstance which Ned 
 well knew ; — for after she had sucked it until it 
 emitted a shrill-bubbling sound, like that from a 
 reed, her brows, which wore at other times an ha- 
 bitual frown, would gradually relax into a more 
 benevolent expression — the parenthetical curves 
 on each side of her mouth, formed by the irascible 
 pursing o-f her lips, would become less marked — 
 the dog or cat, or whatever else came in her way, 
 instead of being kicked aside, or pursued in an 
 underfit of digressional peevishness, would be put
 
 NED M'KEOWN. 13 
 
 out of her path with gentler force — so that it was, 
 in such circumstances, a matter of little difficulty 
 to perceive that conciliation would soon be the or- 
 der of the day. Ned's conduct on these critical 
 occasions was very prudent and commendable ; 
 he still gave Nancy her own way, never "jawed 
 back to her," but took shelter, as it were, under 
 his own patience, until the storm had passed, and 
 the sun of her good-humour began to shine again. 
 Nancy herself^ now softened by the fumes of her 
 own pigtail, usually made the first overtures to a 
 compromise, but without departing from the prac- 
 tice and principles of higher negociators — -always 
 in an indirect manner ; as, " Judy, avourneen, 
 (speaking to the servant) may be that crathur, 
 pointing to Ned, ate nothing to-day ; you had bet- 
 ter, agra, get him the could bacon that's in the 
 cupboard, and warm for him, upon the greeshaugh*, 
 them yallow-legs,\ that's in the colindher, though 
 God he knows it's ill my common+ — but no mat- 
 ther, ahagur, there's enough said, I'm thinking — 
 give them to him." 
 
 On Ned seating himself to his bacon and pota- 
 toes, Nancy would light another pipe, and plant 
 herself on the opposite hob, putting some inter- 
 
 * Hot embers. -f A kind of potato. 
 
 X It's ill becoming— or it ill becomes me.
 
 14 NED M'KEOWN. 
 
 rogatory to him, in the way of business — always 
 concerning a third person, and still in a tone of 
 dry ironical indifference ; as, 
 
 *' Did you see Jimmy Connolly on your tra- 
 vels r 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Humph ! Can you tell us if Andy Morrow 
 sould his coult ?" 
 
 " He did." 
 
 " Maybe, you have gumption enough to know 
 what he got for him ?" 
 
 " Fifteen guineas." 
 
 " In throth, and it's mttre nor a poor body would . 
 get ; but, any way, Andy Morrow desarves to get 
 a good price ; he's a man that takes care of his 
 own business, and minds nothing else. I wish 
 that filly of ours was dockt ; you ought to spake 
 to Jim M'Quade about her : it's time to make 
 her up — you know we'll want to sell her for the 
 rinL" 
 
 This was an assertion, by the way, which Ned 
 knew to have eveiy thing but truth in it. 
 
 " Never heed the filly," Ned would reply, "Til 
 get Charley Lawdher to dock her — but it's not 
 her I'm thinking of: did you hear the news about 
 the tobacky ?" 
 
 " No, but I hope we won't be long so."
 
 NED M'KEOWN. 15 
 
 " Well, any how, we wor in luck to buy in them 
 three last rowls." 
 
 " Eh ? in luck ! death-alive, how, Ned ?" 
 
 " Sure there was three ships of it lo last week, 
 on their way from the kingdom of Swuzzerland, 
 in the Aist Indians, where it grows : we can raise 
 it thruppence a-pound now." 
 
 " No, Ned ! you're not in arnest ?" 
 
 " Nancy, you may say I am ; and as soon as 
 Tom Loan comes home from Dublin, he'll tell us 
 all about it ; and for that matther, maybe, it 
 may rise sixpence a-pound : any how we'll gain a 
 lob by it, I'm thinking." 
 
 " May I never stir ! but that's luck ; well, Ned, 
 you may thank me for that, any way, or not a 
 row! we'd have in the four corners of the house — 
 and you wanted to pursuade me against buying 
 thim; but I knew betther — for the tobacky's al- 
 ways sure to get a bit of a hitch at this time o' 
 the year." 
 
 " Bedad, you can do it, Nancy, I'll say that for 
 you — that's and give you your own way." 
 
 " Eh ! can't I, Ned ? — and what was betther, I 
 bate down Pether M*Entee three-ha'pence a-pound 
 afther I bought them." 
 
 " Ha I ha ! ha ! by my sannies, Nancy, as to 
 market-making, they may all throw their caps at
 
 16 NED M'KEOWN. 
 
 you, you thief o' the world ; you can do them 
 nately." 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha! Stop, Ned, don't drink that 
 water — it's not from the rock well ; I'll jist mix a 
 sup of this last stuff we got from the mountains, 
 till you taste it : I think it's not worse nor the 
 last — for Hugh Traynor s an ould hand at making 
 it." 
 
 This was all Ned wanted ; his point was now 
 carried : but with respect to the rising of the to- 
 bacco, the less that is said about that the better 
 for his veracity. 
 
 Having thus given the reader a slight sketch of 
 Ned and Nancy, and of the beautiful valley in 
 which this worthy speculator had his residence, I 
 shall next proceed to introduce him to the village 
 circle, which, during the long winter nights, might 
 be found in front of Ned's kitchen fire of blazing 
 turf, whose light was given back in ruddy reflec- 
 tion from the bright pewter plates, that were 
 ranged upon the white and well-scoured dresser 
 in just and gradual order, from the small egg- 
 plate to the large and capacious dish, whereon, at 
 Christmas and Easter, the substantial round of 
 corned beef used to rear itself so proudly over 
 the more ignoble joints at the lower end of the 
 table.
 
 NED M'KEOWN. 17 
 
 Seated in this clear-obscure of domestic light, 
 which, after all, gives the heart a finer and more 
 touching notion of enjoyment than the glitter of 
 the theatre or the blaze of tlie saloon, might be 
 found — first, Andy Morrow, the juryman of the 
 quarter-sessions, sage and important in the con- 
 sciousness of legal knowledge, and somewhat dic- 
 tatorial withal in its application to such knotty 
 points as arose out of the subjects of their noc- 
 turnal debates. Secondly, Bob Gott, who filled 
 the foreign and military departments, and related 
 the wonderful history of the ghost which appear- 
 ed to him on the night after the battle of Bunker's- 
 hill. To him succeeded Tom M'Roarkin, the 
 little asthmatic anecdotarian of half the country, 
 remarkable for chuckling at his own stories. Then 
 came old Bill M'Kinny, poacher and horse- 
 jockey ; little, squeaking, thin-faced Alick M'Kin- 
 ley, a facetious farmer of substance ; and Shane 
 Fadh, who handed down traditions and fairy-tales. 
 Entlironed on one hob sat Pat Frayne, the school- 
 master with the short arm, who read and explain- 
 ed the newspaper for " Ould Square Colwell," and 
 was looked upon as premier to the aforesaid ca- 
 binet ; — Ned himself filled the opposite seat of 
 honour. 
 
 One night, a little before the Christmas holi- 
 days, in the year 18 — , the personages just de-
 
 i8 NED M'KEOWN. 
 
 scribed were seated around Ned'S fire, some with 
 their chirping pints of ale or porter, and others 
 with their quantum of Hugh Traynor, or moun- 
 tain-dew, and all with good-humour and a strong 
 tendency to happiness visible in their faces. The 
 night was dark, close, and misty — so dark, indeed, 
 that, as Nancy said, " you could hardly see your 
 finger before you." Ned himself was full of fun, 
 with a pint of porter beside him, and a pipe in 
 his mouth, just in his glory for the night. Oppo- 
 site to him was Pat Frayne, with an old news- 
 paper on his knee, which he had just perused for 
 the edification of his audience; beside him was 
 Nancy, busily employed in knitting a pair of 
 sheep's-grey stockings for Ned: the remaining 
 personages formed a semicircular ring about the 
 hearth. Behind, on the kitchen-table, sat Paddy 
 Smith, the servant man, with three or four of the 
 gorsoons of the village about him, engaged in a 
 little under-plot of their own. On the other side, 
 and a little removed from the light, sat Ned's two 
 nieces, Biddy and Bessy Connolly, the former 
 with Atty Johnston's mouth within whisper-reach 
 of her ear, and the latter seated close to her pro- 
 fessed admirer, Billy Fulton, her uncle's shopman. 
 This group was completely abstracted from the 
 entertainment which was going forward in the 
 circle round the fire.
 
 NED M^KEOWN. 19 
 
 "I wondher," said Andy Morrow, "what makes 
 Joe M'Crea throw down that fine ould castle of 
 his, in Aughentain ?" 
 
 " I'm tould," said M'Roarkin, "that he expects 
 money ; for they say there's a lot of it buried 
 somewhere about the same building." 
 
 " Jist as much as there's in my wig," replied 
 Shane Fadh, " and there's ne'er a pocket to it yet. 
 Why, bless your sowl, how could there be money 
 in it, whin the last man of the Grameses that 
 ow'd it — I mane of the ould stock, afore it went 
 into Lord Mountjoy's hands — sould it out, ran 
 through the money, and died begging afther. 
 Did none of you ever hear of 
 
 Ould John Grame, 
 
 * That swally'd the castle of Aughentain !' " 
 
 " That was long afore my time," said the poach- 
 er ; " but I know that the rabbit-burrow between 
 that and Jack Appleton's garden will soon be run 
 out." 
 
 " Your time !" responded Shane Fadh, with 
 contempt ; " ay, and your father's afore you : mi/ 
 father doesn't remimber more nor seeing his fu- 
 neral, and a merry one it was ; for my grandfa- 
 ther, and some of them that had a respect for the 
 family and his forbarers, if they hadn't it for him- 
 self, made up as much money among them as
 
 20 NED M'KEOWN 
 
 berried him dacently, any how — ay, and gave hiniy 
 a rousin' wake into the bargain, with lashins of 
 whiskey, stout beer, and ale ; for in them times — 
 God be with them — every farmer brewed his own 
 ale and beer ; — more betoken, that one pint of it 
 was worth a keg of this wash of yours, Ned." 
 
 " Wasn't it he that used to appear ?" enquired 
 M'Roarkin. 
 
 " Sure enough he did, Tom." 
 
 " Lord save us," said Nancy, " what could trou- 
 ble him, I dunna?" 
 
 "Why," continued Shane Fadh, "some said 
 one thing, and some another ; but the upshot of 
 it was this : when the last of the Grameses sould 
 the estate, castle and all, it seems he didn't resave 
 all the purchase money ; so, afther he had spint 
 what he got, he applied to the purchaser for the 
 remainder — him that the Mountjoy family bought 
 it from ; but it seems he didn't draw up writings, 
 or sell it according to law, so that the thief o' the 
 world baffled him from day to day, and wouldn't 
 give him a penny — bekase he knew, the blaggard, 
 that the Square was then as poor as a church 
 mouse, and hadn't money enough to thry it at law 
 with him ; but the Square was always a simple 
 asy-going man. One day he went to this fellow, 
 riding on an ould garran, with a shoe loose — the 
 only baste he had in the world — and axed him, for
 
 NED M'KEOWN. 21 
 
 God's sake, to give him some of what he owed 
 him, if it was ever so little ; * for,' says he, * I have 
 not as much money betune me and death as will 
 get a set of shoes for my horse.' 
 
 " * Well,' says the nager, * if you're not able to 
 keep your horse shod, I would jist recommend you 
 to sell him, and thin his shoes won't cost you any 
 thing,' says he. 
 
 " The ould Square went away with tears in his 
 eyes, for he loved the poor brute, bekase they 
 wor the two last branches of the ould stock." 
 
 " Why," inquired M'Kinley, in his small squeak- 
 ing voice, " was the horse related to the family ?" 
 
 " I didn't say he was related to the fam Get 
 
 out, you shingaun /"* returned the old man, per- 
 ceiving by the laugh that now went round, the sly 
 tendency of the question — " no, not to your fa- 
 mily either, for he had nothing of the ass in him 
 —eh ? will ye put that in your pocket my little 
 skinadhre\ — ha I ha ! ha ! 
 
 The laugh was now turned against M^Kinley. 
 
 Shane Fadh proceeded : " The ould Square, as 
 I was tellin' yees, cried to find himself an* the 
 poor baste so dissolute ; but when he had gone a 
 bit from the fellow, he comes back to the vaga- 
 bone — * Now/ says he, * mind my words — if you 
 
 • Fairy -like, or connected with the fairies. 
 -J- A thin, fleshless, stunted person.
 
 22 NED M^EOWN. 
 
 happen to live afther me, you need never expect 
 a night's pace ; for I here make a serous an' so- 
 lemn vow, that as long as my property's in your 
 possession, or in any of your seed, breed, or gi- 
 neration's, I'll never give over hauntin' you an' 
 them, till you'll rue to the back-bone your disho- 
 nesty an' chathery to me an' this poor baste, that 
 hasn't a shoe to its foot.' 
 
 " ' Well,' says the nager, ' TU take chance of 
 that, any way.* " 
 
 " I'm tould, Shane," observed the poacher, " that 
 the Square was a fine man in his time, that wouldn't 
 put up with such thratement from any body." 
 
 '*Ay, but he was ould now," Shane replied, 
 " and too wakely to fight. — A fine man. Bill I — he 
 was the finest man, 'cepting ould Square Storey, 
 that ever was in this counthry. I hard my gran- 
 father often say that he was six feet four, and made 
 in proportion-— a handsome, black-a-vis'd* man, 
 with great dark whiskers. Well ! he spint money 
 like sklates, and so he died miserable — but had a 
 merry birrel, as I said." 
 
 " But," inquired Nancy, " did he ever appear 
 to the rogue that chated him ?" 
 
 " Every night in the year, Nancy, exceptin' 
 Sundays; and what was more, the horse along 
 
 • Black-visaged.
 
 NED M'KEOWN. 23 
 
 "mth. him — for he used to come ridin' at midnight 
 upon the same garran ; and it was no matther what 
 place or company the other 'ud be in, the ould 
 Square would come reglariy, and crave him for 
 what he owed him." 
 
 " So it appears that horses have sowls," ob- 
 served M'Roarkin, philosophically, giving, at the 
 same time, a cynical chuckle at the sarcasm of 
 his own conceit. 
 
 " Whether they have sowls or bodies," replied 
 the narrator, '' what I'm tellin' you is thruth ; 
 every night in the year the ould chap would come 
 for what was indue him ; and as the two went 
 along, the noise of the loose shoe upon the horse 
 would be hard rattlin', and seen knockin' the fire 
 out of the stones, by the neighbours and the thief 
 that chated him, even before the Square would 
 appear, at all at all." 
 
 " Oh, wurrah !" exclaimed Nancy, shuddering 
 with terror, " I wouldn't take any thing, and be 
 out now on the Drumfurrar road, and nobody 
 with me but myself." 
 
 " I think if you wor," said M'Kinley, " the light 
 weights and short measures would be comin' acrass 
 your conscience." 
 
 " No, in throth, Alick, wouldn't they ; but may- 
 be if 1/ou wor, the promise you broke to Sally 
 Mitchell might trouble you a bit : at any rate, I've
 
 24 NED M'KEOWN. 
 
 a prayer, and if I only repated it wanst, I mightn't 
 be afeard of all the divils in hell." 
 
 " Throth, but it's worth havin', Nancy : where 
 did you get it?" asked M'Kinley. 
 
 " Hould your wicked tongue, you thief of a 
 heretic,'' said Nancy, laughing, " when will ijou 
 lam any thing that's good ? I got it from one 
 that wouldn't have it if it vxisnt good — Darby 
 M'Murt, the pilgrim, since you must know." 
 
 " Whisht I" said Frayne : " upon my word, I 
 blieve the ould Square's comin' to pay us a visit ; 
 does any of yees hear a horse trottin' with a shoe 
 loose ?" 
 
 " I sartinly hear it," observed Andy Morrow. 
 
 " And I," said Ned himself. 
 
 There was now a general pause, and in the si- 
 lence a horse, proceeding from the moors in the 
 direction of the house, was distinctly heard ; and 
 nothing could be less problematical than that one 
 of his shoes was loose. 
 
 " Boys, take care of yourselves," said Shane 
 Fadh, " if the Square comes, he won't be a plea- 
 sant customer — he was a terrible fellow in his 
 day : I'll hould goold to silver that he'll have the 
 smell of brimstone about him." 
 
 " Nancy, where's your prayer tww T said 
 M'Kinley, with a grin ; " I think you had betther
 
 NED M'KEOWN. 25 
 
 out with it, and thry if it keeps this ould brim- 
 stone Square on the wrong side of the house.'* 
 
 " Behave yourself, Alick ; it's a shame for you 
 to be sich a hardened crathur : upon my sannies, 
 I blieve you're afeard of neither God nor the di- 
 vil — the Lord purtect and guard us from the dirty 
 baste!" 
 
 " You mane particklarly them that uses short 
 measures and light weights," rejoined M'Kinley. 
 
 There was another pause, for the horseman was 
 within a few perches of the cross-roads. At this 
 moment an unusual gust of wind, accompanied by 
 torrents of rain, burst against the house with a vi- 
 olence that made its ribs creak ; and the stranger's 
 horse, the shoe still clanking, was distinctly heard 
 to turn in from the road to Ned's door, where it 
 stopped, and the next moment, a loud knocking 
 intimated the horseman's intention to enter. The 
 company now looked at each other, as if uncertain 
 what to do. Nancy herself grew pale, and, in the 
 agitation of the moment, forgot to think of her 
 protecting prayer. Biddy and Bessy Connolly 
 started from the Settle on which they had been 
 sitting with their sweethearts, and sprung beside 
 their uncle, on the hob. The stranger was still 
 knocking with great violence, yet there was no dis- 
 position among the company to admit him, not- 
 withstanding the severity of the night — blowing,
 
 26 NED M'KEOWN. 
 
 as it really did, a perfect hurricane. At length a 
 sheet of lightning flashed through the house, fol- 
 lowed by an amazing loud clap of thunder ; while, 
 with a sudden push from without, the door gave 
 way, and in stalked a personage whose stature was 
 at least six feet four, with dark eyes and com- 
 plexion, and coal-black whiskers of an enormous 
 size, the very image of the Squire they had been 
 describing. He was dressed in a long black sur- 
 tout, which made him appear even taller than he 
 actually was, had a pair of heavy boots upon him, 
 and carried a tremendous whip, large enough to 
 fell an ox. He was in a rage on entering ; and the 
 heavy, dark, close-knit brows, from beneath which 
 a pair of eyes, equally black, shot actual fire, and 
 the Turk-like whiskers, which curled themselves 
 up, as it were, in sympathy with his fury, joined 
 to his towering height, gave him altogether, when 
 we consider the frame of mind in which he found 
 the company, an appalling and almost supernatu- 
 ral appearance. 
 
 "Confound you, for a knot of lazy scoundrels," 
 exclaimed the stranger, "why do you sit here so 
 calmly, while any being craves admittance on such 
 a night as this ? Here, you lubber in the corner, 
 with the pipe in your mouth, come and put up this 
 horse of mine until the night settles." 
 
 "May the blessed Mother purtect us!" exclaimed
 
 NED M'KEOWN. 27 
 
 Nancy, in a whisper to Andy Morrow, " if I blieve 
 he's a right thing ! — would it be the ould Square ? 
 Did you ever set your eyes upon sich a" 
 
 " Will you bestir yourself, you boor, and not 
 keep my horse and saddle out under such a tor- 
 rent ?" he cried, " otherwise I must only bring him 
 into the house, and then you may say for once that 
 you've had the devil under your roof." 
 
 " Paddy Smith, you lazy spalpeen," said Nancy, 
 winking at Ned to have nothing to do with the 
 horse, " why don't you fly and put up the gintle- 
 man's horse ? And you, Atty, avourneen, jist go 
 out with him, and hould the candle while he's do- 
 in' it : be quick now, and I'll give you glasses a- 
 piece when you come in." 
 
 " Let them put him up quickly ; but I say, you 
 Caliban," added the stranger, addressing Smith, 
 " don't be rash about him, except you can bear 
 fire and brimstone ; — get him, at all events, a good 
 feed of oats. — Poor Satan !" he continued, patting 
 the horse's head, which was now within the door, 
 " you have had a hard night of it, my poor Satan, 
 as well as myself. That's my dark spirit — my brave 
 chuck, that fears neither man nor devil." 
 
 This language was by no means calculated to 
 allay the suspicions of those who were present, 
 particularly of Nancy and her two nieces. Ned 
 sat in astonishment, with the pipe in his hand,
 
 28 NED M'KEOWN. 
 
 which he had, in the surprise of the moment, ta- 
 ken from his mouth, his eyes fixed upon the stran- 
 ger, and his mouth open. The latter noticed him, 
 and, stretching over the heads of the circle, tapped 
 him on the shoulder with his whip : — 
 
 " I have a few words fo say to you. Sir," he said. 
 
 " To me, your honour !" exclaimed Ned, with- 
 out stirring, however. 
 
 " Yes," replied the other, " but you seem to be 
 fastened to your seat : come this way." 
 
 " By all manner of manes Sir," said Ned, start- 
 ing up, and going over to the dresser, against 
 which the stranger stood. 
 
 WTien the latter had got him there, he very 
 coolly walked up, and secured Ned's comfortable 
 seat on the hob, at the same time observing — 
 
 " You hadn't the manners to ask me to sit 
 down ; but I always make it a point of conscience 
 to take care of myself, landlord." 
 
 There was not a man about the fire who did 
 not stand up, as if struck with a sudden recollec- 
 tion, and offer him a seat. 
 
 " No," said he, " thank you, my good fellows, I 
 am very well as it is : I suppose, Mistress, you 
 are the landlady," — addressing Nancy ; " if you 
 be, I'll thank you to bring me a gill of your best 
 whiskey — your best, mind. Lei it be as strong as 
 an evil spirit let loose, and as hot as fire ; for it
 
 NED M'KEOWN. 29 
 
 can't be a jot too ardent such a night as this, for 
 a being that rides the devil." 
 
 Nancy started up instinctively, exclaiming, " In- 
 deed, plase your honour's Reverence, I am the 
 landlady, as you say. Sir, sure enough ; but, the 
 Lawk save and guard us ! won't a gallon of raw 
 whiskey be too much for one man to drink ?" 
 
 " A gallon ! I only said a gill, my good hostess ; 
 bring me a gill ; — but I forget — I believe you have 
 no such measure in this country ; bring me a pint, 
 then." 
 
 Nancy now went into the bar, whither she gave 
 Ned a wink to follow her ; and truly was glad of 
 an opportunity of escaping from the prestiice of 
 the visitor. When there, she ejaculated, 
 
 " May the holy Mother keep and guard us, 
 Ned, but I'm afeard that's no Christian crathur, 
 at all at all ! Arrah, Ned, aroon, would he be 
 that ould Square Grame, that Shane Fadh maybe, 
 angered, by spakin' of him ?" 
 
 " Troth," said Ned, " myself doesn't know what 
 he is ; he bates any mortal / ever seen." 
 
 " Well, hould, agra ! I have it : we'll see whe- 
 ther he'll drink this or not, any how." 
 
 " Why, what's that you're doin' ?" asked Ned. 
 
 " Jist," replied Nancy, " mixin' the smallest taste 
 in the world of holy wather with the whiskey, and
 
 30 NED M'KEOWN. 
 
 if he drinks tkaty you know he can be nothing 
 that's bad." 
 
 Nancy, however, did not perceive that the tre- 
 pidation of her hand was such as to incapacitate 
 her from making nice distinctions in the admix- 
 ture. She now brought the spirits to the stnin- 
 ger, who no sooner took a mouthful of it, than he 
 immediately stopped it on its passage, and, fixing 
 his eyes earnestly on Nancy, squirted it into the 
 fire, and the next moment the whiskey was in a 
 blaze that seemed likely to set the chimney in 
 flames. 
 
 " Why, my honest hostess," he exclaimed, " do 
 you give this to me for whiskey ? Confound me, 
 but two-thirds of it is water ; and I have no no- 
 tion to pay for water when I want spirits : have 
 the goodness to exchange this, and get me some 
 better stuff, if you have it." 
 
 He again put the jug to his mouth, and having 
 taken a little, swallowed it :— " Why, I tell you, 
 woman, you must have made some mbtake ; one- 
 half of it is water." 
 
 Now, Nancy, from the moment he refused to 
 swallow the liquor, had been lock-jawed ; the fact 
 was, she thought that the devil himself, or old 
 Squire Graham, had got under her roof; and she 
 stood behind Ned, who was nearly as terrified as 
 herself, with her hands raised, her tongue cling-
 
 NED M'KEOWN. 31 
 
 ing to the roof of hei* mouth, and the perspiration 
 falling from her pale face in large drops. But as 
 soon as she saw him swallow a portion of that 
 liquid, which she deemed beyond the deglutition 
 of ghost or devil, she instantly revived — her tongue 
 resumed its accustomed office — her courage, as 
 well as her good-humour, returned, and she went 
 up to him with great confidence, saying, — 
 
 " Why, then, your Reverence's honour, maybe 
 I did make a bit of a mistake. Sir," — taking up the 
 jug, and tasting its contents : " Hut ! bad scran 
 to me, but I did, beggin' your honour's pardon ; 
 how-an-diver, I'll soon rightify that, your Rever- 
 ence." 
 
 So saying, she went and brought him a pint of 
 the stoutest the house afforded. The stranger 
 drank a glass of it, and then ordered hot water 
 and sugar, adding, 
 
 " My honest friends here about the fire will have 
 no objection to help me with this ; but, on second 
 consideration, you had better get us another quart, 
 that, as the night is cold, we may have a jorum 
 at this pleasant fire, that will do our hearts good ; 
 and this pretty girl here," addressing Biddy, who 
 really deserved the epithet, " will sit beside me, 
 and give us a song." 
 
 It was surprising what an effect the punch, even 
 in perspective, had upon the visual organs of the
 
 32 NED M'KEOWN. 
 
 company ; — second sight was rather its precursor 
 than its attendant ; for, with intuitive penetration, 
 they now discovered various good qualities in his 
 ghostship, that had hitherto been beyond their ken ; 
 and those very personal properties which before 
 struck them dumb with terror, already called forth 
 their applause. 
 
 '^What a fine man he is !" one would whisper, 
 loud enough, however, to be heard by the object 
 of his panegyric. 
 
 " He is, indeed, and a rale gintleman," another 
 would respond, in the same key. 
 
 " Hut! he's none of your proud, stingy, upsthart 
 bodaghs* — none of your beggarly half-sirs," a third 
 would remark : " he's the dacent thing entirely — 
 you see he hasn't his heart in a thrifle." 
 
 " And so sign's on him," a fourth would add, 
 " he wasn't bred to shabbiness, as you may know 
 by his fine behaviour and his big whiskers." 
 
 When the punch was made, and the kitchen- 
 table placed endwise towards the fire, the stranger, 
 finding himself very comfortable, inquired if he 
 could be accommodated with a bed and supper, 
 to which Nancy replied in the affirmative. 
 
 "Then, in that case," said he, "I will be your 
 guest for the night. 
 
 * A person vulgar but rich, without any pretensions but 
 those of wealth to the character of a gentleman ; a churl.
 
 NED M'KEOWN. 33 
 
 Shane Fadh now took courage to repeat th6 
 story of old Squire Graham and his horse with 
 the loose shoe, informing the stranger, at the same 
 time, of the singular likeness which he bore to the 
 subject of the story, both in face and size, and 
 dwelling upon the remarkable coincidence in the 
 time and manner of his approach. 
 
 " Tut, man !" said the stranger, " a far more ex- 
 traordinary adventure happened to one of my fa- 
 ther's tenants, which, if none of you have any ob- 
 jection, I will relate." 
 
 There was a buzz of approbation at this ; and 
 they all thanked his honour, expressing the strong- 
 est desire to hear his story, He was just proceed- 
 ing to gratify them, w^hen another rap came to 
 the door, and, before any of the inmates had time 
 to open it, Father Neddy Deleery^ and his curate 
 made their appearance, having been on their way 
 home from a conference held in the town of M — , 
 eighteen miles from the scene of our present 
 story. 
 
 It may be right here to inform the reader, that 
 about two hundred yards from Ned's house, stood 
 a place of Roman Catholic worship, called " The 
 Forth," from the resemblance it bore to the Forts 
 or Raths, so common in Ireland. It was a small 
 green, perfectly circular, and about twenty yards 
 in diameter. Around it grew a row of old over- 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 NED M^KEOWN. 
 
 spreading hawthorns, whose branches formed a 
 canopy that almost shaded it from sun and storm. 
 Its area was encompassed by tiers of seats, one 
 raised above another, and covered with the flow- 
 ery grass. On these the congregation used to 
 sit — the young men probably swearing in a Rib- 
 bonman, or ogling their sweethearts on the oppo- 
 site side ; the old ones in little groups, discussing 
 the politics of the day, as retailed by Mick 
 M'CafFry, the politician ; while, up near the altar, 
 hemmed in by a ring of old men and women., 
 you might perceive a voteen, repeating some new 
 prayer or choice piece of devotion — or some 
 other, in a similar circle, perusing, in a loud 
 voice. Doctor Gallagher's Irish Sermons, Pasto- 
 rini's History of the Christian Church, or Co- 
 lumbkill's Prophecy — and, perhaps, a strolling 
 pilgrim, the centre of a third collection, singing 
 the Dies irccy in Latin, or the Hermit of Killar- 
 ney, in English. 
 
 At the extremity of this little circle was a plain 
 altar of wood, covered with a little thatched shed, 
 under which the priest celebrated mass ; but be- 
 fore the performance of this ceremony, a large 
 multitude usually assembled opposite Ned's shop- 
 door, at the cross-roads. This crowd consisted 
 of such as wanted to buy tobacco, candles, soap, 
 potash, and such other groceries as the peasantry
 
 NED M'KEOWN. 35 
 
 remote from market-towns require. After mass, 
 the public-house was filled to the door-posts, with 
 those who wished to get a sample of Nancy's 7^- 
 ka-behagh ;* and many a time has little Father 
 Neddy himself, of a frosty day, after having per- 
 formed mass with a celerity highly agreeable to 
 his auditory, come in to Nancy, nearly frost-bit- 
 ten, to get a toothful of mountain-dew, to drive 
 the cold out of his stomach. 
 
 The fact is, that Father Neddy Deleery made 
 himself quite at home at Ned's, without any re- 
 ference to Nancy's saving habits ; the conse- 
 quence was, that her welcome to him was ex- 
 tremely sincere — " from the teeth out." Father 
 Ned saw perfectly through her assumed hearti- 
 ness of manner, but acted as if the contrary was 
 the case : Nancy understood him also, and, with 
 an intention of making up by complaisance for 
 her niggardliness in other respects, was a perfect 
 honeycomb. This state of cross purposes, how- 
 ever, could not last long — neither did it. Father 
 Ned never paid, and Nancy never gave credit ; 
 so, at length, they came to an open rupture : she 
 threatened to process him for what he owed her, 
 and he, in return, threatened to remove the con- 
 gregation from "the Forth" to Ballymagowan- 
 
 • Usquebagh—Vii&YixWyj '•' v/ater of life." 
 
 d2
 
 36 NED M'KEOWN. 
 
 bridge, where he intended to set up his nephew, 
 Bill Buckley, in the " public line," to the ruin of 
 Nancy's flourishing establishment. 
 
 "Father Ned," said Nancy, "Tm a hard-work- 
 ing, honest woman, and I don't see why my sub- 
 stance is to be wasted by your Reverence, when 
 you wonH pay for it." 
 
 " And do you forget," Father Ned would re- 
 ply, " that it's me that brings you your custom ? 
 Don't you know that if I remove my flock to 
 Ballymagowan, you'll soon sing to another tune? 
 so lay that to your heart." 
 
 " Troth, I know that whatever I get I'm obliged 
 to pay for it; and I think every man should do 
 the same. Father Ned. You must get a hank of 
 yarn from me, and a bushel or two of oats from 
 Ned, and your riglar dues along with all; but, 
 avourneen, it's yourself that wouldn't raise your 
 hand over us if we wor in the last gasp, for all 
 that, without getting the silver." 
 
 " Salvation to me, but you'd skin a flint !'* 
 
 "Well, if I would, I pay my debts first'* 
 
 "You do?" 
 
 " Yes, troth, do I." 
 
 "Why then that's more than you'll be able to 
 do long, plase the fates." 
 
 " If all my customers wor like your Reverence, 
 it is."
 
 NED M'KEOWN. 37 
 
 "I'll tell you what it is, Nancy, I often threat- 
 ened to take the congregation from * The Forth," 
 and I'll do it — if I don't, may I never sup sor- 
 row!" 
 
 Big with such a threat. Father Neddy retired. 
 The apprehensions of Nancy on this point, how- 
 ever, were more serious than she was willing to 
 acknowledge. This dispute took place a few days 
 before the night in question. 
 
 Father Neddy was a little man, with a red face, 
 slender legs, and flat feet; he was usually cased 
 in a pair of ribbed minister's grey small-clothes, 
 with leggings of the same material. His coat, 
 which was much too short, rather resembled a 
 jerkin, and gave him altogether an appearance 
 very much at variance with an idea of personal 
 gravity or reverence. Over this dress he wore, 
 in winter, a dark great coat, with high collar, that 
 buttoned across his face, showing only the point 
 of his red nose ; so that, when riding or walking, 
 hi-s hat rested more upon the collar of his coat 
 than upon his head. 
 
 The Curate was a tall, raw-boned young man, 
 with high jutting cheek-bones, low forehead, and 
 close knees : to his shoulders, which were very 
 high, hung a pair of long bony arms, whose mo- 
 tions seemed rather the effect of machinery than 
 volition. Kis hair, which was a bad black, was
 
 38 NED M'KEOWN. 
 
 cropped close, and trimmed across his eyebrows ; 
 the small-clothes he wore were of the same web 
 which had produced Father Neddy's, and his 
 body-coat was a dark blue, with black buttons. 
 Each wore a pair of grey woollen mittens. 
 
 " There, Pether," said Father Ned, as he entered, 
 " hook my bridle along with your own, as your 
 hand is in. — God save all here ! Paddy Smith, 
 ma bouchal, put these horses in the stable, till we 
 dry ourselves a bit — Father Pether and I." 
 
 " Musha, but you're both welcome," said Nan- 
 cy, wishing to wipe out the effects of the last tift 
 with Father Neddy, by the assistance of the stran- 
 ger's punch : " will ye bounce, ye spalpeens, and 
 let them to the fire. Father Neddy, you're dhreep- 
 in' with the rain ; and. Father Pether, avourneen, 
 you're wet to the skin, too." 
 
 " Troth, and he is, Nancy, and a little bit far- 
 ther, if you knew but all — four tumblers, Ned — • 
 deuce a spudk* less. Mr. Morrow, how do you 
 do. Sir ? — And — eh ? — ^Who's this we've got in 
 the corner ? A gintleman, boys, if cloth can 
 make one ! Mr. Morrow, introduce me." 
 
 " Indeed, Father Ned, I haven't the pleasure of 
 knowin' the gintleman myself." 
 
 " Well, no matter — come' up, Pether. Sir, I have 
 
 • Drop — the least quantity.
 
 NED M'KEOWN. 39 
 
 the honour of introducing you to my curate and 
 coadjuthor, the Reverend Pether M'Clatchaghan, 
 and to myself, his excellent friend, but spiritual 
 superior, the Reverend Ned — hem ! — the Rever- 
 end Edward Deleery, Roman Catholic rector of 
 this highly respectable and extensive parish ; and 
 I have further the pleasure," he continued, taking 
 up Andy Morrow's punch, " of drinking your very 
 good health, Sir" 
 
 " And I have the honour," returned the stran- 
 ger, rising up, and driving his head among the 
 flitches of bacon that hung in the chimney, " ^f 
 introducing you and the Reverend Mr. M' — M' — 
 M^ " 
 
 " — Clatcheghan, Sir," subjoined Father Ned. 
 
 " Peter M'lUclatchaghan, to Mr. Longinus 
 
 Polysyllabus Alexandrinus." 
 
 " My word. Sir, but it's a good and appropriate 
 name, sure enough," said Father Ned, surveying 
 his enormous length : " success to me, but you're 
 an Alexandrine from head to foot — non solum Lon- 
 ginus, sed Alexandrinus^ 
 
 " You're wrong. Sir, in the Latin," said Father 
 Peter." 
 
 " Prove it, Pether — prove it." 
 
 " It should be non tantum. Sir." 
 
 " By what rule, Pether ?" 
 
 " Why, Sir, there's a phrase in Corderius's Col-
 
 40 NED M'KEOWN. 
 
 loquies that I could condimn you from, if I had 
 the book." 
 
 " Pether, you think you're a scholar, and, to do 
 you justice, you're cute enough sometimes ; but, 
 Pether, you didn't travel for it, as I did — nor were 
 you obliged to leap out of a college windy in Pa- 
 ris, at the time of the French Revolution, for your 
 larning, as I was : not you, man, you ate the king's 
 mutton comfortably at home in Maynooth, instead 
 of travelling for it, like your betters." 
 
 " I'll appale to this gintleman," said Father Pe- 
 ter, turning to the stranger. " Are you a classical 
 scholar. Sir — that is, do you understand Latin?'* 
 
 "What kind ?" demanded the stranger, dryly. 
 
 " If you have read Corderius's Colloquies, it 
 will do," said Father Peter. 
 
 "No, Sir," replied the other, "but I have read 
 his commentator, Bardolphus, who wrote a trea- 
 tise upon the Ogalvus of the ancients." 
 
 " Well, Sir, if you did, it's probable that you 
 may be able to understand our dispute, so" 
 
 " Pether, I'm afeard you've gotten into the wrong 
 box ; for I say he's no chicken that read Bardol- 
 phus, I can tell you that ; I had my own trouble 
 with him : but, at any rate, will you take your 
 punch, man alive, and don't bother us with your 
 Latin." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Father Ned : I insist that
 
 NED M'KEOWN. 41 
 
 I'm right ; and I'll convince you that you're 
 wrong, if God spares me to see Corderius to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 " Very well then, Pether, if you're to decide it 
 to-morrow, let us have no more of it to-night." 
 
 During this conversation between the two re- 
 verend worthies, the group around the fire were 
 utterly astonished at the erudition displayed in this 
 learned dispute. 
 
 " Well, to be sure, larnin's a great thing, en- 
 tirely," said M'Roarkin, aside, to Shane Fadh. 
 
 " Ah, Tom, there's nothing like it : well, any 
 way, it's wondherful what they know !" 
 
 " Indeed, it is, Shane — and in so short a time, 
 too ! Sure it's not more nor five or six years since 
 Father Pether there used to be digging praties on 
 the one ridge with myself — by the same token, an 
 excellent spadesman he was — and now he knows 
 more nor all the Protestant parsons in the Diocy." 
 
 " Why, how could they know any thing, when 
 they don't belong to the thrue church ?" said 
 Shane. 
 
 " Thrue for you, Shane," replied M'Roarkin ; 
 *' I disremimbered that clincher." 
 
 This discourse ran parallel with the dispute 
 between the two priests, but in so low a tone as 
 not to reach the ears of the classical champions,
 
 42 NED M'KEOWN. 
 
 who would have ill brooked this eulogium upon 
 Father Pether's agricultural talent. 
 
 " Don't bother us, Pether, with your arguing, 
 to-night," said Father Neddy, " it's enough for 
 you to be seven days in the week at your dispu- 
 tations. Sir, I drink to our better acquaint- 
 ance." 
 
 " With all my heart. Sir," replied the stranger. 
 
 " Father Ned," said Nancy, " the gintleman 
 was going to tell us a sthrange story, Sir, and 
 maybe your Reverence would wish to hear it, 
 docthor." 
 
 " Certainly, Nancy, we'll be very happy to hear 
 any story the gintleman may plase to tell us ; but, 
 Nancy, achora, before he begins, what if you'd 
 just fry a slice or two of that glorious flitch, 
 hanging over his head, in the corner ?— that, and 
 about six eggs, Nancy, and you'll have the 
 priest's blessing, gratis" 
 
 " Why, Father Ned, it's too fresh, entirely — 
 sure it's not a week hanging yet." 
 
 " Sorra matter, Nancy dheelish, we'll take with 
 all that — just try your hand at a slice of it. I 
 rode eighteen miles, and took four tumblers since 
 I dined, and I feel a craving, Nancy, a whacuum 
 in my stomach, that's rather troublesome." 
 
 " To be sure. Father Ned, you must ^^i a slice, 
 with all the veins of my heart; but I thought
 
 NED M'KEOWN. 43 
 
 maybe you wouldn't like it so fresh : but what on 
 earth will we do for eggs, for there's not an egg 
 undher the roof with me." 
 
 "Biddy, a hagur," said Father Ned, "just slip 
 out to Molshey Johnston, and tell her to send me 
 six eggs for a rasher, by the same token that I 
 heard two or three hens cackling in the byre, as 
 I was going to Conference this morning." 
 
 " Well, Docthor," sp.id Pat Frayne, when Bid- 
 dy had been gone some time, on which embassy 
 she delayed longer than the priest's judgment, in- 
 fluenced by the cravings of his stomach, calcula- 
 ted to be necessary, — " Well, Docthor, I often 
 pity you, for fasting so long ; I'm sure, I dunna 
 how you can stand it, at all at all." 
 
 " Troth, and you may well wonder, Pat ; but 
 we have that to support us, that you, or any one 
 like you, know nothing about — inward support, 
 Pat — inward support." 
 
 " Only for that, 'Father Ned," said Shane Fadh, 
 " I suppose you could never get through with it." 
 
 "Very right, Shane — ^very right: only for it, 
 we never could do. — What the dickens is keeping 
 this girl with the eggs ? — why she might be at 
 Mr. Morrow's, here, since. By the way, Mr. 
 Morrow, you must come over to our church ; 
 you're a good neighbour, and a worthy fellow, and 
 it's a thousand pities you should be damned."
 
 44 NED M'KEOWN. 
 
 *' Why, Docthor," said Andy, " do you really 
 believe I'll be damned ?" 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Morrow, don't ask me that question 
 — out of the pale, you know — out of the pale." 
 
 " Then you think. Sir, there's no chance for 
 me, at all," said Andy, smiling. 
 
 " Not the laste, Andy, you must go this way," 
 said Father Ned, striking the floor with the butt 
 end of his whip — " to the lower regions ; and, 
 upon my knowledge, to tell you the truth, I'm 
 sorry for it, for you're a worthy fellow." 
 
 " Ah, Docthor," said Ned, " it's a great thing 
 entirely to be bom in the true church — one's 
 always sure, then." 
 
 " Ay, ay ; you may say that, Ned, '* returned 
 the priest, " come or go what will, a man's always 
 safe at the long run, except he dies without his 
 clargy. — Shane, hand me the jug, if you please. — 
 Where did you get this stuff, Nancy ? — faith, it's 
 excellent." 
 
 " You forget. Father Ned, that that's a sacret. 
 
 But here's Biddy with the eggs, and now 
 
 you'll have your rasher in no time." 
 
 During this conversation Father Peter, turning 
 to Alick M'Kinley, said, " Alick, isn't your eldest 
 son at the Latin ?" 
 
 " He is. Sir," said Alick. 
 
 ** How long is he at it, Alick ?
 
 NED M'KEOWN. 45 
 
 " About six months, Sir," 
 
 " And do you know what book he's reading ?" 
 
 " Not a one of myself knows," said Alick, '* but 
 I know he has a great batch of them," 
 
 " You couldn't tell me if he has got a Cor- 
 dery ?" 
 
 "He has. Sir," said Alickj "a jacket and trow- 
 sers of it." 
 
 "Of what?" said the curate, looking at him 
 with surprise. 
 
 " Of corduroy," said the other. 
 
 "Oh, I mean a book !" said Father Peter. 
 
 " Consumin' to the know I know what's the 
 name of one of them," replied Alick. 
 
 " I wish to heavens I had one, till I'd confute 
 that man !" said Father Peter, looking with a 
 most mortified visage into the fire. 
 
 When the two clergymen had discussed the rash- 
 ers and eggs, and while the happy group were mak- 
 ing themselves intimately acquainted with a fresh 
 jug of punch, as it circulated round the table ; — 
 
 " Now, Sir," said Father Ned to the stranger, 
 " we'll hear your story, with the greatest satis- 
 faction possible ; but I think you might charge 
 your tumbler before you set to it." 
 
 When the stranger had complied with this last 
 hint, " Well, gentlemen," said he, " as I am ra- 
 ther fatigued, will you excuse me for the position
 
 46 NED M'KEOWN. 
 
 I am about to occupy, which is simply to stretch 
 myself along the hob here, with my head upon 
 this straw hassock ; and if you have no objection 
 to that, I will relate the story." 
 
 To this, of course, a general assent was gi- 
 ven. When he was stretched completely at his 
 ease — ' 
 
 "Well, upon my veracity," observed Father 
 Peter, " the gentleman's supernaturally long." 
 
 " Yes, Pether,'' replied Father Neddj^, " but 
 observe his position — Polysyllaha cuncta supinay 
 as Prosody says. — Arrah, salvation to me, but 
 you're dull, man, afther all ■ — but we're inter- 
 rupting the gentleman. Sir, go on, if you plase, 
 with your story." 
 
 " Give me a few minutes," said he, " until I 
 recollect the particulars." 
 
 He accordingly continued quiescent for two or 
 three minutes more, apparently arranging the 
 materials of his intended narration, and then 
 commenced to gratify the eager expectations of 
 his auditory — by emitting those nasal enunciations 
 which are the usual accompaniments of sleep ! 
 
 " Why, bad luck to the morsel of 'im but's 
 asleep," said Ned ; " Lord pardon me for swearin* 
 in your Reverence's presence." 
 
 " That's certainly the language of a sleeping 
 man," rejolied Father Neddy ; " but there might
 
 NED M'KEOWN. 47 
 
 liave been a little more respect than all that 
 snoring comes to. Your health, boys !" 
 
 The .stranger had now wound up his nasal 
 organ to a high pitch, after which he commenced 
 again with somewhat of a lower and finer tone. 
 
 " He's beginning a new paragraph," observed 
 Father Peter, with a smile at the joke. 
 
 " Not at all," said Father Neddy, " he's turning 
 the tune ; don't you perceive that he's snoring 
 God save the king, in the key of bass relievo.'^ 
 
 *' I'm no judge of instrumental music, as you 
 are," said the curate, " but I think it's liker the 
 ' Dead march of Saul' than *God save the King;' 
 however, if you be right, the gentleman certainly 
 snores in a truly loyal strain." 
 
 "That," said little M'Roarkin, "is liker the 
 swine's melody, or the Bedfordshire hornpipe — 
 he — he — he !" 
 
 " The poor gintleman's tired," observed Nancy, 
 " after a hard day's thravelling." 
 
 " I dare say he is," said Father Ned, in the sin- 
 cere hospitality of his country ; " at all events 
 take care of him, Nancy, he's a stranger, and get 
 the best supper you can for him — he appears to 
 be a truly respectable and well-bred man." 
 
 " I think," said M'Kinley, with a comical grin, 
 " you might know that by his high-flown manner
 
 48 NED M'KEOWN. 
 
 of sleeping — he snores very politely, and like a 
 gintleman, all out." 
 
 "Well done, Alick," said the Priest, laughing; 
 " go home, boys, it's near bed time ; Paddy, ma 
 bouchal, are the horses ready ?" 
 
 " They'll be at the door in a jiffy, your Reve- 
 rence," said Paddy, going out. 
 
 In the course of a few minutes he returned, ex- 
 claiming, " Why, thin, is it thinkin' to venthur out 
 sich a night as it's comin* on, yer Reverences would 
 be ? and it plashin as if it came out of methers ! 
 Sure the life would be dhrownded out of both of 
 ye, and yees might cotch a faver into the bargain." 
 
 " Sit down, gintlemen," said Ned ; " sit down. 
 Father Ned, you and Father Pether — we'll have 
 another tumbler ; and, as it's my turn to tell a 
 story, I'll give yees something to amuse yees — 
 the best I can, and, you all know, who can do 
 more ?" 
 
 " Very right, Ned ; but let us see " — replied 
 Father Ned, putting his head out of the door, to 
 ascertain what the night did ; " Come, Pether, it's 
 good to be on the safe side of any house in such 
 a storm ; we must only content ourselves till it 
 gets fair. Now, Ned, go on with your story, and 
 let it be as pleasant as possible." 
 
 " Never fear, your Reverence," replied Ned — 
 " here goes — and healths a-piece to begin with."
 
 THE THREE TASKS, 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE LITTLE HOUSE UNDER THE HILL. 
 
 " Every person in the parish knows the purty 
 knoll that rises above the Routing Burn, some 
 few miles from the renowned town of Knockim- 
 downy, which, as all the world must allow, wants 
 only houses and inhabitants to be as big a place 
 as the great town of Dublin itself. At the 
 foot of this little hill, just under the shelter 
 of a dacent pebble of a rock, something about 
 the bulk of half a dozen churches, one would be 
 apt to see — if they knew how to look sharp, 
 otherwise they mightn't be able to make it out 
 from the grey rock above it, except by the smoke 
 that ris from the chimbley — Nancy Magennis's 
 little cabin, snug and cosey with its corrag,* or 
 
 * The Corrag is a roll of branches tied together when green, 
 and used for the purposes mentioned in the story. It is six 
 feet high, and much thicker than a sack, and is changed to 
 either side of the door according to the direction from which 
 the wind blows. E
 
 50 THE THREE TASKS. 
 
 ould man of branches, standing on the windy side 
 of the door, to keep away the blast 
 
 "Upon my word, it was a dacent little residence 
 in its own way, and so was Nancy herself, for 
 that matther ; for, though a poor widdy, she was 
 very punctwelly in paying for Jack's schooling, as 
 I often heard ould Terry M'Phaudeen say, who 
 tould me the story. Jack, indeed, grew up a 
 fine slip ; and, for hurling, foot ball playing, and 
 lepping, hadn't his likes in the five quarters of the 
 parish. It's he that knew how to handle a spade 
 and a raping-hook, and what was betther nor all 
 that, he was kind and tindher to his poor ould 
 mother, and would let her want for nothing. 
 Before he'd go to his day's work in the morning, 
 he'd be sure to bring home from the clear spring- 
 well that ran out of the other side of the rock, 
 a pitcher of water to serve her for the day ; nor 
 would he forget to bring in a good creel of turf 
 from the snug little peat-stack that stood, thatch- 
 ed with rushes, before the door, and leave it in 
 the corner, beside the fire ; so that she had 
 nothing to do but put over her hand, without 
 rising off of her sate, and put down a sod when 
 she wanted it. 
 
 ** Nancy, on her part, kept Jack very clane and 
 comfortable ; his linen, though coorse. was always 
 a good colour, his working clothes tidily mended
 
 THE THREE TASKS, 51 
 
 at all times ; and when he'd have occasion to put 
 on his good coat to work in, for the first time, 
 Nancy would sew on the fore-part of each sleeve 
 a stout patch of ould cloth, to keep them from 
 being worn by the spade ; so that when she'd rip ' 
 these off them every Saturday night, they would 
 look as new and fresh, as if he hadn't been work- 
 ing in them, at all, at all. 
 
 "Then, when Jack came home in the winter 
 nights, it would do your heart good to see Nancy 
 sitting at her wheel, singing * Stachan Varagah,' 
 or ' Peggy Na Laveen,'' beside a purty clear fire, 
 with a small pot of Murpkys boiling on it for 
 their supper, or laid up in a wooden dish, com- 
 fortably covered with a clane praskeen, on the 
 well-swept hearth-stone ; whilst the quiet, dancing 
 blaze might be seen blinking in the nice eartiien 
 plates and dishes, that stood over against the side- 
 wall of the house. Just before the fire you might 
 see Jack's stool waiting for him to come home ; 
 and, on the other side, the brown cat washing her 
 face with her paws, or sitting beside the dog that 
 lay asleep, quite happy and continted, purring her 
 song, and now and then looking over at Nanc}', 
 with her eyes half shut, as much as to say, 
 'Catch a happier pair nor we are, Nancy, if jou 
 can.' 
 
 " Sitting quietly ou the ropst above the door, 
 
 E 2
 
 rrJ THE THREE TASKS. 
 
 were Dickey the cock, and half-a-dozen hens, that 
 kept this honest pair in eggs and egg-milk for the 
 best part of the year^ — besides enabling Nancy to 
 sell two or three clutches of March-birds every 
 season, to help to buy wool for Jack's big-coat, 
 and her own grey-beard gown and striped red and 
 blue petticoat. 
 
 " To make a long story short — No two could be 
 more comfortable, considering every thing. But, 
 indeed, Jack was always obsarved to have a da- 
 cent ginteel turn with him : for he'd scorn to see 
 a bad gown on his mother, or a broken Sunday- 
 coat on himself; and instead of drinking his little 
 earning in a sheebeen-house, and then eating his 
 praties dry, he'd take care to have something to 
 kitcherv^ them ; so that he was not only snug and 
 dacent of a Sunday, regarding wareables, but 
 so well-fed and rosy, that the point of a rush 
 would take a drop of blood out of his cheek.f 
 Then he was the comeliest and best-looking young 
 man in the parish, could tell lots of droll stories, 
 and sing scores of merry songs, that would make 
 
 * Kitchen signifies any liquid witli which solid food is 
 diluted. 
 
 t This proverb, which is always used as above, but with- 
 out being confined in its application to only one sex, is a 
 general one in Ireland. In delicacy and beauty I think ' 
 inimitable.
 
 THE THREE TASKS. , 53 
 
 you split your sides with downright laughing ; 
 and when a wake or a dance would happen to 
 be in the neighbourhood, maybe there woudn't 
 be many a sly look out from the purty girls for 
 pleasant Jack Magennis. 
 
 "In this way lived Jack and his mother, as 
 happy and continted as two lords ; except now 
 and thin, that Jack would feel a little consarn for 
 not being able to lay past any thing for the sore 
 foot,* or that might enable him to think of marry- 
 ing — for he was beginning to look about him for 
 a wife ; and why not, to be sure ? But he was 
 prudent for all that, and didn't wish to bring a 
 wife and small family into poverty and hardship 
 without means to support them, as too many do. 
 
 " It was one fine, frosty, moonlight night — the 
 sky was without a cloud, and the stars all blink- 
 ing that it would delight any body's heart to look 
 at them, when Jack was crassing a bog that lay a 
 few fields bey ant his own cabin. He was just 
 crooning the * Humours of Glynn,' in to himself 
 and thinking that it was a very hard case that he 
 couldn't save any thing at all, at all, to heljo him 
 to the wife — when, on coming down a bank in the 
 middle of the bog, he saw a dark-looking man, 
 leaning against a clamp of turf, and a black dog, 
 
 * Accidents — future calamity — or old age.
 
 54 THE THREE TASKS, 
 
 with a pipe of tobacky in his mouth, sitting at 
 his ase beside him, and he smoking as sober as a 
 judge. Jack, however, had a stout heart, bekase 
 his conscience was clear, and, barring being a 
 little daunted, he wasn't very much afeard. * Who 
 is this coming down toardst us ?' said the black- 
 favoured man, as he saw Jack approaching them. 
 ' It's Jack Magennis,' says the dog, making answer, 
 and taking the pipe out of bis mouth with his 
 right paw, and after puffing away the smoke, and 
 rubbing the end of it against his left leg, exactly 
 as a Christian (this day's Friday, the Lord stand 
 betune us and harm) would do against his sleeve, 
 giving it at the same time to his comrade — * It's 
 Jack Magennis,* says the dog, 'honest Widow 
 Magennis's dacent son.' ' The very man,' says 
 tlie other, back to him, ' that I'd wish to sarve,, 
 out of a thousand. — Arrah, Jack Magennis, how 
 is every tether-length of you ?' says the ould fel- 
 low, putting the furrawn^ on him — * and how is 
 every bone in your body, Jack, my darling ? Til 
 hould a thousand guineas,' says he, pointing to a 
 great big bag that lay beside him, * and that's only 
 the tenth part of what's in this bag, Jack, that 
 you're just going to be in luek to-night, above all 
 nights in the year !' 
 
 * That frank, cordial manner of address which brings 
 strangers suddenly to intimacy.
 
 THE THREE TASKS. 55 
 
 " * And may worse never happen you, Jack, ma 
 !>ouchal,' says the dog, putting in his tongue, then 
 wagging his tail, and lioulding out his paw to 
 shake hands with Jack. 
 
 " ' Gintlemen,' says Jack, never minding to give 
 the dog his hand, bekase he heard it wasn't safe to 
 touch the likes of him — * Gintlemen,' says he, 
 * ye're sitting far from the fire this frosty night.' 
 
 " ' Why, that's true, Jack,' answers the ould 
 fellow ; ' but if we're sitting far from the fire, 
 we're sitting very near the makins of it, man alive.' 
 So, with this, he pulls the bag of goold over to 
 him, that Jack might know by the jingle of the 
 shiners what was in it. 
 
 " * Jack,' says dark-face, ' there's some born 
 with a silver ladle in their mouth, and others with 
 a wooden spoon ; and if you'll just sit down on 
 the one end of this clamp with me, and take a 
 hand at the Jive and ten,' pulling out, as he spoke, 
 a deck of cards, ' you may be a made man for the 
 remainder of your life.' 
 
 " * Sir,' says Jack, ' with submission, both your- 
 self and this cur 1 mane,' says he, not wishing 
 
 to give the dog offince — ' both yourself and this 
 dacent gintleman with the tail and claws upon 
 him, have the advantage of me, in respect of 
 knowing my name ; for, if I don't mistake,' says
 
 56 THE TFIREE TASKS. 
 
 he, putting his hand to his caubeen, ' I never had 
 the pleasure of seeing either of ye before.* 
 
 " ' Never mind that,' says the dog, taking back 
 the pipe from the other, and clapping it in his 
 mouth ; ' we're both your well-wishers, any how, 
 and it's now your own fault if you're not a rich 
 man.' 
 
 "Jack, by this time, was beginning to think 
 that they might be afther wishing to throw luck 
 in his way ; for he had often heard of men being 
 made up entirely by the fairies, till there was no 
 end to their wealth. 
 
 " ' Jack,' says the black man, * you had better 
 be sed by us for this bout — upon the honour of 
 a gintleman we wish you well : however, if you 
 don't choose to take the ball at the right hop, 
 another may, and you're welcome to toil all your 
 life, and die a beggar, after.' 
 
 " * Upon my reputation what he says is true, 
 Jack,' says the dog, in his turn, * the lucky minute 
 of your life is come ; let it pass without doing 
 what them that wishes your mother's son well 
 desire you, and you'll die in a ditch.' 
 
 " * And what am I to do,' says Jack, * that's to 
 make me so rich all of a sudden ?' 
 
 " ' Why, only to sit down and take a game of 
 cards with myself,' says black-brow, * that's all, 
 and I'm sure it's not much.'
 
 THE THREE TASKS. 5f 
 
 « « And what is to be for,' Jack inquires, < for I 
 have no money — tare-nation to the rap itself's in 
 my company.' 
 
 " * Well, you have yourself,' says the dog, put- 
 ting up his fore-claw along his nose, and winking 
 at Jack, ' you have yourself, man — don't be faint- 
 hearted : — he'll bet the contents of this bag ;' 
 and with that the ould thief gave it another great 
 big shake, to make the guineas jingle again — 
 ' It's ten thousand guineas in hard gould ; if he 
 wins, you're to sarve him for a year and a day ; 
 and if he loses, you're to have the bag.' 
 
 " * And the money that's in it,' says Jack, 
 wishing, you see, to make a sure bargain, any 
 how.' 
 
 " ' Ev'ry penny,' answered the ould chap, * if 
 you win it; and there's fifty to one in your 
 favour.* 
 
 " By this time the dog had got into a great 
 fit of laughing at Jack's sharpness about the 
 money. *The money that's in it. Jack,' says he, 
 and he took the pipe out of his mouth, and 
 laughed till he brought on a hard fit of coughing. 
 ' O, by this and by that,' says he, * but that bates 
 Bannagher ! and you're to get it ev'ry penny, 
 you thief of the world, if you win it ;' but for all 
 that he seemed to be laughing at something that 
 Jack wasn't up to.
 
 58 THE THREE TASKS. 
 
 " At any rate, surely, they palavered Jack be- 
 tune them, until he sot down and consinted. 
 *Well,' says he, scratching his head, *why, worse 
 nor lose I can't, so here goes /or one trial at the 
 shiners, any how !' 
 
 " * Now,' says the obscure gintleman, just whin 
 the first card was in his hand, ready to be laid 
 down, * you're to sarve me for a year and a day, if 
 I win : and if I lose, you shall have all the money 
 in the bag.' 
 
 " * Exactly,' says Jack, and just as he said the 
 word, he saw the dog putting the pipe in his 
 pocket, and turning his head away for fraid Jack 
 would see him breaking his sides laughing. At 
 last, when he got his face sobered, he looks at 
 Jack, and says, * surely, Jack, if you win, you 
 must get all the money in the bag ; and upon my 
 reputation you may build castles in the air with 
 it, you'll be so rich.* 
 
 " This plucked up Jack's courage a little, and 
 to work they went ; but how could it end other- 
 wise, than Jack to loose betune two such know- 
 ing schemers as they soon turned out to be ? For 
 what do you think, but as Jack was beginning 
 the game, the dog tips him a wink, laying his 
 fore-claw along his nose, as before, as much as to 
 say, ' watch me, and you'll win,' — turning round, 
 at the same time, and showing Jack a nate little
 
 THE THREE TASKS 59 
 
 looking-glass, that was set in his oxther, in which 
 Jack saw, dark as it was, the spots of all the 
 other fellow's cards, as he thought, so that he 
 was cock sure of bating him. But they were a 
 pair of downright knaves, any how ; for Jack, by 
 playing to the cards that he saw in the looking- 
 glass, instead of to them the other held in his 
 hand, lost the game and the money. In short, 
 he saw that he was blarnied and chated by them 
 both ; and when the game was up he plainly 
 tould them as much. 
 
 " ' What, you scoundrel !' says the black fellow, 
 starting up and catching him by the collar, ' dare 
 you go for to impache my honour ? 
 
 " Leather him if he says a word,' says the dog, 
 running over on his hind legs, and laying his shut 
 paw upon Jack's nose, * say another word, you 
 rascal,* says he, ' and I'll doivn you ;* with this 
 the ould fellow gives him another shake. 
 
 **^ * I don't blame you so much,* says Jack to 
 him, * it was the looking-glass that desaved me ; 
 that cur's nothing but a black-leg,' 
 
 " * What looking-glass, you knave you ?' says 
 dark-face, giving him a fresh haul. 
 
 « i Why, the one I saw under the dog's oxther,* 
 replied Jack. 
 
 ' ' Under my oxther ! you swindling rascal,' 
 replied the dog, giving him a pull by the other
 
 60 THE THREE TASKS. 
 
 side of the collar ; * did ever any honest pair of 
 gintlemen hear the like ? — but he only wants to 
 break through the agreement ; so let as turn him 
 at onee into an ass, and then he'll brake no 
 more bargains, nor strive to take in honest men 
 and win their money. Me a black-leg !' So 
 saying, the dark fellow drew his two hands over 
 Jack's jaws, and in a twinkling there was a pair 
 of ass's ears growing up out of his head. When 
 Jack found this, he knew that he wasn't in good 
 hands; so he thought it best to get himself as 
 well out of the scrape as possible. 
 
 " ' Gintlemen, be aisy,' says he, * and let us 
 understand one another : I'm very willing to 
 sarve you for a year and a day, but I've one re- 
 quist to ax, and it's this; I've a helpless ould 
 mother at home, and if I go with you now she'll 
 break her heart with grief first, and starve after- 
 wards. Now, if your honour will give me a year 
 to work hard, and lay in provision to support her 
 while I'm away, I'll serve you with all the veins 
 of my heart — for a bargain's a bargain.' 
 
 "With this the dog gave his companion a 
 pluck by the skirt, and, after some chat together, 
 that Jack didn't hear, they came back and said 
 they would comply with his wishes that far ; ' so, 
 on to-morrow twelve-month. Jack,' says the dark 
 fellow, * the dog here will come to your mother's,
 
 THE THREE TASKS. 61 
 
 and if you follow him, he'll bring you safe to my 
 castle.' 
 
 ti i Very well, your honour,' says Jack ; * but 
 as dogs resemble one another so much, how will 
 I know him whin he comes ?' 
 
 " ' Why,' answers the other, ' he'll have a green 
 ribbon about his neck, and a pair of Wellington 
 boots on his hind legs.' 
 
 " ' That's enough. Sir,' says Jack, ' 1 can't mis- 
 take him in that dress, so I'll be ready ; but, jin- 
 tlemen, if it would be plasing to you both, I'd 
 every bit as soon not go home with these,' and 
 he handled the brave pair of ears he had got, as 
 he spoke. ' The truth is, jintlemen, I'm deluding 
 enough without them ; and as I'm so modest you 
 persave, why if you'd take them away, you'd 
 oblige me !' 
 
 " To this they had no objection, and during 
 that year Jack wrought night and day, that he 
 might be able to lave as much provision with his 
 poor mother as would support her in his absence ; 
 and when the morning came that he was to bid 
 her farewell, he went down on his two knees and 
 got her blessing. He then left her with tears in 
 his eyes, and promised to come back the very 
 minute his time would be up. ' Mother,' says he, 
 ' be kind to your little family here, and feed them
 
 62 THE THREE TASKS. 
 
 well, aa they are all you'll have to keep you com- 
 pany till you see me again.* 
 
 " His mother then stuffed his pockets with 
 bread, till they stuck out behind him, and gave 
 him a crooked six-pence for luck ; after which, 
 he got his staff, and was just ready to tramp, 
 when, sure enough, he spies his ould friend the 
 dog, with the green ribbon about his neck, and 
 the Wellington boots upon his hind legs. He 
 didn't go in, but waited on the outside till Jack 
 came out- They then set off, but no one knows 
 how far they travelled, till they reached the dark 
 gintleman's castle, who appeared very glad to see 
 Jack, and gave him a hearty welcome. 
 
 " The next day, in consequence of his long 
 journey, he was ax'd to do nothing ; but in the 
 coorse of the evening, the dark chap brought him 
 into a long, frightful room, where there were three 
 hundred and sixty-five hooks sticking out of the 
 wall, and on every hook but one, a man's head. 
 When Jack saw this agreeable sight, his dinner 
 began to quake within him ; but he felt himself 
 still worse, when his master pointed to the empty 
 hook, saying, * Now, Jack, your business to-mor- 
 row is to clane out a stable that wasn't claned for 
 the last seven years, and if you don't l^ave it 
 finished before dusk — do you see that hook?' 
 ** ' Ye — ^yes ;' replied Jack, hardly able to spake.
 
 THE THREE TASKS. 63 
 
 * Well, if you don't have it finished before dusk, 
 your head will be hanging on that hook ajs soon 
 as the sun sets.' 
 
 " < Very well, your honour,' replied Jack ; 
 scarcely knowing what he said, or he wouldn't 
 have said *very well' to such a bloody-minded 
 'intention, any how — 'Very well,' says he, 'I'll do 
 my best, and all the world knows that the best 
 can do no more.' 
 
 " Whilst this discoorse was passing betune them. 
 Jack happened to look at the upper end of the 
 room, and there he saw one of the beautifullest 
 faces that ever was seen on a woman, looking at 
 him through a little pannel that was in the wall. 
 She had a white, snowy forehead — such eyes, and 
 cheeks, and teeth, that there's no coming up to 
 them ; and the clusters of dark hair that hung 
 about her beautiful temples ! — by the laws, I'm 
 afeard of falling in love with her myself, so I'll 
 say no more about her, only that she would charm 
 tlie heart of a wheel-barrow. At any rate, in 
 spite of all the ould fdlow could say — heads and 
 hooks, and all. Jack couldn't help throwing an 
 eye, now and then, to the pannel ; and to tell the 
 truth, if he had been born to riches and honour, 
 it would be hard to fellow him, for a good face 
 and a good figure. 
 
 *' ' Now, Jack,' says his master, < go, and get
 
 64 THE THREE TASKS. 
 
 your supper, and I hope you'll be able to perform 
 your task — if not, off goes your head.* 
 
 u < Very well, your honour,' says Jack, again 
 scratching it in the hoith of perplexity, * I must 
 only do what I can.' 
 
 " The next morning Jack was up with the sun, 
 if not before him, and hard at his task; but before 
 breakfast time he lost all heart, and little wonder 
 he should, poor fellow, bekase for every one 
 shovel-full he'd throw out, there would come three 
 more in : so that instead of making his task less, 
 according as he got on, it became greater. He 
 was now in the greatest dilemmy, and didn't know 
 how to manage, so he was driven at last to such an 
 amplush, that he had no other shift for employ- 
 ment, only to sing Paddeen GHafferty out' of 
 mere vexation, and dance the hornpipe trebling step 
 to it, cracking his fingers, half mad, through the 
 stable. Just in the middle of this tantrum, who 
 comes to the door to call him to his breakfast, 
 but the beautiful crathur he saw the evening 
 before, peeping at him through the pannel. At 
 this minute. Jack had so hated himself by the 
 dancing, that his handsome face was in a line glow, 
 entirely. 
 
 " * I think,' said she, to Jack, with one of her 
 own sweet smiles, ♦ that this is an odd way of per- 
 forming your task.'
 
 THE THREE TASKS. 65 
 
 *' ' Och, thin, 'tis you that may say that,' re- 
 plies Jack ; ' but it's myself that's willing to have 
 my head hung up any day, just for one sight of 
 you, you darling,* 
 
 " ' Where did you come from ?" asked the lady, 
 with another smile that bate the first all to no- 
 thing. 
 
 " < Where did I come from, is it ?' answered 
 Jack ; ^ why, death-alive ! did you never hear of 
 ould Ireland, my jewel ! — hem — I mane, plase 
 your ladyship's honour.' 
 
 " ' No,' she answered ; 'where is that country?' 
 
 " * Och, by the honour of an Irishman,' says 
 Jack, * that takes the shine ! — not heard of Erin — 
 the Imerald Isle — the Jim of the ocean, where all 
 the men are brave and honourable, and all the 
 women — hem — I mane the ladies — chaste and 
 beautiful ?' 
 
 " ' No,' said she ; not a word : but if I siay 
 longer I may get you blame — come into your 
 breakfast, and I'm sorry to find that you have 
 done so little at your task. Your master's a man 
 that always acts up to what he threatens : and, if 
 you have not this stable cleared out before dusk, 
 your head will be taken off" your shoulders this 
 night.' 
 
 " ' Why, thin,' says Jack, ' my beautiful darl — 
 plase your honour's ladyship — if he hangs it up, 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 66 THE THREE TASKS. 
 
 will you do me the favour, acushla machree^ to 
 turn my head toardst that same pannel where I 
 saw a sartin fair face that I wont mintion : and if 
 you do, let me alone for watching a sartin purty 
 face I'm acquainted with.' 
 
 " ' What means cushla machree T inquired the 
 lady, as she turned to go away.' 
 
 " * It manes that you're the pulse of my heart, 
 avourneen, plase your ladyship's Reverence,' says 
 Jack. 
 
 " * Well,' said the lovely crathur, * any time you 
 speak to me in future, I would rather you would 
 omit terms of honour, and just call me after tlie 
 manner of your own country ; instead, for in- 
 stance, of calling me your ladyship, I would be 
 better pleased if you called me cushla — some- 
 thing — ' ' Cushla machreey ma vourneen — the 
 pulse of my heart — my darling,' said Jack, con- 
 sthering it (the thief) for her, for fraid she 
 wouldn't know it well enough. 
 
 " * Yes,' she replied, ' cushla machree ; well, as 
 I can pronounce it, acushla machree, will you 
 come in to your breakfast?' said the darling, 
 giving Jack a smile, that would be enough, any 
 day, to do up the heart of an Irishman. Jack, 
 accordingly, went after her, thinking of nothing 
 except herself; but on going in he could see no 
 sign of her, so he sat down to his brcnkfast.
 
 THE THREE TASKS. 67 
 
 though a single ounce, barring a couple of pounds 
 of beef; the poor fellow couldn't ate, at that bout, 
 for thinking of her. 
 
 " Well, he went again to his work, and thought 
 he'd have better luck ; but it was still the ould 
 game — three shovel-fulls would come in for ev'ry 
 one he'd throw out ; and now he began, in ear- 
 nest, to feel something about his heart that he 
 didn't like, bekase he couldn't, for the life of him, 
 help thinking of the three hundred and sixty-four 
 heads and the empty hook. At last he gave up 
 the work entirely, and took it into his head to 
 make himself scarce from about the ould fellows 
 castle, altogether ; and without more to do, he set 
 off, never saying as much as * good bye' to his 
 master : but he hadn't got as far as the lower end 
 of the yard, when his ould friend, the dog, steps 
 out of a kennel, and meets him full butt in the 
 teeth. 
 
 " ' So, Jack,' says he, ' you're going to give us 
 leg bail, I see ; but walk back with yourself, you 
 spalpeen, this minute, and join your work, or if 
 you don't,' says he, ' it'll be worse for your health. 
 I/m not so much your enemy now as I was, be- 
 kase you have a friend in coort that you know 
 nothing about ; so just do whatever you are bid, 
 and keep never minding.' 
 
 " Jack went back with a heavy heart, as you 
 
 F 2
 
 68 THE THREE TASKS. 
 
 may be sure, knowing that, whenever the black 
 cur began to blarney him, there was no good to 
 come in his way. He, accordingly, went into the 
 stable, but consuming to the hand's turn he did, 
 knowing it would be only useless ; for, instead of 
 clearing it out, he'd be only filling it. 
 
 " It was now near dinner time, and Jack was 
 very sad and sorrowful, as how could he be other- 
 wise, poor fellow, with such a bloody-minded ould 
 chap to dale with ? when up comes the darling 
 of the world again, to call him to his dinner. 
 
 " * Well, Jack,* says she, with her white arms 
 so beautiful, and her dark clusters tossed about 
 by the motion of the walk — ' how are you coming 
 on at your task ?' * How am I coming on, is it ? 
 Och, thin,' says Jack, * giving a good-humoured 
 smile through the frown that was on his face, 
 ' plase your lady — a cushla machree — it's all over 
 with me ; for I've still the same story to tell, and 
 off goes my head, as sure as it's on my shoulders, 
 this blessed night.' 
 
 " * That would be a pity. Jack,' says she, * for 
 there are worse heads on worse shoulders ; but 
 will you give me the shovel ?' ' Will I give you 
 the shovel, is it ? — Och, thin, wouldn't I be a 
 right big baste to do the likes of that, any how ?' 
 says Jack ; * what ! avourneen dheelish / to stand 
 up with myself, and let this hard shovel into them
 
 THE THREE TASKS. 6Sf 
 
 beautiful, soft, white hands of your own ! Faix, 
 my jewel, if you knew but all, my mother's son's 
 not the man to do such a disgraceful turn, as to 
 let a lady like you take the shovel out of his hand, 
 and he standing with his mouth under his nose, 
 looking at you — not myself avourneen I we have 
 no such unginteel manners as that in out country.' 
 * Take my advice, Jack,' says she, pleased in her 
 heart at what Jack said, for all she didn't purtend 
 it — ' give me the shovel, and depend upon it, I'll 
 do more in a short time to clear the stable, than 
 you would for years.' 'Why, thin, avourneen^ it 
 goes to my heart to refuse you ; but, for all that, 
 may I never see yesterday, if a taste of it will 
 go into your purty, white fingers,' says the thief, 
 praising her to her face all the time — ' my head 
 may go off, any day, and welcome, but death be- 
 fore dishonour. Say no more, darling ; but tell 
 your father I'll be in to my dinner immediently.' 
 
 " Notwithstanding all this, by jingo the lady 
 would not be put off; like a ra-al woman, she'd 
 have her way, so on telling Jack that she didn't 
 intend to work with the shovel, at all at all, but 
 only to take it for a minute in her hand, at long 
 last he gave it to her ; she then struck it three 
 times on the threshel of the door, and, giving it 
 back into his hand, tould him to try what he 
 could do. Well, sure enough, now there was a
 
 70 THE THREE TASKS. 
 
 change ; for, instead of three shovel-fulls cominj^ 
 in, as before, when he threw one out, there went 
 nine more along with it. Jack, in coorse, couldn't 
 do less than thank the lovely crathur for her 
 assistance ; but, when he raised his head to speak 
 to her, she was gone. I needn't say, howsomever, 
 that he went in to his dinner, with a light heart 
 and a murdhering appetite ; and when the ould 
 fellow axed him how he was coming on, Jack 
 tould him that he was doing gloriously. * Re- 
 member the empty hook, Jack,' said he. * Never 
 fear, your honour,' answered Jack, 'if I don't 
 finish my task, you may bob my head off any 
 time.' 
 
 " Jack now went out, and was a short time get- 
 ting through his job, for, before the sun set it 
 was finished, and he came in to the kitchen, ate 
 his supper, and, sitting down before the fire, sung 
 ' Love among the Roses,*^ and the ' Black Joke,' to 
 vex the ould fellow. 
 
 *' This was one task over, and his head was safe 
 for that bout ; but that night, before he went to 
 bed, his master called him up stairs, brought him 
 into the bloody room, and gave him his orders for 
 the next day. *Jack,' says he, 'I have a wild 
 fiUey that has never been caught, and you must 
 go to my demesne to-morrow, and catch her, or 
 if you don't — look there,' says the big blackguard,
 
 THE THREE TASKS. 71' 
 
 * bn that hook it hangs, before to-morrow, if you 
 bavn't her before sunset in the stable that you 
 claned yesterday.* * Very well, your honour,' 
 says Jack, carelessly, * 1*11 do every thing in my 
 power, and if I fail, I can't help it.' 
 
 " The next morning Jack was out with a bridle 
 in his hand, going to catch the filley. As soon 
 as he got into the demesne, sure enough, there 
 she was in the middle of a green field, grazing quite 
 at her ase. When Jack saw this he went over 
 towards her, houlding out his hat, as if it was 
 full of oats ; but he kept the hand that had the 
 bridle in it behind his back, for fraid she'd see it 
 and make off. Well, my dear, on he went till he 
 was almost within grip of her, cock sure that he 
 had nothing more to do than slip the bridle over 
 her neck and secure her; but he made a bit of a 
 mistake in his reckoning, for though she smelt 
 and snoaked about him, just as if she didn't care 
 a feed of oats whether he caught her or not, yet 
 when he boulted over to hould her fast, she was 
 off like a shot, with her tail cocked, to the far end 
 of the demesne, and Jack had to set off hot foot 
 after her. All, however, was to no purpose ; he 
 couldn't come next or near her for the rest of the 
 day, and there she kept coorsing about him, from 
 one field to another, till he hadn't a blast of 
 breath in his body.
 
 12 THE THREE TASKS. 
 
 "In this state was Jack when the beautiful 
 crathur came out to call him home to his break- 
 fast, walking with the pretty small feet and light 
 steps of her own, upon the green fields, so bright 
 and beautiful, scarcely bending the grass and 
 flowers as she went along, the darling. 
 
 " * Jack,* says she, * I fear you have as difficult 
 a task to-day as you had yesterday.' 
 
 " ' Why^ and it's you that may say that with 
 your own purty mouth,' says Jack, says he ; for 
 out of breath and all as he was, he couldn't help 
 giving her a bit of blarney, the rogue.' 
 
 " * Well, Jack,' says she, ' take my advice, and 
 don't tire yourself any longer, by attempting to 
 catch her; truth's best — I tell you, you could 
 never do it : come home to your breakfast, and 
 when you return, again, just amuse yourself as 
 well as you can until dinner time.' 
 
 <*'Och, och!* says Jack, striving to look, the 
 sly thief, as if she had promised to help him — * I 
 only wish I was a king, and, by the powers, I 
 know who would be my queen, any how ; for it's 
 your own sweet lady — savourneen dheelisJi — I say, 
 amn't I bound to you for a year and a day 
 longer, for promising to give me a lift, as well as 
 for what you done yesterday ?' 
 
 " * Take care. Jack,' says she, smiling, however, 
 at his ingenuity in striving to trap her into a
 
 THE THREE TASKS. 7$ 
 
 promise, 'I don't think I made any promise of 
 assistance.* 
 
 " * You didn't ?' says Jack, wiping his face with 
 the skirt of his coat, 'cause why? — you see 
 pocket-handkerchiefs weren't invented in them 
 times : ' why, thin, may I never live to see yes- 
 terday, if there's not as much rale beauty in that 
 smile that's divarting itself about them sweet- 
 breathing lips of yours, and in them two eyes of 
 light that's breaking both their hearts laughing at 
 me, this minute, as would encourage any poor 
 fellow to expect a good turn from you — that is, 
 whin you could do it, without hurting or harming 
 yourself ; for it's he would be the right rascal that 
 could take it, if it would injure a silken hair of 
 your head.' 
 
 " ' Well,' said the lady, with another roguish 
 smile, ' I shall call you home to j^our dinner, at 
 all events.' 
 
 " When Jack went back from his breakfast, he 
 didn't slave himself after the filley any more, but 
 walked about to view the demesne, and the ave- 
 nues, and the green walks, and nice temples, and 
 fish ponds, and rookeries, and every thing, in 
 short, that was worth seeing. Towards dinner 
 time, however, he began to have an eye to the 
 way the sweet crathur was to come, and sure 
 enough it's she that wasn't one minute late. 
 
 F
 
 74 THE TllREK TASKS^ 
 
 " * Well, Jack,' says she, ' I'll keep you no 
 longer in doubt,' for the tender-hearted crathur 
 saw that Jack, although he didn't wish to let an 
 to her, was fretting every now and then about the 
 odd hook and the bloody room — ' So, Jack,' says 
 she, 'although I didn't promise, yet I'll perform;* 
 and with that she pulled a small ivory whistle out 
 of her pocket, and gave three blasts on it that 
 brought the wild filley up to her very hand, as 
 quick as the wind. She then took the bridle, and 
 threw it over the baste's neck, giving her up, at 
 the same time, to Jack. ' You needn't fear, now, 
 Jack,' says she, ' you will find her as quiet as a 
 lamb, and as tame as you wish ; as a proof of it, 
 just walk before her, and you will see she will 
 follow you to any part of the field.' 
 
 " Jack, you may be sure, paid her as many and 
 as sweet compliments as he could, and never heed 
 one from his country for being able to say some- 
 thing toothsome to the ladies. At any rate, if he 
 laid it on thick the day before, he gave her two 
 or three additional coats this time, and the inno- 
 cent soul went away smiling, as usual. 
 
 " When Jack brought the filley home, the dark 
 fellow, his master, if dark before, was a perfect 
 tunder-cloud this night: bedad, he was nothing 
 less than near bursting with vexation, bekase the 
 thieving ould sinner intended to have Jack's head
 
 THE THREE TASKS. 75 " 
 
 upon the hoc^, but he fell short in his reckonrng 
 now as well as before. Jack sung ' Love among 
 the Roses,* and the ' Black Joke,' to help him 
 into better timper. 
 
 " ' Jack,' says he, striving to make himself speak 
 pleasant to him, ' you've got two difficult tasks 
 over you ; but you know the third time's the 
 charm — take care of the next.' 
 
 " ' No matter about that,' says Jack, speaking 
 up to him stiff and stout, bekase, as the dog tould 
 him, be knew he had a friend in coort — ' let's 
 hear what it is, any how.' 
 
 " ' To-morrow, then,' says the other, ' you're to 
 rob a crane's nest, on the top of a beech tree 
 which grows in the middle of a little island in 
 the lake that you saw, yesterday, in my demesne; 
 you're to have neither boat, nor oar, nor any kind 
 of conveyance, but just as you stand; and if you 
 fail to bring me the eggs, or if you break one of 
 them — ^look here !' says he, again pointing to the 
 odd hook, for all this discourse took place in the 
 bloody room. 
 
 " ' Good again,' says Jack ; « if I fail, I know 
 my doom.' 
 
 " ' No, you don't, you spalpeen,' says the other, 
 getting vexed with him, entirely, for I'll roast you 
 till you're half dead, and ate my dinner off you, 
 after; and, what is more than that, vou black-
 
 76 THE THREE TASKS. 
 
 guard, you must sing the * Black Joke," all the 
 time, for my amusement.' 
 
 " * Div'l fly away with you,' thought Jack, *but 
 you're fond of music, you vagabond.' 
 
 " The next morning Jack was going round and 
 round the lake, trying about the edge of it, if he 
 could find any place shallow enough to wade in ; 
 but he might as well go to wade the say^ and 
 what was worse of all, if he attempted to swim, it 
 would be like a tailor's goose — straight to the 
 bottom ; so he kept himself safe on dry land still 
 expecting a visit from the 'lovely crathur,' but, 
 bedad, his good luck failed him for wanst ; for, 
 instead of seeing her coming over to him, so mild 
 and sweet, who does he obsarve steering, at a 
 dog's trot, but his ould friend the smoking cur. 
 * Confusion to that cur,' says Jack to himself, * I 
 know now there's some bad fortune before me, or 
 he wouldn't be coming acrass me.' 
 
 " ' Come home to your breakfast. Jack,' says 
 the dog, walking up to him, ' it's breakfast time.' 
 
 " ' Ay,' says Jack, scratching his head, * it's no 
 great matter whether I do or not, for I bleeve my 
 head's hardly worth a flat-dutch cabbage at the 
 present speaking.' 
 
 « < Why, man, it was never worth so much,* 
 says the baste, pulling out his pipe and putting it 
 in his mouth, when it lit at once.
 
 THE THREE TASKS. 77 
 
 " * Take care of yourself/ says Jack, quite 
 desperate — for he thought he was near the end of 
 his tether — ' take care of yourself, you dirty cur, 
 or maybe I might take a gintleman's toe from the 
 nape of your neck.' 
 
 "*You had better keep a straight tongue in 
 your head,' says four legs, * while it's on your 
 shoulders, or I'll break every bone in your skin. 
 — Jack, you're a fool,' says he, checking himself, 
 and speaking kindly to him — ' you're a fooK^ 
 didn't I tell you the other day to do what you 
 were bid, and keep never minding ?' 
 
 "*Well,' thought Jack to himself, 'there's no 
 use in making him any more my enemy than he 
 is — particularly as I'm in such a hobble.' 
 . " * You lie,' says the dog, as if Jack had spoken 
 out to him, wherein he only thought the words to 
 himself, *you lie,' says he, *I'm not, nor never 
 was, your enemy, if you knew but all." 
 
 ** ' I beg your honour's pardon,' answers Jack, 
 *for being so smart with your honour; but, bedad, 
 if you were in my case — if you expected your 
 master to roast you alive — eat his dinner off your 
 body — make you sing the "Black Joke" by way 
 of music for him : and, to crown all, knew that 
 your head was to be stuck upon a hook after — 
 maybe you would be a little short in your temper 
 as well as your neighbours.'
 
 78 THE THREE TASKS. 
 
 " ' Take heart, Jack,' says the other, laying^ his 
 fore-claw as knowingly as ever along his nose, and 
 winking slyly at Jack, ' didn't I tell you that you 
 have a friend in coort ? the day's not past yet; so 
 cheer up, who knows but there is luck before you 
 still?' 
 
 " ' Why, thin,' says Jack, getting a little cheer- 
 ful, and wishing to crack a joke with him, ' but 
 your honour's very fond of the pipe !' * Oh ! 
 don't you know, Jack,' says he, ' that that's the 
 fashion at present among my tribe : sure all my 
 brother puppies smoke now, and a man might as 
 well be out of the world as out of the fashion, 
 you know.' 
 
 " When they drew near home, they got quite 
 thick entirely ; ' now,' says Jack, in a good-hu- 
 moured way, ' if you can give me a lift in robbing 
 this crane's nest, do ; at any rate I'm sure your 
 honour won't be my enemy. I know you hav« 
 too much good nature in your face to be one that 
 wouldn't help a lame dog over a stile — that is,' 
 says he, taking himself up for fear of offending 
 the other — ' I'm sure you'd be always inclined to 
 help the weak side.' 
 
 " ' Thank you for the compliment,' says the 
 dog, ' but didn't I tell you that you have a friend 
 in coort?' 
 
 " When Jack went back to the lake, he could
 
 THE THREE TASKS. 79 
 
 only sit and look sorrowfully at the tree, or walk 
 about the edge of it, without being able to do 
 any thing else. He spent the whole day this-a- 
 way till dinner time, when, what would you have 
 of it, but he sees the * darling' coming out to him, 
 as fair and as blooming as an angel. His heart, 
 you may be sure, got up to his mouth, for he 
 knew she would be apt to take him out of his diffi- 
 culties. When she came up, 
 
 " ' Now, Jack,' says she, ' there is not a minute 
 to be lost, for I'm watched ; and if it's discovered 
 that I gave you any assistance, we will be both 
 destroyed.' 
 
 " ' Oh, murther sheery !' says Jack, ' fly back, 
 avourneen machree — for rather than any thing 
 should happen you I'd lose fifty lives.' 
 
 " ' No,' says she, * I think I'll be able to get 
 you over this, as well as the rest : so have a good 
 heart and be faithful.' * That's it,' replied Jack, 
 ' that's it, acushla — my own correcthur to a shav- 
 ing ; I've a heart worth its weight in bank notes, 
 and a more faithful boy isn't alive this day nor I 
 am to yees all, ye darlings of the world.' 
 
 " She then pulled a small white wand out of 
 her pocket, struck the lake, and there was the 
 prettiest green ridge across it to the foot of the 
 tree, that ever eye beheld. 'Now,' says she, 
 turning her back to Jack, and stooping down to
 
 80 THE THREE TASKS. 
 
 do something that he couldn't see, 'take these, 
 put them against the tree, and you will have steps 
 to carry you to the top, but be sure, for your 
 life and mine, not to forget any of them ; if you 
 do, my life will be taken to-morrow morning, for 
 your master puts on my slippers with his own 
 hands.* 
 
 " Jack was now going to swear that he would 
 give up the whole thing, and surrender his head 
 at once ; but when he looked at her feet, and saw 
 no appearance of blood, he went over without 
 more to do, and robbed the nest, taking down the 
 eggs, one by one, that he mightn't brake them. 
 There was no end to his joy as he secured the 
 last egg ; he instantly took down the toes, one 
 after another, save and except the little one of the 
 left foot, which, in his joy and hurry, he forgot 
 entirely. He then returned by the green ridge to 
 the shor€i and according as he went along, it melted 
 away into the water behind him. 
 
 " Jack,* says the charmer, ' I hope you forgot 
 none of my toes.' 
 
 " * Is it me ?' says Jack, quite sure that he had 
 them all — ' arrah, catch any one from my country 
 makin' a blunder of that kind.' 
 
 " * Well,' says she, ' let us see ;' so, taking the 
 toes, she placed them on again, just as if they 
 had never been off. But, lo and behold ! on
 
 THE THREE TASKS. 81 
 
 coining to the last of the left foot, it wasn't forth- 
 coming. ' Oh I Jack, Jack,' says she, * you have 
 destroyed me; to-morrow morning your master 
 will notice the want of this toe, and that instant 
 I'll be put to death/ 
 
 " * Lave that to me,* says Jack; 'by the powers, 
 you won't lose a drop of your darling blood for 
 it. Have you got a pen-knife about you ? and 
 I'll soon show you how you won't.' 
 
 " ' What do you want with the knife ?' she in- 
 quired. 
 
 " ' What do I want with it ? — why to give you 
 the best toe on both my feet, for the one I lost on 
 you ; do you think I'd suffer you to want a toe, 
 and I having ten thumping ones at your sarvice ? 
 — I'm not the man, you beauty you, for such a 
 shabby trick as that comes to.' 
 
 " ' But you forget,' says the lady, who was a 
 little cooler than Jack, ' that none of yours would 
 fit me.' 
 
 " ' And must you die to-morrow, acushla V 
 asked Jack, in desperation. 
 
 " ' As sure as the sun rises,' answered the lady; 
 * for your master would know at once that it was 
 by my toes the nest was robbed.' 
 
 " ' By the powers,' observed Jack, ' he's one of 
 the greatest ould vag — I mane, isn't he a terrible 
 man, out and out, for a father ?' 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 82 THE THREE TASKS. 
 
 '*' Father!' says the darling— * he*s not my 
 father, Jack ; he only wishes to marry me, and if 
 I'm not able to outdo him before three days more, 
 it's decreed that he must have me.* 
 
 " When Jack heard this, surely the Irishman 
 must come out ; there he stood, and began to 
 wipe his eyes with the skirt of his coat, making 
 as if he was crying, the thief of the world ; 
 ' What's the matter with you ?' she asked. 
 
 " * Ah !' says Jack, ' you darling, I couldn't 
 find in my heart to desave you ; for I have no 
 way at home to keep a lady like you, in proper 
 style, at all at all ; I would only bring you into 
 poverty, and since you wish to know what ails 
 me, I'm vexed that I'm not rich for your sake ; 
 and next, that that thieving ould villain's to have 
 you; and by the powers, I'm crying for both 
 these misfortunes together.' 
 
 The lady couldn't help being touched and 
 plaised with Jack's tinderness and ginerosity ; so, 
 says she, ' don't be cast down. Jack, come or go 
 what will, I won't marry him — I'd die first. Do 
 you go home, as usual ; but take care and don't 
 sleep at all this night. Saddle the wild filley — 
 meet me under the whitethorn bush at the end of 
 the lawn, and we'll both leave him for ever. If 
 you're willing to marry me, don't let poverty dis-
 
 THE THREE TASKS. 83 
 
 tress you, for I have more money than we'll know 
 what to do with.' 
 
 " Jack's voice now began to tremble in earnest, 
 with downright love and tinderness, as good right 
 it had ; so he promised to do every thing just as 
 she bid him, and then went home with a dacent 
 appetite enough to his supper. 
 
 " You may be sure the ould fellow looked 
 darker and grimmer than ever at Jack : but what 
 could he do ? Jack had done his duty ; so he sat 
 before the fire, and sung ' Love among the Roses,* 
 and the ^ Black Joke,' with a stouter and lighter 
 heart than ever, while the black chap could have 
 seen him skivered. 
 
 " When midnight came. Jack, who kept a hawk's 
 eye to the night, was at the hawthorn with the 
 wild fiUey, saddled and all — more betoken, she 
 wasn't a bit wild then, but as tame as a dog. Off 
 they set, like Erin-go-bragh, Jack and the lady, 
 and never pulled bridle till it was one o'clock 
 next day, when they stopped at an inn, and had 
 some refreshment. They then took to the road 
 again, full speed ; however, they hadn't gone far, 
 when they heard a great noise behind them, and 
 the tramp of horses gallopping like mad. ' Jack,' 
 says the darling, on hearing the hub-bub, ' look 
 behind you, and see what's this.' 
 
 " ' Och ! by the elevens,' says Jack, ' we're done
 
 84 THE THREE TASKS. 
 
 at last ; it's the dark fellow, and half the country, 
 after us.' ' Put your hand,' says she, ' in the 
 filley's right ear, and tell me what you find in it' 
 ' Nothing at all at all,' says Jack, ' but a weeshy 
 bit of a dry stick.' * Throw it over your left 
 shoulder,' says she, ' and see what will happen.' 
 
 " Jack did so at once, and there was a great 
 grove of thick trees growing so close to one ano- 
 ther, that a dandy could scarcely get his arm be- 
 twixt them. ' Now,' said she, ' we are safe for 
 another day.' * Well,' said Jack, as he pushed on 
 the filley, ' you're the jewel of the world, sure 
 enough ; and maybe it's you that won't live happy 
 when we get to the Jim of the Ocean.' 
 
 " As soon as dark-face saw what happened, he 
 was obliged to scour the country for hatchets and 
 hand-saws, and all kinds of sharp instruments, to 
 hew himself and his men a passage through the 
 grove. As the saying goes, many hands make 
 light work, and, sure enough, it wasn't long till 
 they had cleared a way for themselves, thick as it 
 was, and set off with double speed after Jack and 
 the lady. 
 
 " The next day, about one o'clock, he and she 
 were after taking another small refreshment of 
 roast-beef and porther, and pushing on, as before, 
 when they heard the same tramping behind them, 
 only it was ten times louder.
 
 THE THREE TASKS. 85 
 
 " * Here they are again,' says Jack ; * and I'm 
 afeard they'll come up with us at last.' 
 
 " ' If they do,' says she, ' they'll put us to 
 death on the spot ; but we must try somehow to 
 stop them another day, if we can : search the 
 Alley's right ear again, and let me know what you 
 find in it. ' 
 
 " Jack pulled out a little three-cornered pebble, 
 telling her that it was all he got ; * well,' says she, 
 < throw it over your left shoulder like the stick.' 
 
 " No sooner said than done ; and there was a 
 great chain of high, sharp rocks in the way of 
 divel-face and all his clan. * Now,' says she, ' we 
 have gained another day.' 'Tundher-and-turf !' 
 says Jack, ' what's this for, at all at ail ? — but 
 wait till I get you in the Immerald Isle, for this, 
 and if you don't enjoy happy days any how, why 
 I'm not sitting before you on this horse, by the 
 same token that it's not a horse at all, but a fiUey 
 though : if you don't get the hoith of good aiting 
 and drinking — lashings of the best wine and whis- 
 key that the land can afford, my name's not Jack. 
 We'll build a castle, and you'll have up stairs and 
 down stairs — a coach and six to ride in — lots of 
 sarvints to attend on you, and full and plinty of 
 every thing ; not to mintion — hem ! — not to min- 
 tion that you'll have a husband that the fairest 
 lady in the land might be proud of,' says he,
 
 86 THE THREE TASKS. 
 
 stretching himself up in the saddle, and giving 
 the filley a jag of the spurs, to show off a bit ; 
 although the coaxing rogue knew that the money 
 which was to do all this was her own. At any 
 rate, they spent the remainder of this day plea- 
 santly enough, still moving on, though, as fast as 
 they could. Jack, every now and then, would 
 throw an eye behind, as if to watch their pur- 
 suers, wherein, if the truth was known, it was to 
 get a peep at the beautiful glowing face and warm 
 lips that were breathing all kinds of fraagrancies 
 about him. I'll warrant he didn't envy the king 
 upon his throne, when he felt the honey-suckle of 
 her breath, like the smell of Father Ned's or- 
 chard there, of a May morning. 
 
 " When Fardoroughah^ found the great chain 
 of rocks before him, you may set it down that he 
 was likely to blow up with vexation ; but, for all 
 that, the first thing he blew up was the rocks — 
 and that he might lose little or no time in doing 
 it, he collected all the gunpowder and crow-bars, 
 spades and pick-axes, that could be found for 
 miles about him, and set to it, working as if it 
 was with inch of candle. For half a day there 
 was nothing but boring and splitting, and driving 
 of iron wedges, and blowing up pieces of rocks 
 
 * The dark man.
 
 THE THREE TASKS. 87 
 
 as big as little houses, until, by hard labour, they 
 made a passage for themselves sufficient to carry 
 them over. They then set off again, full speed; 
 and great advantage they had over the poor fiUey 
 that Jack and the lady rode on, for their horses 
 were well rested, and hadn't to carry double, like 
 Jack's. The next day they spied Jack and his 
 beautiful companion, just about a quarter of a 
 mile before them. 
 
 " ' Now,' says dark-brow, ' I'll make any man's 
 fortune for ever that will bring me them two, 
 either living or dead, but, if possible, alive ; so, 
 spur on, for whoever secures them is a made 
 man — but, above all things, make no noise.' 
 
 " It was now divil take the hindmost among 
 the bloody pack — every spur was red with blood, 
 and every horse smoking. Jack and the lady 
 were jogging on acrass a green field, not sus- 
 pecting that the rest were so near them, and talk- 
 ing over the pleasant days they would spind toge- 
 ther in Ireland, when they hears the hue-and-cry 
 once more at their very heels. 
 
 " ' Quick as lightening, Jack,' says she, ' or we're 
 lost — the right ear and the left shoulder, like 
 thought — they're not three lengths of the filley 
 from us !' 
 
 " But Jack knew his business ; for just as a 
 long, grim-looking villain, with a great rusty
 
 88 THE THREE TASKS. 
 
 rapier in his hand, was within a single leap of 
 them, and quite sure of either killing or making 
 prisoners of them both. Jack flings a little drop of 
 green water that he got in the Alley's ear, over 
 his left shoulder, and in an instant there was a 
 deep, dark gulph, filled with black, pitchy-looking 
 water, between them. The lady now desired 
 Jack to pull up the filley a bit, till they would see 
 what would become of the dark fellow ; but just 
 as they turned round, the ould nager set spurs to 
 his horse, and, in a fit of desperation, plunged 
 himself, horse and all, into the gulph, and was 
 never seen or heard of more. The rest that were 
 with him went home, and began to quarrel about 
 his wealth, and kept murdering and killing one 
 another, until a single vagabond of them wasn't 
 left alive to enjoy it. 
 
 " When Jack saw what happened, and that the 
 blood-thirsty ould villain got what he desarved so 
 richly, he was as happy as a prince, and ten 
 times happier than most of them as the world 
 goes, and she was every bit as delighted. * We 
 have nothing more to fear,' said the darling that 
 put them all down so cleverly, seeing she was but 
 a woman ; but, bedad, it's she was the right sort 
 of a woman — ' all our dangers are now over, at 
 least, all yours are ; regarding myself,' says she, 
 * there is a trial before me yet, and that trial,
 
 THE THREE TASKS. 89 
 
 Jack, depends upon your faithfulness and con- 
 stancy.' 
 
 " ' On me, is it ? — Och, then, murder I isn't it a 
 poor case entirely, that I have no way of showing 
 you that you may depind your life upon me, 
 only by telling you so ?' 
 
 " ' I do depend upon you,' says she — * and now, 
 as you love me, do not, when the trial comes, 
 forget her that saved you out of so many trou- 
 bles, and made you such a great and wealthy 
 man.' 
 
 " The foregoing part of this Jack could well 
 understand, but the last part of it, making collu- 
 sion to the wealth, was a little dark, he thought, 
 bekase he hadn't fingered any of it at the time : 
 still, he knew she was truth to the back bone, 
 and wouldn't desave him. They hadn't travelled 
 much farther, when Jack snaps his fingers, \\ith a 
 * whoo I by the powers, there it is, my darling — 
 there it is, at long last!' 
 
 " 'There is what, Jack?' said she, surprised, as 
 well she might, at his mirth and happiness — ' There 
 is what?' says she. 
 
 "'Cheer up,' says Jack, 'there it is, my darling 
 — the Shannon ! — as soon as we get to the other 
 side of it, we'll be in ould Ireland once more.' 
 
 "There was no end to Jack's good humour, 
 when he crossed the Shannon ; and she was not a
 
 90 THE THREE TASKS. 
 
 bit displased to see him so happy. They had now 
 no enemies to fear, were in a civilized country, 
 and among green fields and well-bred people. In 
 this way they travelled at their ase, till they came 
 within a few miles of the town of Knockimdowny, 
 near which Jack's mother lived. 
 
 " ' Now, Jack,* says she, ' I tould you that I 
 would make you rich. You know the rock be- 
 side your mother's cabin ; in the east end of that 
 rock there is a loose stone, covered over with 
 grey moss, just two feet below the cleft out of 
 which the hanging rowan tree grows — pull that 
 stone out, and you will find more goold than 
 would make a duke. Neither speak to any per- 
 son, nor let any living thing touch your lips till 
 you come back to me, or you'll forget that you 
 ever saw me, and I'll be left poor and friendless 
 in a strange country.' 
 
 a ( Why, thin, manim asthee hu,'* says Jack, 
 * but the best way to guard against that, is to 
 touch your own sweet lips at the present time,' 
 says he, giving her a smack that you'd hear, of a 
 calm evening, acrass a couple of fields. Jack set 
 off to touch the money, with such speed, that 
 when he fell he scarcely waited to rise again ; he 
 was soon at the rock, any how, and without either 
 
 • My soul's within you.
 
 THE THREE TASKS. 91 
 
 doubt or disparagement, there was a cleft of ra-al 
 goolden guineas, as fresh as daisies. The first 
 thing he did, after he had filled his pockets with 
 them, was to look if his mother's cabin was to the 
 fore ; and there surely it was, as snug as ever, 
 with the same dacent column of smoke rowling 
 from the chimbley. 
 
 " ' Well,' thought he, ' I'll just stale over to the 
 door-cheek, and peep in to get one sight of my 
 poor mother ; then I'll throw her in a handful of 
 these guineas^ and take to my scrapers.' 
 
 " Accordingly, he stole up at a half-bend to the 
 door, and was just going to take a peep in, when 
 out comes the little dog, Trig, and begins to leap 
 and fawn upon him, as if it would eat him. The 
 mother, too, came running out to see what was 
 the matter, when the dog made another spring up 
 about Jack's neck, and gave his lips the slightest 
 lick in the world with its tongue, the crathur v/as 
 so glad to see him: the next minute. Jack forgot 
 the lady, as clane as if he had never seen her ; 
 but, if he forgot her, catch him at forgetting the 
 money — not he, avick ! — that stuck to him like 
 pitch. 
 
 " When the mother saw who it was, she flew to 
 nim, and, clasping her arms about his neck, hug- 
 ged him till she wasn't worth three ..half-pence. 
 After Jack sot a while, he made a trial to let her
 
 92 THE THREE TASKS. 
 
 know what had happened him, but he disremem- 
 bered it all, except having the money in the rock, 
 so he up and tould her that, and a glad woman 
 she was to hear of his good fortune. Still he 
 kept the place where the goold was to himself, 
 having been often forbid by her ever to trust a 
 woman with a sacret when he could avoid it. 
 
 "Now every body knows what changes the 
 money makes, and Jack was no exception to this 
 ould saying. In a few years he had built him- 
 self a fine castle, with three hundred and sixty- 
 four windies in it, and he would have added ano- 
 ther, to make one for every day in the year, only 
 that that Mould be equal to the number in the 
 King's palace, and the Lord of the Black Rod 
 would be sent to take his head off, it being high 
 thrason for a subject to have as many windies in 
 his house as the king. However, Jack, at any 
 rate, had enough of them ; and he that couldn't 
 be happy with three hundred and sixty-four, 
 wouldn't desarve to have three hundred and sixty- 
 five. Along with all this, he bought coaches and 
 carriages, and didn't get proud like many another 
 beggarly upstart, but took especial good care of 
 his mother, whom he dressed in silks and satins, 
 and gave her nice nourishing food, that was fit 
 for an ould woman in her condition. He also got 
 great tachers, men of deep larning, from Dublin
 
 rf THE THREE TASKS. 93 
 
 *^ 
 acquainted with all subjects ; and as his own abi- 
 lities were bright, he soon became a very great 
 scholar, entirely, and was able, in the long run, to 
 outdo all his tutherers. 
 
 "In this way he lived for some years — was 
 now a man of great larning himself — could spake 
 the seven langidgesy and it would delight your 
 ears to hear how high-flown and Englified he 
 could talk. All the world wondered where he 
 got his wealth ; but, as he was kind and charita- 
 ble to every one that stood in need of assistance, 
 the people said, that wherever he got it, it couldn't 
 be in better hands. At last he began to look 
 about him for a wife, and the only one in that 
 part of the country that would be at all fit for 
 him, was the Honourable Miss Bandbox, the 
 daughter of a nobleman in the neighbourhood. 
 She, indeed, flogged all the world for beauty ; but 
 it was said that she was proud and fond of wealth, 
 though, God he knows, she had enough of that, 
 any how. Jack, however, saw none of this ; for 
 she was cunning enough to smile, and simper, and 
 look pleasant, whenever he'd come to her father's. 
 Well, begad, from one thing, and one word, to 
 another. Jack thought it was best to make up to 
 her at wanst, and try if she'd accept of him for a 
 husband ; accordingly he put the word to her, 
 like a man, and she, making as if she was blush-
 
 94 THE THREE TASKS. 
 
 ing, put her fan before her face and made no 
 answer. Jack, however, wasn't to be daunted ; 
 for he knew two things worth knowing, when a 
 man goes to look for a wife : the first is — that 
 * faint heart never won fair lady,' and the second 
 — that ' silence gives consint ;' he, therefore, 
 spoke up to her in fine English, for it's he that 
 knew how to speak now, and, after a little more 
 fanning and blushing, by jingo, she consinted. 
 Jack then broke the matter to her father, who 
 was as fond of money as the daughter, and only 
 wanted to grab at him for the wealth. 
 
 " When the match was a-making, says ould Band- 
 box to Jack, * Mr. Magennis,' says he, (for no- 
 body called him Jack now but his mother) — 
 ' these two things you must comply with, if you 
 marry my daughter, Miss Gripsy : — you must 
 send away your mother from about you, and pull 
 down the cabin in which you and she used to 
 live ; Gripsy says that they would jog her me- 
 mory consarning your low birth and former po- 
 verty ; she's nervous and high-spirited, Mr. Ma- 
 gennis, and declares upon her honour that she 
 couldn't bear the thoughts of having the di- 
 licacy of her feeling offinded by these things.* 
 
 " ' Good morning to you both,' says Jack, like 
 an honest fellow as he was, * if she doesn't marry 
 me except on these conditions, give her my com-
 
 THE THREE TASKS. 95 
 
 pliments, and tell her our courtship is at an 
 end.* 
 
 " But it wasn't long till they soon came out 
 with another story, for before a week passed, they 
 were very glad to get him on his own conditions. 
 Jack was now as happy as the day was long — all 
 things appointed for the wedding, and nothing a 
 wanting to make every thing to his heart's con- 
 tent but the wife, and her he was to have in less 
 than no time. For a day or two before the wed- 
 ding, there never was seen such grand prepara- 
 tions : bullocks, and hogs, and sheep were roasted 
 whole — kegs of whiskey, both Roscrea and In- 
 nishowen, barrels of ale and beer, were there in 
 dozens. All descriptions of niceties, and wild- 
 fowl, and fish from the say ; and the dearest wine 
 that could be bought with money, was got for the 
 gentry and grand folks. Fiddlers, and pipers, and 
 harpers, in short, all kinds of music and musi- 
 cianers, played in shoals. Lords and ladies and 
 squares of high degree were present — and, to 
 crown the thing, there was open house for all 
 comers. 
 
 "At length the wedding-day arrived; there was 
 nothing but roasting and boiling ; servants dressed 
 in rich liveries ran about with joy and delight in 
 their countenances, and white gloves and wedding 
 favours on their hats and hands. To make a long
 
 96 THE THREE TASKS. 
 
 ftory short, they were all seated in Jack's castle 
 at the wedding breakfast, ready for the priest to 
 marry them when they'd be done ; for in them 
 times people were never married until they had 
 laid in a good foundation to carry them through 
 the ceremony. Well, they were all seated round 
 the table, the men dressed in the best of broad- 
 cloth, and the ladies rustling in their silks and 
 satins — their heads, necks, and arms hung round 
 with jewels both rich and rare: but of all that 
 were there that day, there wasn't the likes of the 
 bride and bridegroom. As for him, nobody could 
 think, at all at all, that he was ever any thing else 
 than a born gintleman ; and what was more to 
 his credit, he had his kind ould mother sitting 
 beside the bride, to tache her that an honest per- 
 son, though poorly born, is company for the king. 
 As soon as the breakfast was served up, they all 
 set to, and maybe the vaarious kinds of eatables 
 did not pay for it ; and amongst all this cutting 
 and thrusting, no doubt but it was remarked, that 
 the bride herself was behind hand wid none of 
 them — that she took her dalin-trick without flinch- 
 ing, and made nothing less than a right fog meal 
 of it ; and small blame to her for that same, you 
 persave. 
 
 " When the breakfast was over, up gets Father 
 Flanagan — out with his book, and on with his
 
 THE THREE TASKS. 97 
 
 stole, to marry them. The bride and bridegroom 
 went up to the end of the room, attended by their 
 friends, and the rest of the company stood on 
 each side of it, for you see they were too high 
 bred, and knew their manners too well, to stand 
 in a crowd like spalpeens. For all that, there was 
 many a sly look from the ladies to their bachelors, 
 and many a titter among them, grand as they 
 were ; for, to tell the truth, the best of them likes 
 to see fun in the way, particularly of that sort. 
 The priest himself was in as great a glee as any 
 of them, only he kept it under, and well he might, 
 for sure enough this marriage was nothing less 
 than a rale windfal to him, and the parson that 
 was to marry them after him — bekase you persave 
 a Protestant and Catholic must be married by 
 both, otherwise it doesn't hould good in law. The 
 parson was as grave as a mustard-pot, and Father 
 Flanagan called the bride and bridegroom his 
 childher, which was a big bounce for him to say 
 the likes of, more betoken that neither of them 
 was a drop's blood to him. 
 
 " However, he pulled out the book, and was 
 just beginning to buckle them, when in comes 
 Jack's ould acquaintance, the smoking cur, as 
 grave as ever. The priest had just got through 
 two or three words of Latin, when the dog gives 
 him a pluck by the sleeve ; Father Flanagan, of 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 THE THREE TASKS. 
 
 coorse, turned round to see who it was that nudged 
 him: * behave yourself,' says the dog to him, just 
 as he peeped over his shoulder — * behave your- 
 self,* says he ; and with that he sot him down on 
 his hunkers beside the priest, and pulling a cigar, 
 instead of a pipe, out of his pocket, he put it in 
 his mouth, and began to smoke for the bare life of 
 him. And, by my own word, it's he that could 
 smoke : at times he would shoot the smoke in a 
 slender stream, like a knitting-needle, with a round 
 curl at the one end of it, ever so far out of the 
 right side of his mouth ; then he would shoot it 
 out of the left^ and sometimes make it swirl out so 
 beautiful from the middle of his lips I — why, then, 
 it's he that must have been the well bred puppy 
 all out, as far as smoking went. Father Flanagan 
 and they all were tundherstruck. 
 
 " * In the name of St. Anthony, and of that holy 
 nun, St. Teresa,' said his Reverence to him, * who 
 or what are you, at all at all ?' 
 
 " < Never mind that,' says the dog, taking the 
 cigar for a minute between his claws ; ' but if you 
 wish particularly to know, I'm a thirty-second 
 cousin of your own, by the mother's side.' 
 
 " * I command you, in the name of all the 
 saints,' says Father Flanagan, ' to disappear from 
 among us, and never become visible to any one 
 in this house again.'
 
 THE THREE TASKS. 99 
 
 « * The sorra a budge, at the present time, will 
 I budge,' says the dog to him, * until I see all sides 
 rightified, and the rogues disappointed.* 
 
 " Now one would be apt to think the appearance 
 of a spoking dog might be after fright'ning the 
 ladies ; but doesn't all the world know that spok- 
 ing puppies are their greatest favourites. Instead 
 of that, you see, there was half a dozen of fierce- 
 looking whiskered fellows, and three or four half- 
 pay officers, that were nearer making off than the 
 ladies. But, besides the cigar, the dog had, upon 
 this occasion, a pair of green spectacles acrass his 
 face, and through these, while he was spoking to 
 Father Flanagan, he ogled all the ladies, one after 
 another, and when his eye would light upon any 
 that pleased him, he would kiss his paw to her, 
 and wag his tail with the greatest politeness. 
 
 " * John,* says Father Flanagan, to one of the 
 servants, * bring me salt and water, till I consecrate 
 them to banish the divil, for he has appeared to 
 us all during broad day light, in the shape of a 
 dog.' 
 
 " * You had better behave yourself, I say again,' 
 
 says the dog, ' or if you make me speak, by my 
 
 honour as a gintleman, I'll expose you : I say, you 
 
 won't marry the same two, neither this nor any 
 
 other day, and I'll give you my rasons presently ; 
 
 but I repate it, Father Flanagan, if you compel 
 
 H 2
 
 100 THE THREE TASKS. 
 
 me to speak, I'll make you look nine ways at. 
 once.' 
 
 " * I defy you, Satan,* says the priest, * and if 
 you don't take yourself away before the holy wa- 
 ther's made, I'll send you off in a flame of fire.' 
 
 " ' Yes, I'm trimbling,' says the dog : ' plenty 
 of spirits you laid in your day, biit it was in a 
 place that's nearer us than the Red Sea, you did 
 it : listen to me though, for I don't wish to expose 
 you, as I said ;' so he gets on his hind legs, puts 
 his nose to the priest's ear, and whispers some- 
 thing to him that none of the rest could hear — 
 all before the priest had time to know where he 
 was. At any rate, whatever he said seemed to 
 make his Reverence look double, though, faix, that 
 wasn't hard to do, for he was as big as two com- 
 mon men. When the dog was done speaking, and 
 had put his cigar in his mouth, the priest seemed 
 tundherstruck, crossed himself, and was, no doubt 
 of it, in great perplexity. 
 
 " ' I say, it's false,' says Father Flanagan, pluck- 
 ing up courage ; ' but you know you're a liar, and 
 the father of liars.' 
 
 " * As thrue as gospel, this bout, I tell you,' says 
 the dog. 
 
 " ' Wait till I make my holy wather,' says the 
 priest, ' and if I don't cork you in a thumb bottle 
 for this, I'm not here.*
 
 THE THREE TASKS. 101 
 
 <' < You're better at uncorking.' says the dog — 
 * better at relasing spirits than confining them.' 
 
 "Just at this minute the whole company sees a 
 gintleman galloping for the bare life of him, up 
 to the hall-door, and he dressed like an officer. 
 In three jiffeys he was down off his horse, and in 
 among the company. The dog, as soon as he 
 made his appearance, laid his claw as usual on his 
 nose, and gave the bridegroom a wink, as much 
 as to say, ' watch what'ill happen.' 
 
 " Now it was very odd that Jack, during all this 
 time, remembered the dog very well, but could 
 never once think of the darling that did so much 
 for him. As soon, however, as the officer made 
 his appearance, the bride seemed as if she would 
 sink outright ; and when he walked up to her, to 
 ax v/hat was the meaning of what he saw, why, 
 down she drops at once — fainted clane. The gin- 
 tleman then went up to Jack, and says, * Sir, was 
 this lady about to be married to you ?' 
 
 " < Sartinly,' says Jack, * we were going to be 
 yoked in the blessed and holy tackle of mathri- 
 mony ;' or some high-flown words of that kind. 
 
 " ' Well, Sir,' says the other back to him, * I can 
 only say that she is most solemnly sworn never to 
 marry another man but me ; that oath she tuck 
 when 1 was joining my regiment before it went 
 abroad ; and if the ceremony of your marriage 
 
 G 2
 
 102 THE THREE TASKS. 
 
 be performed, you will sleep with a perjured 
 bride/ 
 
 " Begad, he did, plump before all their faces. 
 Jack, of coorse, was struck all of a hape at this ; 
 but as he had the bride in his arms, giving her a 
 little sup of whiskey to bring her to, you persave, 
 he couldn't make him an answer. However, she 
 soon came to herself, and, on opening her eyes, 
 ' Oh, hide me, hide me,' says she, ' for I can't bear 
 to look on him !* 
 
 *' ' He says you are his sworn bride, my dar- 
 ling,' says Jack. 
 
 " ' I am — I am,' says she, covering her eyes, 
 and crying away at the rate of a wedding : ' I 
 can't deny it ; and, by tare-an-ounty I' says she, 
 ' I'm unworthy to be either his wife or yours ; 
 for, except I marry you both, I dunna how to 
 settle this affair between you, at all ; — oh, murther 
 sheervl but I'm the misfortunate crathur, en- 
 tirely. 
 
 " < Well,' says Jack to the officer, ' nobody can 
 do more than be sorry for a wrong turn ; small 
 blame to her for taking a fancy to your humble 
 servant, Mr. Officer,' — and he stood as tall as 
 possible, to show himself off: 'you see the fair 
 lady is sorrowful for her folly, so as it's not yet 
 too late, and as you came in the nick of time, in
 
 THE THREE TASKS. 103 
 
 the name of Providence take my place, and let 
 the marriage go an.' 
 
 " ' No,' says she, * never ; I'm not worthy of 
 him, at all at all : tundher-an-age, but I'm the un- 
 lucky thief!' 
 
 "While this was going forward, the officer 
 looked closely at Jack, and seeing him such a 
 line, handsome fellow, and having heard before of 
 his riches, he bbgan to think that, all things con- 
 sidhered, she wasn't so much to be blempt. Then, 
 when he saw how sorry she was for having forgot 
 him, he steps forrid. 
 
 " ' Well,' says he, ' I'm still willing to marry 
 you, particularly as you feel conthrition 
 
 " He should have said contrition, confession, 
 and satisfaction," observed Father Peter. 
 
 " Pether, will you keep your theology to your- 
 self," replied Father Ned, "and let us come to 
 the plot without interruption." 
 
 "Plot!" exclaimed Father Peter, "I'm sure 
 it's no rebellion that there should be a plot in it, 
 any way !" 
 
 " Tace^' said Father Ned — "toce, and that's 
 Latin for a candle." 
 
 " I deny that," said the curate ; " tace is the 
 imperative mood from taceo^ to keep silent. Taceo, 
 taces, tacuif tacere, tacendi, tacendo, iac " 
 
 " Ned, go on with your story, and never mind
 
 104 THE THREE TASKS. 
 
 that deep laming of his — he's almost cracked with 
 it," said the superior : " go on, and never mind 
 him." 
 
 " « Well,' says he, * I'm still willing to marry 
 you, particularly as you feel conthrition for what 
 you were going to do. So, with this, they all go- 
 ther about her, and, as the officer was a fine fel- 
 low himself, prevailed upon her to let the mar- 
 riage be performed, and they were according 
 spliced as fast as his Reverence could make 
 them. 
 
 " ' Now, Jack,' says the dog, ' I want to spake 
 with you for a minute — it's a word for your own 
 ear ;' so up he stands on his two hind legs, and 
 purtinded to be whisp'ring something to him ; but 
 what do you think ? — he gives him the slightest 
 touch on the lips with bis paw, and that instant 
 Jack remimbered the lady and every thing that 
 happened betune them. 
 
 " * Tell me this instant,' says Jack, seizing him 
 by the throath, *where's the darling, at all at 
 all V 
 
 " Jack spoke finer nor this, to be sure, but as I 
 can't give his tall English, the sorra one of me 
 will bother myself striving to do it.' 
 
 " 'Behave yourself,' says the dog, *just say no- 
 thing, only follow me.' 
 
 "Accordingly, Jack went out with the dog.
 
 THE THREE TASKS. 105 
 
 and in a few minutes comes in again, leading along 
 with him, on the one side, the loveliest lady that 
 ever eye beheld, and the dog, that was her bro- 
 ther, now metamurphied into a beautiful, illegant 
 gintleman, on the other. 
 
 " ' Father Flanagan,' says Jack, * you thought a 
 while ago you'd have no marriage, but instead of 
 that you'll have a brace of them ;' up and telling 
 the company, at the same time, all that happened 
 him, and how the beautiful crathur that he brought 
 in with him had done so much for him. 
 
 " Whin the gintlemen heard this, as they were 
 all Irishmen, you may be sure there was nothing 
 but huzzaing and throwing up of hats from them, 
 and waving of handkerchers from the ladies. 
 Well, my dear, the wedding dinner was ate in 
 great style ; the nobleman proved himself no dis- 
 grace to his rank at the trencher ; and so, to make 
 a long story short, such faisting and banqueteer- 
 ing was never seen since or before. At last night 
 came ; and, among ourselves, not a doubt of it, 
 but Jack thought himself a happy man ; and 
 maybe if all was known, the bride was much of 
 the same opinion : be that as it may, night came 
 — the bride, all blushing, beautiful, and modest 
 as your own sweetheart, was getting tired after 
 the dancing; Jack, too, though much stouter, 
 wished for a trifle of repose, and many thought
 
 lOG THE THREE TASKS. 
 
 it was near time to throw the stocking, as is pro- 
 per, of coorse, on every occasion of the kind. 
 Well, he was just on his way up stairs, and had 
 reached the first landing, when he hears a voice 
 at his ear, shouting, * Jack — Jack — Jack Magen- 
 nis !' Jack could have spitted any body for com- 
 ing to disturb him at such a criticality-— ' Jack 
 Magennis !' says the voice. Jack looked about to 
 see who it was that called him, and there he 
 found himself lying on the green Rathy a little 
 above his mother's cabin, of a fine calm summer's 
 evening, in the month of June. His mother was 
 stooping over him, with her mouth at his ear, 
 striving to waken him, by shouting and shaking 
 him out of his sleep. 
 
 " ' Oh ! by this and by that, mother,' says Jack, 
 ^ what did you waken me for ?' 
 
 " ' Jack, a-vourneen,' says the mother, ' sure 
 and you war lying grunting, and groaning, and 
 snifthering there, for all the world as if you had 
 the cholic, and I only nudged you for fraid you 
 war in pain.' 
 
 " ' I wouldn't for a thousand guineas, says Jack, 
 * that ever you wakened me, at all at all ; but 
 whisht mother, go into the house, and I'll be 
 afther you in less than no time.' 
 
 "' The mother went in, and the first thing Jack
 
 THE THREE TASKS. 107 
 
 did was to try the rock ; and, sure enough, there 
 he found as much money as made him the richest 
 man that ever was in the country. And what 
 was to his credit, when he did grow rich, he 
 wouldn't let his cabin be thrown down, but built 
 a fine castle on a spot near it, where he could 
 always have it under his eye, to prevent him from 
 getting proud. In the coorse of time, a harper, 
 hearing the story, composed a tune upon it, 
 which every body knows is called the * Little 
 House under the Hill' to this day, beginning 
 with 
 
 ' Hi for it, ho for it, hi for it still ; 
 Och, and whoo ! your sowl — hi for the little house under the 
 hill »' 
 
 " So you see that was the way the great Ma- 
 gennises first came by their wealth, and all be- 
 cause Jack was industrious, and an obadient, dutiful, 
 tindher son, to his helpless ould mother, and well 
 he desarved what he got, ershi misha.^ Your 
 healths — Father Ned — Father Pether — all kinds 
 of happiness to us ; and there's my story." 
 
 " Well," said Father Peter, " I think that dog 
 was nothing more or less than a downright cur, 
 that deserved the lash nine times a day, if it was 
 only for his want of respect to the clergy ; if he 
 
 * Say I.
 
 108 THE THREE TASKS. 
 
 had given me such insolence, I solemnly declare 
 I would have bate the devil out of him with a 
 hazel cudgel, if I failed to exorcise him with a 
 prayer." 
 
 Father Ned looked at the simple and credulous 
 Curate, with an expression of humour and asto- 
 nishment. 
 
 " Paddy," said he to the servant, " will you let 
 us kngw what the night's doing?" 
 
 Paddy looked out. "Why, your Rev'rence, 
 it's a fine night, all out, and cleared up it is 
 bravely." 
 
 At this moment the stranger awoke. " Sir,'* 
 said Father Ned, " you missed an amusing story, 
 in consequence of your somnolency." 
 
 " Though I missed the story," replied the 
 stranger, " I was happy enough to hear your 
 friend's critique upon the dog." 
 
 Father Ned seemed embarrassed; the Curate, 
 c\n the contrary, exclaimed with triumph — "but 
 wasn't / right. Sir ?" 
 
 " Perfectly," said the stranger ; " the moral 
 you applied was excellent." 
 
 " Good night, boys," said Father Ned—" good 
 night, Mr. Longinus Polysyllabus Alexandrinus !' 
 " Good night, boys," said Father Peter, imita- 
 ting Father Ned, whom he looked upon as a per- 
 fect model of courtesy — " good night, boys — good
 
 THE THREE TASKS. 109 
 
 niglit, Mr. Longinus Polysyllabus Alexandri- 
 nus!" 
 
 " Good night," replied the stranger — " good 
 night, Doctor Ned — hem ! — Doctor Edward De- 
 leery ; and good night, Doctor Peter M'Clatcha- 
 ghan — good night." 
 
 When the clergymen were gone, the circle 
 about the fire, excepting the member's of Ned's 
 family and the stranger, dispersed to their re- 
 spective homes ; and thus ended the amusement 
 of that evening. 
 
 After they had separated, Ned, whose curiosity 
 respecting the stranger was by no means satisfied, 
 began to sift him in his own peculiar manner, as 
 they both sat at the fire. 
 
 " Well, Sir," said Ned, " barring the long play- 
 aether that tumbles upon the big stage in the 
 street of our market-town here below, I haven't 
 seen so long a man this many a day ; and, barring 
 your big whiskers, the sorra one of your honour's 
 unlike him. A fine portly vagabone he is, indeed 
 — a big man, and a bigger rogue, they say, for 
 he pays nobody." 
 
 " Have you got such a company in your neigh- 
 bourhood?" inquired the stranger with indiffer- 
 ence. 
 
 " We have, Sir," said Ned ; " but, plase good- 
 ness, they'll soon be lashed like hounds from the
 
 110 THE THREE TASKS. 
 
 place — the town boys are preparing to give them 
 a chivey some fine morning out of the country." 
 
 " Indeed I — he — hem ! — that will be very 
 spirited of the town boys," said the stranger 
 dryly. 
 
 " That's a smart looking horse your honour 
 rides," observed Ned ; " did he carry you far to- 
 day, with submission ?" 
 
 " Not far," replied his companion — " only four- 
 teen miles; but, I suppose, the fact is, you wish 
 to know who and what I am, where I came from, 
 and whither I am going. Well, you shall know 
 this. In the first place, I am agent to Lord Non- 
 Resident's estate, if you ever heard of that noble- 
 man, and I am on my way from Castle Ruin, the 
 seat of his Lordship's Incumbrances, to Dublin. 
 My name you have already heard. Are you now 
 satisfied ?" 
 
 "Parfitly, your honour," replied Ned, "and 
 I'm much obliged to you. Sir." 
 
 " I trust you are an honest man," said the 
 stranger, " because for this night I am about to 
 place great confidence in you." 
 
 " Well, Sir," said his landlord, " if I turn out 
 dishonest to you, it's more nor I did in my whole 
 life to aiiy body else, barring to Nancy." 
 
 " Here, then," said the stranger, drawing out 
 a large packet, enclosed in a roll of black leather
 
 THE THREE TASKS. Ill 
 
 — " here is the half-year's rent of the estate, to- 
 gether with my own property : keep it secure till 
 morning, when I shall demand it, and, of course, 
 it will be safe ?" 
 
 "As if it was five fadom under ground," re- 
 plied Ned. "I will put it along with our own 
 trifle of silver ; and after that, let Nancy alone for 
 keeping it safe so long as it's there ;" saymg 
 which, Ned secured the packet, and showed the 
 stranger his bed. . 
 
 About five o'clock the next morning their guest 
 was up, and ordered a snack in all haste ; " being 
 a military man," said he, " and accustomed to 
 timely hours, I shall ride down to the town, and 
 put a letter into the post office in time for the 
 Dublin mail, after which you may expect me to 
 breakfast. But, in the mean time, I am not to 
 go with empty pockets," he added, when mount- 
 ing his horse at the door — " bring me silver, land- 
 lord, and be quick." 
 
 " How much, plase your honour ?" 
 
 " Twenty or thirty shillings ; but, harkee, pro- 
 duce my packet, that I may be certain my pro- 
 perty is safe." 
 
 " Here it is, your honour, safe and sound," re- 
 plied Ned ; " and Nancy, Sir, has sent you all 
 the silver she has, which was One Pound Five ; 
 but I'd t-ke it as a favour if your honour would
 
 112 THE THREE TASKS. 
 
 be contint with twenty shillings, and lave me the 
 other five, for you see the case is this. Sir, plase 
 your honour, she," and Ned, with a shrewd, 
 humorous nod, pointed with his thumb over his 
 
 shoulder as he spoke — " she wears the what 
 
 you know. Sir.'* 
 
 " Ay, I thought so," replied the stranger ; " but 
 a man of your size to be hen-pecked, must be a 
 great knave, otherwise your wife would allow you 
 more liberty. Go in, man ; you deserve no com- 
 passion in such an age of freedom as this. I 
 sha'n't give you a farthing till after my return, 
 and only then if it be agreeable to your wife." 
 
 ** Murdher !" said Ned, astonished, " I beg your 
 honour's pardon; murdher alive, Sir, where's 
 your whiskers ?" 
 
 The stranger put his hand hastily to his face, 
 and smiled — " Where are my whiskers ? Why 
 shaved off, to be sure," he replied ; and setting 
 spurs to his horse, was soon out of sight and 
 hearing. 
 
 It was nearly a month after that, when Ned 
 and Nancy, in presence of Father Deleery, 
 opened the packet, and discovered, not the half 
 year's rent of Lord Non-Resident's estate, but a 
 large sheaf of play-bills packed up together — their 
 guest having been the identical person to whom 
 Ned affirmed he bore so strong a resemblance.
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 
 
 On the following evening, the neighbours were 
 soon assembled about Ned's hearth, in the same 
 manner as on the night preceding : — 
 
 And we may observe, by the way, that although 
 there was a due admixture of opposite creeds and 
 conflicting principles, yet even then, and the time 
 is not so far back, such was their cordiality of 
 heart and simplicity of manners when contrasted 
 with the bitter and rancorous spirit of 'the present 
 day, that the very remembrance of the harmony 
 in which they lived, is at once pleasing and me- 
 lancholy. 
 
 After some preliminary chat — " Well, Shane," 
 said Andy Morrow, addressing Shane Fadh, 
 « will you give us an account of your wedding ? 
 —I'm told it was the greatest let-out that ever 
 was in the country, before or since." 
 
 " And you may say that, Mr. Morrow," said 
 Shane, " I was at many a wedding myself, but 
 
 I 2
 
 1 16 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 
 
 never at the likes of my own, barring Tim Lani- 
 gan's, that married Father Corrigan's niece.*' 
 
 " I believe," said Andy, " that, too, was a dash- 
 ing one ; however, it's your own we want. Come, 
 Nancy, fill these measures again, and let us be 
 comfortable, at all events, and give Shane a double 
 one, for talking's druthy work. — 1*11 pay for this 
 round." 
 
 When the liquor was got in, Shane, after taking 
 a draught, laid down his pint, pulled out his steel 
 tobacco box, and, after twisting off a che^ be- 
 tween his teeth, closed the box, and commenced 
 the story of his wedding. 
 
 " When I was a Brine-Oge,"* said Shane, " I 
 was as wild as an unbroken cowlt — no divilment 
 was too hard for me ; and so sign's on it, for there 
 wasn't a piece of mischief done in the parish, but 
 was laid at my door — and the dear knows I had 
 enough of my own to answer for, let alone to be 
 set down for that of other people ; but, any way, 
 there was many a thing done in my name, when 
 I knew neither act nor part about it One of 
 them I'll mintion : Dick Cuillenan, father to 
 Paddy, that lives at the crass-roads, beyant Gun- 
 powdher Lodge, was over head and ears in love 
 with Jemmy Finigan's eldest daughter, Mary, 
 
 ** A young man full of fun and frolic*
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 117 
 
 then, sure enough, as purty a girl «s you'd meet 
 in a fair — indeed, I think I'm looking at her, with 
 her fair flaxen ringlets hanging over her shoulders, 
 as she used tO pass our house, going to mass of a 
 Sunday. God rest her sowl, she's now in glory — 
 that was before she was my wife. Many a happy 
 day we passed together ; and I eould take it to 
 my death, that an ill word, let alone to rise our 
 hands to one another, never passed between us — 
 only one day, that a word or two happened about 
 the dinner, in the middle of lent, being a little 
 too late, so that the horses were kept nigh hand 
 half an hour out of the plough ; and I wouldn't 
 have valued that so much, only that it was Beal- 
 cam* Doherty that joined me in ploughing that 
 year — and I was vexed not to take all I could out 
 of him, for he was a raal Turk himself. 
 
 "I disremimber now what passed between us 
 as to words — but I know I had a duck-egg in ray 
 hand, and when she spoke, I raised my arm, and 
 nailed — poor Larry Tracy, our servant boy, be- 
 tween the two eyes with it, although the crathur 
 was ating his dinner quietly foment me, not say- 
 ing a word. 
 
 " Well, as I tould you, Dick was ever after her, 
 
 • Crooked mouth.
 
 118 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 
 
 although her father and mother would rather see 
 her wnder boord than joined to any of that con- 
 nection ; and as for herself, she couldn't bear the 
 sight of him, he was sich an upsetting, conceited 
 puppy, that thought himself too good for every 
 girl. At any rate, he tried often and often, in 
 fair and market, to get striking up with her ; and 
 both coming from and going to mass, 'twas the 
 same way, for ever after and about her, till the 
 state he was in spread over the parish like wild- 
 fire. Still, all he could do was of no use ; ex- 
 cept to bid him the time of day, she never en- 
 tered into discoorse with him, at all at all. But 
 there was no putting the likes of him off; so he 
 got a quart of spirits in his pocket, one night, 
 and, without saying a word to mortal, oif he sets 
 full speed to her father's, in order to brake the 
 thing to the family. 
 
 " Mary might be about seventeen at this time, 
 and her mother looked almost as young and fresh 
 as if she hadn't been married at all. When Dick 
 came in, you may be sure they were all surprised 
 at the sight of him ; but they were civil people 
 — and the mother wiped a chair, and put it over 
 near the fire, for him to sit down upon, waiting 
 to hear what he'd say, or what he . wanted, 
 although they could give a purty good guess as
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 119 
 
 to that — but they only wished to put him oiF with 
 as little offince as possible. When Dick sot a 
 while, talking about what the price of hay and 
 oats would be in the following summer, and other 
 subjects that he thought would show his know- 
 ledge of farming and cattle, he pulls out his bot- 
 tle, encouraged to it by their civil way of talking 
 — aud telling the ould couple, that as he came 
 over on his kaili/ee,* he had brought a drop in his 
 pocket to sweeten the discoorse, axing Susy 
 Finigan, the mother, for a glass to send it round 
 with- — at the same time drawing over his chair 
 close to Mary, who was knitting her stocken up 
 beside her little brother Michael, and chatting to 
 the gorsoon, for fraid that Cuillenan might think 
 she paid him any attention. 
 
 "When Dick got along side of her, he began, 
 of coorse, to pull out her needles and spoil her 
 knitting, as is customary before the young people 
 come to close spaking. Mary, howsomever, had 
 no welcome for him ; so, says she, ' you ought to 
 know, Dick Cuillenan, who you spake to, before 
 you make the freedom you do.' 
 
 " * But you don't know,* says Dick, < that I'm 
 a great hand at spoiling the girls' knitting — it's a 
 fashion I've got,' says he. 
 
 " ' It's a fashion, then,' says Mary, ' that'll be 
 
 * Kailyee — a friendly evening visit.
 
 120 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 
 
 apt to get you a broken mouth sometime.'* 
 *Then,' says Dick,< whoever does that must marry 
 me.* 
 
 " * And them that gets you, will have a prize to 
 brag of,' says she ; * stop yourself, Cuillenan — 
 single your freedom, and double your distance, if 
 you plase ; FU cut my coat off no such cloth.' 
 
 *' * Well Mary,' says he, * maybe, if you don't, 
 as good will ; but you won't be so cruel as all 
 that comes to — the worst side of you is out, I 
 think.' 
 
 " He was now beginning to make greater free- 
 dom ; but Mary rises from her seat, and whisks 
 away with herself, her cheek as red as a rose with 
 vexation at the fellow's imperance. ' Very well,' 
 says Dick, * off you go ; but there's as good fish 
 in the say as ever wcis catched. — I'm sorry to 
 see, Susy,' says he to her mother, * that Mary's 
 no friend of mine, and I'd be mighty glad to find 
 it otherwise ; for, to tell the truth, I'd wish to 
 become connected with the family. In the mane 
 
 * It is no unusual thing in Ireland, for a country girl to 
 repulse a fellow whom she thinks beneath her, if not by a flat 
 at least by a flattening refusal ; nor is it seldom that the " ar- 
 gumentum fistycuffium" is resorted to on such occasions. I 
 have more than once seen a disagreeable lover receive, from 
 the fair hand which he sought, so masterly a blow, that a 
 bleeding nose rewarded his ambition, and silenced for a time 
 his importunity.
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 121 
 
 time, hadn't you better get us a glass, till we 
 drink one bottle on the head of it, any way.' 
 
 " • Why, then, Dick Cuillenan,* says the mo- 
 ther ' I don't wish you any thing else than good 
 luck and happiness; but, as to Mary, she's not 
 for you herself, nor would it be a good match 
 between the families at all. Mary is to have her 
 grandfather's sixty guineas, and the two moulleens* 
 that her uncle Jack left her four years ago has 
 brought her a good stock for any farm. Now if 
 she married you, Dick, where's the farm to bring 
 her to ? — surely, it's not upon them seven acres 
 of stone and bent, upon the long Esker, that I'd 
 let my daughter go to live. So, Dick, put up 
 your bottle, and in the name of God, go home, 
 boy, and mind your business ; but, above all, 
 when you want a wife, go to them that you may 
 have a right to expect, and not to a girl like 
 Mary Finigan that could lay down guineas where 
 you could hardly find shillings.* 
 
 « <Very well, Susy,' says Dick * nettled enough, 
 as he well might, < I say to you, just as I say to 
 your daughter, if you be proud there's no 
 force.' " 
 
 " But what has this to do with you, Shane ?" 
 asked Andy Morrow; "sure we wanted to hear 
 
 • Cows without horns.
 
 122 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 
 
 an account of y(>ur wedding, but instead of that, 
 it s Dick Cuillenan's history you're giving us." 
 
 " That's just it," said Shane ; *' sure, only for 
 this same Dick, I'd never get Mary Finigan for a 
 wife. Dick took Susy's advice, bekase, after all, 
 the undacent drop was in him, or he'd never have 
 brought the bottle out of the house, at all ; but, 
 faith, he riz up, put the whiskey in his pocket, and 
 went home with a face on him as black as my 
 hat with venom. Well, things passed on till the 
 Christmas following, when one night, after the Fi- 
 nigans had all gone to bed, there comes a crowd 
 of fellows to the door, thumping at it with great 
 violence, and swearing that if the people within 
 wouldn't open it immediately, it would be smash- 
 ed into smithereens. The family, of coorse, were 
 all alarmed ; but somehow or other, Susy her- 
 self got suspicious that it might be something 
 about Mary ; so up she gets, and sends the daugh- 
 ter to her own bed, and lies down herself in the 
 daughter's. 
 
 " In the mane time, Finigan got up, and after 
 lighting a candle, opened the door at once. 
 < Come, Finigan,' says a strange voice, ' put out 
 the candle, except you wish to make a candle- 
 stick of the thatch,' says he — ' or to give you a 
 prod of a bagnet under the ribs,' says he. 
 
 "'t was a folly for one man to go to bell-the-
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 123 
 
 cat with a whole crowd ; so he blew the candle 
 out, and next minute they rushed in, and went as 
 straight as a rule to Mary's bed. The mother all 
 the time lay close, and never said a word. At 
 any rate, what could be expected, only that, do 
 what she could, at the long run she must go. 
 So, accordingly, after a very hard battle on 
 her side, being a powerful woman, she was 
 obliged to travel — but not till she had left many 
 of them marks to remimber her by ; among the 
 rest, Dick himself got his nose split on his face, 
 with the stroke of a churn-staff, so that he car- 
 ried half a nose on each cheek till the day of his 
 death. Still, there was very little spoke, for they 
 didn't wish to betray themselves on any side. 
 The only thing that Finigan could hear, was my 
 name repated several times, as if the whole thing 
 was going on under my direction ; for Dick 
 thought, that if there was any one in the parish 
 likely to be set down for it, it was me. 
 
 *' When Susy found they were for putting her 
 behind one of them, on a horse, she rebelled 
 again, and it took near a dozen of boys to hoist 
 her up ; but one vagabone of them, that had a 
 rusty broad-sword in his hand, gave her a skelp 
 with the flat side of it, that subdued her at once, 
 and off they went Now, above all nights in the 
 year, who should be dead but my own full cou-
 
 1 24 SHANE FADH 'S WEDDING. 
 
 sin, Denis Fadh — God be good to him ! — and I, 
 and Jack and Dan, his brothers, while bringing 
 home whiskey for the wake and berrin, met them 
 on the road. At first we thought them distant 
 relations coming to the wake, but when I saw 
 only one woman among the set, and she mounted 
 on a horse, I began to suspect that all wasn't 
 right. I accordingly turned back a bit, and 
 walked near enough without their seeing me to 
 hear the discoorse, and discover the whole busi- 
 ness. In less than no time I was back at the 
 wake-house, so I up and tould them what I saw, 
 and oflf we set, about forty of us, with good 
 cudgels, scythe-sneds, and hooks, fully bent to 
 bring her back from them, come or go what 
 would. And troth, sure enough, we did it; 
 and I was the man myself that rode after the 
 mother on the same horse that carried her off. 
 
 " From this out, when and wherever I got an 
 opportunity, I whispered the soft nonsence, Nan- 
 cy, into poor Mary's ear, until I put my corned- 
 Iter* on her, and she couldn't live at all without 
 me. But I was something for a woman to look 
 at then, any how, standing six feet two in my 
 
 * Comedher — come hither — alluding to the burden of an 
 old love chami which is still used by the young of both sexes 
 on May morning. It is a literal translation of the Irish word 
 '* gutsho."
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 125 
 
 stocking soles, which, you know, made them call 
 me Shane Fadh.* At that time I had a dacent 
 farm of fourteen acres in Crocknagooran — the 
 same that my son, Ned, has at the present time ; 
 and though, as to wealth, by no manner of manes 
 fit to compare with the Finigans, yet, upon the 
 whole, she might have made a worse match. 
 The father, however, wasn't for me ; but the mo- 
 ther was : so after drinking a bottle or two with 
 the mother, Sarah Traynor, her cousin, and Mary, 
 along with Jack Donnellan on my part, in their 
 own barn, unknownst to the father, we agreed to 
 make a runaway match of it ; appointed my uncle 
 Brian Slevin's as the house we'd go to. The 
 next Sunday was the day appointed ; so I had 
 my uncle's femily prepared, and sent two gallons 
 of whiskey, to be there before us, knowing that 
 neither the Finigans nor my own friends liked 
 stinginess. 
 
 " Well, well, after all, the world is a strange 
 thing — if myself hardly knows what to make of 
 it. It's I that did doat night and day upon that 
 girl ; and indeed there was them that could have 
 seen me in Jimmaiky, for her sake, for she was 
 the beauty of the county, not to say of the par- 
 ish, for a girl in her station. For my part I could 
 
 • Fadh is tall or long.
 
 126 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 
 
 neither ate nor sleep, for thinking that she was so 
 soon to be my own married wife, and to live un- 
 der my roof. And when I'd think of it, how my 
 heart would bounce to my throat, with downright 
 joy and delight. The mother had made us pro- 
 mise not to meet till Sunday, for fraid of the fa- 
 ther becoming suspicious : but, if I was to be 
 shot for it, I couldn't hinder myself from going 
 every night to the great flowering whitethorn that 
 was behind their garden ; and although she knew 
 I hadn't promised to come, yet there she still 
 was; something, she said, tould her I would 
 come. 
 
 "The next Sunday we met at Althadkaimn 
 wood, and I'll never forget what I felt when I 
 was going to the green at St. Patrick's Chair, 
 where the boys and girls met on Sunday : but 
 there she was — the bright eyes dancing with joy 
 in her head to see me. We spent the evening in 
 the wood, till it was dusk — I bating them all 
 leaping, dancing, and throwing the stone ; for, by 
 my song, I thought I had the action of ten men 
 in me ; she looking on, and smiling like an angel, 
 when I'd lave them miles behind me. As it grew 
 dusk, they all went home, except herself, and me, 
 and a few more, who, maybe, had something of 
 the same kind on hands. 
 
 '< * Well, Mary,' says I, * a-cuehla-machree, it's
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 127 
 
 dark enough for us to go j and, in the name of 
 God, let us be off.' The crathur looked into my 
 face, and got pale — for she was very young then : 
 ' Shane,' says she, and she thrimbled like an aspen 
 lafe, *I'ra going to trust myself with you for 
 ever — ^for ever, Shane, avourneen,' — and her sweet 
 voice broke into purty murmurs as she spoke; 
 ' whether for happiness or sorrow, God he only 
 knows. I can bear poverty and distress, sickness 
 and want with you, but I can't bear to think that 
 you should ever forget to love me as you do now ; 
 or that your heart should ever cool to me : but 
 I'm sure,* says she, * you'll never forget this night, 
 and the solemn promises you made me, before 
 God and the blessed skies above us.' 
 
 " We were sitting at the time under the shade 
 of a rowan-tree, and I had only one answer to 
 make — I pulled her to my breast, where she laid 
 her head and cried like a child, with her cheek 
 against mine. My own eyes wern't dry, although 
 I felt no sorrow, but — but — I never forgot that 
 night — and I never will." 
 
 He now paused a few minutes, being too much 
 affected to proceed. 
 
 "Poor Shane," said Nancy, in a whisper to 
 Andy Morrow, "night and day he's thinking 
 about that woman ; she's now dead going on a 
 year, and you would think by him, although he
 
 128 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 
 
 bears up very well before company, that she died 
 only yestherday — but indeed it's he that was 
 always the kind-hearted, affectionate man ; and a 
 better husband never broke bread.'* 
 
 " Well," said Shane, resuming the story, and 
 clearing his voice, *' it's a great consolation to me, 
 now that she's gone, to think that I never broke 
 the promise I made her that night ; for as I tould 
 you, except in regard of the duck-egg a bitther 
 word never passed between us. I was in a pas- 
 sion then, for a wonder, and bent on showing her 
 that I was a dangerous man to provoke ; so just 
 to give her a spice of what I could do, I made 
 Larry feel it — and may God forgive me for rais- 
 ing my hand even then to her. But sure he 
 would be a brute that would beat such a woman 
 except by proxy. When it was clear dark we set 
 off, and after crossing the country for'two miles, 
 reached my uncle's, where a great many of my 
 friends were expecting us. As soon as we came 
 to the door I struck it two or three times, for that 
 was the sign, and my aunt came out, and taking 
 Mary in her arms, kissed her, and, with a thou- 
 sand welcomes, brought us both in. 
 
 " You all know that the best of aiting and 
 dhrinking is provided when a runaway couple is 
 expected ; and indeed there was galore^ of both 
 
 * Galore — more than enough — great abundance.
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 129 
 
 there. My uncle and all that were within wel- 
 comed us again ; and many a good song and 
 hearty jug of punch was sent round that night. 
 The next morning my uncle went to her father's, 
 and broke the business to him at once : indeed 
 it wasn't very hard to do, for I believe it reached 
 him afore he saw my uncle at all ; so she was 
 brought home that day, and, on the Thursday 
 night after, I, my father, uncle, and several other 
 friends, went there, and made the match. She 
 had sixty guineas, that her grandfather left her, 
 thirteen head of cattle, two feather, and two chaff 
 beds, with sheeting, quilts, and blankets ; three 
 pieces of bleached linen, and a flock of geese of 
 her own rearing — upon the whole, among our- 
 selves, it wasn't aisy to get such a fortune. 
 
 " Well, the match was made, and the wedding- 
 day appointed ; but there was one thing still to 
 be managed and that was how to get over the 
 standing at mass on Sunday, to make satisfaction 
 for the scandal we gave the church by running 
 away with one another — but that's all stuff, for 
 who cares a pin about standing, when three halves 
 of the parish are married in the same way. The 
 only thing that vexed me was, that it would keep 
 back the wedding day. However, her father and 
 my uncle went to the priest, and spoke to him, 
 trying, of coorse, to get us off of it, but he kncAV 
 
 VLL. I. K
 
 130 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 
 
 we were fat geese, and was in for giving us a 
 plucking. — Hut, tut ! — he wouldn't hear of it at 
 all, not he ; for although he would ride fifty miles 
 to sarve either of us, he couldn't brake the new 
 orders that he had got only a few days before 
 that from the bishop. No ; we must stand — for 
 it would be setting a bad example to the parish ; 
 and if he would let us pass-, how could he punish 
 the rest of his flock, when they'd be guilty of the 
 same thing. 
 
 " * Well, well, your Reverence,' says my uncle, 
 winking at her father, ' if that's the case it can't 
 be helped, any how — they must only stand, a^ 
 many a dacent father and mother's child has done 
 before them, and will again, plase God — your 
 Reverence is rig^t in doing your duty.* 
 
 " ' True for you, Brian,' says his Reverence, 
 < and yet, God knows, there's no man in the parish 
 would be sorrier to see such a dacent, comely, 
 young couple put upon a level with all the scrubs 
 of the parish ; and I know. Jemmy Finigan, it 
 would go hard with your young, bashful daughter 
 to get through with it, having the eyes of the 
 whole congregation staring on her.' 
 
 " ' Why then, your Reverence, as to that,' 
 says my uncle, who was just as stiff as the other 
 was stout, ' the bashfulest of them will do more 
 nor that to get a husband.*
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING- 1 3 1 
 
 " ' But you tell me/ says the priest. * that the 
 wedding day is fixed upon ; how will you manage 
 there ?» 
 
 "'Why, put it off for three Sundays longer, to 
 be sure,' says the uncle. 
 
 " * But you forget this, Brian,' says the priest, 
 ' that good luck or prosperity never attends the 
 putting off of a wedding.' 
 
 " Now here you see is where the priest had 
 them ; for they knew that as well as his Rever- 
 ence himself — so they were in a puzzle again. 
 
 " ' It's a disagreeable business,' says the priest, 
 ' but the truth is, I could get them off with the 
 bishop, only for one thing — I owe him five gui- 
 neas of altar-money, and I'm so far back in dues 
 that I'm not able to pay him. If I could enclose 
 this to him in a letter, I would get them off at 
 once, although it would be bringing myself into 
 trouble with the parish afterwards ; but, at all 
 events,' says he, ' I wouldn't make every one of 
 you both — so, to prove that I wish to sarve you, 
 I'll sell the best cow in my byre, and pay him 
 myself, rather than their wedding-day should be 
 put off, poor things, or themselves brought to 
 any bad luck — the Lord keep them from it !' 
 
 " While he was speaking, he stamped his foot 
 two or three times on the flure, and the house- 
 keeper came in. — ' Katty,' says he, < bring us in
 
 132 SHANE FA DH'S WEDDING- 
 
 a bottle of whiskey ; at all events, I can't let 
 you away,' says he, 'without tasting something, 
 and drinking luck to the young folks.' 
 
 " ' In troth,* says Jemmy Finigan, * and beg- 
 ging your Reverence's pardon, the sorra cow 
 you'll sell this bout, any how, on account of me 
 or my childhre, bekase I'll lay down on the nail 
 what' 11 clear you and the bishop ; and in the 
 name of goodness, as the day is fixed and all, let 
 the crathurs not be disappointed.' 
 
 " Jemmy,' says my uncle, * if you go to that, 
 you'll pay but your share, for I insist upon laying 
 down one half, at laste.' 
 
 *' 'At any rate they came down with the cash, 
 and after drinking a bottle between them, went 
 home in choice spirits entirely at their good luck 
 in so aisily getting us of. When they had left the 
 house a bit, the priest sent after them — ' Jemmy,' 
 says he to Finigan, ' I forgot a circumstance, and 
 that is, to tell you that I will go and marry them 
 at your own house, and bring Father James, 
 my curate, with me.' ' Oh, wurrah ! no,' said 
 both, 'don't mention that^ your Reverence, ex- 
 cept you wish to break their hearts, out and out ! 
 why, that would be a thousand times worse nor 
 making them stand to do penance : doesn't your 
 Reverence know, that if they hadn't the pleasure 
 of running for the bottle^ the whole wedding
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 133 
 
 wouldn't be worth three half-pence ?' ' Indeed, 
 I forgot that, Jemmy.' ' But sure,' says my un- 
 cle, ' your Reverence and Father James must be 
 at it, whether or not — for that we intended from 
 the first.' ' Tell them I'll run for the bottle too,' 
 says the priest, laughing, ' and will make some 
 of them look sharp, never fear.' Well, by my 
 song, so far all was right ; and maybe it's we that 
 wem't glad — maning Mary and myself — that there 
 was nothing more in the way to put off the wed- 
 ding-day. So, as the bridegroom's share of the 
 expense always is to provide the whiskey, I'm 
 sure, for the honour and glory of taking the 
 blooming young crathur from the great lot of ba- 
 chelor's that were all breaking their hearts about 
 her, I couldn't do less nor finish tlie thing dacent- 
 ly; knowing, besides, the high doings that the 
 Finigans would have of it — for they were always 
 looked upon as a family that never had their 
 heart in a trifle, when It would come to the push. 
 So, you see, I and my brother Mickey, my cousin 
 Tom, and Dom'nick Nulty, went up into the moun- 
 tains to Tim Cassidy's still-house, where we spent a 
 glorious day, and bought fifteen gallons of stuff, that 
 one drop of it would bring the tear, if possible, to 
 a young widdy's eye that had berrid a bad hus- 
 band. Indeed, this was at my father's bidding, 
 who wasn't a bit behind hand with any of them
 
 134 SHANE EADH'S WEDDING. 
 
 in cutting a dash. * Shane,' says he to me, * you 
 know the Finigans of ould, that they won't be 
 contint with what would do another, and that, ex- 
 cept they go beyant the thing, entirely, they won't 
 be satisfied. They'll have the whole country- 
 side at the wedding, and we must let them see 
 that we have a spirit and a faction of our own,' 
 says he, * that we needn't be ashamed of. They've 
 got all kinds of ateables in cart-loads, and as we're 
 to get the drinkables, we must see and give as 
 good as they'll bring. I myself, and your mo- 
 ther, will go round and invite all we can think of, 
 and let you and Mickey go up the hills to Tim 
 Cassidy, and get fifteen gallons of whiskey, for I 
 don't think less will do us.' 
 
 " This we accordingly complied with, as I said, 
 and surely better stuff never went down the red 
 lam* than the same whiskey; for the people 
 knew nothing about watering it then, at all at all. 
 The next thing I did was to ^et a fine shop cloth 
 coat, a pair of top-boots, and buck-skin breeches 
 fit for a squire ; along with a new Caroline hat 
 that would throw off the wet like a duck. Mat 
 Kavanagh, the schoolmaster from Findramore 
 bridge, lent me his watch for the occasion, after 
 my spending near two days learning from him to. 
 
 • Humorous periphrasis for throat.
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 135 
 
 know what o'clock it was. At last, somehow, I 
 masthered that point so well, that in a quarter of 
 an hour at least, I could give a dacent guess at the 
 time upon it. 
 
 " Well, at last the day came. The wedding 
 morning, or the bride's part of it, as they say, was 
 beautiful. It was then the month of July. The 
 evening before, my father and my brother went 
 over to Jemmy Finigan's, to make the regulations 
 for the wedding. We, that is my party, were to 
 be at the bride's house about ten o'clock, and we 
 were then to proceed, all on horse-back, to the 
 priest's, to be married. We were then, after 
 drinking something at Tom Hance's public house, 
 to come back as far as the Dumbhill, where we 
 were to start and run for the bottle. That morn- 
 ing we were all up at the skriek of day. From 
 six o'clock, my own faction, friends and neigh- 
 bours, began to come, all mounted ; and about 
 eight o'clock there was a whole regiment of them, 
 some on horses, some on mules, others on raheries 
 and asses ; and, by my word, I believe little Dick 
 Snudaghan, the tailor's apprentice, that had a 
 hand in making my wedding clothes, was mounted 
 upon a buck goat, with a bridle of selvj 
 
 to his horns. Any thing at all, to keep theik* feet' ' 
 from the ground ; for nobody wo^d be ^o wed, to 
 
 LIBKAR'
 
 136 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 
 
 go with the wedding that hadn't some animal 
 between them and the earth. 
 
 " To make a long story short, so large a bride- 
 groom's party was never seen in that country 
 before, save and except Tim Lannigan's, that I 
 mentioned just now. It would" make you split 
 your face laughing to see the figure they cut ; 
 some of them had saddles and bridles — others had 
 saddles and halthers : some had back-suggawns of 
 straw, with hay stirrups to them, but good bridles ; 
 others had sacks filled up as like saddles as they 
 could make them, girthed with hay ropes five or 
 six times tied round the horses* body. When 
 one or two of the horses would't carry double, 
 except the hind rider sat strideways, the women 
 had to be put foremost, and the men behind them. 
 Some had dacent pillions enough, but most of 
 them had none at all, and the women were obli- 
 gated to sit where the crupper ought to be — and 
 a hard card they had to play to keep their seats 
 even when the horses walked asy, so what must it 
 be when they came to a gallop ; but that same 
 was nothing at all to a trot. 
 
 " From the time they began to come that morn- 
 ing, you may be sartain that the glass was no 
 cripple, any how — although, for fear of accidents, 
 we took care not to go too deep. At eight o'clock 
 we sat down to a rousing breakfast, for we thought
 
 SHANE FADirSAVEDDING. 137 
 
 it best to eat a trifle at homo, lest they might 
 think that ^liat we were to get at the bride's 
 breakfast miglit be thought any novelty. As for 
 my part, I was in such a state, that I couldn't 
 let a morsel cross my throat, nor did I know what 
 end of me was uppermost. After breakfast they 
 all got their cattle, and I my hat and whip, and 
 was ready to mount, when my uncle whispered to 
 me that 1 must kneel down and ax my father and 
 mother's blessing, and forgiveness for all my dis- 
 obedience aud ofllinces towards them — and also to 
 requist the blessing of my brothers and sisters. 
 Well, in a short time 1 was down ; and, my good- 
 ness I such a hullabaloo of crying as was there in 
 a minute's time ! ' OIi, Shane Fadh — Shane 
 Fadh, a cushla machree I' says my poor mother in 
 Irish, * you're going to break up the ring about 
 
 your father's hearth and mine, going to lave 
 
 us, avourneen, for ever, and we to hear your light 
 foot and sweet voice, morning, noon, and night, 
 no more ! Oh !' says she, ' it's you that was the 
 good son all out ; and the good brother, too : kind 
 and cheerful was your beautiful voice, and full of 
 love and affection was your heart ! Shane, 
 avourneen deelish, if ever I was harsh to you, 
 forgive your poor mother, that will never see you 
 more on her flure as one of her own family.' 
 Even my father, that wasn't much given to cry-
 
 138 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 
 
 ing, couldn't speak, but wont over to a coiner and 
 cried till the neighbours stopped him. As for my 
 brothers and sisters, they were all in an uproar ; 
 and I myself, cried like a Trojan, merely bekase 
 I see them at it. My father and mother both 
 kissed me, and gave me their blessing ; and my 
 brothers and sisters did the same, while you'd 
 think all their hearts would break. ' Come, come,* 
 says my uncle, *I'll have none of this: what a 
 hubbub you make, and your son going to be well 
 married — going to be joined to a girl that your 
 betters would be proud to get into connexion with. 
 You should have more sense, Rose Campbell — 
 you ought to thank God that he had the luck to 
 come acrass such a colleen for a wife ; that it's 
 not going to his grave, instead of into the arms of 
 a purty girl — and what's better, a good girl. So 
 quit your blubbering. Rose ; and you, Jack,' says 
 he to my father, ' that ought to have more sense, 
 stop this instant. Clear off, every one of you, out 
 of this, and let the young boy go to his horse. — 
 
 Clear out, I say, or by the powers I'll look at 
 
 them three stags of huzzies ; by the hand of my 
 body they're blubbering bekase it's not their own 
 
 story this blessed day. Move — bounce ! and 
 
 you, Rose Oge, if you're not behind Dudley Fulton 
 in less than no time, by the hole of my coat, I'll 
 marry a wife myself, and then where will the
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 139 
 
 twenty guineas be that I'm to lave you.* God rest 
 his soul, and yet there was a tear in his eye all the 
 while- — even in spite of his joking ! 
 
 " Any how, its easy knowing that there wasn't 
 sorrow at the bottom of their grief: for they were 
 all now laughing at my uncle's jokes, even while 
 their eyes were red with the tears: my mother 
 herself couldn't but be in good humour, and join 
 Iier smile with the rest. 
 
 " My uncle now drove us all out before him ; 
 not, however, till my mother had sprinkled a drop 
 of holy water on each of us, and given me and my 
 brother and sisters a small taste of blessed candle 
 to prevent us from sudden death and accidents. — 
 My father and she didn't come with us then, but 
 they went over to the bride's while we were all 
 gone to the priest's house. At last we set off in 
 great style and spirits — I well mounted on a good 
 horse of my own, and my brother on one that he 
 had borrowed from Peter Dannellon, fully bent 
 on winning the bottle. I would have borrowed 
 him myself, but I thought it dacenter to ride my 
 own horse manfully, even though he never won a 
 side of mutton or a saddle, like Danellon's. But 
 the man that was most likely to come in far the 
 bottle was little Billy Cormick, the tailor, who 
 rode a blood-racer that young John Little had 
 wickedly lent him for the special purpose ; he was
 
 140 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 
 
 a tall bay animal, with long small legs, a switch 
 tail, and didn't know how to trot. Maybe we 
 didn't cut a dash — and might have taken a town 
 before us. Out we set about nine o'clock, and went 
 acrass the country : but I'll not stop to mintion 
 what happened some of them, even before we got 
 to the bride's house. It's enough to say here, that 
 sometimes one in crsissinga stile or ditch would drop 
 into the shough ;* sometimes another would find 
 himself head foremost on the ground ; a woman 
 would be capsized here in crassing a ridgy field, 
 bringing her fore-rider to the ground along with 
 her; another would be hanging like a broken 
 arch, ready to come down, till some one would 
 ride up and fix her on the seat. But as all this 
 happened in going over the fields, we expected 
 that when we'd get out on the king's high- way 
 there would be less danger, as we would haye no 
 ditches or drains to crass. When we came in sight 
 of the house, there was a general shout of wel- 
 come from the bride's party, who w^ere on the watch 
 for us : we couldn't do less nor give them back 
 the chorus ; but we had better have let that alone, 
 for some of the young horses took the stadh,f 
 others of them capered about ; the asses — the sorra 
 'Choke them — that were along w'ith us should 
 
 ♦ Dyke or drain. f Became restive.
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING- 141 
 
 begin to bray, as if it was the king's birth-day — 
 and a mule of Jack Irwin's took it into his head 
 to stand stock still. This brought another dozen 
 of them to the ground ; so that, between one thing 
 or another, we were near half an hour before we 
 got on the march again. When the blood-horse 
 that the tailor rode, saw the crowd and heard the 
 shouting, he cocked his ears, and set off with him- 
 self full speed ; but before he had got far he was 
 without a rider, and went galloping up to the 
 bride's house, the bridle hangin' about his feet. — . 
 Billy, however, having taken a glass or two, wasn't 
 to be cowed ; so he came up in great blood, and 
 swore he would ride him to America, sooner than 
 let the bottle be won from the bridegroom's party, 
 " When we arrived, there was nothing but 
 shaking hands and kissing, and all kinds of slew- 
 sthering — men kissing men — women kissing women 
 — and after that men and women all through 
 other. Another breakfast was ready for us ; and 
 here we all sat down ; myself and my next rela- 
 tions in the bride's house, and the others in the 
 barn and garden ; for one house wouldn't hold 
 the half of us. Eating, however, was all only talk : 
 of coorse we took some of the poteen again, and 
 in a short time afterwards set off along the paved 
 road to the priest's house, to be tied as fast as he 
 could make us, and that was fast enough. Before
 
 142 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 
 
 we went out to mount our horses though, there 
 was just such a hullaballoo with the bride and her 
 friends as there was with myself: but my uncle 
 soon put a stop to it, and in five minutes had 
 them breaking their hearts laughing. 
 
 " Bless my heart what doings ! what roasting 
 and boiling ! — and what tribes of beggars and 
 shulers, and vagabonds of all sorts and sizes, were 
 sunning themselves about the doors — ^wishing us 
 a thousand times long life and happiness. There 
 was a fiddler and piper : the piper was to stop in 
 my father-in-law's while we were going to be 
 married, to keep the neighbours that were met 
 there, shaking their toes while we were at the 
 priest's, and the fiddler was to come v/ith ourselves, 
 in order you know, to have a dance at the priest's 
 house, and to play for us coming and going; 
 for there's nothing like a taste of music when 
 one's on for sport. As we were setting off, ould 
 Mary M'Quade from Kilnashogue, who was sent 
 for bekase she understood charms, and had the 
 name of being lucky ; tuck myself aside ; * Shane 
 Fadh,* says she, ' you're a young man well to look 
 upon ; may God bless you and keep you so ; and 
 there's not a doubt but there's them here that 
 wishes you ill — that would rather be in your shoes 
 this blessed day, with your young colleen lawny* 
 
 * Fair Girl.
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING- 143 
 
 that' ill be your wife before the sun sets, plase the 
 heavens. There's ould Fanny Barton, the wrinkled 
 thief of a hag, that the Finigan's axed here for 
 the sake of her decent son-in-law, who ran away 
 with her daughter Betty, that was the great beauty 
 some years ago : her breath's not good, Shane, 
 and many a strange thing's said of her. Well, may 
 be, I know more about that nor I'm going to 
 mintion, any how : more betoken that it's not for 
 nothing the white hare haunts the shrubbery be- 
 hind her house.' ' But what harm could she do 
 me, Sonsy Mary ?' says I — for she was called 
 Sonsy — ' we have often sarved her one way or 
 other.' 
 
 " ' Ax me no questions about her, Shane,' says 
 she, ' don't I know what she did to Ned Donnelly, 
 that was to be pitied, if ever a man was to be 
 pitied, for as good as seven months after his mar- 
 riage, until I relieved him ; 'twas gone to a thread 
 he was, and didn't they pay me decently for my 
 throuble.' 
 
 " 'Well, and what am I to do, Mary?' says I, 
 knowing very well that what she sed was thrue 
 enough, although I didn't wish her to see that I 
 was afeard. 
 
 " ' Why,' says she, ' you must first exchange 
 money with me, and then, if you do as I bid you, 
 you may lave the rest to myself.'
 
 144 SHANE FADH'S WKDDING. 
 
 " I then took out, begad, a decent lot of silver 
 — say a crown or so — for my blood was up, and 
 the money was flush — and gave it to her ; for 
 which I got a cronagh-bawn half-penny in ex 
 change. 
 
 " ' Now,' says she, * Shane, you must keep this 
 in your company, and for your life and sowl, 
 don''t part with it for nine days after your mar- 
 riage ; but there's more to be done,* says she — 
 ' hould out your right knee ;' so with this she 
 unbuttoned three buttons of my buck-skins, and 
 made me loose the knot of my garther on the 
 right leg. ' Now,' says she ' if you keep them 
 loose till after the priest says the words, and won't 
 let the money I gave you go out of your com- 
 pany for nine days, along with something else I'll 
 do that you're to know nothing about, there's no 
 fear of all thcW pis/it/iroges.'* She then pulled off 
 her right shoe, and threw it after us for luck. 
 
 " We were now all in motion once more^ — the 
 bride riding behind my man, and the bride's- 
 maid behind myself — a fine bouncing girl she 
 was, but not to be mintioned in the one year 
 with my own darlin' — in troth, it wouldn't be 
 aisy getting such a couple as we were the same 
 day, though it's myself that says it. Mary, 
 
 * Charms of an evil nature.
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 145 
 
 dressed in a black castor hat, like a man's, a 
 
 white muslin coat, with a scarlet silk handkercher 
 
 about her neck, with a silver buckle and a blue 
 
 ribbon, for luck, round her waist ; her fine hair 
 
 wasn't turned up, at all at all, but hung down in 
 
 beautiful curls on her shoulders ; her eyes you 
 
 would think, were all light ; her lips as plump 
 
 and as ripe as cherries — and maybe it's myself 
 
 that wasn't to that time of day without tasting 
 
 them, any how ; and her teeth, so even, and as 
 
 white as a burned bone. The day, bate all for 
 
 beauty ; 1 don't know whether it was from the 
 
 lightness of my own spirit it came, but, I think, 
 
 that such a day I never saw from that to this : 
 
 indeed, I thought every thing was dancing and 
 
 smiling about me, and sartinly every one said, 
 
 that such a couple hadn't been married, nor such 
 
 a wedding seen in the parish for many a long year 
 before. 
 
 " All the time, as we went along, we had the 
 music ; but then at first we were mightily puz- 
 zled what to do with the fiddler. To put him 
 as a hind rider it would prevent him from playing, 
 bekase how could he keep the fiddle before him 
 and another so close to him ? To put him fore- 
 most was as bad, for he couldn't play and hould 
 the bridle together ; so at last my uncle proposed
 
 148 SHANE FADU'S WEDDING. 
 
 feet like lightning, and when it M'as finished, I got 
 lier in my arm, before you could say Jack 
 liobinson, and swinging her behind the priest, 
 gave her the husband's first kiss. The next minute 
 there was a rush after her ; but, as I had got the 
 first, it was but fair that they should come in ac- 
 cording as they could, I thought, bekase, you 
 know it was all in the coorse of practice ; but, 
 hould, there were two words to be said to that, 
 for what does Father DoUard do, but shoves them 
 off, and a fine stout shoulder he had — shoves 
 them off, like children, and getting his arms about 
 Mary, gives her half a dozen smacks at least — oh, 
 consuming to the one less — that mine M^as only a 
 cracker to them. The rest, then, all kissed her, 
 one after another, according as they could come 
 in to get one. We then, went straight to his 
 Reverence's barn, which had been cleared out 
 for us the day before, by his own directions, where 
 we danced for an hour or two, and his Reverence 
 and his Curate along with us. 
 
 " When this was over we mounted again, the 
 fiddler taking his ould situation behind my uncle. 
 You know it is usual, after getting the knot tied, 
 to go to a public-house or shebeen, to get some 
 refreshment after the journey; so, accordingly, we 
 went to little lame Larry Spooney's — grandfather 
 to him that was transported the other day for
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 149 
 
 staling Bob Beaty's sheep ; he was called Spooney 
 himself, for his sheep-stealing, ever since Paddy 
 Keenan made the song upon him, ending with 
 * his house never wants a good ram-horn spoon ;' 
 so that let people say what they will, these things 
 run in the blood — well, we went to his shebeen 
 house, but the tithe of us couldn't get into it ; so 
 we sot on the green before the door, and, by my 
 song, we took* decently with him, any how ; and, 
 only for my uncle, it's odd's but we would have 
 been all fuddled. 
 
 " I^ -vvas now that I began to notish a kind of 
 coolnesc oetween my party and the bride's, and 
 for some time 1 didn't know what to make of it. — 
 I wasn't long so, however ; for my uncle, who still 
 had his eyes about him, comes over to me, and 
 says, ' Shane, I doubt there will be bad work 
 amongst these people, particularly betwixt the 
 Dorans and the Flanagans — the truth is, that the 
 old business of the law-shoot will break out, and 
 except they're kept from drink, take my word for 
 it, there will be blood spilled. The running for 
 the bottle will be a good excuse,* says he, ' so I 
 think we had better move home before they go 
 too far in the drink.' 
 
 " Well, any way, there was truth in this ; so, ac- 
 
 • Drunk.
 
 150 SHANE FADE'S WEDDING. 
 
 cordingly, the reckoning was ped, and, as this was 
 the thrate of the weddiners to the bride and bride- 
 groom, every one of the men clubbed his share, 
 but neither I nor the girls, any thing. Ha — ha — 
 ha I Am I alive at all ? I never — ha — ha — ha — ! 
 — I never laughed so much in one day, as I did 
 in that, and I can't help laughing at it yet. Well, 
 well ! when we all got on the top of our horses, 
 and sich other iligant cattle as we had — the 
 crowning of a king was nothing to it. We were 
 now purty well I thank you, as to liquor ; and, 
 as the knot was tied, and all safe, there was no 
 end to our good spirits ; so, when we took the 
 road, the men were in high blood, particularly 
 Billy Cormick, the tailor, who had a pair of long 
 cavaldry spurs upon him, that he was scarcely 
 able to walk in — and he not more nor four feet 
 high. The women, too, were in blood, having 
 faces upon them, with the hate of the day and 
 the liquor, as full as trumpeters. 
 
 " There was now a great jealousy among them 
 that were bint for winning the bottle ; and when 
 one horseman would crpss another, striving to 
 have the whip hand of him when they'd set off, 
 why you see, his horse would ^et a cut of the 
 whip itself for his pains. My uncle and I, how- 
 ever, did all we could to pacify them ; and their 
 own bad horsemanship, and the screeching of the
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. i51 
 
 women, prevented any strokes at that time. 
 Some of them were ripping up ould sores against 
 one another as they went along ; others, parti- 
 cularly the youngsters, with their sweethearts be- 
 hind them, coorting away for the life of them, 
 and some might be heard miles off, singing and 
 laughing : and you may be sure the fiddler be- 
 hind my uncle wasn't idle, no more nor another. 
 In this way we dashed on gloriously, till we came 
 in sight of the Dumb-hill, where we were to start 
 for the bottle. And now you might see the men 
 fixing themselves on their saddles, sacks and sug- 
 gawns ; and the women tying kerchiefs and 
 shawls about their caps and bonnets, to keep 
 them from flying off, and then gripping their 
 foreriders hard and fast by the bosoms. When 
 we got to the Dumb-hill, there were five or six 
 fellows that didn't come with us to the priest's, 
 but met us with cudgels in their hands, to prevent 
 any of them from starting before the others, and 
 to show fair play. 
 
 " Well, when they were all in a lump, — horses, 
 mules, ragherays, and asses — some, as I said, 
 with saddles, some with none ; and all just as I 
 tould you before ; — the word was given, and off 
 they scoured, myself along with the rest ; and 
 divil be off me, if ever I saw such another sight 
 but itself before or since. Off they skelped
 
 152 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 
 
 through thick and thin, in a cloud of dust like 
 a mist about us : but it was a mercy that the life 
 wasn't trampled out of some of us ; for before we 
 had gone fifty perches, the one third of them 
 were sprawling a top of one another on the road. 
 As for the women, they went down right and 
 left — sometimes bringing the horsemen with 
 them; and many of the boys getting black 
 eyes and bloody noses on the stones. Some of 
 them, being half blind with the motion and the 
 whiskey, turned off the wrong way, and gallop- 
 ped on, thinking they had completely distanced the 
 crowd ; and it wasn't until they cooled a bit that 
 they found out their mistake. 
 
 " But the best sport of all was, when they came 
 to the Lazy Corner, just at Jack Gallagher's 
 Jiushy^ VfhexQ the water came out a good way 
 acrass the road; being in such a flight, they ei- 
 ther forgot or didn't know how to turn the angle 
 properly, and plash went above thirty of them, 
 coming down right on the top of one another, 
 souse in the pool. By this time there was about 
 a dozen ofe the best horsemen a good distance be- 
 fore the rest, cutting one another up for the bot- 
 tle : among these were the Dorans and Flanagans ; 
 
 * Flush is a pool of water that spreads nearly ficross a road. 
 It is usually fed by a small mountain stream, and in conse- 
 quence of rising and falling rapidly, it is callci " Flush."
 
 SHANE FADH S WEDDING. 153 
 
 but they, you see, wisely enough, dropped their 
 women at the beginning, and only rode single. I 
 myself didn't mind the bottle, but kept close to 
 Mary, for fraid that among sich a divil's pack of 
 half-mad fellows, any thing might happen her. 
 At any rate, I was next the first batch : but where 
 do you think the tailor was all this time ? Why 
 away off like lightning, miles before them — fly- 
 ing like a swallow : and how he kept his sate so 
 long has puzzled me from that day to this ; but, 
 any how, truth's best — there he was topping the 
 hill ever so far before them. After all, the un- 
 lucky crathur nearly missed the bottle ; for when 
 he turned to the bride's house, instead of pulling 
 up as he ought to do — why, to show his horse- 
 manship to the crowd that was out looking at 
 them, he should begin to cut up the horse riglit 
 and left, until he made him, take the garden ditch 
 in full flight, landing him among the cabbages. 
 About four yards or five from the spot where the 
 horse lodged himself, was a well, and a purty 
 deep one too, by my word ; but not a sowl pre- 
 sent could tell what become of the tailor, until 
 Owen Smith chanced to look into the well, an 
 saw his long spurs just above the water; so he 
 was pulled up in a purty pickle, not worth the 
 washing ; but what did he care ? although he had 
 a small bodv the sorra one of him but had a
 
 154 SHANE FADirS WEDDING. 
 
 60wl big enough for Golias or Sampson the 
 Great. 
 
 " As soon as he got his eyes clear, right or 
 wrong, he insisted on getting the bottle : but he 
 was late, poor fellow, for before he got out of the 
 garden, two of them cums up — Paddy Doran and 
 Peter Flanagan, cutting one another to pieces, 
 and not the length of your nail between them. 
 Well, well, that was a terrible day, sure enough. 
 In the twinkling of an eye they were both off 
 the horses, the blood streaming from their bare 
 heads, struggling to take the bottle from my fa- 
 ther, who didn't know which of them to give it 
 to. He knew if he'd hand to one, the other 
 would take offince, and then he was in a great 
 puzzle, striving to razon with them; but long 
 Paddy Doran caught it while he was spak- 
 ing to Flanagan, and the next instant Flana- 
 gan measured him with a heavy loaded whip 
 and left him stretched upon the stones. — 
 And now the work began : for by this time the 
 friends of both parties came up and joined them 
 Such knocking down, such roaring among the 
 men, and screeching and clapping of hands and 
 wiping of heads among the women, when a bro- 
 ther, or a son, or a husband would get his gruel. 
 Indeed, out of a fair, I never saw any thing to 
 come up to it. But during all this work, the
 
 SHANE FADH S WEDDING. 155 
 
 busiest man among the whole set was the tailor, 
 and what was worse of all for the poor crathur, 
 he should single himself out against both parties, 
 bekase you see he thought they were cutting hinj 
 out of his right to the bottle, 
 
 " They had now broken up the garden gate 
 for weapons, all except one of the posts, and 
 fought into the garden ; when nothing should 
 sarve Billy, but to take up the large heavy post, 
 as if he could destroy the whole faction on each 
 side. Accordingly he came up to big Matthew 
 Flanagan, and was rising it just as if he'd fell 
 him, when Matt, catching him by the nape of the 
 neck, and the waistband of the breeches, went 
 over very quietly, and dropped him a second 
 time, heels up, into the well ; where he might 
 have been yet, only for my mother-in-law, who 
 dragged him out with a great deal to do : for the 
 well was too narrow to give him room to turn. 
 
 "As for myself and all my friends, as it hap- 
 pened to be my own wedding, and at our now 
 place, we couldn't take part with either of them ; 
 but we endeavoured all in our power to red* them, 
 and a tough task we had of it, until we saw a pair 
 of whips going hard and fast among them, belong- 
 ing to Father Corrigan and Father James, his 
 curate. Well, its wonderful how soon a priest 
 can clear up a quarrel! In five minutes there 
 » Separate or pacify
 
 156 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 
 
 wasn't a hand up — instead of that they were ready 
 to run into mouse-holes : — 
 
 " *What, you murderers,' says his Reverence, 
 * are you bint to have each other's blood upon 
 your heads ; ye vile infidels, ye cursed unchris- 
 tian Antherntarians ? are you going to get your- 
 selves hanged like sheep-stalers ? down with your 
 sticks I command you : do you know — will ye 
 give yourselves time to see who's spaking to you 
 — you blood-thirsty set of Episcopalians ? 1 
 command you, in the name of the Catholic Church 
 and the Blessed Virgin Mary to stop this instant, 
 if you don't wish me, says he, * to turn you into 
 stocks and stones where you stand, and make 
 world's wonders of you as long as you live. — 
 Doran, if you rise your hand more, I'll strike 
 it dead on your body, and to your mouth you'll 
 never carry it while you have breath in your car- 
 cass,' says, he. — ' Clear off, you Flanagans, you 
 butchers you — or by St. Domnick I'll turn the 
 heads round upon your bodies, in the twinkling of 
 an eye, so that you'll not be able to look a quiet 
 Christian in the face again. Pretty respect you 
 have for the decent couple in whose house you 
 have kicked up such a hubbub. Is this the way 
 people are to be deprived of their dinners on your 
 accounts, you fungaleering thieves !' 
 
 " « Why then, plase your Reverence, by the —
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 157 
 
 hem — I say Father Corrigan, it wasn't my fault, 
 but that villain Flanagan's, for he knows I fairly 
 won the bottle — and would have distanced him, 
 only that when I was far before him, the vagabone, 
 he gallopped acrass me on the way, thinking to 
 thrip up the horse.' 
 
 " ' You lying scoundrel,' says the priest, '■how 
 dare you tell me a falsity,' says he, 'to my face? 
 how could he gallop acrass you if you were far 
 before him ? Not a word more, or FU leave you 
 without a mouth to your face, which will be a 
 double share of provision and bacon saved any 
 way. And Flanagan, you were as much to blame 
 as he, and must be chastised for your raggamuf- 
 finly conduct,' says he, ' and so must you both, 
 and all your party, particularly you and he, as 
 the ringleaders. Right well I know it's the grudge 
 upon the law-suit you had, and not the bottle, that 
 )Ccasioned it: but by St. Peter, to Loughderg 
 both of you must tramp for this.' 
 
 " ' Ay, and by St. Pether, they both desarve it 
 as well as a thief does the gallows,' said a little 
 blustering voice belonging to the tailor, who came 
 forward in a terrible passion, looking for all the 
 world like a drowned rat. ' Ho, by St. Pether, 
 they do, the vagabones ; for it was myself that 
 won the bottle, your Reverence ; and by this and 
 by that,' says he, * the bottle I'll have, or some of
 
 158 SHANE FADHS WEDDING. 
 
 their crowns will crack for it : blood or whiskey 
 I'll have, your Reverence, and I hope that you'll 
 assist me ?' 
 
 " ' Why, Billy, are you here ?' says Father Cor- 
 rigan, smiling down upon the figure the fellow 
 cut, with his long spurs and his big whip — ' what 
 in the world tempted you to get on horseback, 
 Billy ?' 
 
 " ' By the powers, I was miles before them,' 
 says Billy, * and after this day, your Reverence, 
 let no man say that I couldn't ride a steeple- 
 chase across Crocknagooran.' 
 
 " *Why, Billy, how did you stick on at all, at 
 all ' says his Reverence. 
 
 " ' How do I know how I stuck on,' says Billy, 
 * nor whether I stuck on at all or not ; all I know 
 is, that I was on horseback leaving the Dumb- 
 hill, and that I found them pulling me by the 
 heels out of the well in the corner of the garden, 
 and that, your Reverence, when the first was only 
 topping the hill there below, as Lanty Magowran 
 tells me, who was looking 011.' 
 
 "'Well, Billy,' says Father Corrigan, *you 
 must get the bottle ; and as for you Dorans and 
 Flanagans, I'll make examples of you for this day's 
 work — that you may reckon on. You are a dis- 
 grace to the parish, and what's more, a disgrace 
 to your priest. How can luck or grace attind
 
 SHANE FADH S WEDDING. 139 
 
 the marriage of any young couple that there's 
 such work at ? Before you leave this, you must 
 all shake hands, and promise never to quarrel 
 with each other while grass grows or water runs ; 
 and if you don't, by the blessed St. Domnick, I'll 
 exkimnicate ye both, and all belonging to you into 
 the bargain ; so that ye'll be the pitiful examples 
 and shows to all that look upon you.' 
 
 " ' Well, well, your Reverence,' says my father- 
 in-law, ' let all by-gones be by-gones; and please 
 God, they will before they go, be better friends 
 than ever they were. Go now and clane your- 
 selves, take the blood from about your faces, for 
 the dinner's ready an hour agone ; but if you all 
 respect the place you're in, you'll show it, in re- 
 gard of the young crathurs that's going, in the 
 namfe of God, to face the world together, and of 
 coorse wishes that this day at laste should pass 
 in pace and quietness : little did I think there 
 was any friend or neighbour here that would 
 make so little of the place or people, as was done 
 for nothing at all, in the face of the country.' 
 
 *' ' God he sees,' says my mother-in-law, ' that 
 there's them here this day we didn't desarve this 
 from, to rise such a norration^ as if the house was 
 a shebeen or a public-house ! It's myself didn't 
 think either me or my poor colleen here, not to 
 mention the dacent people she's joined to, would
 
 1 60 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 
 
 be made so little of, as to have our place turned 
 into a play-acthur — for a play-acthur couldn't be 
 worse.' 
 
 " ' Well/ says my uncle, * there's no help for 
 spilt milk, I tell you, nor for spilt blood either : 
 tare-an-ounty, sure we're all Irislimen, relations, 
 and Catholics through other, and we oughtn't to 
 be this way. Come away to dinner — by the pow- 
 ers, we'll duck the first man that says aloud word 
 for the remainder of the day. Come, Father Cor- 
 rigan, and carve the goose, or the geese, for us — 
 for, by my sannies, I bleeve there's a baker's dozen 
 of them ; but we've plenty of Latin for them, and 
 your Reverence and Father James here under- 
 stands that langidge, any how — larned enough 
 there, I think, giutlemen.' 
 
 "'That's right, Brian,' shouts the tailor — that's 
 right; there must be no fighting : by the powers, 
 the first man attempts it, I'll brain him — fell him 
 to the earth like an ox, if all belonging to him 
 Mas in my way.' 
 
 " This threat from the tailor, went farther, I 
 think, in putting them into good humour nor 
 even what the priest said. They then washed and 
 claned themselves, and accordingly went to their 
 dinners. — Billy himself marched with his terrible 
 whip in his hand, and his long cavalary spurs 
 sticking near ten inches behind him, draggled to
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 161 
 
 the tail like a bantling cock after a shower. But, 
 maybe, there was more draggled tails and bloody 
 noses nor poor Billy's, or even nor was occasioned 
 by the fight ; for after Father Corrigan had come, 
 several of them dodged up, some with broken 
 shins and heads, and wet clothes, that they'd got 
 on the way by the mischances of the race, parti- 
 cularly at the Flush. But I don't know how it 
 was; somehow the people in them days didn't 
 value these things a straw. They were far hardier 
 then nor they are now, and never went to law at 
 all at all. Why, I've often known skulls to be 
 broken, and the people to die afterwards, and 
 there would be nothing more about it, except to 
 brake another skull or two for it ; but neither 
 crowners quest, nor judge, nor jury, was ever 
 troubled at all about it. And so sign's on it, 
 people were then innocent, and not up to law and 
 counsellors as they are now. If a person hap- 
 pened to be killed in a fight at a fair or market, 
 why he had only to appear after his death to one 
 of his friends, and get a number of masses offered 
 up for his sowl, and all was right ; but now the 
 times are clane altered, and there's nothing but 
 hanging and transporting for such things ; although 
 that won't bring the people to life again." 
 
 " I suppose," said Andy Morrow, " you had a 
 famous dinner, Shane.'' 
 
 VOL. I. ^
 
 162 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 
 
 " 'Tis you that may say that, Mr. Morrow," 
 replied Shane : " but the house, you see, wasn't 
 able to hould one half of us ; so there was a 
 dozen or two tables borrowed from the neigh- 
 bours, and laid one after another in two rows, on 
 the green, be&ide the river that ran along the gar- 
 den-hedge, side by side. At one end Father 
 Corrigan sat, with Mary and myself, and Father 
 James at the other. There were three five-gal- 
 lon kegs of whiskey, and I ordered my brother to 
 take charge of them, and there he sat beside them, 
 and filled the bottles as they were wanted, be- 
 kase, if he had left that job to strangers, many a 
 spalpeen there would make away with lots of it. 
 Mayrone, such a sight as the dinner was I I didn't 
 lay my eye on the fellow of it since, sure enough, 
 and I'm now an ould man, though I was then a 
 young one. Why there was a pudding boiled in 
 the end of a sack; and troth it was a thumper, 
 only for the straws — for you see, when they were 
 making it, they had to draw long straws acTass in 
 order to keep it from falling asunder : a fine plan 
 it is, too. Jack M'Kenna, the carpenther, carved 
 it with a hand-saw, and if he didn't curse the 
 same straws, I'm not here. ' Draw them out, 
 Jack,' said Father Corrigan — ' draw them out. — 
 It's asy known. Jack, you never ate a polite din- 
 ner, you poor awkward spalpeen or you'd have
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 163 
 
 pulled out the straws the first thing you did, man 
 alive.* Such lashins of corned beef, and rounds of 
 beef, and legs of mutton, and bacon — turkeys, and 
 geese, and barn-door fowls, young and fat They 
 may talk as they will, but commend me to a piece 
 of good ould bacon, ate with crock butther, and 
 phaties, and cabbage. Sure enough, they leather- 
 ed away at everything, but this and the pudding 
 were the favourites. Father Corrigan gave up 
 the carving in less than no time, for it would take 
 him half a day to sarve them all, and he wanted 
 to provide for number one. After helping him- 
 self, he set my uncle to it, and maybe he didn't 
 slash away right and left. There was half-a-dozen 
 gorsoons carrying about the beer in cans, with 
 froth upon it like barm — but that was beer in 
 arnest, Nancy — I'll say no more. 
 
 " When the dinner was over, you would think 
 there was as much left as would sarve a regiment ; 
 and sure enough, a right hungry ragged regiment 
 was there to take care of it, though, to tell the 
 truth, there was as much taken into Finigan's, as 
 would be sure to give us all a rousing supper. — 
 Why, there was such a troop of beggars — men, 
 •women, and childher, sitting over on the sunny 
 side of the ditch, as would make short work of 
 the whole dinner, had they got it. Along with 
 
 Father Corrigan and me, was mv father and mo- 
 
 M 2
 
 ] 64 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 
 
 thcr, and Mary's parents ; my uncle, cousins, and 
 nearest relations on both sides. Oh, it's Father 
 Corrigan, God rest his sowl, he's now in glory, 
 and so he was theriy also — how he did crow and 
 laugh ! * Well, Matthew Finigan,' says he, * I 
 can't say but I'm happy that your Colleen Bawn 
 here has lit upon a husband that's no discredit to 
 the family — and it is herself didn't drive her pigs 
 to a bad market,' says he. ' Why, in troth, 
 Father, avourneen,' says my mother-in-law, 'they'd 
 be hard to plase that couldn't be satisfied with 
 them she got ; not saying but she had her pick 
 and choice ol'many a good offer, and might have 
 got richer matches ; but Shane Fadh M'Cawell, 
 although you're sitting there beside my daughter, 
 I'm prouder to see you on my own flure, the hus- 
 band of my child, nor if she'd got a man with four 
 times your substance.' 
 
 " ' Never heed the girls for knowing where to 
 choose,' says his Reverence, slily enough : * but, 
 upon my word, only she gave us all the slip, to 
 tell the truth, I had another husband than Shane 
 in my eye for her, and that was my own nevvy, 
 Father James's brother here.' 
 
 "'And I'd be proud of the connexion,' says my 
 father-in-law ; 'but you see, these girls won't look 
 much to what you or I'll say, in choosing a hus- 
 band for themselves. How-and-iver, not making
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 165 
 
 little of your nevvy, Father Michael, I say h.e's 
 not to be compared with that same bouchal sit- 
 ting beside Mary, there. ' No, nor by the pow- 
 thers-o'-war, never will/ says Billy Cormick the 
 tailor, who had come over and slipped in on the 
 other side, betune Father Corrigan and the bride 
 — * by the powdhers-o'-war, he'll never be fit to 
 be compared with me, I tell you, till yesterday 
 comes back again.' 
 
 " * Why, Billy,' says the priest, * you're every 
 place.' * But where I ought to be, !' says Billy ; 
 * and that's hard and fast tackled to Mary Bane^ 
 the bride here, instead of that steeple of a fellow 
 she has got,' says the little cock. 
 
 "'Billy, I thought you were married,' said 
 Father Corrigan. 
 
 " ' Not I, your Reverence,' says Billy ; but ' I'll 
 soon do something. Father Michael — I have been 
 threatening this long time, but I'll do it at last.' 
 
 " * He's not exactly married, Sir,' says my un- 
 cle, ' there's a colleen present (looking at the bride's 
 maid) that will soon have his name upon her.' 
 
 a <Very good, Billy,' says the priest, * I hope 
 you will give us a rousing wedding — equal, at 
 least, to Shane Fadh's.' 
 
 " ' Why, then, your Reverence, except I get 
 sich a darling as Molly Bane, here — and by this 
 and by that, it's you that is the darling, Molly
 
 166 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 
 
 asthore — ^what come over me, at all at all, that 1 
 didn't think of you,* says the little man, drawing 
 closer to her, and poor Mary smiling good-na- 
 turedly at his spirit. 
 
 "'Well, and what if you did get such a dar- 
 ling as Molly Bane, there ?' says his Reverence. 
 " < Why, except I get the likes of her for a 
 wife — upon second thoughts, I don't like marriage, 
 any way,' said Billy, winking against the priest — 
 " I'll lade such a life as your Reverence ; and, 
 by the powdhers, it's a thousand pities that I 
 wasn't made into a priest, instead of a tailor. — 
 For, you see, if I had,' says he, giving a verse 
 of an old song — 
 
 * For, you see, if I had. 
 
 It's I'd be the lad, 
 Tliat would show all my people such larning ; 
 
 And when they'd go wrong, 
 
 Why, instead of a song, 
 I'd give them a lump of a sarmin.' 
 '* *Billy,' says my father-in-law, * why don't yoi 
 make a hearty dinner, man alive ? go back to 
 your sate and finish your male — you're aiting no- 
 thing to signify.' * Me !' says Billy — 'why. Id 
 scorn to ate a hearty dinner ; and, I'd have you 
 to know, Matt Finigan, that it wasn't for the sake 
 of your dinner I came here, but in regard to 
 your family, and bekase I wished him well that*s 
 sitting beside your daughter : and it ill becomes
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 167 
 
 your father's son to cast up your dinner in my 
 face, or any one of my family; but a blessed mi- 
 nute longer I'll not stay among you — Give me 
 your hand, Shane Fadh, and you, Mary — may 
 goodness grant you pace and happiness every 
 night and day you both rise out of your beds. — 
 I made that coat your husband has on his back 
 beside you — and a betther fit was never made ; 
 but I didn't think it would come to my turn to 
 have my dinner cast up this a-way, as if \ was 
 aiting it for charity.' 
 
 " ' Hut, Billy, says I, * sure it was all out of 
 kindness ; he didn't mane to offind you.' 
 
 " ' It's no matter,' says Billy, beginning to cry, 
 < he did offind me ; and it's low days with me to 
 bear an affront from him, or the likes of him ; 
 but by the powdhers-o'-war,' says he, getting into 
 a great rage, ' I wo7it bear it — only as you're an 
 old man yourself, I'll not rise my hand to you ; 
 but, let any man now that has the heart to take 
 up your quarrel, come out and stand before me on 
 the sod here.' 
 
 *' Well, by this time, you'd tie all that were 
 present with three straws, to see Billy stripping 
 himself, and his two wrists not thicker than drum- 
 sticks. While the tailor was raging, for he was 
 pretty well up with what he had taken, another 
 person made his appearance at the far end of the
 
 168 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 
 
 boreen that led to the green where we sot. He 
 was mounted upon the top of a sack that was 
 upon the top of a sober looking baste enough, God 
 knows; he jogging along at his ase, his legs 
 dangling down from the sack on each side, and the 
 long skirts of his coat hanging down behind him. 
 Billy was now getting pacified, bekase they gave 
 way to him a little ; so the fun went round, and 
 they ^ang, roared, danced, and coorted, right and 
 left. 
 
 " When the stranger came as far as the skirt 
 of the green, he turned the horse over quite na- 
 thural to the wedding ; and, sure enough, when 
 he jogged up, it was Friar Rooney himself, with a 
 sack of oats, for he had been questin,* Well, sure 
 the ould people couldn't do less nor all go over to 
 put the failtahf on him. ' Why, then,' says my 
 father-and-mother-in-law, * 'tis yourself. Friar 
 Rooney, that's as welcome as the flowers of May ; 
 and see who's here before you — Father Corrigan 
 and Father Dollard.' 
 
 " ' Thank you, thank you, Molshy — thank you, 
 
 Matthew — troth, I know that 'tis I am welcome.' 
 
 " ' Ay, and you're welcome again, Father Rooney,' 
 
 * Questin — When an Irish priest or friar collects corn or 
 money from the people in a gratuitous manner the act i» 
 called "questin.'* 
 
 + Welcome. ,
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING- 169 
 
 said my father, going down and shaking hands 
 with him, and I'm proud t;c'' scef- you here. Sit 
 down, your Reverence— nere's evoi*ytiiiiig that's 
 good, and plinty pf it. p:nd if yoir, 'don't make 
 much of yourself, never "s^yarj ill fellow dealt with 
 you.' ' \' ' ^ ' • 
 
 " The friar stood while my fatlitr^ vva^ speaking, 
 with a pleasant, contented face upon him, only a 
 little roguish and droll. 
 
 " ' Hah ! Shane Fadh,' says he, smiling drily at 
 me, * you did them all, I see. You have her there, 
 the flower of the parish, blooming beside you ; 
 but I knew as much six months ago, ever since I 
 saw you bid her good night at the hawthorn. 
 Who looked back so often, Mary, eh ? Ay, laugh 
 and blush — do — throth, 'twas I that caught you, 
 but you didn't see me, though. Well, a colleen, 
 and if you did, too, you needn't be ashamed of 
 your bargain, any how. You see, the way I came 
 to persave yees that evening was this — but I'll 
 tell it, by and bye. In the mane time,' says he, 
 sitting down, and attacking a fine piece of corn- 
 boef and greens, ' I'll take care of a certain ac- 
 quaintance of mine,' says he. ' How are you 
 reverend gintlcmen of the Secularity. You'll per- 
 mit a poor friar to sit and ate his dinner in your 
 presence, I humbly hope.* 
 " * Frank,' says Father Corrigan, * lay your hand 
 
 M 2
 
 170 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 
 
 upon your conscience, or upon your stomach, 
 which is the same ;h?ng, and tell us honestly, how 
 many'difihers yo-i' cat' on your travels among my 
 parishioner? this ddy.* ^ ' ' 
 
 '■' 'i^s I'm' a -sinnsr,' Michael this is the only 
 thmg to be a cal'ed'a ^mwer I eat this day; — 
 Shane* Fa:>h' — Mary, boJi your healths, and God 
 grant you all kinds of luck and happiness, both 
 here and hereafter ! All your healths in gineral ; 
 gintlemen seculars /* 
 
 " < Thank you, Frank,' said Father Corrigan ; 
 <how did you speed to-day ?' 
 
 " 'How can any man speed, that comes after 
 you?' says the Friar; * I'm after travelling the half 
 of the parish for that poor bag of oats that you 
 see standing against the ditch.' 
 
 " 'In other words, Frank,' says the Priest, 'you 
 took AltJiadhawan in your way, and in about 
 half-a-dozen houses filled your sack, and then 
 turned your horse's head towards the good cheer, 
 by way of accident only.' 
 
 " 'And was it by way of accident, Mr. Secular, 
 that I got you and that iloquent young gintle- 
 man, your curate, here before me ? Do you feel 
 that, man of the world ? Father James, your 
 health, though — you're a good young man as far 
 as saying nothing goes ; but it's better to sit still 
 than rise up and fall, so I commend you for your
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 171 
 
 discration^^ says he ; ' but I'm afeard your master 
 there, won't make you much fitter for the king- 
 dom of heaven, any how.' 
 
 "'I believe. Father Corrigati.' e«yc my -uncle, 
 who loved to see the priest and the 'friar at it, ' that 
 you've met with your a'atch— -I think Father 
 Rooney's able for you.' * ^ "^ ' ^ ' 
 
 " * Oh, sure,' says Father* (^^rrio;a\», * he was 
 joker to the college of the Sorbhonki in 5^?{ris"i he 
 got as much education as enabled him to say 
 mass in Latin, and to beg oats in English, for his 
 jokes.' 
 
 " ' Troth, and,' says the friar, ' if you were 
 to get your larning on the same terms, you'd be 
 guilty of very little knowledge ; why, Michael, I 
 never knew you to attempt a joke but once, and 
 I was near shedding tears, there was something so 
 very sorrowful in it.' 
 
 " This brought the laugh against the priest. — 
 * Your health, Molshy,' says he, winking at my 
 mother-in-law, and then giving my uncle, who sat 
 beside him a nndge ; ' I believe, Brian, I'm giv- 
 ing it to him.* ' 'Tis yourself that is,' says my 
 uncle ; * give him a wipe or two more.' * Wait 
 till he answers the last,* says the friar. 
 
 "'He's always joking,' says Father James, 
 < when he thinks he'll make any thing by it.' 
 
 " ' Ay !' says the friar, < then God help you both
 
 172 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 
 
 if you were left to your jokes for your feeding *, 
 for a poorer pair of gentlemen wouldn't be found 
 in Christendom.' 
 
 "tAnd i b'eUeye,' says Father Corrigan, 'if 
 you degind/3d foi- 'your feeding upon your divinity 
 instead.of your jokes, you'd be as poor as a man 
 in tbje last, "stage of a consumption.' 
 
 " This thrQvv' th<^ laugh against the friar, who 
 smiiefl, jiimselt^;' but he was a dry man that never 
 laughed much. 
 
 " ' Sure,' says the friar, who was never at a loss, 
 ' I have yourself and your nephew for examples 
 that it's possible to live and be well fed without 
 divinity.' 
 
 " ' At any rate,' says my uncle, < putting in his 
 tongue, ' I think you're both very well able to make 
 divinity a joke betune you,' says he. 
 
 " ' Well done, Brian,* says the friar, * and so 
 they are, for I believe it is the only subject they 
 can joke upon ; and I beg your pardon, Michael, 
 for not excepting it before ; on that subject I al- 
 low you to be humoursome.' 
 
 " ' If that be the case, then,' says Father Cor- 
 rigan, ' I must give up your company, Frank, in 
 order to avoid the force of bad example ; for 
 you're so much in the habit of joking on every 
 thing else, that you're not able to except even 
 divinity.'
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. ITS 
 
 " ' You may aisily give me up,' says the friar, 
 *but how you will be able to forget Father 
 Corrigan ? I'm afeard you will find his acquaint- 
 ance as great a detriment to yourself, as it is to 
 others in that respect.* 
 
 " < What makes you say,' says Father James, 
 who was more in arnest than the rest, ' that my 
 uncle won't make me fit for the kingdom of 
 heaven ?' 
 
 " ' I had a pair of rasons for it, Jemmy,' says 
 the friar ; ' one is, that he doesn't understand the 
 subject himself; and another is, that you haven't 
 capacity for it, even if he did. You've a want of 
 nathural parts — a whackum here,' pointing to his 
 forehead. 
 
 "'I beg your pardon, Frank,' says Father 
 James, I deny your premises, and I'll now argue 
 in Latin with you, if you wish, upon any subject 
 you please.' 
 
 " ' Come, then,' says the friar, — * Kid-eat-ivy 
 mare-eat-hay,'' 
 
 "'Kid — what?' says the other. 
 
 " * Kid-eat-ivy mare-eat-hay , answers the friar. 
 
 " ' I , don't know what you're at,' says Father 
 James, * but I'll argue in Latin with you as long 
 as you wish.' 
 
 " * Tut man, says Father Rooney, * Latin's for 
 school-boys; but come, now, I'll take you in
 
 174 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING 
 
 another language — I'll try you in Greek — In-mtid- 
 eel-is in-ch,7j-none-is in-fir-tar-is in-oak-none-isJ' 
 
 " The curate looked at him, amazed, not know- 
 ing what answer to make. At last says he, ' I 
 don't profess to know Greek, bekase I never 
 larned it— but stick to the Latin, and I'm not 
 afeard of you.' 
 
 " ' Well, then,' says the friar, < I'll give you a 
 trial at that — Afflat te canis ter — Forte dux Jel flat 
 in giUhur.' 
 
 <' * A flat-tay-cannisther — Forty ducks fell flat 
 in the gutthers !' says Father James, — why that's 
 English I' 
 
 " ' English I' says the friar, *oh, good bye lo 
 you, Mr. Secular; if that's your knowledge of 
 Latin, you're an honour to your tachers and to 
 your cloth.' 
 
 "Father Corrigan now laughed heartily at the 
 puzzling the friar gave Father James. * James,* 
 says he, ' never heed him; he's only pesthering you 
 with bog-latin : but, at any rate, to do him jus- 
 tice, he's not a bad scholar, I can tell you that 
 . . . .Your health, Frank, you droll crathur — your 
 health. I have only one fault to find with you, 
 and that is, that you fast and mortify yourself 
 too much. Your fasting has reduced you from 
 being formerly a friar of very genteel dimensions
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 175 
 
 to a cut of corpulency that smacks strongly of 
 penance — fifteen stone at least.' 
 
 " ' Why,' says the friar, looking down, quite 
 plased, entirely, at the cut of his own waist, which, 
 among ourselves, was no trifle, and giving a growl 
 of a laugh — the most he ever gave : ' if what you 
 pray here benefits you in the next life, as much 
 as what I fast does me in this, it will be well for 
 the world in general, Michael/ 
 
 " * How can you say, Frank,' says Father James, 
 * with such a carkage as that, that you're a poor 
 friar ? Upon my credit, when you die, I think 
 the angels will have a job of it in wafting you up- 
 wards.* 
 
 " ' Jemmy, man, was it you that said it I — why, 
 my light's beginning to shine upon you, or you 
 never could have got out so much,' says Father 
 Rooney, putting his hands over his brows and 
 looking up toardsthim ; but if you ever read scrip- 
 thur, which I suppose you're not overburdened 
 with, you would know that it says, " blessed are 
 the poor in spirit," but not blessed are the poor 
 in flesh — now, mine is spiritual poverty.' 
 
 " < Very true, Frank,' says Father Corrigan, ' I 
 believe there's a great dearth and poverty of spi- 
 rituality about you, sure enough. But of all kinds 
 of poverty, commend me to a friar's. Voluntary 
 poverty's something, but it's the divil entirely for 
 a man to be poor against his will. You, friars
 
 176 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 
 
 boast of this voluntary poverty ; but if there's a 
 fat bit in any part of the parish, we, that are the 
 lawful clargy, can't eat it, but you're sure to drop 
 in, just in the nick of time, with your voluntary 
 poverty.' 
 
 " ' l*m sure, if we do,* says the friar, * its no- 
 thing out of 2/our pocket, Michael. 1 declare, I 
 believe you begrudge us the air we breathe. But 
 don't you know very well that our ordhers are 
 apostolic, and that, of coorse, we have a more 
 primitive appearance than you have.* 
 
 " ' No such thing,' says the other ; * you, and 
 the parsons, and the fat bishops, are too far from 
 the right place — the only difference between you 
 is, that you are fat and lazy b?/ toleration, whereas 
 the others are fat and lazy b?/ aidliority. You are 
 fat and lazy on your ould horses, jogging about 
 from house to house, and stuffing yourselves either 
 at the table of other people's parishioners, or in your 
 own convents in Dublin and elsewhere. They 
 are rich, bloated gluttons, going about in their 
 coaches, and wallying in wealth. Now, we are 
 the golden mean, Frank, that live upon a little, 
 and work hard for it. But, plase God, the day 
 will come when we will step into their places, and 
 be as we used to be. 
 
 « ' Why, you cormorant,* says the friar, a little 
 nettled, for the dhrop was beginning to get up into
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 177 
 
 head—* sure, if we're fat hy toleration^ we're only 
 tolerably fat, my worthy secular ; but how can you 
 condemn them, when you only want to get into 
 their places, or have the face to tax any one with 
 living upon the people ?' 
 
 " < You see,' says the friar, in a whisper to my 
 uncle, * how I sobered them in the laming, and 
 they are good scholars for all that, but not near 
 
 so deep read as myself. Michael, says he, 
 
 « now that I think on it — sure I'm to be at Denis 
 O'Flaherty's Month's mind on Thursday next.' 
 
 " ' Indeed I would not doubt you,* says Father 
 Corrigan ; *you wouldn't be apt to miss it.' 
 
 " 'Why, the widdy Flaherty asked me yester- 
 day, and I think that's proof enough that I'm not 
 going unsent for.' 
 
 " By this time the company was hard and fast 
 at the punch, the songs, and the dancing. The 
 dinner had been cleared off, except what was be- 
 fore the friar, who held out wonderfully, and the 
 beggars and shulers were clawing and scoulding 
 one another about the divide. The dacentest of 
 us went into the house for a while, taking the fid- 
 dler with us, and the rest staid on the green to 
 dance, where they were soon joined by lots of the 
 counthry people, so that in a short time there was 
 a large number entirely. After sitting for some 
 time within, Mary and I began, you may be sure. 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 
 
 to get unasy, sitting palavering among a parcel 
 of ould sober folks ; so, at last, out we slipped, and 
 the few other dacent young people that were with 
 us, to join the dance, and shake our toe along 
 with the rest of them. When we made our ap- 
 pearance, the flure was instantly cleared for us, 
 and then she and I danced the Humours of Glin. 
 "Well, it's no matter — it's all past now, and 
 slie lies low ; but I may say that it wasn't very 
 often danced in better style since, I'd wager. — 
 Lord bless us — what a drame the world is I — The 
 darling of my heart you war, avourneen machree. 
 I think I see her with the modest smile upon her 
 face, straight, and fair, and beautiful, and- — hem 
 — and when the dance was over, how she stood 
 leaning upon me, and my heart within melting to 
 her, and the look she'd give into my eyes and 
 my heart, too, as much as to say, this is the hap- 
 py day with me ; and the blush still would fly 
 acrass her face, when I'd press her, unknownst to 
 the by-standers, aginst my beating heart. A suilish 
 machree, she is now gone from me — lies low, and 
 it all appears like a drame to me ; but — hem — 
 God's will be done I — sure she's happy I — och, 
 och ! I 
 
 " Many a shake hands did I get from the 
 neighbouiV sons, wishing me joy — -and I'm sure 
 I couldn't do less thanthrate them to aglas», you
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING.. 179 
 
 know ; and 'twas the same way with Mary ; many 
 a neighbour's daughter, that she didn't do more 
 nor know by eye-sight, maybe, would come up 
 and wish her happiness in the same manner, and 
 she would say to me, * Shane, avourneen, that's 
 such a man's daughter — they're dacent friendly 
 people, and we can't do less nor give her a glass.' 
 I, of coorse, would go down and bring them over, 
 after a little pulling — making, you see, as if they 
 wouldn't come — to where my brother was handing 
 out the native. 
 
 " In this way we passed the time till the even- 
 ing came on, except that Mary and the brides- 
 maid were sent for to dance with the priests, who 
 Mere within at the punch, in all their glory — 
 Friar Rooney along with them, as jolly as a 
 prince. I and my man, on seeing this were for 
 staying with the company ; but my mother, who 
 'twas that came for them, says, ' never mind the 
 boys, Shane; come in with the girls, I say. You're 
 just wanted at the present time, both of you; fol- 
 low me for an hour or two, till their Reverences 
 within have a bit of a dance with the girls, in the 
 back room — we don't want to gather a crowd 
 about them.' Well, we went in, sure enough, 
 for a while ; but, I don't know how it was, I didn't 
 at all feci comfortable with the priests ; for you 
 
 see I'd rather sport my day with the boys and 
 
 N 2
 
 180 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 
 
 girls upon the green : so I gives Jack the hard 
 word^* and in we went, when, behold you, there 
 was Father Corrigan planted upon the side of a 
 Settle^ Mary along with him, both waiting till 
 they'd have a fling of a dance together, whilst the 
 Curate was capering on the flure before the brides- 
 maid, who was a purty dark-haired girl, to the 
 tune of * Kiss my lady ;' and the friar planted 
 between my mother and mother-in-law, one of his 
 legs stretched out on a chair, he singing some 
 funny song or other, that brought the tears to 
 their eyes with laughing. 
 
 " Whilst Father James was dancing with the 
 bridesmaid, 1 gave Mary the wink to come away 
 from Father Corrigan wishing, as I tould you, 
 to get out amongst the youngsters once more ; and 
 Mary herself, to tell the truth, although he was 
 the priest, was very willing to do so. I went over 
 to her, and says, * Mary, asthore, there's a ffiend 
 without that wishes to spake to you.' 
 
 " ' Well,' says Father Corrigan, * tell that friend 
 that she's better employed, and that they must 
 wait, whoever they are. I'm giving your wife, 
 Shane,' says he, 'a little good advice that she 
 won't be the worse for, and she can't go now.' 
 
 * A pass- word, sign, or brief intimation, touching some- 
 thing of which a man is ignorant, that he may act accordingly.
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 181 
 
 " Mary, in the mean time, had got up, and was 
 coming away, when his Reverence wanted her to 
 stay till they'd finish their dance. ' Father Corri- 
 gan,' says she, * let me go now. Sir, if you plase, 
 for they would think it bad threatment of me not 
 to go out to them.' 
 
 " ' Troth, and you'll do no such thing, acushla,' 
 says he, spaking so sweet to her ; ' let them come 
 in if they want you. Shane,' says his Reverence, 
 winking at me, and spaking in a whisper, stay 
 here, you and the girls, till we take a hate at the 
 dancing — don't you know that the ould women 
 here, and me, will have to talk over some things 
 about the fortune ; you'll maybe get more nor you 
 expect. Here, Molshy,' says he to my mother- 
 in-law, ' don't let the youngsters out of this.' 
 
 " * Musha, Shane, a-hagur,' says the ould wo- 
 man, ' why will yees go and lave the place ; sure 
 you needn't be dashed before them — they'll 
 dance themselves.' 
 
 "Accordingly we staid in the room; but just 
 on the word, Mary gives one spring away, laving 
 his Reverence by himself on the Settle, * Come 
 away,' says she, *■ lave them there, and let us go 
 to where I can have a dance with yourself, Shane.' 
 
 " Well, I always loved Mary, but at that mi- 
 nute if it would save her, I think I could spill my 
 heart's blood for her. ' Mary,' says I, full to the
 
 182 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 
 
 throath, ' Mary, acushla agns asthore machree,* I 
 could lose my life for you.' 
 
 " She looked in my face, and the tears came 
 into her eyes — * Shane, achora,' says she, ^ amn't 
 I your happy girl, at last ? She was leaning over 
 against my breast; and what answer do you think 
 I made ? — I pressed her to my heart : I did more 
 — I took off my hat, and, looking up to God, I 
 thanked him with tears in my eyes, for giving me 
 stLch a treasure. ' Well, come now,' says she, * to 
 the green ; so we went — and it's she that was the 
 girl, when she did go among them, that threw them 
 all into the dark for beauty and figure : as fair as 
 a lilly itself did she look — so tall and illegant, that 
 you wouldn't think she was a farmer's daughter 
 at all ; so we left the priest's dancing away, 
 for we could do no good before them. 
 
 " When we had danced an hour or so, them 
 that the family had the greatest regard for, were 
 brought in, unknownst to the rest to drink tay. 
 Mary planted herself beside me, and would sit no 
 where else ; but the friar got beside the bride's- 
 maid, and I surely obsarved that many a time 
 she'd look over, likely to split, at Mary, and it's 
 Mary herself that gave her many's a wink, to 
 come to the other side ; but, you know, out of 
 
 • The very pulse and delight of my heart.
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 183 
 
 manners, slie was obliged to sit quietly, though, 
 among ourselves, it's she that was like a hen on a 
 hot griddle, beside the ould chap. It was now 
 that the bride 's-cake was got. Ould Sonsy- 
 Mary marched over, and putting the bride on her 
 feet, got up on a chair and broke it over her head, 
 giving round 2,fadge* of it to every young person 
 in the house, and they again to their acquaint- 
 ances : but, lo and behold j'^ou, who should insist 
 on getting a whang of it, but the friar, which he 
 rolled up in a piece of paper, and put it in his pock- 
 et. ' I'll have good fun,' says he, ' dividing this 
 to-morrow among the colleens when I'm collecting 
 my oats — the sorra one of me but'ill make them 
 give me the worth of it of something, if it was 
 only a fat hen or a square of bacon.' After tay 
 the ould folk got full of talk; the youngsters 
 danced round them ; the friar sung like a thrush, 
 and told many a droll story. The tailor had got 
 drunk a little too early, and had to be put to bed, 
 but he was now as fresh as ever, and able to dance 
 a hornpipe, which hie did on a door. The Dorans 
 and the Flanagans had got quite thick after drub- 
 bing one another — Ned Doran began his coort- 
 ship with Alley Flanagan on that day, and tliey 
 were married soon after, so that the two factions 
 
 • A liberal portion torn off a thick cake.
 
 184 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 
 
 joined, and never had another battle until the day 
 of her berrial, when they were at it as fresh as 
 ever. Several of those that were at the wedding 
 were lying drunk about the ditches, or roaring, 
 and swaggering, and singing about the place.-^ 
 The night falling, those that were dancing on the 
 green removed to the barn. Father Corrigan and 
 Father James weren't ill off; but as for the friar, 
 although he was as pleasant as a lark, there was 
 hardly any such thing as making him tipsy. — 
 Father Corrigan wanted him to dance — ' What ! 
 says he, * would you have me to bring on an 
 earthquake, Michael ? — but who ever heard of a 
 follower of St. Domnick, bound by his vow to 
 
 voluntary poverty and mortifications young 
 
 couple, your health — will any body tell me who 
 mixed this, for they've knowledge worth a folio 
 
 of the fathers ? poverty and mortifications, 
 
 going to shake his heel ? By the bones of SU 
 Domnick, I'd desarve to be suspinded, if I did. 
 Will no one tell me who mixed this, I say, for 
 
 they had a jewel of a hand at it? Och — 
 
 Let parsons prache and pray — 
 
 Let priests too pray and prache, Sir ; 
 What's the rason they 
 
 Don't practice what they tache, Sir * 
 Forral, orrall, loll, 
 
 Forral, orrall, laddy — 
 Sho da slainthah ma collenee agus ma bouchake.
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 185 
 
 Hoigh, oigh,oigh— healths all gintlemen seculars ! 
 ' Molshy,* says the friar to my ^mother-in-law,* 
 * send that bocaun* to bed — ^poor fellow, he's al- 
 most off— rouse yourself, James ! — It's aisy to see 
 that he's but young at it yet— that's right— he's 
 sound asleep — -just toss him into bed, and in an 
 hour or so, he'll be as fresh as a daisy. — 
 Let parsons prache and pray — 
 ForraU, orraU, loU.' 
 
 " * For dear's sake. Father Rooney,' says my 
 uncle, running in, in a great hurry, ' keep your- 
 self quiet a little ; here's the Squire and master 
 Francis coming over to fulfil their promise ; he 
 would have come up airlier, he says, but that he 
 was away all day at the 'sizes/ 
 
 "'Very well,' says the friar, 'let him come— 
 who's afeard — mind yourself, Micftael.' 
 
 " In a minute or two they came in, and we all 
 rose up of coorse to welcome them. The Squire 
 shuck hands with the ould people, and afterwards 
 with Mary and myself, wishing us all happiness — 
 then with the two clergymen, and introduced 
 Master Frank to them ; and the friar made the 
 young chap sit beside him. The masther then 
 took a sate himself, and looked on while they 
 were dancing, with a smile of good humour on 
 his face — while they, all the time, would give new 
 
 • A soft, unsophisticated youth.
 
 186 SHANE FADH'S M^EDDING- 
 
 touches and trebles, to show off all their steps 
 before him. He was landlord both to my father 
 and father-in-law ; ^nd it's he that was the good 
 man, and the gintleman every inch of him. They 
 may all talk as they will, but commend me, Mr. 
 Morrow, to one of the ould Squires of former 
 times for a landlord. The priests, with ail their 
 laming, were nothing to him for good breeding — 
 he appeared so free, and so much at his ase, and 
 even so respectful, that I don't think there was 
 one in the house but would put their two hands 
 under his feet to do him a sarvice. 
 
 " When he sat a while, my mother-in-law came 
 over with a glass of nice punch that she had mixed, 
 at laste equal to what the friar praised so well, 
 and making a low curtshy, begged pardon for 
 using such freedom with his honour, but hoped 
 that he would just taste a little to the happiness of 
 the young couple. He then drank our healths, and 
 shuck hands with us both a second time, saying 
 — although I can't, at all at all, give it in any 
 thing like his own words — * I am glad,' says he, 
 to Mary's parents, < that your daughter has made 
 such a good choice;' — throth, he did — the Lord 
 be merciful to his sowl — God forgive me for what 
 I was going to say, and he a Protestant ; — but if 
 ever one of yees went to heaven, Mr. Morrow, 
 he did ; — ' such a prudent choice ; and I congr —
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 187 
 
 con — grathulate you,' says he to my father, * on 
 your connexion with so industrious and respecta- 
 ble a family. You are now beginning the world 
 for yourselves,' says he to Mary and me, ' and I 
 cannot propose a better example to you both, 
 than that of your respective parents. From this 
 forrid,' says he, ' I'm to considher you my ten- 
 ants ; and I wish to take this opportunity of in- 
 forming you both, that should you act up to the 
 opinion I entertain of you, by an attentive coorse 
 of industry and good management, you will find in 
 me an encouraging and indulgent landlord. I 
 know, Shane,' says he to me, smiling, a little 
 knowingly enough too, ' that you have been a little 
 wild or so, but that's past, I trust. You have now 
 serious duties to perform, which you cannot ne- 
 glect — but you will not neglect them ; and be as- 
 sured, I say again, that I shall feel pleasure in 
 rendhering you every assistance in my power in 
 the cuUiwation and improvement of your farm.' — 
 * Go over, both of you,' says my father, < and thank 
 his honour, and promise to do every thing he 
 says.' Accordingly, we did so ; I made my scrape 
 as well as I could, and Mary blushed to the eyes, 
 and dropp'd her curtshy. 
 
 " ' Ah !' says the friar, <see what it is to have 
 a good landlord and a Christian gintleman to dale 
 witli* This is the feeling which should always
 
 188 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 
 
 bind a landlord and his tenants together. If 1 
 know your character, Squire Whitethorn, 1 be- 
 lieve you're not the man that Avould put a Pro- 
 testant tenant over the head of a Catholic one, 
 which shows, Sir, your own good sense ; for what 
 is a difference of religion, when people do what 
 they ought to do ? Nothing but the name. I 
 trust. Sir, we shall meet in a better place than 
 this — both Protestant and Catholic* 
 
 " * I am happy, Sir,' says the Squire, * to hear 
 such principles from a man mIio I thought was 
 bound by his creed to hould different opinions.' ' 
 
 "'Ah, Sir!' says the friar, 'you little know 
 who you're talking to, if you think so. I happened 
 to be collecting a taste of oats, with the permis- 
 sion of my friend. Doctor Corrigan, here, for I'm 
 but a poor friar, Sir, and dropped in by mere ae- 
 cident ; but, you know the hospitality of our coun- 
 try. Squire ; and that's enough — go they would 
 not allow me, and I was mintioning to this young 
 gintleman, your son, how we collected the oats, 
 and he insisted on my calling — a generous, noble 
 child ! I hope, Sir, you have got proper instruc- 
 tors for him ?' 
 
 " 'Yes,' said the Squire; 'I'm taking care of 
 that point.' 
 
 " ' What do you think, Sir, but he insists on 
 "my calling over to-morrow, that he may give me
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 189 
 
 his share of oats, as I told him that I was a friar, 
 and that he was a little parishioner of mine ; but 
 I added, that that wasn't right of him, without his 
 papa's consint.' 
 
 " < Well, Sir,' says the Squire, ' as he has pro- 
 mised, I will support him ; so if you'll ride over 
 to-morrow, you shall have a sack of oats — at all 
 events I shall send you a sack in the coorse of 
 the day.' 
 
 " < I humbly thank you, Sir,* says Father 
 Rooney ; ' and I thank my noble little parishioner 
 for his ginerosity to the poor ould friar — God 
 mark you to grace, my dear ; and, wherever you 
 go, take the ould man's blessing along with you.' 
 " They then bid us good night, and we all rose 
 and saw them to the door. 
 
 " Father Corrigan now appeared to be getting 
 sleepy. While this was going on, I looked about 
 me, but couldn't see Mary. The tailor was just 
 beginning to get a little hearty once more. Sup- 
 per was talked of, but there was no one that 
 could ate any thing; even the friar was against 
 it. The clergy now got their horses, the friar lav- 
 ing his oats behind him ; for we promised to send 
 them home, and something more along with them 
 the next day. Father James was roused up, but 
 could hardly stir with a heddick. Father Corri- 
 gan was correct enough ; but when the friar got
 
 190 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 
 
 up, he ran a little to the one side, upsetting Sonsy 
 Mary, that sot a little beyond him. He then 
 called over my mother-in-law to the dresser, and 
 after some collogiriy^ she slipped two fat fowl, that 
 had never been touched, into one of his coat 
 pockets, that was big enough to hould a leg o-f mut- 
 ton. My father then called me over, and said, 
 * Shane,' says he, 'hadn't you better slip Father 
 Rooney a bottle or two of that whiskey ; there's 
 plenty of it there that wasn't touched, and you 
 won't be a bit the poorer of it, may be, this day 
 twelve months.' I accordingly dhropped two 
 bottles of it into the other pocket, for his Reve- 
 rence wanted a balance, any how. 
 
 " ' Now,' says he, ' before I go, kneel down both 
 of you, till I give you my benediction,' 
 
 " We accordingly knelt down, and he gave us 
 his blessing in Latin — my father standing at his 
 shoulder to keep him steady. 
 
 "After they went, Mary threw the stocking — 
 all the unmarried folks coming in the dark, to see 
 who it would hit. Bless my sowl, but she was 
 the droll Mary — for what did she do, only put a 
 big brogue of her father's into it, that was near 
 two pounds weight ; and, who should it hit on the 
 bare sconce, but Billy Cormick, the tailor — who 
 
 • Whispering.
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING. 191 
 
 thought he was fairly shot, for it levelled the 
 crathur at once ; though that wasn't hard to do^ 
 any how. 
 
 " This was the last ceremony : and Billy was 
 well continted to get the knock, for you all know, 
 whoever the stocking strikes upon, is to be marrid 
 first. After this, my mother and mother-in-law 
 set them to the dancing — and 'twas themselves that 
 kept it up till long after day-light the next morn- 
 ing — but first they called me into the next room 
 where Mary was: and — and — so ends my wed- 
 ding; by the same token that I'm as dry as a 
 stick." 
 
 <* Come, Nancy," says Andy Morrow, " reple- 
 nish again for us all, with a double measure for 
 Shane Fadh — because he well desarves it.'* 
 
 "Why, Shane," observed Alick, " you must 
 have a terrible fine memory of your own, or you 
 couldn't tell it all so exact." 
 
 " There's not a man in the four provinces has 
 sich a memory," replied Shane. " I never hard 
 that story yet, but I could repate it in fifty years 
 afterwards. I could walk up any town in the 
 kingdom, and let me look at the signs, and I 
 would give them to you agin jist exactly as they 
 stood." 
 
 Thus ended the account of Shane Fadh's wed«
 
 192 
 
 SHANE FADH'S WEDDING- 
 
 ding; and, after finishing the porter, they all 
 returned home, with an understanding that 
 they were to meet the next night in the same 
 place.
 
 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 VOL. 1.
 
 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 The succeeding evening found them all assem- 
 bled about Ned's fire-side in the usual manner ; 
 where M'Roarkin, after a wheezy fit of coughing 
 and a draught of Nancy's porter, commenced to 
 give them an account of — Larry M'Farland's 
 Wake. 
 
 We have observed before, that M^Roarkin was 
 desperately asthmatic, a circumstance which he 
 felt to be rather an unpleasant impediment to the 
 indulgence, either of his mirth or sorrow. Every 
 chuckle at his own jokes ended in a disastrous fit 
 of coughing; and when he became pathetic, his 
 sorrow was most ungraciously dissipated by the 
 same cause ; two facts which were highly relished 
 by his audience. 
 
 " Larry M'Farland, when a young man, was 
 considhered the best labourer within a great ways 
 of him; and no servant man in the parish got 
 within five shillings a quarter of his wages. — 
 
 o2
 
 194 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 Often and often, when his time would be near 
 out, he'd have offers from the rich farmers and 
 gintlemen about him, of higher terms ; so that lie 
 was seldom with one masther more nor a year at 
 the very most. He could handle a flail with e'er 
 a man that ever stepped in black leather ; and at 
 spade work, there wasn't his equal. Indeed, he 
 had a brain for every thing : he could thatch bet- 
 ter nor many that aimed their bread by it : could 
 make a slide car, straddle, or any other rough 
 carpenter work, that it would surprise you to 
 think of it : could work a kish or side creels beau- 
 tifully ; mow as much as any two men — and go 
 down a ridge of corn almost as fast as you could 
 walk : was a great hand at ditching or draining 
 meadows and bogs ; but above all things he was 
 famous for building hay-ricks and corn-stacks: 
 and when Squire Farmer used to enter for the 
 prize at the yearly ploughing match, be was sure 
 to borrow the loan of Larry from whatever mas- 
 ter he happened to be working with. And well 
 he might ; for the year out of four, that he hadn't 
 Larry, he lost the prize : and every one knew 
 that if Larry had been at the tail of his plough, 
 they would have had a tighter job of it in beating 
 him. 
 
 " Larry was a light airy young man, that knew
 
 LARRY MTARLAND'S WAKE. 195 
 
 his own value ; and was proud enough, God knows, 
 of what he could do. He was, indeed, too much 
 up to sport and divarsion, and never knew his 
 own mind for a week. It was against him that he 
 never stayed long in one place ; for when he got 
 a house of his own afterwards, he had no one that 
 cared any thing in particular about him. When- 
 ever any man would hire him, he'd take care to 
 have Easter and Whiss'n Mondays to himself, and 
 one or two of the Christmas Maragah-mores.* — 
 He was also a great dancer, fond of the dhrop — 
 and used to dress above his station ; going about 
 with a shop-cloth coat, cassimoor small-clothes, 
 and a Caroline hat ; so that you would little think 
 he was a poor sarvant man, labouring for his 
 wages. One way or other, the money never sted 
 long with him ; but he had light spirits, depended 
 entirely on his good hands, and cared very little 
 about the world, provided he could take his own 
 fling out of it. 
 
 " In this way he went on from year to year, 
 changing from one master to another ; every man 
 that would employ him, thinking he might get 
 him to stop with him for a constancy. But it was all 
 useless ; he'd be oiF after half a year, or sometimes 
 a year at the most, for he was fond of roving ; and 
 
 * Anglice — Big markets.
 
 196 LARRY MTARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 that man would never give himself any trouble 
 about him afterwards ; though, maybe, if he had 
 continted himself with him, and been sober and 
 careful, he would be willing to assist and befriend 
 him, when he might stand in need of assistance. 
 
 *' It's an ould proverb, that ' birds of a feather 
 flock together,' and Larry was a good proof of this. 
 There was in the same neighbourhood a young 
 woman named Sally Lowry, who was just the other 
 end of himself, for a pair of good hands, a love of 
 dress and of dances. She was well-looking, too, 
 and knew it ; light and showy, but a tight and 
 clane sarvant, any way. Larry and she, in short, 
 began to coort, and were pulling a coard together 
 for as good as five or six years. Sally, like Larry, 
 always made a bargain when hiring to have the 
 holly-days to herself; and on these occasions she 
 and Larry would meet and sport their figure; 
 going off with themselves, as soon as mass would 
 be over, into Ballymavourneen, where he would 
 collect a pack of fellows about him, and she a set 
 of her own friends ; and there they'd sit down 
 and drink for the length of a day, laving themselves 
 without a penny of whatever little aiming the 
 dress left behind it, for Larry was never right 
 except when he was giving a thrate to some one 
 or other.
 
 LARRY MTARLAND'S WAKE. 197 
 
 " After corrousing away till evening, they'd then 
 set ofFto a dance ; and when they'd stay there till it 
 would be late, he should see her home, of coorse 
 never parting till they'd settle upon meeting ano- 
 ther day. 
 
 " At last, they got fairly tired of this, and re- 
 solved to take one another for better or worse. — 
 Indeed they would have done this long ago, only 
 that they could never get as much together as 
 would pay the priest. Howandever, Larry spoke 
 to his brother, who was a sober, industrious boy, 
 that had laid by his scollops for the windy day,* 
 and tould him that Sally Lowry and himself were 
 going to yoke for life, Tom was a well-hearted, 
 friendly lad, and thinking that Sally, who bore 
 a good name for being such a clane sarvant, would 
 make a good wife, he lent Larry two guineas, 
 which, along with two more that Sally's aunt, 
 who had no childhre of her own, gave her, ena- 
 bled them to over their difficulties and get mar- 
 ried. Shortly after this, his brother Tom followed 
 
 • In Irish the proverb is — " Ha nahn la na guiha la na 
 scuilipagh.^* That is, the windy or stonny day is not that on 
 which the scollops should be cut. Scollops are osier twigs, 
 sharpened at both ends, and inserted in the thatch, to bind it 
 at the eve and rigging. The proverb inculcates preparation 
 for future necessity.
 
 198 LARRY MTARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 his example ; but as he had saved something, he 
 made up to Val Slevin's daughter, that had a for- 
 tune of twenty guineas, a cow and a heifer, with 
 two good chaff beds and bedding. 
 
 " Soon after Tom's marriage, he comes to Larry 
 one day, and says, ' Larry, you and I are now- 
 going to face the world; we're both young, 
 healthy and willing to work — so are our wives ; 
 and it's bad if we can't make out bread for our- 
 selves, I think.* 
 
 " ' Thrue for you, Tom,' says Larry, ^ and 
 what's to hinder us ? I only wish we had a farm, 
 and you'd see we'd take good bread out of it : for 
 my part there's not another he in the country I'd 
 turn my back upon for managing a farm, if I had 
 one.' 
 
 *' ' Well,' says the other, ' that's what I wanted 
 to overhaul as we're together; Squire Dickson's 
 steward was telling me yesterday, as I was com- 
 ing up from my father-in-law's, that his master has 
 a farm of fourteen acres to set at the present time ; 
 the one the Nulty's held, that went last spring to 
 America — 'twould be a dacent little take between 
 us.* 
 
 " * I know ever}* inch of it,' says Larry, * and 
 good strong land it is, but it was never well 
 wrought; the Nuitys weren't fit for it at all ; for 
 one of them didn't know how to folly a plough. —
 
 LARRY MTARLAND»S WAKE. 199 
 
 I'd engage to make that land turn out as good 
 crops as ere a farm within ten miles of it.' 
 
 " ' I know that, Larry/ says Tom, ^ and Squire 
 Dickson knows that no man could handle it to 
 more advantage. Now if you join me in it, what- 
 ver means I have will be as much yours as mine ; 
 there's two snug houses und er the one roof, with 
 out-houses and all, in good repair — and if Sally 
 and Biddy will pull manfully along with us, I don't 
 see, with the help of Almighty God, why we 
 shouldn't get on decently, and soon be well and 
 comfortable to live.' 
 
 " ' Comfortable !' says Larry ; ' no, but wealthy 
 itself, Tom: and let us at it at wanst; Squire 
 Dickson knows what I can do as well as any man 
 in Europe; and I'll engage won't be hard upon 
 us for the first year or two ; our best plan is to go 
 to-morrow, for fraid some other might get the fore- 
 way of us.' 
 
 "The Squire knew very well that' two better 
 boys weren't to be met with than the same M'Far- 
 lands, in the way of knowing how to manage 
 land ; and although he had his doubts as to Lar- 
 ry's light and careless ways, yet he had good de- 
 pindance out of the brother, and thought, on the 
 whole, that they might do very well together. — 
 Accordingly, he set them the farm at a reason- 
 able rint, and in a short time they were both living
 
 200 LARRY M'FARLANDS WAKE. 
 
 on it, with their two wives. They divided the 
 fourteen acres into aqual parts ; and for fraid there 
 would be any grumbling between them about bet- 
 ter or worse, Tom proposed that they should draw 
 lots, which was agreed to by Larry ;but, indeed, 
 there was very little difference in the two halves ; 
 for Tom took care by the way he divided them, 
 that none of them should have any reason to com- 
 plain. From the time they wint to live upon 
 their farms, Tom was up early and down late, im- 
 proving it — paid attention to nothing else ; axed 
 every man's opinion as to what crop would be 
 best for such a spot, and to tell the truth he found 
 very few, if any, able to instruct him so well as 
 his own brother Larry. He was no such labourer, 
 however, as Larry — but what he was short in, he 
 made up by perseverance and care. 
 
 " In the coorseof two or three years you woula 
 hardly bleeve how he got on, and his wife was 
 every bit equal to him. She spun the yarn for the 
 linen that made their own shirts and sheeting, 
 bought an odd pound of wool now and then when 
 she could get it chape, and put it past till she had 
 a stone or so ; she would then sit down and spin 
 it — get it wove and dressed ; and before one would 
 know any thing about it she'd have the making 
 of a dacent comfortable coat for Tom, and a bit 
 of heather-coloured drugget for her own gown,
 
 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 201 
 
 along Tvith a piece of striped red and blue for a 
 petticoat — all at very little cost. 
 
 " It wasn't so with Larry. In the beginning, 
 to be sure, while the fit was on him, he did very 
 well ; only that he would go of an odd time to a 
 dance ; or of a market or fair day, when he'd see 
 the people pass by, dressed in their best clothes, 
 he'd take the notion, and set off with himself, tell- 
 ing Sally that he'd just go in for a couple of hours 
 to see how the markets were going on. 
 
 " It's alv/ays an unpleasant thing for a body to 
 go to a fair or market without any thing in their 
 pocket ; accordingly if money was in the house, 
 he'd take some of it with him, for fraid that any 
 friend or acquaintance might thrate him, and then 
 it would be a poor mane-spirited thing to take 
 another man's thrate, without giving one for it. — 
 He'd seldom have any notion, though, of breaking 
 in upon, or spinding the money, he only brought 
 it to keep his pocket, jist to prevent him from 
 being shamed, should he meet a friend. 
 
 " In the mane time, Sally, in his absence, would 
 find herself lonely, and as she hadn't, maybe, seen 
 her aunt for some time before, she'd lock the door, 
 and go over to spind a while with her ; or to take 
 a trip as far as her ould mistress's place to see the 
 family. Many a thing people will have to say to 
 one another about the pleasant times they had
 
 202 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKB. 
 
 together, or several other subjects best known to 
 themselves, of coorse. Larry would come home 
 in her absence, and finding the door locked, would 
 slip down to Squire Dickson's, to chat with the 
 steward or gardiner, or with the sarvants in the 
 kitchen. 
 
 " You all remimber Tom Hance, that kept the 
 public-house at TuUyvernon cross-roads, a little 
 above the Squire's — at laste, most of you do — 
 and ould Wilty Rutledge, the piper, that spint his 
 time between Tom's and the big house — God be 
 good to Wilty ! — it's himself was the droll man 
 entirely : he died of aiting boiled banes, for a 
 wager that the Squire laid on him agin ould 
 Captain Flint, and dhrinking porter after them, 
 till he was swelled like a ton — but the Squire ber- 
 rid him at his own expense. Well, Larry's haunt, 
 on finding Sally out when he came home, was 
 either the Squire's kitchen, or Tom Hance's : and, 
 as he was the broth of a boy at dancing, the sar- 
 vants, when he'd go down, would send for Wilty 
 to Hance's, if he didn't happen to be with them- 
 selves at the time, and strike up a dance in the 
 kitchen ; and, along with all, may be Larry would 
 have a sup in his head. 
 
 " When Sally would come home, in her turn, 
 she'd not find Larry before her ; but Larry's cus- 
 tom was to go into Tom's wife, and say, ' Biddy,
 
 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 203 
 
 tell Sally, when she comes home, that I'm gone 
 down awhile to the big house, (or to Tom Hance's, 
 as it might be) but I'll not be long.' Sally after 
 waiting a while, would put on her cloak, and slip 
 down to see what was keeping him. Of coorse, 
 when finding the sport going on, and carrying a 
 light heel at the dance herself, she'd throw off 
 the cloak, and take a hand at it along with the 
 rest. Larry and she would then go their ways 
 home, find the fire out, light a sod of turf in 
 Tom's, and feeling their own place very could 
 and naked, after tlie blazing comfortable fire they 
 had left behind them, go to bed, both in very 
 middling spirits entirely. 
 
 " Larry, at other times, would quit his work 
 early in the evening, to go down towards the 
 Squire's, bekase he had only to begin work earlier 
 the next day to make it up. He'd meet the Squire 
 himself, maybe, and after putting his hand to his 
 hat, and getting a ' how do you do, Larry,' from 
 his honour, enter into discoorse with him about 
 his honour's plan of stacking his corn. — Now, 
 Larry was famous at this. 
 
 " ' Who's to build your stacks this sason, your 
 honour ?* ^ 
 
 "'Tim Dillon, Larry.* 
 
 " 'Is it he, your honour ? — he knows as much 
 about building a stack of corn, as Masther George,
 
 204 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 here. He'll only botch them, Sir, if you let him 
 go about them.' 
 
 " ' Yes ; but what can I do, Larry ? — he's the 
 only man I have that I could trust them to.' 
 
 " ' Then it's your honour needn't say that, any 
 how; for rather than see them spoiled, I'd come 
 down myself and put them up for you.' 
 
 " ' Oh, I couldn't expect that, Larry.' 
 
 " <Why then, I'll do it, your honour; and you 
 may expect me down in the morning at six oVlock, 
 plase God.' 
 
 " Larry would keep his word, though his own corn 
 was drop-ripe ; and having once undertaken the 
 job, he couldn't give it up, till he'd finish it off 
 dacently. In the mean time his own crop would 
 go to destruction ; sometimes a windy day would 
 come, and not leave him every tenth grain ; he'd 
 then get some one to cut it down for him — lie had 
 to go to the big house, to build the master's corn ; 
 he was then all bustle — a great man entirely — 
 there was ?^o^^ such — would be up with the first 
 light, ordering and commanding, and directing the 
 Squire's labourers, as if he was the king of the 
 castle. Maybe, 'tis after he'd come from the big 
 house, that he'd collect a few of the neighbours, 
 and get a couple of cars and horses from the 
 Squire, you see, to bring home his own oats to 
 the hagyard with moon-light, after the dews would
 
 LARRY MTARLAND'S WAKE. 205 
 
 begin to fall ; and in a v/eek afterwards, every 
 stack would be heated, and all in a reek of froth 
 and smoke. It's not asy to do any thing in a hur- 
 ry, and especially it's not asy to build a corn 
 stack after night, when a man cannot see how 
 it goes on ; so 'twas no wonder if Larry's stacks 
 were supporting one another the next day — one 
 laning north and another south. 
 
 " But along with this, Larry and Sally were 
 great people for going to the dances that Hance 
 used to have at the crass-roads, bekase he wished 
 to put money into his own pockets ; and if a neigh- 
 bour died, they were sure to be the first at the 
 wake-house — for Sally was a great hand at washing 
 down a corpse— and they would be the last home 
 from the berril — for, you know, they couldn't but 
 be axed in to the dhrinking, after the friends would 
 lave the church-yard, to take a sup to raise their 
 spirits and drown sorrow, for grief is always 
 drouthy. 
 
 " When the races, too, would come, they would 
 be sure not to miss them ; and if you'd go into a 
 tint, it's odds but you'd find them among a knot 
 of acquaintances, dhrinking and dancing, as if the 
 world was no trouble to them. They were, in- 
 deed, the best nathured couple in Europe ; they 
 would lend you a spade or a hook in potato time 
 or harvest, out of pure kindness, though their own
 
 206 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 corn that was drop-ripe should be uncut, or their 
 potatoes, that were a tramping every day with their 
 own cows, or those of the neighbours, should be 
 undug — all for fraid of being thought unneigh- 
 bourly. 
 
 " In this way they went on for some years, not 
 altogether so bad, but that they were able just to 
 keep the house over their heads. They had a 
 small family of three children on their hands, and 
 every likelihood of having enough of them. — 
 Whenever they got a young one christened, they'd 
 be sure to have a whole lot of the neighbours at 
 it; and surely some of the young ladies, or Mas- 
 ter George, or John, or Frederick, from the big 
 house, should stand gossip, and have the child 
 called after them. They then should have tay 
 enough to sarve them, and loaf-bread and punch ; 
 and though Larry should sell a sack of seed oats, 
 or seed potatoes, to get it, no doubt but there 
 should be a bottle of wine, to thrate the young 
 ladies or gintlemen. 
 
 " When their children grew up, little care was 
 taken of them, bekase their parents minded other 
 people's business more nor their own. They were 
 always in the greatest poverty and distress ; for 
 Larry would be killing time about the Squire's, 
 or doing some handy job for a neighbour who 
 could get no other man to do it. They now fell
 
 LARRY 31'FARLAND'S WAKE. 207 
 
 behind entirely in the rint, and Larry got many 
 hints from the Squire, that if he didn't pay more 
 attention to his business, he must look after his 
 arrears, or as much of it as he could make up 
 from the cattle and the crop. Larry promised 
 well, as far as words went, and, no doubt, hoped to 
 be able to perform ; but he hadn't steadiness to 
 go through with a thing. Thruth's best ; — you 
 see, both himself and his wife neglected their bu- 
 siness in the beginning, so that every thing went 
 at sixes and sevens. They then found themselves 
 uncomfortable at their own hearth, and had no 
 heart to labour ; so that what would make a care- 
 ful person work their fingers to the stumps to get 
 out of poverty, only prevented them from working 
 at all, or druv them to work for those that had 
 more comfort, and could give them a better male's 
 mate. 
 
 " Their tempers, now, soon began to get sour : 
 Larry thought, bekase Sally wasn't as careful as 
 she ought to be, that if he had taken any other 
 young woman to his wife, he wouldn't be as he 
 was ; — she thought the very same thing of Larry. 
 ' If he was like another,' she would say -to his bro- 
 ther, ' that would be up airly and late at his own 
 business I would have spirits to work, by rason it 
 would cheer my heart to see our little farm look- 
 ing as warm and comfortable as another's; but, 
 VOL. I. '"*
 
 208 LARRY M«FARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 fareer gairh,* that's not the case, nor likely to be 
 so, for he spinds his time from one place to ano- 
 ther, working for them that laughs at him for his 
 pains ; but he'd rather go to his neck in wather 
 than lay down a hand for himself, except when he 
 can't help it.* 
 
 " Larry, again, had his complaint — ' Sally's a 
 lazy trollop,* he would say to his brother's wife, 
 ' that never does one hand's turn that she can help, 
 but sits over the fire from morning till night, making 
 bird's nests in the ashes with her yallow heels, or 
 going about from one neighbour's house to ano- 
 ther, gosthering and palavering about what doesn't 
 consarn her, instead of minding the house. How 
 can I have heart to work, when I come in — ex- 
 pecting to find my dinner boiled ; but, instead of 
 that, get her sitting upon her hunkers on the 
 hearth-stone, blowing at two or three green sticks 
 with her apron, the pot hanging on the crook, 
 without even the white horses on it\ She never 
 puts a stitch in my clothes, nor in the childher s 
 clothes, nor in her own, but lets them go to rags 
 
 ♦ Bitter misfortune, 
 f The white horses are large bubbles produced by the ex- 
 trication of air, which rises in white bubbles to the surface 
 when the potatoes are beginning to boil ; so that when the 
 first symptoms of boiling commence, it is a usual phrase to 
 
 say the ivhite horses are on the pot, sometimes the white 
 
 friars.
 
 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 209 
 
 at once — the divil's luck to her! I wish I had 
 never met with her, or that 1 had married a sober 
 girl, that wasn't fond of dress and dancing. If she 
 was a good sarvant, it was only bekase she liked 
 to have a good name ; for when she got a house 
 and place of her own, see how she turned out* 
 
 " From less to more, they went on squabbling 
 and fighting, until at last you might see Sally one 
 time with a black eye or a cut head, or another 
 time going off with herself, crying, up to Tom 
 Hance's or some other neighbour's house, to sit 
 down and give a history of the ruction that he and 
 she had on the head of some thrifle or another that 
 wasn't worth naming. Their childher were shows, 
 running about without a single stitch upon them, 
 except ould coats that some of the sarvants from the 
 big house would throw them. In these they'd go 
 sailing about, with the long skirts trailing on the 
 ground behind them ; and sometimes Larry him- 
 self would be mane enough to take the coat from 
 the gorsoon, and ware it himself. As for giving 
 them any schooling, 'twas what they never thought 
 of; but even if they were inclined to it, there 
 was no school in the neighbourhood to send them 
 to. 
 
 It's a thrue saying, that as the ould cock crows, 
 the young one larns ; and this was thrue here, for 
 
 the childher fought one another like so many di- 
 
 p2
 
 210 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 vils, and swore like Trojans — Larry, along with 
 every thing else, when he was a Brine-oge, thought 
 it was a manly thing to be a great swearer ; and 
 the childher, when they got able to swear, warn't 
 worse nor their father. At first, when any of the 
 little souls would thry at an oath, Larry would 
 break his heart laughing at them ; and so from 
 one thing to another, they got quite hardened in 
 it, without being any w^ay checked in wickedness. 
 Things at last drew on to a bad state, entirely. — 
 Larry and Sally were now as ragged as Dives and 
 Lazarus, and their childher the same. It was no 
 strange sight, in summer, to see the young ones 
 marching about the street as bare as my hand, 
 with scarce a blessed stitch upon them that ever was 
 seen, they dirt and ashes to the eyes, waddling after 
 their uncle Tom's geese and ducks, through the 
 green dub of rotten water that lay before their 
 own door, just beside the dunghill : or the bigger 
 ones running after the Squire's labourers, when 
 bringing home the corn or the hay, wanting to get 
 a ride as they went back with the empty cars. 
 
 " Larry and Sally would never be let into tlie 
 Squire's kitchen now, to eat or drink, or spend 
 an evening with the sarvants ; he might go out and 
 in to his meal's mate along with the rest of the 
 labourers, but there was no grah* for him. Sally 
 
 • Kindly welcome.
 
 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE 21 1 
 
 would go down with her jug to get some butter- 
 milk, and have to stand among a set of beggars 
 and cotters, she as ragged and as poor as any of 
 them, for she wouldn't be let into the kitchen till 
 her turn came, no more nor another, for the sar- 
 vants would turn up their noses with the greatest 
 disdain possible at them both. 
 
 " It was hard to tell whether the inside or the 
 outside of their house was worse ; — within, it 
 would almost turn your stomach to look at it — 
 the flure was all dirt, for how could it be any 
 other way, when at the end of every male, the 
 schrahag* would be emptied down on it, and the 
 pigs that were whining and grunting about the 
 door, would brake into the hape of praty-skins 
 that Sally would there throw down for them. — 
 You might reel Larry's shirt, or make a surveyor's 
 chain of it ; for, bad cess\ to me, but I bleeve 
 it would reach from this to the rath. The blan- 
 ket was in tatthers, and, like the shirt, would go 
 round the house : their straw beds were stocked 
 with the black militia — the childher's heads were 
 garrisoned with Scotch greys^ and their heels and 
 heads ornamented with all description of kibes. — 
 There wor only two stools in all the house, and a 
 
 * A flat wicker basket, off which the potatoes, are eaten. 
 -}• Bad success.
 
 212 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 hassock of straw for the young chiki, and one of 
 the stools wanted a leg, so that it was dangerous for 
 a stranger to sit down upon it, except he knew 
 of this failing. The flure was worn into large 
 holes, that were mostly filled with slop, where the 
 childher used to dabble about, and amuse them- 
 selves by sailing egg-shells upon them, with bits 
 of boiled praties in them, by way of a little faste. 
 The dresser was as black as dirt could make it, 
 and had on it only two or three wooden dishes, 
 clasped with tin, and noggins without hoops, a 
 beetle, and some crockery. There was an ould 
 chest to hold their male, but it wanted the hinges ; 
 and the childher, when they'd get the mother out, 
 would mix a sup of male and wather in a nog- 
 gin, and stuff themselves with it, raw and all, for 
 they were almost starved. 
 
 " Then, as the byre had never been kept in re- 
 pair, the roof fell in, and the cow and pig had to 
 stand in one end of the dwelling house ; and, ex- 
 cept Larry did it, whatever diii; the same cow 
 and pig, and the childher to the back of that, 
 were the occasion of, might stand there till Sa- 
 turday night, when, for dacency's sake, Sally 
 herself would take a shovel, and out with it upon 
 the hape that was beside the dub before the door. 
 If a wet day came, there wasn't a spot you could 
 stand in for down-rain ; and, wet or dry, Sally,.
 
 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 213 
 
 Larry, and the childher were spotted like trouts 
 with the soot-dhrops, made by the damp of the 
 roof and the smoke. The house on the outside 
 was all in ridges of black dirt, where the thatch 
 had rotted, or covered over with chicken weed or 
 blind oats; but in the middle of all this misery, 
 they had a horse-shoe nailed over the door head 
 for good luck. 
 
 " You know, that in telling this story, I needn't 
 mmtion every thing just as it happened, laying 
 down year after year, or day and date ; so you 
 may suppose, as I go on, that all this went for- 
 ward in the coorse of time. They didn't get bad 
 of a sudden, but by degrees, neglecting one thing 
 after another, until they found themselves in the 
 state I'm relating to you — then struggling and 
 struggling, but never taking the right way to 
 mend. 
 
 "But where's the use in saying much more 
 about it ? — things couldn't stand — they were ter- 
 ribly in arrears ; but the landlord was a good 
 kind of man, and, for the sake of the poor childher, 
 didn't wish to turn them on the wide world, with- 
 out house or shelter, bit or sup. Larry, too, had 
 been, and still was, so ready to do difficult and 
 nice jobs for him, and would resave no payment, 
 that he couldn't think of taking his only cow from 
 him, or prevent him from raising a bit of oats or
 
 214 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 a plat of potatoes, every year, out of the farm. — ■ 
 The farm itself was all run to waste by this time, 
 and had a miserable look about it — sometimes you 
 might see a piece of a field that had been plough- 
 ed, all overgrown with grass, because it had never 
 been sowed or set with anything. The slaps were 
 all broken down, or had only a piece of an ould 
 beam, a thorn bush, or crazy car lying acrass, to 
 keep the cattle out of them. His bit of corn was 
 all eat away and cropped here and there by the 
 cows, and his potatoes rooted up by the pigs. — 
 The garden, indeed, had a few cabbages and a 
 ridge of early potatoes, but these were so choked 
 with burdocks and nettles, that you could hardly 
 see them. 
 
 " I tould you before that they led the divil's 
 life, and that was nothing but God's truth ; and 
 according as they got into greater poverty, it was 
 worse. A day couldn't pass without a fight ; if 
 they'd be at their breakfast, maybe he'd make a 
 potato hop off her skull, and she'd give him the 
 contents of her noggin of buttermilk about the 
 eyes; then hedjlake her, and the childher would 
 be in an uproar, crying out, ' Oh, daddy, daddy, 
 don't kill my mammy !' When this would be over, 
 he'd go off with himself to do something for the 
 Squire, and would sing and laugh so pleasant, that 
 you'd think he was the best tempered man alive ;
 
 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 215 
 
 and so he was, until neglecting his business, and 
 minding dances, and fairs, and drink, destroyed 
 him. 
 
 " It's the maxim of the world, that when a man 
 is down, down with him ; but when a man goes 
 dov/n through his own fault, he finds very little 
 mercy from any one. Larry might go to fifty 
 fairs before he'd meet any one now to thrate him: 
 instead of that, when he'd make up to them, 
 they'd turn away, or give him the cowld shoulder.* 
 But that wouldn't satisfy him : for if he went to 
 buy a slip of a pig, or a pair of brogues, and met 
 an ould acquaintance that had got well to do in 
 the world, he should bring him in, and give him 
 a dram, merely to let the other see that he was still 
 able to do it, then ; when they'd sit dov/n, one 
 dram would bring on another from Larry, till the 
 price of the pig or the brogues would be spint, 
 and he'd go home again as he came, sure to have 
 another battle with Sally. 
 
 " In this way things went on, when one day 
 that Larry was preparing to sell some oats, a son 
 of Nicholas Roe Sheridan's of the Broad-bog came 
 into him. ' Good morrow, Larry,' says he : ' Good 
 morrow kindly, Art,' says Larry—' how are you, 
 ma bouchal?' 
 
 • Cool reeeption.
 
 216 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 " * Why, I've no rason to complain, thank God 
 and you,* says the other; ' how is yourself?' 
 
 " * Well, thank you. Art, how is the family ?* 
 
 " * Faix, all stout, except my father, that has got 
 a touch of the tooth-ach. When did you hear 
 from the Slevins?' 
 
 " * Sally was down on Thursday last, and they're 
 all well, your sowl.' 
 
 "< Where's Sally now?' 
 
 " ' She's just gone down to the big house for a 
 pitcher of buttermilk ; our cow won't calve these 
 three weeks to come, and she gets a sup of kitchen 
 for the childher till then : won't you take a sate, 
 Art ; but you had better have a care of yourself, 
 for that stool wants a leg.' 
 
 " ' I did'nt care she was within, for I brought a 
 sup of my own stuff in my pocket,' said Art. 
 
 " * Here, Hurrish, (he was called Horatio afther 
 one of the Square's sons,) fly down to the Square's, 
 and see what's keeping your mother; the divil's 
 no match for her at staying out with herself, wanst 
 she's from under the roof.* 
 
 " * Let Dick go,* says the little fellow, ' he's 
 betther able to go nor I am ; he has got a coat on 
 him.' 
 
 " * Go yourself, when I bid you,' says the father. 
 
 " * Let him go,' says Hurrish, ' you have no 
 right to bid me to go, when he has a coat upon 
 him : you promised to ax one for me from Mas-
 
 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. *217 
 
 ther Francis, and you didn't do it ; so the divil a 
 toe I'll budge to-day,' says he, getting betune the 
 father and the door. 
 
 ii I Well, wait,' says Larry, ' faix, only the strange 
 man's to the fore, and I don't like to raise a hub- 
 bub, I'd pat/ you for making me such an answer. 
 Dick, agra, will i/ou run down, like a good bouchal, 
 to the big house, and tell your mother to come 
 home, that there's a strange man here wants her.' 
 
 " * 'Twas Hurrish you bid,' says Dick — ' and 
 make hi?n : that's the way he always thrates you, 
 and does nothing that you bid him.' 
 
 " * But you know, Dick,' says the father, ' that 
 he hasn't a stitch to his back, and the crathur 
 doesn't like to go out in the cowld and he so 
 naked.' 
 
 " ' Well, you bid him go,' says Dick, * and let 
 him ; the sorra a yard I'll go — the shin-burnt spal- 
 peen, that's always the way with him ; whatever 
 he's bid to do, he throws it on me, bekase, indeed, 
 he has no coat ; but he'll folly Masther Thomas or 
 Masther Francis through sleet and snow up the 
 mountains, when they're fowling or tracing ; he 
 doesn't care about a coat t/ien.^ 
 
 " ' Hurrish, i/ou must go down for your mother 
 when I bid you' — says the weak man, turning 
 again to the other boy. 
 
 " ' I'll not,' says the little fellow ; * send Dick.* 
 
 " Larry said no more, but, laying down the
 
 218 LARRY MTARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 child he had in his hands, upon the flure, makes 
 at him; the lad however, had the dooi* of him, 
 and was off beyant his reach like a shot. He then 
 turned into the house, and meeting Dick, felled 
 him with a blow of his fist at the dresser. ' Tun- 
 dher-an-ages, Larry,' says Art, ' what has come 
 over you at all at all ? to knock down the gor- 
 soon with such a blow! couldn't you take a rod 
 or a switch to him — Dher maunhim, man, but I 
 bleeve you've killed him outright,' says he, lifting 
 the boy, and strivmg to brmg him to life. Just 
 at this minnit Sally came in. 
 
 " • Arrah, sweet bad-luck to you, you lazy vaga- 
 bond you,' says Larry, ' what kept you away till 
 this hour?' 
 
 " ' The devil send you news, you nager you,' 
 says Sally, 'what kept me — could 1 make the 
 people churn sooner than they wished or were 
 ready ?' 
 
 " * Ho, by my song, I'll flake you as soon as the 
 dacent young man leaves the house,' says Larry 
 to her, aside. 
 
 " ' You'll flake me, is it ?* says Sally speaking 
 out loud — ' in throth, that's no new thing for you 
 to do, any how.' 
 
 " ' Spake asy, you had betther.' < No, in throth, 
 won't I spake asy; I've spoken asy too long, 
 Larry, but the devil a taste of me will bear what
 
 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 219 
 
 I've suffered from you any longer, you mane-spi- 
 rited blackguard you ; for he is nothing else that 
 would rise his hand to a woman, especially to one 
 in my condition,' and she put her gown tail to 
 her eyes. When she came in, Art turned his back 
 to her, for fraid she'd see the state the gorsoon 
 
 was in — but now she noticed it ' Oh murdher, 
 
 murdher,' says she clapping her hands, and run- 
 ning over to him, what has happened my child : 
 < oh ! murdher, murdher, this is your work, mur- 
 dherer ! says she to Larry. ' Oh, you villain, are 
 
 you bent on murdhering all of us are you 
 
 bent on destroying us out o' the face ! Oh, wur- 
 rah sthrew ! wurrah sthrew I what'll become of us ! 
 Dick, agra,' says she, crying, ' Dick, acushla ma 
 chree, don't you hear me spaking to you ? — don't 
 you hear your poor broken-hearted mother spak- 
 ing to you ? Oh ! wurrah ! wurrah ! amn't I the 
 heart-brokenest crathur that's alive this day, to 
 see the likes of such doings ! but I knew it would 
 come to this I My sowl to glory, but my child's 
 murthered by that man standing there ! — by his 
 own father — his own father ! Which of us will you 
 murther next, you villain !' 
 
 " < For heaven's sake, Sally,' says Art, ' don't 
 exaggerate him more nor he is ; the boy is only 
 stunned — see, he's coming to : Dick, ma bouchal, 
 rouse yourself — that's a man ; but he s well enough
 
 220 LARRY MTARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 — that's it, alannahi^ here, take a slug out of this 
 bottle, and it'll set all right— or, stop, have you a 
 glass within, Sally ?' * Och, musha, not a glass is 
 under the roof wid me,' says Sally ; the last we 
 had was broke the night Barney was christened, 
 and we hadn't one since — but I'll get you an egg- 
 shell.'f * It'ill do as well as the best,' says Art. 
 And to make a long story short, they sat down, 
 and drank the bottle of whiskey among them. — 
 Larry and Sally made it up, and were as great 
 friends as ever; and Dick was made drunk for 
 the bating he got from his father. 
 
 "What Art wanted was to buy some oats that 
 Larry had to sell, to run in a private still, up in 
 the mountains, of coorse, where every still is 
 kept. Sure enough, Larry sould him the oats, 
 and was to bring them up to the still-house the 
 next night after dark. According to appointment, 
 Art came a short time after night-fall, with two 
 or three young boys along with him. The corn 
 was sacked and put on the horses ; but before 
 
 *'My child, 
 f The ready wit of the Irish is astonishing. It often hap. 
 pens that they have whiskey when neither glasses nor cups are 
 at hand — in which case they are never at a loss. I have seen 
 them use not only tgg shells, but pistol barrels, tobacco boxes, 
 and scooped potatoes, in extreme cases.
 
 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 221 
 
 that was done, they had a dhrop, for Art's pocket 
 and the bottle were ould acquaintainces. They 
 all then sat down in Larry's, or, at laste, as many 
 as there were seats for, and fell to it. Larry, 
 however, seemed to be in better humour this 
 night, and more affectionate with Sally and the 
 childher : he'd often look at them, and appear to 
 feel as if something was over him ; but no one ob- 
 served that, till afterwards. Sally herself seemed 
 kinder to him, and even went over and sat beside 
 him on the stool, and putting her arm about his 
 neck, kissed him in a joking way, wishing to make 
 up, too, for what Art saw the night before — poor 
 thing — but still as if it wasn't all a joke, for at 
 times she looked sorrowful. Larry too, got his 
 arm about her, and looked often and often on her 
 and the childher, in a way that he wasn't used to 
 do, until the tears fairly came into his eyes. 
 
 " ' Sally, avourneen,' says he, looking at her, ' I 
 saw you when you had another look from what 
 you have this night ; when it wasn't asy to fellow 
 you in the parish or out of it ;' and when he said 
 this he could hardly spake. 
 
 " ' Whisht, Larry, acushla,' says she, * don't be 
 spaking that-away — sure we may do very well yet, 
 plase God : I know, Larry, there was a great dale 
 of it—maybe, indeed, it was all — my fault ; for I
 
 222 LARRY MTARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 wasn't to you, in the way of care and kindness^ 
 what I ought to be.' 
 
 " * Well, well, aroon,' says Larry, ' say no more ; 
 you might have been all that, only it was my 
 fault : but where 's Dick, that I struck so terribly 
 last night? Dick, come over to me, agra — come 
 over Dick, and sit down here beside me. Arrah, 
 here. Art, ma bouchal, will you fill this egg-shell 
 for him ? — Poor gorsoon I God knows, Dick, you 
 get far from fair play, acushla — far from the ating 
 and drinking that other people's childher get, that 
 hasn't as good a skin to put it in as you, alan- 
 nah I Kiss me, Dick, acushla — and God knows 
 your face is pale, and that's not with good feed- 
 ing, any how: Dick, agra, I'm sorry for what I 
 done to you last night ; forgive your father, Dick, 
 for I think that my heart's breaking, acushla, and 
 that you won't have me long with you.' 
 
 " Poor Dick, who was naturally a warm- 
 hearted, affectionate gorsoon, kissed his father, 
 and cried bitterly. Sally herself, seeing Larry so 
 sorry for what he done, sobbed as if she would 
 drop on the spot: but the rest began, and be- 
 twixt scoulding and cheering him up, all was as 
 well as ever. Still Larry seemed as if there was 
 something entirely very strange the matter with 
 him, for as he was going out, he kissed all the 
 childher, one after another ; and even went over
 
 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 223 
 
 to the young baby that was asleep in the little 
 cradle of boords, that he himself had made for it, 
 and kissed it two or three times, asily, for fraid of 
 wakening it. He then met Sally at the door, and 
 catching her hand when none of the rest saw him, 
 squeezed it, and gave her a kiss, saying, * Sally, 
 darling !' says he. 
 
 " < What ails you, Larry, asthore ?' says Sally. 
 
 " 'I don't know,' says he, * nothing, I bleeve — 
 but, Sally, acushla, I have thrated you badly all 
 along ; I forgot, avourneen, how I loved you 
 once, and now it breaks my heart that I have used 
 you so ill.' 'Larry,' she answered, 'don't be 
 talking that-a-way, bekase you make me sorrow- 
 ful and unasy — don't acushla: God above me 
 knows I forgive you it all. Don't stay long,' 
 says she, ' and I'll borry a lock of meal from 
 Biddy, till we get home our own meldhre* and 
 I'll have a dish of stirabout ready to make for you 
 when you come home. Sure, Larry, who'd for- 
 give you, if I, your own wife, wouldn't ? But it's 
 I that wants it from you, Larry, and in the pre- 
 sence of God, and ourselves, I now beg your par- 
 don, and ax your forgiveness for all the sin I 
 done to you.' She dropped on her knees, and 
 
 • Any quantity of meal, ground on one occasion, a kiln 
 cast, or as much as the kiln will dry at once. 
 
 VOL. I. ^
 
 294 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 cried bitterly ; but he raised her up, himself 
 a choaking at the time, and as the poor crathur 
 got to her feet, she laid herself on his breast, and 
 sobbed out, for she couldn't help it. They then 
 went away, though Larry, to tell the thruth, 
 wouldn't have gone with them at all, only that the 
 sacks were borried from his brother, and he had 
 to bring them home, in regard of Tom wanting 
 them the very next day. 
 
 " The night was as dark as pitch, so dark, faiks, 
 that they had to get long pieces of bog fir, which 
 they lit, and held in their hands, like the lights 
 that Ned there says the lamp-lighters have in 
 Dublin, to light the lamps with. 
 
 " At last, with a good dale of trouble, they got 
 to the still-house ; and, as they had all taken a 
 drop before, you may be sure they were better 
 inclined to take another sup now. They accord- 
 ingly sat down about the fine rousing fire that 
 was under the still, and had a right good jorum 
 of strong whiskey that never seen a drop of 
 water. They all were in very good spirits, not 
 thinking of to-morrow, and caring at the time 
 very little about the world as it went. 
 
 " When the night was far advanced, they thought 
 of moving home ; however, by that time they 
 weren't able to stand : but it's one curse of being 
 drunk, that a man doesn't know what he's about
 
 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE 225 
 
 for the time, except some few like that poaching 
 ould fellow, Billy M'Kinny, that's as cunning 
 when he's drunk as when he's sober ; otherwise 
 they would not have ventured out in the clouds 
 of the night, when it was so dark and severe, 
 and they in such a state. 
 
 " At last they staggered away together, for 
 their road lay for a good distance in the same 
 direction. The others got on, and reached home 
 as well as they could ; but although Sally bor- 
 ried the dish of male from her sister-in-law, to 
 have a warm pot of stirabout for Larry, and sat 
 up till the night was more than half gone, waiting 
 for him, yet no Larry made his appearance. The 
 childher, too, all sat up, hoping he'd come home, 
 before they'd fall asleep and miss the supper ; at 
 last the crathurs after running about, began to get 
 sleepy, and one head would fall this-a-way and 
 another that-a-way; so Sally thought it hard to 
 let them go without getting their share, and ac- 
 cordingly she put down the pot on a bright fire, 
 and made a good lot of stirabout for them, cover- 
 ing up Larry's share in a red earthen dish be- 
 fore the fire. 
 
 <' This roused them a little, and they sat about 
 the hearth with their mother, keeping her compa- 
 ny with their little chat, till their father would 
 
 come back. 
 
 Q 2
 
 226 LARRY MTARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 " The night, for some time before this, got very 
 stormy entirely. The wind ris, and the rain fell 
 as if it came out of methers.^ The house was very 
 cowld, and the door was bad ; for the wind came 
 in very strong under the foot of it, where the 
 ducks and hens, and the pig when it was little, 
 used to squeeze themselves in, when the family 
 was absent, or afther they went to bed. The wind 
 now came whistling under it ; and the ould hat 
 and rags that stopped up the windies, were blown 
 out half-a-dozen times with such force, that the 
 ashes were carried away almost from the hearth. 
 Sally got very low spirited on hearing the storm 
 whistling so sorrowfully through the house, for she 
 was afeard that Larry might be out on the dark 
 moors under it : and how any living soul could 
 bear it, she didn't know. The talk of the chil- 
 dher, too, made her worse ; for they were debat- 
 ing among themselves, the crathurs, about what 
 he had better do under the tempest — whether he 
 ought to take the sheltry side of a hillock, or get 
 into a long heath bush, or under the ledge of a 
 rock or tree, if he could meet such a thing. 
 
 " In the mane time, terrible blasts would come 
 over and through the house, making the ribs 
 crack so, that you would think the roof would be 
 
 * An old Irish drinking vessel.
 
 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 227 
 
 taken away at wanst. The fire was now getting 
 low, and Sally had no more turf in the house; so 
 that the ehildher crouched closer and closer about 
 it — their poor hungry -looking pale faces, made 
 paler with fear that the house might come down 
 upon thera, or be stripped, and their father from 
 home — and with worse fear that something might 
 happen him under such a tempest of wind and 
 rain as it blew. Indeed it w^as a pitiful sight to 
 see the ragged crathurs drawing in a ring nearer 
 and nearer the dying fire ; and their poor, naked, 
 half-starved mother, sitting with her youngest in- 
 fant lying between her knees and her breast : for 
 the bed w^as too cowld to put it into it, without 
 being kept warm by the heat of them that it used 
 to sleep with." 
 
 " Musha, God help her and them," says Ned, " I 
 wish they were here beside me on this comfortable 
 hob, this minite ; I'd fight Nancy to get a fog- 
 meal for them, any way — a body can't but pity 
 them, afther all !" 
 
 " You'd fight Nancy I" said Nancy herself— 
 " maybe Nancy would be as willing to do some- 
 thing for the crathurs as you would — I like every 
 body that's able to pay for what they get ! but 
 v/e ought to have seme bowels in us for all that. 
 You'd fight Nancy, indeed !"
 
 228 LARRY 3I'FARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 " Well," continued the narrator, *' there they 
 sat, with cowld and fear in their pale faces, shi- 
 vering over the remains of the fire, for it was now 
 nearly out, and thinking, as the deadly blast would 
 drive through the creeking ould door and the 
 half stuffed windies, of what their father would do 
 under such a terrible night. Poor Sally, sad and 
 sorrowful, was thinliing of all their ould quarrels, 
 and taking the blame all to herself for not being 
 more attentive to her business, and more kind to 
 Larry; and when she thought of the way she 
 thrated him, and the ill-tongue she used to give 
 him, the tears began to roll from her eyes, and 
 she rocked herself from side to side, sobbing as 
 if her heart would brake. When the childher saw 
 her wiping her eyes with the corner of the little 
 handkerchief that she had about her neck, they 
 began to cry along with her. At last she thought, 
 as it was now so late, that it would be folly to sit 
 up any longer ; she hoped, too, that he might have 
 thought of going into some neighbour's house on 
 his way, to take shelter, and with these thoughts, 
 she raked the greeshough over the fire, and after 
 putting the childher in their little straw nest, and 
 spreading their own rags over them, she and the 
 young one went to bed, although she couldn't 
 sleep at all, at all, for thinking of Larry. 
 
 " There she lay, trembling under the light cover
 
 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 229 
 
 of the bed-clothes, listening to the dreadful night 
 in it, so lonely, that the very noise of the cow, in 
 the other corner, chewing her cud, in the silence 
 of a short calm, was a great relief to her. It was 
 a long time before she could get a wink of sleep, 
 for there was some uncommon weight upon her 
 that she couldn't account for by any chance ; but 
 after she had been lying for about half an hour, 
 she heard something that almost fairly knocked 
 her up. It was the voice of a woman, crying and 
 wailing in the greatest distress, as if all belong- 
 ing to her were under-hoord.* 
 
 " When Sally heard it first, she thought it was 
 nothing but the whistling of the wind ; but it 
 soon came again, more sorrowful than before, and 
 as the storm rose, it rose upon the blast along 
 with it, so strange and mournfully, that she never 
 before heard the like of it. ' The Lord be about 
 us,' says she to herself, * what can that be at all I 
 — or who is it ? for it's not Nelly,' maning her sis- 
 ter-in-law. Again she listened, and there it was, 
 sobbing and sighing in the greatest grief, and she 
 
 * This phrase alludes to the manner in which the dead 
 bodies in several part of Ireland are laid out, viz. — under a 
 long deal board, over which is spread a clean sheet, so that 
 no parts of the corpse is visible. It is much more becoming 
 than the other manner, in which the countenance of the dead 
 is exposed to view.
 
 230 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 thought she heard it louder than ever, only that 
 this time it seemed to name whomever it was la- 
 menting. Sally now got up and put her ear to 
 the door, to see if she could hear what it said. At 
 this time the wind got calmer, and the voice also 
 got lower ; but although it was still sorrowful, 
 she never heard any living Christian's voice so 
 sweet, and what was very odd, it fell in fits, ex- 
 actly as the storm sunk, and rose as it blew 
 louder. 
 
 " When she put her ear to the chink of the 
 door, she heard the words repeated, no doubt of 
 it, only couldn't be quite sure, as they wern't very 
 plain ; but as far as she could make any sense out 
 of them, she thought that it said — ' Oh, Larry 
 M'Farland ! — Larry M'Farland ! — Larry M'Far- 
 land !' Sally's hair stood on end when she 
 heard this ; but on listening again, she thought it 
 Avas her own name instead of Larry's that it re- 
 pated. Still she wasn't sure, for the words wern't 
 plain, and all she could think was, that they resem- 
 bled her own name or Larry's, more nor any 
 other words she knew. At last, as the wind fell 
 again, it melted away, weeping most sorrowfully, 
 but so sweetly, that the likes of it was never 
 heard. Sally then went to bed, and the poor 
 woman was so harished with one thing or another, 
 that at last she fell asleep.''
 
 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 231 
 
 <' 'Twas the Banshee,'^ says Shane Fadh. 
 
 " Indeed it was nothing else than that same,'' 
 replied M'Roarkin. 
 
 "I wonder Sally didn't think of that," said 
 Nancy — " sure she might know that no living 
 crathur would be out lamenting under such a 
 night as that was." 
 
 « She did think of that," said Tom ; « but as 
 no Banshee ever followed her own* family, she 
 didn't suppose that it could be such a thing ; but 
 she forgot that it might follow Larry's. I, my- 
 self, heard his brother Tom say, afterwards, that a 
 Banshee used always to be heard before any of 
 them died." 
 
 " Did his brother hear it ?" Ned inquired. 
 
 " He did,'' said Tom ; " and his wife along with 
 him, and knew, at once, that some death would 
 happen in the family — but it wasn't long till he 
 suspected who it came for ; for, as he was going 
 to bed that night, on looking toardst his own 
 hearth, he thought he saw his brother stand- 
 ing at the fire, with a very sorrowful face upon him. 
 * Why, Larry,' says he, * how did you get in, af- 
 ter me barring the door ? — or did you turn back 
 from helping them with the corn ? You, surelj^ 
 
 * The Banshee in Ireland is, or rather was, said to follow 
 only particular families — principally the old Milesians.
 
 232 LARRY M'FAKLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 hadn't time to go half the way since.' Larry, 
 however, made him no answer ; and, on looking 
 for him again, there was no Larry there for him. 
 * Nelly,' says he to his wife, * did you see any 
 sight of Larry since he went to the still-house ?' 
 ' Arrah, no indeed, Tom,' says she ; ' what's com- 
 ing over you to spake to the man that's near 
 Drumfarrar by this time ?' ' God keep him from 
 harm!' said Tom; — 'poor fellow, I wish nothing 
 ill may happen him this night I I'm afeard, Nelly, 
 that I saw his fetch ;* and if I did, he hasn't long 
 to live ; for when one's fetch is seen at this time 
 of night, their lase of life, let them be sick or in 
 health, is always short.' *Hut, Tom aroon I '^ says 
 Nelly, ' it was the shadow of the jamb or your- 
 self you saw in the light of the candle, or the sha- 
 dow of the bed-post.' 
 
 " The next morning they were all up, hoping 
 that he would drop in to them. Sally got a creel 
 of turf, notwithstanding her condition, and put 
 down a good fire to warm him ; but the morning 
 passed, and no sign of him. Sh<> now got very 
 unasy, and mintioned to his brother what she felt, 
 and Tom went up to the still-house to know if he 
 was there, or to try if he could got any tidings of 
 
 * This in the North of Ireland is called wraiih, as in Scot- 
 land. I have adopted the other as more national.
 
 LARRY M«FARLAND'S WAKE. 233 
 
 him. But, by the laws, when he heard that he 
 had left that for home the night before, and he in 
 a state of liquor, putting this, and what he had 
 heard and seen in his house together, Tom knew 
 that something must have happened him. He 
 went home again, and on his way had his eye 
 about him, thinking that it would be no miracle, 
 if he'd meet him lying head-foremost in a ditch ; 
 however, he did not, but went on, expecting to 
 find him at home before him. 
 
 " In the mane time, the neighbours had been 
 all raised to search for him ; and, indeed, the hills 
 were alive with people. It was the second day 
 after, that Sally was standing, looking out at her 
 own door toardst the mountains, expecting that 
 every man with a blue coat upon him might be 
 Larry, when she saw a crowd of people coming 
 down the hills. Her heart leaped to her mouth, 
 and she sent Dick, the eldest of the sons, to meet 
 them, and run back with word to her if he was 
 among them. Dick went away ; but he hadn't 
 gone far when he met his uncle Tom, coming on 
 before the rest. 
 
 " ' Uncle,' says Dick, * did you get my father, 
 for I must fly back with word to my mother, like 
 lightning.* 
 
 " * Come here, Dick,' says Tom ; * God help 
 you, my poor bouchal ! — Come here, and walk
 
 '2S4: LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE 
 
 along side of me, for you can't go back to your 
 mother, till / see her first — God help you, my 
 poor bouchal, it's you that's to be pitied, this 
 blessed and sorrowful day ;' and the poor fellow 
 could by no means keep in the tears. But he 
 was saved the trouble of breaking the dismal tid- 
 ings to poor Sally ; for as she stood watching the 
 crowd, she saw a door carried upon their shoulders, 
 with something like a man stretched upon it. She 
 turned in, feeling as if a bullet had gone through 
 her head, and sat down with her back to the door, 
 for fraid she might see the thruth, for she couldn't 
 be quite sure, they were at such a distance. At 
 last she ventured to take another look out, for she 
 couldn't bear what she felt within her, and just as 
 she rose and came to the door, the first thing she 
 saw coming down the hill, a little above the house, 
 was the body of her husband stretched on a door 
 — dead. At that minute, her brother-in-law, Tom, 
 just entered, in time to prevent her and the child 
 she had in her arms from falling on the flure. 
 She had seen enough, God help her! — for she 
 took labour that instant, and, in about two hours 
 afterwards, was stretched a corpse beside her hus- 
 band, with her heart-broken and desolate orphans 
 in an uproar of outher misery about them. That 
 was the end of Larry M'Farland and Sally Low- 
 ry ; two that might have done well in the world,
 
 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 235 
 
 had they taken care of themselves, avoided fairs 
 and markets — except when they had business there 
 — not giving themselves idle fashions, by drink- 
 ing, or going to dances, and wrought as well for 
 themselves as they did for others." 
 
 "But how did he lose his life, at all at all?'* 
 inquired Nancy. 
 
 " Why, they found his hat in a bog hole upon 
 the water, and on searching the hole itself, poor 
 Larry was fished up from the bottom of it." 
 
 " Well, that's a murdhering sorrowful story," 
 said Shane Fadh : *' but you won't be after pass- 
 ing that on us for the wake, any how." 
 
 " Well, you must learn patience, Shane," said 
 the narrator, "for you know patience is a vir- 
 tue.'^ 
 
 " I'll warrant you that Tom and his wife made 
 a better hand of themselves," said Alick M'Kin- 
 ley, " than Larry and Sally did." 
 
 "Ah ! I wouldn't fear, Alick," said Tom, " but 
 you would come at the thruth-^-'tis you that may 
 say they did ; there wasn't two in the parish more 
 comfortable than the same two, at the very time 
 that Larry and Sally came by their deaths. It 
 would do you good to look at their hagyard — the 
 corn stacks were so nately roped and trim- 
 med, and the walls so well made up, that a bird 
 could scarcely get into it. Their barn and byre,
 
 236 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 too, and dwelling-house, were all comfortably 
 thatched, and the windies all glazed, with not a 
 broken pane in them. Altogether they had come 
 on wondherfully ; sou Id a good dale of male and 
 praties every year ; so that in a short time they 
 were able to lay by a little money to help to for- 
 tune off their little girls, that were growing up 
 fine colleens, all out." 
 
 " And you may add, I suppose,'* said Andy 
 Morrow, " that they lost no time going to fairs 
 or dances, or other foolish divarsions. I'll engage 
 they never were at a dance in the Squire's kitchen ; 
 that they never went about losing their time work- 
 ing for others, when their own business was going 
 at sixes and sevens, for want of hands ; nor spent 
 their money drinking and thrating a parcel of 
 friends that only laughed at them for their pains ; 
 and wouldn't, maybe, put one foot past the other 
 to sarve them ; nor never fought and abused one 
 another for what they both were guiltyof." 
 
 " Well," said Tom ; " you have saved me some 
 trouble, Mr. Morrow; for you just said, to a hair, 
 what they were. But I mustn't forget to mintion 
 one thing that I saw the morning of the berril. 
 We were, about a dozen of neighbours, talking 
 in the street, just before the door ; both the hag- 
 yards were forninst us — Tom's snug and nate — 
 but Charley Lawdor had to go over from where
 
 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 237 
 
 ^^e stood to drive the pig out of poor Larry's. 
 There was one of the stacks with the side out of 
 it, just as he had drawn away the sheaves from 
 time to time ; for the stack leaned to one side, 
 and he pulled sheaves out of the other side to keep 
 it straight. Now, Mr. Morrow, wasn't he an un- 
 fortunate man ? for whoever would go down to 
 Squire Dickson's hagyard, would see the same 
 Larry's handiwork so beautiful and illegant, though 
 his own was in such brutheen,^ Even his barn 
 went to wrack : and he was obliged to thrash his 
 oats in the open air when there would be a frost, 
 and he used to lose one third of it ; and if there 
 came a thaw, 'twould almost brake the cratbur." 
 " God knows," says Nancy, looking over at 
 Ned, very significantly, " and Larry's not alone 
 in neglecting his business ; that is, if sartin people 
 were allowed to take their own way ; but the 
 truth of it is, that he met with a bad woman.\ 
 If he had a careful, sober, industrious wife of his 
 own, that would take care of the house and place 
 — {Biddy, will you lutnd me over that other chw 
 out of the, windy 'Stool there, till I finish this stock- 
 
 * Brutheen is potato champed with butter. Any thing in 
 9 loose, broken, and irregular state, is said to be in brutheen 
 —that is, disorder and confusion, 
 t Wife.
 
 238 LARRY M<FARLANDS WAKE. 
 
 ingfoT Ned) — the story would have another end- 
 ing, any how." 
 
 " In throth," said Tom, " that's no more than 
 thruth, Nancy — but he had not, and every thing 
 went to the bad with him entirely.'' 
 
 " It's a thousand pities he hadn't yourself, Nan- 
 cy," said Alick, grinning ; " if he had, I havn't 
 the laste doubt at all, but he'd die worth mo- 
 ney." 
 
 <* Go on, Alick — go on, avick ; I will give you 
 lave to have your joke, any way ; for it's you 
 that's the patthern to any man that would wish to 
 thrive in the world." 
 
 " If Ned dies, Nancy, I don't know a woman 
 I'd prefer ; I'm now a widdy\ these five years ; 
 and I feel, somehow, particularly since I began to 
 spend my evenings here, that I'm disremembering 
 very much the old proverb — ' A burnt child 
 dreads the fire.' " 
 
 " Thank you, Alick ; you think I swally that ; 
 but as for Ned, the never a fear of him ; except 
 that an increasing stomach is a sign of something ; 
 or what's the best chance of all, Alick, for you 
 and me, that he should meet Larry's fate in some 
 of his drunken fits.'' 
 
 *' Now, Nancy," says Ned, " there's no use in 
 
 * The peasantry of a great portion of Ireland use the word 
 «s applicable to both sexes.
 
 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 239 
 
 talking that-a-way : it's only last Thursday, Mr 
 Morrow, that, in presence of her own brother, 
 Jem Connolly, the breeches-maker, and Billy 
 M'Kinny, there, that I put my two five fingers 
 acrass, and swore solemnly by them five crosses, 
 that, except my mind changed^ I'd never drink more 
 nor one half pint of spirits, and three pints of por- 
 ther in a day." 
 
 " Oh, hould your tongu€, Ned hould your 
 
 tongue, and don't make me spake," said Nancy ; 
 " God help you ! many a time you've put the 
 same fingers acrass, and many a time your mind 
 has changed ; but I'll say no more now — wait till 
 we see how you'll keep it." 
 
 " Healths a-piece, your sowls," said Ned, wink- 
 ing at the company 
 
 " Well, Tom," said Andy Morrow, " about the 
 wake ?" 
 
 " Och, och ! that was the merry wake, Mr. 
 Morrow. From that day to this I remarked, that, 
 living or dead, them that 10071 1 respect themselves, 
 or take care of their families, wont be respected : 
 and sure enough, I saw full proof of that same at 
 poor Larry's wake. Many a time afterwards J. 
 pitied the childher, for if they had seen better, 
 they wouldn't turn out as they did — all but the 
 two youngest, that their uncle took to himself, and 
 reared afterwards ; but they had no one to look 
 
 VOL. T R
 
 240 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 afther them, and how could it be expected from 
 what they seen, that good could come of them ? 
 Squire Dickson gave Tom the other seven acres, 
 although he could have got a higher rint from 
 others ; but he was an industrious man that de- 
 sarved encouragement, and he got it." 
 
 " I suppose Tom was at the expense of Larry s 
 berrin, as well as of his marriage?" said Alick. 
 
 " In throth and he was," said Tom, " although 
 he didn't desarve it from him when he was alive ;* 
 seeing he neglected many a good advice that Tom 
 and his dacent woman of a wife often gave him : 
 for all that, blood is thicker than wather — and it's 
 he that waked and berrid him dacently ; by the 
 same token that there was both full and plenty of 
 the best over him : and every thing, as far as Tom 
 was consarned, dacent and creditable about the 
 place." 
 
 " He did it for his own sake, of coorse," said 
 Nancy, " bekase one wouldn't wish, if they had 
 it at all, to see any one belonging to them worse 
 off than another at their wake or berrin." 
 
 " Thrue for you, Nancy," said M'Roarkin, 
 
 * The genuine blunders of the Irish — not those studied for 
 them by men ignorant of their modes of expression and habits 
 of life — are always significant, clear, and full of strong sense 
 and moral truth.
 
 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE 241 
 
 <'and indeed, Tom was well spoken of by the 
 neighbours for his kindness to his brother after 
 his death ; and luck and grace attended him for 
 it, and the world flowed upon him before it came 
 to his own turn. 
 
 " Well, when a body dies even a natural death, 
 it's wondherful how soon it goes about ; but when 
 they come to an untimely one, it spreads like fire 
 on a dry mountain/' 
 
 " Was there no inquest ?" asked Andy Mor- 
 row. 
 
 " The sorra inquist, not making you an ill an- 
 swer, Sir — the people weren't so exact in them 
 days : but any how the man was dead, and what 
 good could an inquist do him ? The only thing 
 that grieved them was, that they both died with- 
 out the priest : and well it might, for it*s an aw- 
 ful thing entirely to die without having the clar- 
 gy's hands over a body. I tould you that the 
 news of his death spread over all the counthry in 
 less than no time. Accordingly, in the coorse of 
 the day, their relations began to come to the place ; 
 but, any way, messengers had been sent especi- 
 ally for them. 
 
 " The Squire very kindly lent sheets for them 
 both to be laid out in, and mould-candlesticks to 
 hould the lights ; and, God he knows, 'twas a 
 grievous sight to see the father and mother both 
 
 r2
 
 212 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 stretched beside one another in their poor place, 
 and their little orphans about them ; the gorsoons, 
 — them that had sense enough to know their loss, 
 — breaking their hearts, the crathurs, and so 
 hoarse, that they weren't able to cry or spake. 
 But, indeed, it was worse to see the two young 
 things going over, and wanting to get acrass to 
 waken their daddy and mammy, poor desolit chil- 
 dher ! 
 
 " When the corpses were washed and dressed, 
 they looked uncommonly well, consitherin'. Lar- 
 ry, indeed, didn't bear death so well as Sally ; but 
 you couldn't meet a purtier corpse than she was 
 in a day's travelling. I say, when they were 
 washed and dressed, their friends and neighbours 
 knelt down round them, and offered up a Father 
 and Ave a-piece, for the good of their sowls : 
 when this was done, they all raised the keena, 
 stooping over them at a half bend, clapping their 
 hands, and praising them, as far as they could say 
 any thing good of them ; and, indeed, the cra- 
 thurs, they were never any one's enemy but their 
 own, so that nobody could say an ill word of ei- 
 ther of them. Bad luck to it for potteen-work 
 every day it rises ! only for it, that couple's poor 
 orphans wouldn't be left without father or mother 
 as they were ; nor poor Hurrish go the grey gate 
 he did, if he had his father living, maybe : but
 
 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE- 243 
 
 having nobody to bridle him in, he took to horse- 
 riding for the Squire, and then to staling them ibr 
 himself. He was hanged afterwards, along with 
 Peter Doraghy Crolly, that shot Ned Wilsoa's 
 uncle of the Black Hills. 
 
 " After the first keening, the friends and neigh- 
 bours took their sates about the corpse. In a 
 short time, whiskey, pipes, snuff, and tobacco 
 came, and every one about the place got a glass 
 and a fresh pipe. Tom, when he held his glass 
 in his hand, looking at his dead brother, filled up 
 to the eyes, and couldn't for some time get out a 
 word ; at last, when he was able to spake — ' Poor 
 Larry,' says he, ' you're lying there low before 
 me, and many a happy day we spint with one 
 another. When we were childher,' said he, turn- 
 ing to the rest, ' we were never asunder ; he was 
 oulder nor me by two years, and can I ever forget 
 the leathering he gave Dick Rafferty long ago, for 
 hitting me with the rotten egg — although Dick 
 was a great dale bigger than either of us. God 
 knows, although you didn't thrive in life, either of 
 you, as you might and could have done, there 
 wasn't a more neighbourly or friendly couple in 
 the parish they lived in ; and now, God hel^i^em, 
 look at them both, and their poor orphans over 
 them. Larry, acushla, your health, and Sally 
 yours ; and may God Almighty ^^have niarcy on 
 ooth your sowls.' ^"U^ JM*-
 
 244 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 " After this, the neighbours began to flock in 
 more generally. When any relation of the corpses 
 would come, as soon, you see, as they'd get inside 
 the door, whether man or woman, they'd raise 
 the shout of a keena, and all the people about the 
 dead would begin along with them, stooping over 
 them and clapping their hands as before. 
 
 " Well, I said, it's it that was the merry wake, 
 and that was only the thruth, neighbours. As 
 soon as night came, all the young boys and girls 
 from the country side about them flocked to it in 
 scores. In a short time the house was crowded ; 
 and maybe there wasn't laughing, and story-tell- 
 ing, and singing, and smoking, and drinking, and 
 crying — all going on, helter skelter, together. 
 When they'd be all in full chorus this-a-way, 
 maybe, some new friend or relation, that wasn't 
 there before, would come in, and raise the keena : 
 of coorse, the youngsters would then keep quiet ; 
 and if the person coming in was from the one 
 neighbourhood with any of them that were so 
 merry, as soon as he'd raise the shout, the merry 
 folks would rise up, begin to pelt their hands to- 
 gether, and cry along with him till their eyes 
 would be as red as a ferret's. That once over, 
 they'd be down again at the songs, and divarsion, 
 and divilment — just as if nothing of the kind had 
 taken place : the other would then shake hands
 
 LARRl M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 245 
 
 with the friends of the corpses, get a glass or two, 
 and a pipe, and in a few minutes be as merry as 
 the best of them." 
 
 " Well," said Andy Morrow, I should like to 
 know if the Scotch and English are such heerum- 
 skeerum kind of people as we Irishmen are." 
 
 " Musha, in throth I'm sure they're not," says 
 Nancy, " for I bleeve that Irishmen are like no- 
 body in the wide world but themselves ; quare 
 crathurs, that'll laugh or cry, or fight with any 
 one, just for nothing else, good or bad, but com- 
 pany." 
 
 " Indeed, and you all know that what I'm say- 
 ing's truth, except Mr. Morrow there, that I'm 
 telling it to, bekase he's not in the habit of going 
 to wakes ; although, to do him justice, he's very 
 friendly in going to a neighbour's funeral ; and, 
 indeed, kind father for you,* Mr. Morrow, for it's 
 he that was a raal good hand at going to such 
 places himself. 
 
 " Weil, as I was telling you, there was great 
 sport going ©n. In one corner, you might see a 
 knot of ould men sitting together, talking over 
 ould times — ghost stories, fairy tales, or the great 
 rebellion of 41, and the strange story of Lamh 
 
 * That is, in this point you are of the same kind as your 
 father ; possessing that prominent trait in his disposition or 
 character.
 
 ^46 LARRY M'FAKLANDS M^AKB. 
 
 Dearg, or the bloody hand — that, maybe, I'll teJl 
 you all some other night, plase God : there they'd 
 sit smoking — their faces quite plased with the 
 pleasure of the pipe — amusing themselves and a 
 crowd of people, that would be listening to them 
 with open mouth. Or, it's odds, but there would 
 be some droll young fellow among them, taking 
 a rise out of them ; and, positively, he'd often 
 find them able enough for him, particularly ould 
 Ned Mangin, that wanted at the time only four 
 years of a hundred. The Lord be good to him, 
 and rest his sowl m glory, it's he that w^as the 
 pleasant ould man, and could tell a story with any 
 one that ever got up. 
 
 " In another corner there was a different set, 
 bent on some piece of divilment of their own. 
 The boys would be sure to get beside their sweet- 
 hearts, any how ; and if there was a purty girl, as 
 you may set it down there M^as, it's there the 
 skroodgiag,* and the pushing, and the shoving, 
 and, sometimes, the knocking down itself, would 
 be, about seeing who*d get her. There's ould 
 Katty Duffy, that's now as crooked as the hind 
 leg of a dog, and it's herself was then as straight as 
 a rush, and as blooming as a rose — Lord bless us, 
 what an alteration time makes upon the strongest 
 
 • The pressure in a crowd.
 
 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 247 
 
 and fairest of us ! — it's she that was the piirty 
 girl that night, and it's myself that gave Frank 
 M'Shane, that's still alive to acknowledge it, the 
 broad of his back upon the flure, when he thought 
 to pull her off my knee. The very gorsoons and 
 girshas were coorting away among themselves, 
 and learning one another to smoke in the dark 
 corners. But all this, Mr. Morrow, took place in 
 the corpse-house, before ten or eleven o'clock at 
 night ; after that time the house got too throng 
 entirely, and couldn't hould the half of them ; so, 
 by jing, off we set, maning all the youngsters of 
 us, both boys and girls, out to Tom's barn, that 
 was red* up for us, there to commence the plays. 
 When we were gone, the ould people had more 
 room, and they moved about on the sates we had 
 left them. In the mane time, lashings of tobacco 
 and snuff, cut in plate-fulls, and piles of fresh new 
 pipes, were laid on the table for any man that 
 wished to use them. 
 
 " When we got to the barn, it's then we took 
 our pumps off\ in arnest — by the hokey, such 
 sport you never saw. The first play we began 
 was Hot-loof; and maybe there wasn't skelping 
 then. It was the two parishes of Errigle-Keeran 
 and Errigle-Truagh against one another. There 
 
 *' Cleared up— set in order. f Threw aside all restraint.
 
 248 LARRV M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 was the Slip from Althadhawan, for Errigle* 
 Truagh, against Pat M'Ardle, that had married 
 Lanty Gorman's daughter of Cargagh, for Erri- 
 gle-Keeran. The way they play it, Mr. Morrow, 
 is this : — two young men out of each parish go 
 out upon the flure — one of them stands up, then 
 bends himself, Sir, at a half bend, placing his left 
 hand behind on the back part of his ham, keep- 
 ing it there to receive what it's to get. Well, 
 there he stands, and the other coming behind him, 
 places his left foot out before him, doubles up the 
 cuff of his coat, to give his hand and wrist free- 
 dom : he then rises his right arm, coming down 
 with the heel of his hand upon the other fellow's 
 palm, under him, with full force. By jing, it's 
 the divil's own divarsion ; for you might as well 
 get a stroke of a sledge as a blow from one of 
 them able, hard-working fellows, with hands upon 
 them like lime- stone. When the fellow that's 
 down gets it hot and heavy, the man that struck 
 him stands bent in his place, and some friend of 
 the other comes down upon him, and pays him 
 for what the other fellow got. 
 
 " In this way they take it, turn about, one out 
 of each parish, till it's over ; for, I believe, if they 
 were to pelt one another sincey* that they'd never 
 
 • From that hour to this.
 
 LARRY MTARLAND'S WAKE. 249 
 
 give up. Bless my soul, but it was terrible to 
 hear the strokes that the Slip and Pat M'Ardle 
 did give that night. The Slip was a young fellow 
 upwards of six feet, with great able bones and 
 little flesh, but terrible thick shinnins ;* his wrist 
 was as hard and strong as a bar of iron. M'Ar- 
 dle was a low, broad man, with a rucket\ head 
 and bull neck, and a pair of shoulders that you 
 could hardly get your arms about, Mr. Morrow, 
 long as they are ; it's he, indeed, that was the 
 firm, well-built chap, entirely. At any rate, a 
 man might as well get a kick from a horse as a 
 stroke from either of them. 
 
 " Little Jemmy Tegue, 1 remimber, struck a 
 cousin of the Slip's a very smart blow, that made 
 him dance about the room, and blow his fingers 
 for ten minutes after it. Jemmy, himself, was a 
 tight, smart fellow When the Slip saw what his 
 cousin had got, he rises up, and stands over Jem- 
 my so cooly, and with such good humour, that 
 every one in the house trembled for poor Jemmy, 
 bekase, you see, whenever the Slip was bent on 
 mischief, he used always to grin. Jemmy, how- 
 ever, kept himself bent firm ; and, to do him jus- 
 tice, didn't flinch from under the stroke, as many 
 of them did — no, he was like a rock. Well, the 
 
 • Sinews t Curled.
 
 250 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 Slip, as I said, stood over him, fixing himself for 
 the stroke, and coming down with such a pelt on 
 poor Jemmy's hand, that the first thing we saw 
 was the blood across the Slip's own legs and feet, 
 that had burst out of poor Jemmy's finger-ends. 
 The Slip then stooped to receive the next blow 
 himself, and you may be sure there was above two 
 dozen up to be at him. No matther ; one man 
 they all gave way to, and that was Pat M'Ardle. 
 
 " ' Hould away,' says Pat — ' clear off", boys, all 
 of j'^ou — this stroke's mine by right, any how; — 
 and,' says he, swearing a terrible oath, ' if you 
 don't sup sorrow for that stroke,' says he to the 
 Slip, ' why Pat M'Ardle's not behind you here.' 
 
 " He, then, up with his arm, and came down 
 — why, you would think that the stroke he gave 
 the Slip had druv his hand right into his body : 
 but, any way, it's he that took full satisfaction for 
 what his cousin got ; for if the Slip's fingers had 
 been cut off at the tops, the blood couldn't spring 
 out from under his nails more nor it did. After 
 this the Slip couldn't strike another blow, bekase 
 his hand was disabled out and out. 
 
 " The next play they went to was the Sitting 
 Brogue. This is played by a ring of them, sit- 
 ting down upon the bare ground, keeping their 
 knees up. A shoemaker's leather apron is then 
 got, or a good stout brogue, and sent round mi-
 
 LARRY M'f ARLAND'S WAKE. 251 
 
 der their knees. In the mane time, one stands in 
 the middle ; and after the brogue is sent round, 
 he is to catch it as soon as he can. While he 
 stands there, of coorse,-his back must be to some 
 one, and accordingly those that are behind him 
 thump him right and left with the brogue, while 
 he, all the time, is striving to catch it. Whoever 
 he catches this brogue with must stand up in his 
 place, while he sits down where the other had 
 been, and then the play goes on as before. 
 
 " There's another play called the Standing 
 Broguef^ywheve one man gets a brogue of the 
 same kind, and another stands up facing him with 
 his hands locked together, forming an arch turned 
 upside down. The man that houlds the brogue 
 then strikes him with it betune the hands ; and 
 even the smartest fellow receives several pelts be- 
 fore he is able to close his hands and catch it ; 
 but when he does, he becomes brogue-man, and 
 one of the opposite party stands for him, until he 
 catches it. The same thing is gone through, from 
 one to another, on each side, until it is over. 
 
 " The next is Frimsy Framsy, and is played 
 in this manner : — A chair or stool is placed in 
 the middle of the flure, and the man who manages 
 the play sits down upon it, and calls his sweet- 
 heart, or the prettiest girl in the house. She, ac- 
 cordingly, comes forward, and must kiss him.
 
 252 LARRY MTARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 He then rises up, and she sits down. * Come 
 now,' he says, 'fair maid — Frimsy framsy , who's 
 your fancy ?' She then calls them she likes best, 
 and when the young man she calls comes over 
 and kisses her, he then takes her place, and calls 
 another girl — and so on, smacking away for a cou- 
 ple of hours. Well, it's no wonder that Ireland's 
 full of people ; for I believe they do nothing but 
 coort from the time they're the hoith of my leg. 
 I dunna is it true, as I hear Captain Sloethorn's 
 steward say, that the Englishwomen are so fond of 
 Irishmen ?" 
 
 " To be sure, it is," said Shane Fadh ; " don't 
 I remember, myself, when Mr. Fowler went to 
 England — and he as fine-looking a young man, at 
 the time, as ever got into a saddle — he was riding 
 up the street of London, one day, and his servant 
 after him — and by the same token he was a thou- 
 sand pound worse than nothing ; but no matter 
 for that, you see luck was before him — what do 
 you think, but a rich-dressed livery servant came 
 out, and stopping the Squire's man, axed whose 
 servant he was ? 
 
 " « Why, thin,' says Ned Magavran, who was 
 his body servant at the time, * bad luck to you, 
 you spalpeen, w^hat a question do you ax, and 
 you have eyes in your head!' says he — 'hard
 
 LARRY MTARLAND'S WAKE. 253 
 
 feeding to you !' says he, 'you vagabone, don't 
 you see I'm my master's ?' 
 
 " The Englishman laughed — ' I know that, Pad- 
 dy,' says he — for they call us all Paddies in Eng- 
 land, as if we had only the one name among us, 
 the thieves — ' but I wish to know his name,' says 
 the Englishman. 
 
 " 'You do !' says Ned ; ' and by the powers,' 
 says he, ' but you must first tell me which side 
 of the head you'd wish to hear it an.' 
 
 " ' Oh, as for that,' says the Englishman, not 
 up to him, you see, ' I don't care much, Paddy, 
 only let me hear it, and where he lives.' 
 
 " 'Just keep your ground, then,' says Ned, 
 ' till I light off this blood horse of mine' — he was 
 an ould garron that was fattened up, not worth 
 forty shillings — ' this blood horse of mine,' says 
 Ned, ' and I'll tell you.' 
 
 " So down he gets, and lays the Englishman 
 sprawling in the channel. 
 
 " ' Take that, you vagabone,' says he, ' and 
 it'll larn you to call people by their right names 
 agin ; I was christened as well as you, you spal- 
 peen I' 
 
 " All this time the lady was looking out of the 
 windy, breaking her heart laughing at Ned and 
 the servant ; but, behould, she knew a thing or 
 two, it seems ; for, instead of sending a man, at
 
 '254 LAllRV M'i'ARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 all at all, what does she do, but sends her own 
 maid, a very purty girl, who comes up to Ned, 
 putting the same question to him. 
 
 "* What's his name, avourneen?' says Ned, 
 melting, to be sure, at the sight of her — ' Why, 
 then, darling, who could refuse you any thing ? 
 — but you jewel, by the hoky, you must bribe 
 me, or I'm dumb,' says he. 
 
 " ' How could I bribe you ?' says she, with a 
 sly smile — for Ned, himself, was a well-looking 
 young fellow at the time. 
 
 "'I'll show you that,' says Ned, ' if you tell 
 me where you live ; but, for fraid you'd forget it 
 ^with them two lips of your own, my darling.' 
 
 " ' There in that great house,' says the maid : 
 ' my mistress is one of the beautifullest and rich- 
 est young ladies in London, and she wishes to 
 know where your master could be heard of.' 
 
 " ' Is that the house ?' says Ned, pointing to it 
 
 " * Exactly,' says she ; — ' that's it.' 
 
 " * Well, acushla,' says he, ' you've a purty 
 and an innocent-looking face ; but I'm tould 
 there's many a trap in London well baited. Just 
 only run over while I'm looking at you, and let 
 me see that purty face of yours smiling at me out 
 of the windy that that young lady is peeping at 
 Ks from.' 
 
 " This she had to do.
 
 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 256 
 
 « * My master,' thought Ned, while she was 
 away, * will aisily find out what kind of a house 
 it is, any how, if that be it.' 
 
 " In a short time he saw her in the windy, and 
 Ned then gave her a sign to come down to him. 
 
 « ' My master,' says he, ' never was afeard to 
 show his face, or cell his name to any one — he's 
 a Squire Fowler,' says he, — 'a Sarjunt-major in 
 a great militia regiment — he shot five men in his 
 time, and there's not a gentleman in the country 
 he lives in, that dare say Boo to his blanket. 
 And now, what's your own name,' says Ned, 
 
 * you flattering little blackguard you ?' 
 
 " ' My name's Betty Cunningham,' says she. 
 
 " < And, next — what's your mistress's, my dar- 
 ling ?* says Ned. 
 
 " ' There it is,' says she, handing him a card. 
 
 " ' Very well,' says Ned, the thief, looking at 
 it with a great air, making as if he could read — 
 
 * this will just do, a colleen bawn.' 
 
 " * Do you read in your country, with the 
 wrong side of the print up ?' says she. 
 
 " ' Up or down,* says Ned, ' it's all one to us, 
 in Ireland ; but any how I'm left-handed, you de- 
 luder !* 
 
 ** The upshot of it was, that her mistress turned 
 out to be a great hairess, and a great beauty, and 
 she and Fowler got married in less than a month. 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 256 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 So, you see, it's true enough, that the English- 
 women are fond of Irishmen," says Shane ; " but 
 Tom, with submission for stopping you — go on 
 with your Wake." 
 
 " The next play, then, is Marrying " 
 
 " Hooh !" says Andy Morrow — "why all their 
 plays are about kissing and marrying, and the 
 like of that." 
 
 *' Surely, and they are. Sir," says Tom. 
 
 " It's all the nathur of the baste," says Alick. 
 
 " The next is marrying — A bouchal puts an 
 ould dark coat on him, and if he can borry a wig 
 from any of the ould men in the wake-house, 
 why, well and good, he's the liker his work — 
 this is the priest : he takes and drives all the 
 young men out of the house, and shuts the door 
 upon them, so that they can't get in till he lets 
 them. He then ranges the girls all beside one 
 another, and going to the first, makes her name 
 him she wishes to be her husband ; this she does, 
 of coorse, and the priest lugs him in, shutting 
 the door upon the rest. He then pronounces a 
 funny marriage sarvice of his own between them, 
 and the husband smacks her first, and then the 
 priest. Well, these two are married, and he 
 places his wife upon his knee, for fraid of taking 
 up too much room, yotc persave ; there they 
 coort away again, and why shouldn't they ? The
 
 LARRY MTARLAND'S WAKE. 257 
 
 priest then goes to the next, and makes her name 
 her husband; this is complied with, and he is 
 brought in after the same manner, but no one 
 else till they're called : he is then married, and 
 kisses his wife, and the priest kisses her after him : 
 and so they're all married. 
 
 " But if you'd see them that don't chance to be 
 called at all, the figure they cut — slipping into 
 some dark corner, to avoid the mobbing they get 
 from the priest and the others. When they're 
 all united, they must each sing a song — man and 
 wife, according as they sit ; or if they can't sing, 
 or get some one to do it for them, they're di- 
 vorced. But the priest, himself, usually lilts for 
 any one that's not able to give a verse. You see, 
 Mr. Morrow, there's always in the neighbour- 
 hood some droll fellow that takes all these things 
 upon him, and if he happened to be absent, the 
 wake would be quite dull." 
 
 " Well," said Andy Morrow, " have you any 
 more of their sports, Tom ?" 
 
 " Ay, have I — one of the best and pleasantest 
 you heard yet." 
 
 " I hope there's no coorting in it," says Nancy ; 
 " God knows we're tired of their kissing and mar- 
 rying." 
 
 " Were you always so ?" says Ned, across the 
 fire to her. 
 
 23
 
 258 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 " Behave yourself, Ned," says she ; " don't ymt 
 make me spake ; sure you were set down as the 
 greatest Brine-oge that ever w£is known in the 
 parish, for such things." 
 
 " No, but don't you make me spake," replies 
 Ned. 
 
 " Here, Biddy," said Nancy, " bring that un- 
 cle of yours another pint — that's what he wants 
 most at the present time, I'm thinking." 
 
 Biddy, accordingly, complied with this. 
 
 " Don't make me spake," continued Ned. 
 
 " Come, Ned," she replied, " you've a fresh 
 pint now ; so drink it, and give no more gos- 
 therr* 
 
 " Shuid-urth /" says Ned, putting the pint to 
 his head, and winking slyly at the rest. 
 
 " Ay, wink ! — in troth I'll be up to you for 
 that, Ned," says Nancy; by no means satisfied 
 that Ned should enter into particulars. " Well, 
 Tom," said she, diverting the conversation, " go 
 on, and give us the remainder of your Wake." 
 
 " Well," says Tom, " the next play is in the 
 milintary line. You see, Mr. Morrow, the man 
 that leads the sports places them all on their 
 sates — gets from some of the girls a white hand- 
 kerchief, which he ties round his hat, as you 
 
 • Idle talk — gossip.
 
 LARRY MTARLAND'S WAKE. 259 
 
 would tie a piece of mourning ; he then walks 
 round them two or three times, singing 
 
 Will you list and come with me, fair maid ? ; 
 
 Will you list and come with me, fair maid? 
 Will you list and come with me, fair maid ? 
 And folly the lad with the white cockade ? 
 
 When he sings this, he takes off his hat, and puts 
 it on the head of the girl he likes best, who rises 
 up and puts her arm round him, and then they 
 both go about in the same way, singing the same 
 words. She then puts the hat on some young 
 man, who gets up, and goes round with them, 
 singing as before. He next puts it on the girl he 
 loves best, who, after singing and going round 
 in the same manner, puts it on another, and he 
 on his sweetheart, and so on. This is called the 
 White Cockade. When it's all over, that is, when 
 every young man has pitched upon the girl that 
 he wishes to be his sweetheart, they sit down, 
 and sing songs, and coort, as they did at the mar- 
 rying. After this comes the Weds or Forfeits, 
 or what they call putting round the button. Every 
 one gives in a forfeit — the boys a pocket hand- 
 kerchief or a pen-knife, and the girls, a neck 
 handkerchief or something that way. The forfeit 
 is held over them, and each of them stoops in 
 turn. They are, then, compelled to command
 
 260 LA^Y M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 the person that owns that forfeit to sing a song— 
 to kiss such and such a girl — or to carry some 
 ould man, with his legs about their neck, three 
 times round the house, and this last is always 
 great fun. Or, maybe, a young upsetting fellow 
 will be sent to kiss some toothless, slavering, ould 
 woman, just to punish him ; or, if a young wo- 
 man is any way saucy, she'll have to kiss some 
 ould, withered fellow, his tongue hanging with 
 age half way down his chin, and the tobacco 
 water trinckling from each corner of his mouth. 
 
 " By jingo, many a time, when the friends of 
 the corpse would be breaking their very hearts 
 with grief and affliction, I have seen them obli- 
 gated to laugh out, in spite of themselves, at the 
 drollery of the priest, with his ould black coat and 
 wig upon him ; and when the laughing fit would 
 be over, to see them rocking themselves again 
 with the sorrow — so sad. The best man for ma- 
 naging such sports in this neighbourhood, for 
 many a year, was Roger M'Cann, that lives up 
 as you go to the mountains. You wouldn't be- 
 grudge to go ten miles, the cowldest winter night 
 that ever blew, to see and hear Roger. 
 
 " There's another play, that they call the Priest 
 of the Parish, which is remarkably pleasant. One 
 of the boys gets a wig upon himself, as before — 
 goes out on the flure, places the boys in a row.
 
 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAK^. 261 
 
 calls one his man Jacky and says to each, < What 
 will you be?' One answers, * I'll be black cap; 
 another — ^redcap;' and so on. He then says, 
 * The priest of the parish has lost his considher- 
 ing cap — some say this, and some say that, but 
 I say my man Jack !' Man Jack, then, to put 
 it off himself, says, ' Is it me. Sir ?' * Yes, you, 
 Sir!* * You lie, Sir !' < Who then, Sir?' * Black 
 cap !' If Black cap, then, doesn't say, ' Is it me. 
 Sir ?' before the priest has time to call him, he 
 must put his hand on his ham, and get a pelt of 
 the brogue. A body must be supple with the 
 tongue in it. 
 
 " After this comes one they call Horns, or the 
 Painter. A droll fellow gets a lump of soot or 
 lamp-black, and after fixing a ring of the boys 
 and girls about him, he lays his two fore-fingers 
 on his knees, and says, ' Horns, horns, cow horns I* 
 and then raises his fingers by a jerk up above his 
 head; the boys and girls in the ring then do the 
 same thing, for the meaning of the play is this : — 
 the man with the black'ning always raises his fin- 
 gers every time he names an animal ; but if he 
 names any that has no horns, and that the others 
 jerk up their fingers then, they must %'^t a stroke 
 over the face with the soot. ' Horns, horns, goat 
 horns !' — then he ups with his fingers like light- 
 ning ; they must all do the same, bekase a goat
 
 262 LARRY MTARL^ND'S WAKE. 
 
 has horns. * Horns, horns, horse horns !' — he 
 ups with them again, but the boys and girls ought 
 not, bekase a horse has not horns ; however, any 
 one that raises them then, gets a slake. So that 
 it all comes to this : — Any one, you see, that 
 lifts his fingers when an animal is named that has 
 no horns — or any one that does not raise them 
 when a baste is mintioned that has horns, will get 
 a mark. It's a purty game, and requires a keen 
 eye and a quick hand ; and, maybe, there's not 
 fun in straiking the soot over the purty, warm, 
 rosy cheeks of the colleens, while their eyes are 
 dancing with delight in their heads, and their 
 sweet breath comes over so pleasant about one's 
 face, the darlings ! — Och, och ! 
 
 " There's another game they call The Silly 
 Ould Man, that's played this way : — A ring of 
 the boys and girls is made on the flure — boy and 
 girl about — houlding one another by the hands ; 
 well and good — a young fellow gets into the mid- 
 dle of the ring, as ' the silly ould man.' There 
 he stands looking at all the girls to choose a wife, 
 and, in the mane time, the youngsters of the ring 
 sing out — 
 
 Here's a silly ould man that lies all alone, 
 
 That lies all alone, 
 
 That lies all alone ; 
 Here's a silly ould man that lies all alone. 
 He wants a wife, and he can get none.
 
 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE- 263 
 
 " When the boys and girls sing this, the silly 
 ould man must choose a wife from some of the 
 colleens belonging to the ring. Having made choice 
 of her, she goes into the ring along with him, and 
 they all sing cut — 
 
 Now, young couple, your married together, 
 You're married together. 
 You're married together, 
 You must obey your father and mother, 
 And love one another like sister and brother— 
 I pray, young couple, you'll kiss together ! 
 
 And you may be sure this part of the marriage 
 is not missed, any way." 
 
 "I doubt," said Andy Morrow, "that good can't 
 come of so much kissing, marrying, and coorting,'* 
 
 The narrator twisted his mouth, knowingly, and 
 gave a significant groan. 
 
 "J5e dhe husth,* hould your tongue, Misther 
 Morrow," said he ; " Biddy avourneen," he con- 
 tinued, addressing Biddy and Bessy, " and Bessy, 
 alannah, just take a friend's advice, and never mind 
 going to wakes ; to be sure there's plinty of fun 
 
 and divarsion at such places, but healths 
 
 apiece!" putting the pint to his lips — "and that's 
 all I say about it." 
 
 »' Right enough Tom," observed Shane Fadh— 
 
 • The translation follows it above.
 
 264 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 " sure most of the matches are planned at them, 
 and, I may say, most of the runaways^ too — poor, 
 young, foolish crathurs, going off, and getting them- 
 selves married; then bringing small, helpless, fami- 
 lies upon their hands, without money, or manes to 
 begin the world with, and afterwards likely to eat 
 one another out of the face, for their folly; how- 
 ever, there's no putting ould heads upon young 
 shoulders, and I doubt, except the wakes are 
 stopped altogether, that it'll be the ould case still." 
 
 *' I never remember being at a counthry wake," 
 said Andy Morrow. '* How is every thing laid 
 out in the house ?" 
 
 " Sure it's to you I'm telling the whole story, 
 Mr. Morrow : these thieves about me here know 
 all about it as well as I do — the house, eh? Why, 
 you see, the two corpses were stretched beside 
 one another, washed and laid out. There were 
 long deal boords with their ends upon two stools, 
 laid over the bodies; the boords were covered with 
 a white sheet got at the big house, so the corpses 
 weren't to be seen. On these, again, were placed 
 large mould candles, plates of cut tobacco, pipes, 
 and snuff, and so on. Sometimes corpses are 
 waked in a bed, with their faces visible: when 
 that is the case, white sheets and crosses are 
 pinned up about the bed, except in the front; but 
 when they're undher boord, a set of ould women
 
 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 265 
 
 sit smoking, and rocking themselves from side to 
 side, quite sorrowful — these 2ire keener s — friends 
 or relations; and when every one connected with 
 the dead comes in, they raise the keene, like a 
 so?ig of sorrow, wailing and clapping their hands. 
 
 " The furniture is mostly removed, and sates 
 made round the walls, where the neighbours sit 
 smoking, chatting, and gosthering. The best of 
 aiting and dhrinking that they can afford is pro- 
 vided ; and, indeed, there is generally open house, 
 for it's unknown how people injure themselves by 
 their kindness and waste at christ'nings, weddings, 
 and wakes. 
 
 " In regard to poor Larry's wake — we had all 
 this, and more at it; for, as I obsarved a while 
 agone, the man had made himself no friends when 
 he was living, and the neighbours gave a loose to 
 all kinds of divilment when he was dead. Although 
 there's no man would be guilty of any disrespect 
 where the dead are, yet, when a person has led a 
 good life, and conducted themselves dacently and 
 honestly, the young people of the neighbourhood 
 show their respect, by going through their little 
 plays and divarsions quieter and with less noise, 
 lest they may give any offince ; but, as I said, 
 whenever the person didn't live as they ought to do, 
 there's no stop to their noise and rollokin.^ 
 
 * Uproariousness.
 
 266 LARRY M'FARLAND'S WAKE. 
 
 "When it drew near morning, every one of us 
 took his sweetlieart, and, after convoying her 
 home, went to our own houses, to get a little 
 sleep — So that was the end of poor Larry M*Far- 
 iand, and his wife, Sally Lowry." 
 
 " Success, Tom !" said Bill M'Kinny; "take a 
 pull of the malt now, afther the story, your 
 soul ! — But what was the funeral like ?" 
 
 "Why, then, a poor berrin it was,*' said Tom; 
 " a miserable sight, God knows — -just a few of the 
 neighbours ; for those that used to take his thrate, 
 and while he had a shilling in his pocket, blarney 
 him up, not one of the skulking thieves showed 
 their faces at it — a good warning to foolish men 
 that throw their money down throaths that haven't 
 hearts anundher them. — But, boys, /desarve ano- 
 ther thrate, I think, afther my storyl''
 
 THR 
 
 BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS.
 
 THE 
 
 BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS, 
 
 COMPOSED INTO NARRATIVE BY A HEDGE SCHOOLMASTER; 
 
 "My grandfather, Connor O'Callaghan, though 
 a tall, erect man, with white flowing hair, like 
 snow, that falls profusely about his broad shoul- 
 ders, is now in his eighty-third year : an amazing 
 age, considhering his former habits. His coun- 
 tenance is still marked with honesty and traces 
 of hard fighting, and his cheeks ruddy and cudgel- 
 worn; his eyes, though not as black as they used to 
 be, have lost very little of that nate fire which cha-
 
 270 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 racterizes the eyes of the O'Callaghans, and for 
 which I myself have been — but my modesty won't 
 alh)W me to allude to that : let it be sufficient for 
 the present to say, that there never was remem- 
 bered so handsome a man in his native parish, 
 and that I am as like him as one Cork-red phatie 
 is to another : indeed, it has been often said, that 
 it would be hard to meet an O'Callaghan without 
 a black eye in his head. He has lost his fore- 
 teeth, however, a point in which, unfortunately, 
 I, though his grandson, have a strong resemblance 
 to him. The truth is, they were knocked out of 
 him in rows, before he had reached his thirty- 
 fifth year — a circumstance which the kind reader 
 will be pleased to receive in extenuation for the 
 same defect in myself. That, however, is but 
 a trifle, which never gave either of us much 
 trouble. 
 
 * It pleased Providence to bring us through 
 many hair-breadth escapes, with our craniums 
 uncracked ; and when we considher that he, on 
 taking a retrogadation of his past life, can indulge 
 in the plasing recollection of having broken two 
 skulls in his fighting days, and myself one, 1 
 think we have both rason to be thankful. He 
 was a powerful bulliah hatiliagh in his day, and 
 never met a man able to fight him, except big 
 Mucklemurray, who stood before him the greater
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 271 
 
 part of an hour and a half, in the fair of Knock- 
 imdowney, on the day that the first great fight 
 took place — twenty years afther the hard frost — 
 between the O'Callaghans and the O'Hallaghans. 
 The two men fought single hands — for both fac- 
 tions were willing to let them try the engagement 
 out, that they might see what side could boast of 
 having the best man. They began where you 
 enter the north side of Knockimdowney, and 
 fought successfully up to the other end, then back 
 again to the spot where they commenced, and 
 afterwards up to the middle of the town, right 
 opposite to the market-place, where my grandfa- 
 ther, by the same-a-token, lost a grinder; but he 
 soon took satisfaction for that, by giving Muckle- 
 murray a tip above the eye with the end of an 
 oak stick, dacently loaded with lead, which made 
 tlie poor man feel very quare entirely, for the few 
 days that he survived it. 
 
 " Faith, if an Irishman happened to be born in 
 Scotland, he would find it mighty inconvanient — 
 afther losing two or three grinders in a row — to 
 manage the hard oaten bread that they use there ; 
 for which rason, God be good to his sowl that 
 first invented the phaties, any how, because a 
 man can masticate them without a tooth, at all 
 at all. I'll engage, if larned books were consulted, 
 it would be found out that he was an Irishman. 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 f!72 THE BATTLE OP THE FACTIONS 
 
 I wonder that neither Pastorini nor Columbkill 
 mentions any thing about him in their prophe- 
 cies eonsarning the church; for my own part, 
 I'm strongly inclinated to believe that it must 
 have been Saint Patrick himself; and 1 think that 
 his driving all kinds of venemous reptiles out of 
 the kingdom is, according to the Socrastic method 
 of argument, an undeniable proof of it. The sub- 
 ject, to a dead certainty, is not touched upon in 
 the Brehone Code, nor by any of the three Psal- 
 ters which is extremely odd, seeing that the earth 
 never produced a root equal to it in the multi- 
 plying force of prolification. It is, indeed, the 
 root of prosperity to a fighting people: and many 
 a time my grandfather boasts to this day, that 
 the first bit of bread he ever ett was a phatie. 
 
 " In mentioning my grandfather's fight with 
 Mucklemurray, I happened to name them black- 
 guards, the O'Hallaghans : hard fortune to the 
 same set, for they have no more discretion in 
 their quarrels, than so many Egyptian mummies, 
 African buffoons, or any other uncivilised ani- 
 mals. It was one of them, he that's married to 
 my own fourth cousin, Biddy O'Callaghan, that 
 knocked two of my gi*inders out, for which piece 
 of civility I have just had the satisfaction of break 
 "ng a splinter or two in his carcase, being always 
 lionestly disposed to pay my debts.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 273 
 
 << With respect to the O'Hallaghans, they and 
 our family have been next neighbours since before 
 the flood — and that's as good as two hundred 
 years ; for I believe it's 198, any how, since ray 
 great grandfather's grand uncle's ould mare was 
 swept out of the ' Island,' in the dead of the 
 night, about half an hour after the whole country 
 had been ris out of their beds by the thunder and 
 lightning. Many a field of oats and many a life, 
 both of beast and Christian, was lost in it, especial- 
 ly of those that lived on the holmes about the edge 
 of the river : and it was true for them that said 
 it came before something ; for the next year was 
 one of the hottest summers ever remembered in 
 Ireland. 
 
 " These O'Hallaghans couldn't be at peace 
 with a saint. Before they and our faction began 
 to quarrel, it's said that the O'Connells, or Con- 
 nells, and they had been at it, — and a blackguard 
 set the same O'Connells were, at all times — in fair 
 and market, dance, wake, and berrin, setting the 
 country on fire. Whenever they met, it was heads 
 cracked and bones broken; till by degrees the 
 O'Connells fell away, one after another, from 
 fighting, accidents, and hanging ; so that at last 
 there was hardly the name of one of them in the 
 neighbourhood. The O'Hallaghans, after this, 
 had the country under themselves — were the cocks 
 
 T :>
 
 '274 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 of the walk entirely ; — who but they ? A man 
 darn't look crooked at them, or he was Certain of 
 getting his head in his fist. And when they'd 
 get drunk in a fair, it Was nothing but ' Whoo ! 
 for the O'Hallaghans !' and leaping yards high oiF 
 the pavement, brandishing their cudgels over 
 their heads — striking their heels against their 
 hams, tossing up their hats ; and when all w ould 
 fail, they'd strip off their coats, and trail them up 
 and down the street, shouting, ' Who dare toucli 
 the coat of an O'Hallaghan ? Where's the black- 
 guard Connells now?' — and so on, till flesh and 
 blood couldn't stand it. 
 
 " In the course of time, the whole country was 
 turned against them ; for no crowd could get to- 
 gether in which they didn't kick up a row, nor a 
 bit of stray fighting couldn't be, but they'd pick 
 it up first — and if a man would venture to give 
 them a contrairy answer, he was sure to get the 
 crame of a good welting for his pains. The very 
 landlord was timorous of them ; for when they'd 
 get behind in their rint^ hard fortune to the bai- 
 liff, or proctor, or steward, he could find, that 
 would have any thing to say to them. And the 
 more wise they ; for maybe, a month would 
 hardly pass till all belonging to them in the world 
 would be in a heap of ashes : and who could say 
 who did it ? for they were as cunning as foxes.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 275 
 
 " If one of them wanted a wife, it was nothing 
 but find out the purtiest and the richest farmer's 
 daughter in the neighbourhood, and next march 
 into her father's house, at the dead hour of night, 
 tie and gag every mortal in it, and off with her 
 to some friend's place in another part of the coun- 
 try. Then what could be done ? If the girl's 
 parents didn't like to give in, their daughter's 
 name was sure to be ruined ; at all events, no 
 Qther man would think of marrying her, and the 
 only plan was, to. make the worst of a bad bar- 
 gain ; and God he knows, it was making a bad 
 bargain for a girl to have any matrimonial con- 
 catenation with the same O'Hallaghans ; for they 
 always had the bad drop in them, from first to 
 last, from big to little — the blackguards ! But 
 wait, it's not over with them yet. 
 
 " The bone of contintion that got between them 
 ^R.4 our faction was this circumstance : their 
 lands and ours were divided by a river that ran 
 down from the high mountains of Sliew Boglish, 
 and after a coorse of eight or ten miles, disem- 
 bogued itself — first into George Duffy's mill-dam, 
 and afterwards into that superb stream, the 
 Blackwater, that might be well and appropriately 
 appellated the Irish Niger. This river, which, 
 though small at first, occasionally inflated itself to 
 such a gigantic altitude, that it swept away cows,
 
 276 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 corn, and cottages, or whatever else happened to 
 be in the way — ^^was the march-ditch, or merin be- 
 tween our farms. Perhaps it is worth while re- 
 marking, as a solution for natural philosophers, 
 that these inundations were much more frequent 
 in winter than in summer — though, when they 
 did occur in summer, they were truly terrific. 
 
 '* God be with the days, when I and half a do- 
 zen gorsoons used to go out, of a warm Sunday 
 in summer — the bed of the river nothing but a line 
 of white meandering stones, so hot that you could 
 hardly stand upon them, with a small obscure 
 thread of water creeping invisibly among them, 
 hiding itself, as it were, from the scorching sun — 
 except here and there that you might find a small 
 crystal pool where the streams had accumulated. 
 Our plan was to bring a pocketful of roche lime 
 with us, and put it into the pool, when all the 
 fish used to rise on the instant to the surface, 
 gasping with open mouth for fresh air, and we 
 had only to lift them out of the water ; a nate 
 plan, which, perhaps, might be adopted success- 
 fully on a more extensive scale by the Irish fishe- 
 ries. Indeed, I almost regret that I did not re- 
 main in that station of life, for I was mu ch hap- 
 pier then than ever I was since I began to study 
 and practice laming. But this is vagating from 
 the subject.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 277 
 
 <' Well, then, I have said that them O'Halla- 
 ghans lived beside us, and that this stream divided 
 our lands. About half a quarter — i. e. to accommo- 
 date myself to the vulgar phraseology — or, to speak 
 ■more scientifically, one-eighth of a mile from our 
 house, was as purty a hazel glen as you'd wish to 
 see, near half a mile long — its developments and 
 proportions were truly classical. In the bottom of 
 this glen was a small green island, about twelve 
 yards, diametrically, of Irish admeasurement, that 
 is to say, be the same more or less — at all events, 
 it lay in the way of the river, Avhich, however, 
 ran towards the O'Hallaghan side, and, conse- 
 quently, the island was our property. 
 
 " Now, you'll observe, that this river had been, 
 for ages, the merin between the two farms, for 
 they both belonged to separate landlords, and so 
 long as it kept the O'Hallaghan side of the little 
 peninsula in question, there could be no dispute 
 about it, for all was clear. One wet winter, how- 
 ever, it seemed to change its mind upon the sub- 
 ject ; for it wrought and wore away a passage for 
 itself on our side of the island, and by that means 
 took part, as it were, with the O'Hallaghans, leav- 
 ing the territory which had been our property 
 for centhries, in their possession. This was a 
 vexatious change to us, and, indeed, eventually 
 produced very feudal consequences. No sooner
 
 278 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 had the stream changed sides, than the O'Halla- 
 ghans claimed the island as theirs, according to 
 their tenement ; and we, having had it for such 
 length of time in our possession, could not break 
 ourselves of the habitude of occupying it. They 
 incarcerated our cattle, and we incarcerated theirs. 
 They summoned us to their landlord, who was a 
 magistrate ; and we summoned them to ours, who 
 was another. The verdicts were north and 
 south. Their landlord gave it in favour of them, 
 and ours in favour of us. The one said he had 
 law on his side ; the other, that he had proscripw 
 tion and possession, length of time and usage. 
 
 " The two Squires then fought a challenge 
 upon the head of it, and what was more singular, 
 upon the disputed spot itself; the one standing 
 on their side — the other on ours ; for it was just 
 twelve paces every way. Their friend was a small, 
 light man, with legs like drumsticks ; the other 
 was a large, able-bodied gentleman, with a red 
 face and hooked nose. They exchanged two 
 shots, one only of which — the second — took ef- 
 fect. It pastured upon their landlord's spindle 
 \e^, on which he held it out, exclaiming, that 
 while he lived he would never fight another chal- 
 lenge with his antagonist, ' because,* said he, 
 looking at his own spindle shank, * the man who 
 could hit that could hit awy thing.'
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 279 
 
 " We then were advised, by an attorney, to 
 go to law with them ; and they were advised by 
 another attorney to go to law with us : accord- 
 ingly, we did so, and in the course of eight or 
 nine years it might have been decided; but just 
 as the legal term approximated, in which the de- 
 cision was to be announced, the river divided 
 itself with mathematical exactitude, on each side 
 of the island. This altered the state and law of the 
 question in toto ; but, in the mean time, both we 
 and the O'Hallaghans were nearly fractured by 
 the expenses. Now during the law suit, we usu- 
 ally houghed and mutilated each other's cattle, 
 according as they trespassed the premises. This 
 brought- on the usual concomitants of various 
 battles, fought and won by both sides, and occa- 
 sioned the law-suit to be dropped ; for we found 
 it a mighty inconvanient matter to fight it out 
 both ways — by the same a-token that I think it a 
 great proof of stultity to go to law at all at all, as 
 long as a person is able to take it into his own ma- 
 nagement. For the only incongruity in the mat- 
 ter is this : — that, in the one case, a set of law- 
 yers have the law in their hands, and, in the other, 
 that you have it in your own — that's the only dif- 
 ference, and 'tis easy knowing where the advan- 
 tage lies. 
 
 " We, however, paid the most of the expenses,
 
 /- 
 
 230 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 and would have ped them all with the greatest in- 
 tegrity, were it not that our attorney, when about 
 to issue an execution against our property, hap- 
 pened somehow to be shot, one evening, as he 
 returned home from a dinner which was given by 
 him that was attorney for the O'Hallaghans. 
 Many a boast the O'Hallaghans made, before the 
 quarrelling between us and them commenced, 
 that they'd sweep the streets with the fighting 
 O'Callaghans, which was an epithet that was oc- 
 casionally applied to our family. We differed, 
 however, materially from them ; for we were ho- 
 nourable, never starting out in dozens on a single 
 man or two, and beating him into insignificance. 
 A couple, or maybe, when irritated, three, were 
 the most we ever set at a single enemy; and, if 
 we left him lying in a state of imperception, it 
 was the most we ever did, except in a regular con- 
 fliction, when a man is justified in saving his own 
 skull, by breaking one of an opposite faction. 
 For the truth of the business is, that he who 
 breaks the skull of him who endeavours to break 
 his own, is safest ; and, surely, when a man is 
 driven to such an alternative, the choice is unhe- 
 sitating. 
 
 " O'Hallaghans' attorney, however, had better 
 luck : they were, it is true, rather in the retro- 
 grade with him touching the law charges, and, of
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 281 
 
 coorse, it M^as only candid in him to look for his 
 own. One morning, he found that two of his 
 horses, had been executed by some incendiary 
 unknown, in the course of the night ; and, on go- 
 ing to look at them, he found a taste of a notice 
 posted on the inside of the stable door, giving him 
 intelligence, that if he did not find a horpus cor- 
 pus whereby to transfer his body out of the coun- 
 try, he would experience a fate parallel to that of 
 his brother lawyer or the horses. And, undoubt- 
 edly, if honest people never perpetrated worse 
 than banishing such yarmin, along with proctors, 
 and drivers of all kinds, out of a civilized coun- 
 try, they would not be so very culpable or atro- 
 cious. 
 
 " After this, the lawyer went to reside in Dub- 
 lin ; and the only bodily injury he received, was 
 the death of a land-agent and a bailiff, who lost 
 their lives faithfully in driving for rent. They 
 died, however, successfully ; the bailiff having 
 been provided for nearly a year before the agent 
 was sent to give an account of his stewardship — 
 as the authorised version has it. 
 
 " The occasion on which the first rencounter 
 between us and the O'Hallaghans took place, was 
 a peaceable one. Several of our respective friends 
 undertook to produce a friendly and oblivious po- 
 tation between us — it was at a berrin belonging
 
 282 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 to a corpse who was related to us both ; and, cer- 
 tainly, in the beginning, we were all as thick as 
 whigged milk. But there is no use now in dwell- 
 ing too long upon that circumstance : let it be 
 sufficient to assert, that the accommodation was 
 effectuated by fists and cudgels, on both sides — 
 the first man that struck a blow being one of the 
 friends that wished to bring about the tranquillity. 
 From that out, the play commenced, and God 
 he knows when it may end ; for no dacent faction 
 could give in to another faction, without losing 
 their character, and being kicked, and cuffed, and 
 kilt, every week in the year. 
 
 " It is the great battle^ however, which I am 
 after going to describe ; that in which we and the 
 O'Hallaghans had contrived, one way or other, 
 to have the parish divided — one half for them, 
 and the other for us ; and, upon my credibility, 
 it is no exaggeration to declare, that the whole 
 parish, though ten miles by six, assembled itself 
 in the town of Knockimdowny, upon this interest- 
 ing occasion. In thruth, Ireland ought to be a 
 land of mathemathitians ; for I'm sure her popu- 
 lation is well trained, at all events, in the two 
 sciences of multiplication and division. Before I 
 adventure, however, upon the narration, I must 
 wax pathetic a little, and then proceed with the 
 main body of the story.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 283 
 
 " Poor Rose O'Hallaghan ! — or, as she was de- 
 signated — Rose Galh, or Fair Hose, and some- 
 times simply, Rose Hallaghan, because the de- 
 tention of the big O would produce an afflatus in 
 the pronunciation, that would be mighty incan- 
 vanient to such as did not understand oratory — 
 besides, that the Irish are rather fond of sending 
 the liquids in a guttheral direction — Poor Rose ! 
 that faction Jiffht was a black dai/ to her, the 
 sweet innocent ! when it was well known that 
 there wasn't a man, woman, or child, on either 
 side, that wouldn't lay their hands under her feet. 
 However, in order to inseiise the reader better 
 into her character, I will commence a small sub- 
 narration, which will afterwards emerge into the 
 parent stream of the story. 
 
 " The chapel of Knockimdowney is a slated 
 house, without any ornament, except a set of 
 wooden cuts, painted red and blue, that are placed 
 seriatim around the square of the building in the 
 internal side. Fourteen of these suspind at equal 
 distances on the walls, each set in a painted frame ; 
 these constitute a certain species of country devo- 
 tion. It is usual on Sundays for such of the con- 
 gregations as are most inclined to piety, to genu- 
 flect at the first of these pictures, and commence 
 a certam number of prayers to it; after the repi- 
 tition of which, they travel on their knees along
 
 '2S4 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 the bare earth to the second, where they repate 
 another prayer peculiar to that, and so on, till 
 they finish the grand tower of the interior. Such, 
 however, as are not especially dictated to this 
 kind of locomotive prayer, collect together in va- 
 rious knots, through the chapel, and amuse them- 
 selves by auditing or narrating anecdotes, discus- 
 sing policy, or detraction ; and in case it be 
 summer, and a day of a fine texture, they scatter 
 themselves into little crowds on the chapel-green, 
 or lie at their length upon the grass in listless 
 groups, giving way to chat and laughter. 
 
 " In this mode, laired on the sunny side of the 
 ditches and hedges, or collected in rings round 
 that respectable character, the Academician of 
 the village, or some other well-known Shanahasy 
 or story-teller, they amuse themselves till the 
 priest's arrival. Perhaps, too, some walking geo- 
 grapher of a pilgrim may happen to be present; 
 and if there be, he is sure to draw a crowd about 
 him, in spite of all the efforts of the learned Aca- 
 demician to the reverse. It is no unusual thing 
 to see such a vagravit, in all the vanity of con- 
 scious sanctimony, standing in the middle of the 
 attentive peasants, like the knave and fellows of 
 a cart-wheel — if I may be permitted the loan of 
 an apt similitude — repeating some piece of unfa- 
 thomable and labyrinthine devotion, or perhaps
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 28S 
 
 warbling, from Stentlioriaii lungs, some melodia 
 sacra, in an untranslateable tongue ; or, it may 
 be, exhibiting tlie mysterious power of an amber 
 bade, fastened as a decade to \ns paudareens, lift- 
 ing a chaff or light bit of straw by the force of its 
 attraction. This is an exploit which causes many 
 an eye to turn from the bades to his own bearded 
 face, with a hope, as it were, of being able to 
 catch a glimpse of the lurking sanctimony, by 
 which the knave hoaxes them in the miraculous. 
 
 " The amusements of the females are also near- 
 ly such as I have drafted out. Nosegays of the 
 darlings might be seen sated on green banks, or 
 sauntering about with a sly intention of coming 
 in compact with their sweethearts, or, like bache- 
 lor's buttons in smiling rows, criticising the young 
 men as they pass. Others of them might be seen 
 screened behind a hedge, with their backs to the 
 spectators, taking the papers off their curls before 
 a small bit of looking-glass placed against the 
 ditch ; or perhaps putting on their shoes and 
 stockings — which phrase can be used only by au- 
 thority of the figure, heusteron proteron — in as 
 much as if they put on the shoes first, you per- 
 gave, it would be a scientific job to get on the 
 stockings after; but it's an idiomatical expres- 
 sion, and therefore justifiable. However, it's a 
 general custom in the country, which I dare to
 
 280 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 say has not yet spread into large cities, for the 
 young women to walk bare-footed to the chapel, 
 or within a sliort distance of it, that they may ex- 
 hibit their bleaclied thread stockings and well- 
 greased slippers to tlie best advantage, not per- 
 termitting a well-turned ancle, and neat leg, which, 
 I may fearlessly assert, my fair countrywomen 
 can show against any other nation living or dead. 
 " One sunny Sabbath, the congregation of 
 Knockimdowney were thus assimilated, amusing 
 themselves in tlie manner I have just outlined: a 
 series of country girls sat on a little green mount, 
 called the Rabbit Bank, from the circumstance of 
 its having been formerly an open burrow, thougii of 
 late years it has been closed. It was near twelve 
 o'clock, the hour at which Father Luke O'Shaugli- 
 ran was generally seen topping the rise of the hill 
 at Larry Mulligan's public-house, jogging on his 
 bay hack at something between a walk and a trot 
 — that is to say, his horse moved his fore and hind 
 legs on the off side at one motion, and the fore and 
 hind legs of the near-side in another, going at a kind 
 of dog's trot, like the pace of an idiot with sore 
 feet in a shower — a pace, indeed, to which the 
 animal had been set for the last sixteen years, but 
 beyond which, no force, or entreaty, or science, 
 or power, either divine or human, of his Reve- 
 rence, could diive him. As yet, however, he had
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 287 
 
 not become apparent ; and the girls already men- 
 tioned were discussing the pretensions which 
 several of their acquaintances had to dress or 
 beauty. 
 
 " ' Peggy,' said Katty Carroll to her compa- 
 nion, Peggy Donohoe, ' were you out last Sun- 
 day ?' 
 
 " ' No, in troth, Katty, I was disappointed in 
 getting my shoes from Paddy Malone, though I 
 left him the measiire of my foot three weeks agone, 
 and gave him a thousand warnings to make them 
 duck-nebs : but instead of that,' said she, holding 
 out a very purty foot, ' he has made them as sharp 
 in the toe as a pick-axe, and a full mile too short 
 for me : but why do ye ax was I out, Katty ?' 
 
 " * Oh, nothing,' responded Katty, * only that 
 you missed a sight, any way.' 
 
 " * What was it, Katty, a-hagur ?' asked her 
 companion with mighty great curiosity. 
 
 " ' Why, nothing less, indeed, nor Rose Cuille- 
 nan, decked out in a white muslin gown, and a 
 black sprush bonnet, tied under her chin wid a 
 silk ribbon, no less ; but what killed us, out and 
 out, was — you wouldn't guess ?' 
 
 " * Arrah, how could I guess, woman alive ? A 
 silk handkerchy, maybe ; for I wouldn't doubt 
 the same Rose, but she would be setting hersel; 
 up for the likes of sich a thing. 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 288 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 " 'It's herself that had, as red as scarlet, about 
 her neck ; but that's not it' 
 
 " ' Arrah, Katty, tell it to us at wanst; out with 
 
 it, a-hagur ; sure there's no treason in it, any how.' 
 
 " ' Why, thin, nothing less nor a crass-bar red 
 
 and white pocket-handkerchy, to wipe her purty 
 
 complexion wid.' 
 
 " To this Peggy replied by a loud laugh, in 
 which it was difficult to say whether there was 
 more of sathir than astonishment. 
 
 " ' A pocket-handkerchy !' she exclaimed ; 
 * musha,are we alive aftherthat, at all, at all ! Why, 
 that bates Molly M'Cullagh, and her red mantle 
 entirely ; I'm sure, but it's well come up for the 
 likes of her, a poor iraperint crathur, that sprung 
 from nothing, to give herself sich airs.' 
 
 " ' Molly M'Cullagh, indeed,' said Katty; ' whjs 
 they oughtn't to be mintioned in the one day, wo- 
 man ; Molly's come of a dacent ould stock, and 
 kind mother for her to keep herself in genteel or- 
 dher at all times : she seen nothing else, and can 
 afford it, not all as one as the other Jlipe, that 
 would go to the world's end for a bit of dress.' 
 
 " ' Sure she thinks she's a beauty, too, if you 
 plase ;' said Peggy, tossing her head with an air 
 of disdain ; ' but tell us, Katty, how did the mus- 
 lin sit upon her at all, the upsetting crathur?'
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 289 
 
 t( i Why, for all the world like a shift on a May- 
 powl, or a stocking on a body's nose : only no- 
 thing killed us outright but the pocket-handker- 
 chy !' 
 
 " ' But,' said the other, * what could we expect 
 from a proud piece like her, that brings a Man- 
 will* to mass every Sunday, purtending she can 
 read in it, and Jem Finigan saw the wrong side 
 of the book toards her, the Sunday of the Pur- 
 cession /' 
 
 " At this hit they both formed another risible 
 junction, quite as sarcastic as the former — in the 
 midst of which the innocent object of their cen- 
 sure, dressed in all her obnoxious finery, came 
 up and joined them. She was scarcely sated — I 
 blush to the very point of my pen during the 
 manuscription — when the confabulation assumed 
 a character directly antipodial to that which 
 marked the precedent dialogue. 
 
 " < My gracious, Rose, but that's a purty thing 
 you have got in your gown ! where did you buy 
 it?' 
 
 " * Och, thin, not a one of myself likes it over 
 much. I'm sorry I didn't buy a gingham; I could 
 have got a beautiful patthern, all out, for two shil- 
 
 . • Manual — a Catholic prayer-book. 
 
 u 2
 
 290 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 lings less : but they don't wash so well as this. I 
 bought it in Paddy Gartland's, Peggy.' 
 
 " ' Troth, it's nothing else but a great beauty ; 
 I didn't see any thing on you this long time be- 
 comes you so well, and I've remarked that you 
 always look best in white.' 
 
 " ' Who made it, Rose,' inquired Katty, ' for 
 it sits illegant ?' 
 
 •' < Indeed,' replied Rose, ' for the differ of the 
 price, I thought it better to bring it to Peggy 
 Boyle, and be sartin of not having it spoiled. 
 Nelly Keenan made the last, and although there 
 was a full breadth more in it nor this, bad cess to 
 the one of her but spoiled it on me ; it was ever 
 so much too short in the body, and too tight iu 
 the sleeves, and then I had no step at all at all.' 
 
 " * The sprush bonnet is exactly the fit for the 
 gown,' observed Katty ; ' the black and the white's 
 jist the cut — how many yards had you. Rose?' 
 
 " * Jist ten and a half; but the half yard was 
 for the tucks.' 
 
 " Ay, faix ! and brave full tucks she left in it ; 
 ten would do me. Rose ?' 
 
 " ' Ten ! no nor ten and a half; you're a size 
 bigger nor me at the laste, Peggy ; but you'd be 
 asy fitted, you're so well made.' 
 
 *• < Rose, darling^ said Peggy, ' that's a great
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 291 
 
 beauty, and shows off your complexion all to 
 pieces : you have no notion how well you look in 
 it and the sprush.' 
 
 " In a few minutes after this, her namesake, 
 Rose Galh O'Hallaghan, came towards the cha- 
 jiel, in society with her father, mother, and her 
 two sisters. Tiie eldest, Mary, was about twen- 
 ty-one ; Rose, who was the second, about nine- 
 teen, or scarcely that; and Nancy, the junior of 
 the three, about twice seven. 
 
 " ' There's the O'Hallaghans,' says Rose. 
 
 " ' Ay,' replied Katty ; ' you may talk of beau- 
 ty, now ; did you ever lay your two eyes on the 
 likes of Rose for downright — musha if mysoU" 
 knows what to call it — but, any how, she's the 
 lovely crathur to look at.' 
 
 " Kind reader, without a single disrespectful 
 insinuation against any portion of the fair sex, 
 you may judge what Rose O'Hallaghan must have 
 been, when even these three were necessitated to 
 praise her in her absence. 
 
 " ' I'll warrant,' observed Katty, ' we'll soon be 
 after seeing John O'Callaghan,* (he was my own 
 cousin), 'sthrolling afther them, at his ase.' 
 
 " « Why,' asked Rose, ' what makes you say 
 that ?' 
 
 " * Bekase,' replied the other, < I have a rason 
 for it.'
 
 292 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 '♦ ' Sure John O Callaghan wouldn't be think- 
 ing of her,' observed Rose, ' and their families 
 would see other shot; their factions would never 
 have a crass marriage, any how, ' 
 
 " * Well,' said Peggy, ' it's the thousand pities 
 that the same two couldn't go together; for fair 
 and handsome as Rose is, you'll not deny but 
 John conies up to her : but faix, sure enough it's 
 they that's the proud people on both sides, and 
 dangerous to make or meddle with, not saying 
 that ever there was the likes of the same two for 
 dacency and peaceableness among either of the 
 factions.' 
 
 " < Didn't I tell yees ?' cried Katty ; ' look at 
 him now, staling afther her, and it'll be the same 
 thing going home agin ; and if Rose is not much 
 belied, it's not a bit displasing to her, they say.' 
 
 " * Between ourselves,' observed Peggy, ' it 
 would be no wondher the darling young crathur 
 would fall in love with him ; for you might thra- 
 vel the counthry afore you'd meet with his fdlow 
 for face and figure.' 
 
 " ' There's Father Ned,' remarked Katty ; < we 
 had betther get into the chapel before the scrood- 
 gen comes an, or your bonnet and gown, Rose, 
 won't be the betther for it.' 
 
 " They now proceeded to the chapel, and those 
 who had been amusing themselves after the same
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 293 
 
 mode, followed their exemplar. In a short time 
 the hedges and ditches adjoining the chapel were 
 quite in solitude, with the exception of a few per- 
 sons from the extreme parts of the parish, who 
 might be seen running with all possible velocity 
 ' to overtake mass,' as the phrase on that point 
 expresses itself. 
 
 " The chapel of Knockimdowney was situated 
 at the foot of a range of lofty mountains ; a by- 
 road went past the very door, which had under 
 subjection a beautiful extent of cultivated coun- 
 try, diversificated by hill and dale, or rather by 
 hill and hollow ; for as far as my own geographi- 
 cal knowledge went, 1 have uniformly fouiid them 
 inseparable. It was also ornamented with the 
 waving verdure of rich corn-fields and meadows, 
 not pretermitting phatie-fields in full blossom — a 
 part of rural landscape, which, to my utter asto- 
 nishment, has escaped the pen of poet, and the 
 brush of painter ; although I will risque my repu- 
 tation as a man of pure and categorical taste, if a 
 finer ingredient in the composition of a landscape 
 could be found than a field of Cork-red phaties, 
 or Moroky blacks in full bloom, allowing a man 
 to judge by the pleasure they confer upon the 
 eye, and therefore to the heart. About a mile up 
 from the chapel, towards the south, a mountain- 
 stream — not the one already intimated — over
 
 294 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 which there was no bridge, crossed the road. 
 But in lieu of a bridge, there was a long double 
 plank laid over it, from bank to bank ; and as the 
 river was broad, and not sufficiently incarcerated 
 within its channel, the neighbours were necessi- 
 ated to throw these planks across the narrowest 
 part they could find in the contiguity of the road. 
 This part was consequently the deepest, and, in 
 floods, the most dangerous ; for the banks were 
 elevated as far as they went, and quite tortu- 
 ositous. 
 
 " Shortly after the priest had entered the cha- 
 pel, it was observed that the hemisphere became, 
 of a sudden, unusually obscure, though the pre- 
 ceding part of the day had not only been un- 
 cloudously bright, but hot in a most especial man- 
 ner. The obscurity, however, increased rapidly, 
 accompanied by that gloomy stillness which al- 
 ways takes precedence of a storm, and fills the 
 mind with vague and interminable terror. But 
 this ominous silence was not long unfractured ; 
 for soon after the first appearance of the gloom, a 
 flash of lightning quivered through the chapel, 
 followed by an extravagantly loud clap of thun- 
 der, which shook the very glass in the windows, 
 and filled the congregation to the brim with ter- 
 ror. Their dismay, however, would have been 
 infinitely greater, only for the presence of his Re-
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 295 
 
 verence, and the confidence which might be traced 
 to the solemn occasion on which they were assi- 
 milated. 
 
 " From this moment the storm became pro- 
 gressive in dreadful magnitude, and the thunder, 
 in concomitance with the most vivid flashes of 
 lightning, pealed through the sky, with an awful 
 grandeur and magnificence, that were exalted, 
 and even rendered more sublime by the still so- 
 lemnity of religious worship. Every heart now 
 prayed fervently — every spirit shrunk into a deep 
 sense of its own guilt and helplessness — and every 
 conscience was terror-stricken, as the voice of an 
 angry God thundered out of his temple of storms 
 through the heavens ; for truly, as the authorised 
 version has it, ' darkness was under his feet, and 
 his pavilion round about was dark waters, and 
 thick clouds of the skies, because he was wroth.' 
 
 " The rain now condescended in even down 
 torrents, and thunder succeeded thunder in deep 
 and terrific peals, whilst the roar of the gigantic 
 echoes that deepened and reverberated among 
 the glens and hollows, ' laughing in their moun- 
 tain mirth,' hard fortune to me, but they made 
 
 the flesh creep on my bones ! 
 
 " This lasted for an hour, when the thunder 
 slackened ; but the rain still continued. As soon 
 as mass was over, apd the storm had elapsed, ex-
 
 296 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 cept an odd peal which might be heard rolling at 
 a distance behind the hills, the people began gra- 
 dually to recover their spirits, and enter into 
 confabulation ; but to venture out was still im- 
 practicable. For about another hour it rained 
 incessantly, after which it ceased ; the hemisphere 
 became lighter — and the sun shone out once more 
 upon the countenance of nature with his former 
 brightness. The congregation then decanted it- 
 self out of the chapel — the spirits of the people 
 dancing with that remarkable buoyancy or juve- 
 nility which is felt after a thunderstorm, when 
 the air is calm, soople, and balmy — and all na- 
 ture garmented with glittering verdure and light. 
 The crowd next began to commingle on their way 
 home, and to make the usual observations upon 
 the extraordinary storm which had just passed, 
 and the probable effect it would produce on the 
 fruit and agriculture of the neighbourhood. 
 
 " When the three young women whom we have 
 already introduced to our respectable readers, 
 had evacuated the chapel, they determined to 
 substantiate a certitude, as far as their observa- 
 tion could reach, as to the truth of what Kitty 
 Carroll had hinted at, in reference to John O'Cal- 
 laghan's attachment to Rose Galh O'Hallaghan, 
 and her taciturn approval of it. For this pur- 
 pose they kept their eye upon John, who cer-
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 297 
 
 tainly seemed in no especial hurry home, but 
 lingered upon the chapel green in a very careless 
 method. Rose Galh, however, soon made her 
 appearance, and, after going up the chapel-road 
 a short space, John slyly walked at some distance 
 behind, without seeming to pay her any particu- 
 lar notice, whilst a person up to the secret might 
 observe Rose's bright eye sometimes peeping 
 back, to see if he was after her. In this manner 
 they proceeded, until they came to the river, 
 which, to their great alarm, was almost fluctuating 
 over its highest banks. 
 
 " A crowd was now assembled, consulting as 
 to the safest method of crossing the planks, under 
 which the red boiling current ran, with less vio- 
 lence, it is true, but much deeper than in any 
 other part of the stream. The final decision was, 
 that the very young and the old, and such as 
 were feeble, should proceed by a circuit of some 
 miles to a bridge that crossed it, and that the 
 young men should place themselves on their knees 
 along the planks, their hands locked in each 
 other, thus forming a support on one side, upon 
 which such as had courage to venture across 
 might lean, in case of accident or megrim. In- 
 deed, any body that had able nerves might have 
 crossed the planks without this precaution, bad 
 they been dry ; but, in consequence of the rain,
 
 298 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 and the frequent attrition of feet, they were quite 
 slippery ; and, besides, the flood rolled terrifically 
 two or three yards below them, which might be 
 apt to beget a megrim that would not be felt if 
 there was no flood. 
 
 " When this expedient had been hit upon, se- 
 veral young men volunteered themselves to put it 
 in practice ; and in a short time a considerable 
 number of both sexuals crossed over, without the 
 occurrence of any unpleasant accident. Paddy 
 O'Hallaghan and his family had been stationed 
 for some time on the bank, watching the success 
 of the plan ; and as it appeared not to be attended 
 with any particular danger, they also determined 
 to make the attempt. About a perch below the 
 planks stood John O'Callaghan, watching the 
 progress of those who were crossing them, but 
 taking no part in what was going forward. The 
 river under the planks, and for some perches 
 above and below them, might be about ten feet 
 deep ; but to those who could swim it was less pe- 
 rilous, should any accident befal them, than those 
 parts where the current was more rapid, but shal- 
 lower. The water here boiled, and bubbled, and 
 whirled about ; but it was slow, and its yellow 
 surface unbroken by rocks or fords. 
 
 " The first of the O'Hallaghans that ventured 
 over it, was the youngest, who, being captured by
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 299 
 
 the hand, was encouraged by many cheerful ex- 
 pressions from the young men who were cling- 
 ing to the planks. She got safe over, however ; 
 and v/hen she came to the end, one who was sta- 
 tioned on the bank gave her a joyous pull, that 
 translated her several yards upon terra Jiirma. 
 
 " 'Well, Nancy,' he observed, '■you re safe, any 
 how ; and if I don't dance at your wedding for 
 this, I'll never say you're dacent.' 
 
 " To this Nancy gave a jocular promise, and 
 he resumed his station, that he might be ready to 
 render similar assistance to her next sister. Rose 
 Galh then went to the edge of the plank several 
 times, but her courage as often refused to be forth- 
 coming. During her hesitation, John O'Calla- 
 ghan stooped down, and privately untied his 
 shoes, then unbuttoned his waistcoat, and very 
 gently, being unwilling to excite notice, slipped 
 the knot of his cravat. At long last, by the en- 
 couragement of those who were on the plank, 
 Rose attempted the passage, and had advanced as 
 for as the middle of it, when a fit of dizziness 
 and alarm seized her with such violence, that she 
 lost all consciousness — a circumstance of which 
 those who handed her along were ignorant. The 
 consequence, as might be expected, was dread- 
 ful ; for as one of the young men was receiving 
 her hand, that he might pass her to the next, she
 
 300 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 lost her momentum, and was instantaneously pre- 
 cipitated into the boiling current. 
 
 " The wild and fearful cry of horror that suc- 
 ceeded this cannot be laid on paper. The eldest 
 sister fell into strong convulsions, and several of 
 the other females fainted on the spot. The mo- 
 ther did not faint ; but, like Lot's M'ife, she seem- 
 ed to have been translated into stone : her hands 
 became clenched convulsively, her teeth locked, 
 her nostrils dilated, and her eyes shot half way 
 out of her head. There she stood, looking upon 
 her daughter struggling in the flood, with a fixed 
 gaze of wild and impotent frenzy, that, for fear- 
 fulness, beat the thunder-storm all to nothing. 
 The father rushed to the edge of the river, obli- 
 vious of his incapability to swim, determined to 
 save her or lose his own life, which latter would 
 have been a dead certainty, had he ventured ; but 
 he was prevented by the crowd, who pointed out 
 to him the madness of such a project. 
 
 " ' For God's sake, Paddy, don't attimpt it,' they 
 exclaimed, * except you wish to lose your own 
 life, widout being able to save hers : no man 
 could swim in that flood, and it upwards often 
 feet deep.' 
 
 " Their arguments, however, were lost upon 
 him ; for, in fact, he was insensible to every thing 
 but his child's preservation. He, therefore, only
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 301 
 
 answered their remonstrances by attempting to 
 make another plunge into the river. 
 
 " ' Let me alone, will yees,' said he — ' let me 
 alone ! I'll either save my child, Rose, or die 
 along with her I How could I live after her ? 
 Merciful God, any of them but her ! Oh ! Rose, 
 darling,' he exclaimed, ' the favourite of my heart 
 — will no one save you?' All this passed in less 
 than a minute. 
 
 " Just as these words were uttered, a plunge 
 was heard a few yards above the bridge, and a 
 man appeared in the flood, making his way with 
 rapid strokes to the drowning girl. Another cry 
 now arose from the spectators ' It's John O'Cal- 
 laghan,'they shouted — ' it's John O'Callaghan, and 
 they'll be both lost.' ' No,' exclaimed others ; 
 * if it's in the power of man to save her, he will 1' 
 ' O, blessed father, she's lost !' now burst from 
 all present ; for, after having struggled and been 
 kept floating for some time by her garments, she 
 at length sunk, apparently exhausted and sense- 
 less, and the thief of a flood flowed over her, as 
 if she had been under its surface. 
 
 " When O'Callaghan saw that she went down, 
 he raised himself up in the water, and cast his 
 eye towards that part of the bank opposite which 
 she disappeared, evidently, as it proved, that he 
 might have a mark to guide him in fixing on the
 
 302 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 proper spot where to plunge after her. When he' 
 came to the place, he raised himself again in the 
 stream, and, calculating that she must by this 
 time have been borne some distance from the 
 spot where she sank, he gave a stroke or two 
 down the river, and disappeared after her. This 
 was followed by another cry of horror and de- 
 spair ; for, somehow, the idea of desolation which 
 marks, at all times, a deep, over- swollen torrent, 
 heightened by the bleak mountain scenery around 
 them, and the dark, angry voracity of the river 
 where they had sunk, might have impressed the 
 spectators with utter hopelessness as to the fate 
 of those now engulphed in its vortex. This, how- 
 ever, I leave to those who are deeper read in phi- 
 losophy than I am. 
 
 " An awful silence succeeded the last shrill ex 
 clamation, broken only by the hoarse rushing of 
 the waters, whose wild, continuous roar, booming 
 hollowly and dismally in the ear, might be heard 
 at a great distance over all the country. But a 
 new sensation soon invaded the multitude ; for, 
 after the lapse of about a minute, John O'Calla- 
 ghan emerged from the flood, bearing, in his si- 
 nister hand, the body of his own Rose Galh — for 
 it's he that loved her tenderly. A peal of joy 
 congratulated them from a thousand voices ; hun- 
 dreds of directions were given to him how to act
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 303 
 
 to the best advantage. Two young men in espe- 
 cial, who were both dying about the lovely crea- 
 ture that he held, were quite anxious to give ad- 
 vice. 
 
 " ' Bring her to the other side, John, ma bou- 
 chal ; it's the safest,' said Larry Carty. 
 
 " 'Will you let him alone, Carty,' said Simon 
 Tracy, who was the other ; * you'll only put him 
 in a perplexity ?' 
 
 "But Carty should order in spite of every 
 thing He kept bawling out, however, so loud, 
 that John raised his eye to see what he meant, and 
 was near losing hold of Rose. This was too much 
 for Tracy, who ups with his fist, and downs him 
 — so they both at it ; for no one there could take 
 themselves off those that were in danger, to inter- 
 fere between them. But, at all events, no earth- 
 ly thing can happen among Irishmen without a 
 fight. 
 
 " The father, during this, stood breathless, his 
 hands clasped, and his eyes turned to heaven, 
 praying in anguish for the delivery of his darling. 
 The mother's look was still wild and fixed, her 
 eyes glazed, and her muscles hard and stiff; evi- 
 dently she was insensible to all that was going 
 forward; while large drops of paralytic agony 
 hung upon her cold brow. Neither of the sisters 
 had yet recovered, nor could those who supported 
 
 VOL. I. ^
 
 304 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 them turn their eyes from the more imminent 
 danger, to pay them any particular attention. 
 Many, also, of the other females, whose feelings 
 were too much wound up when the accident oc- 
 curred, now fainted, when they saw she was likely 
 to be rescued ; but most of them were weeping 
 with delight and gratitude. 
 
 " When John brought her to the surface, he 
 paused a moment to recover breath and collect- 
 edness ; he then caught her by the left arm, near 
 the shoulder, and cut, in a slanting direction, 
 down the stream, to a watering-place, where a 
 slope had been formed in the bank. But he was 
 already too far down to be able to work across 
 t^e stream to this point — for it was here much 
 stronger and more rapid than under the planks. 
 Instead, therefore, of reaching the slope, he found 
 himself, in spite of every effort to the contrary, 
 about a perch below it ; and except he could gain 
 this point, against the strong rush of the flood, 
 there was very little hope of being able to save 
 either her or himself — for he was now much ex- 
 hausted. 
 
 " Hitherto, therefore, all was still doubtful, 
 whilst strength was fast failing him. In this try- 
 ing and almost hopeless situation, with an admi- 
 rable presence of mind, he adopted the only ex- 
 pedient which could possibly enable him to reach
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 306 
 
 the bank. On finding himself receding down, in- 
 stead of advancing up, the current, he approached 
 the bank, which w^as here very deep and perpen- 
 dicular ; he then sank his fingers into the firm 
 blue clay with which it was stratified, and by this 
 means advanced, bit by bit, up the stream, having 
 no other force by which to propel himself against 
 it. After this mode did he breast the current 
 with all his strength — which must have been pro- 
 digious, or he never could have borne it out — 
 until he reached the slope, and got from the influ- 
 ence of the tide, into dead water. On arriving here, 
 his hand was caught by one of the young men 
 present, who stood up to the neck, waiting hi^ 
 approach. A second man stood behind him, 
 holding his other hand, a link being thus formed, 
 that reached out to the firm bank ; and a good 
 pull now brought them both to the edge of the 
 liquid. On finding bottom, John took his Col- 
 leen Galh in his own arms, carried her out, and 
 pressing his lips to hers, laid her in the bosom of 
 her father ; then after taking another kiss of the 
 young drowned flower, he burst into tears, and 
 fell powerless beside her. The truth is, the spi- 
 rit that kept him firm, was now exhausted ; both 
 his legs and arms having become nerveless by the 
 exertion. 
 
 " Hitherto lier father took no notice of John, 
 
 x2
 
 306 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 for how could he? seeing that he was entirely 
 wrapped up in his daughter; and the question 
 was, though rescued from the flood, if life was in 
 her. The sisters were by this time recovered, 
 and weeping over her, along with the father — 
 and, indeed, with all present; but the mother 
 could not be made to comprehend what they were 
 about, at all, at all. The country people used 
 every means with which they were intimate, to 
 recover Rose ; she was brought instantly to a far- 
 mer's house beside the spot, put into a warm bed, 
 covered over with hot salt, wrapped in half- 
 scorched blankets, and made subject to every 
 other mode of treatment that could possibly re- 
 voke the functions of life. John had now got a 
 dacent draught of whiskey, which revived him. 
 He stood over her, when he could be admitted, 
 watching for the symptomatics of her revival ; all, 
 however, was vain. He now determined to try 
 another course : by-and-by he stooped, put his 
 mouth to her mouth, and, drawing in his breath, 
 respired with all his force from the bottom of his 
 very heart into hers; this he did several times 
 rapidly— faith, a tender and agreeable operation, 
 any how. But mark the consequence : in less 
 than a minute her white bosom heaved — her breath 
 returned — her pulse began to play she opened
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 307 
 
 iicr eyes, and felt his tears of love raining warmly 
 on her pale cheek ! 
 
 *' For years before this, no two of these oppo- 
 site factions had spoken ; nor up to this* minute 
 had John and they, even upon this occasion, ex- 
 changed a monosyllable. The father now looked 
 at him — the tears stood afresh in his eyes; he 
 came forward — stretched out his hand — it was re- 
 ceived ; and the next moment he fell into John's 
 arms, and cried like an infant. 
 
 " When Rose recovered, she seemed as if striv- 
 ing to recordate what had happened ; and, after 
 two or three minutes, inquired from her sister, in 
 a weak but sweet voice, ' Who saved me ?' 
 
 " * 'Twas John O'Callaghan, Rose darling,' re- 
 plied the sister, in tears, ' that ventured his own 
 life into the boiling flood, to save yours — and did 
 save it, jewel.' 
 
 " Rose's eye glanced at John ; — and I only wish, 
 as I am a bachelor not further than my forty-se- 
 venth, that I may ever have the happiness to get 
 such a glance from two blue eyes, as she gave 
 him that moment ; a faint smile played about her 
 mouth, and a slight blush lit up her fair cheek, 
 like the evening sunbeams on the virgin snow, as 
 the poets have said, for the five hundreth time, 
 to my own personal knowledge. She then ex- 
 tended her hand, which John you may be sure.
 
 308 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 was no way backward in receiving, and the tears 
 fif love and gratitude ran silently down her cheeks. 
 It is not necessary to detail the circumstances 
 of this day further; let it be sufficient to say, that 
 a reconciliation took place between those two 
 branches of the O'Hallaghan and O'Callaghan fa- 
 milies, in consequence of John's heroism and 
 Rose's soft persuasion, and that there was, also, 
 every perspective of the two factions being penul- 
 timately amalgamated. For nearly a century they 
 had been pell mell at it, whenever and wherever 
 they could meet. Their forefathers, who had 
 been engaged in the law-suit about the island 
 which I have mentioned, were dead and petrified 
 in their graves ; and the little peninsula in the 
 glen was gradationally worn away by the river, 
 till nothing remained but a desert, upon a small 
 scale, of sand and gravel. Even the ruddy, able- 
 bodied Squire, with the longitudinal nose, pro- 
 jecting out of his face like a broken arch^ and 
 the small, fiery magistrate, both of whom had 
 fought the duel, for the purpose of setting forth 
 a good example, and bringing the dispute to a 
 peaceable conclusion, were also dead. The very 
 memory of the original contention had been lost, 
 (except that it was preserved along with the cra- 
 nium of my grandfather,) or became so indistinct 
 that the parties fastened themselves on some more
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 309 
 
 modern provocation, which they kept in view un- 
 til another fresh motive would start up, and so 
 on. I know not, however, whether it was fair to 
 expect them to give up at once the agreeable re- 
 creation of fighting. It's not easy to abolish old 
 customs, particularly diversions; and every one 
 knows that this is the national amusement of the 
 finest peasantry on the face of the earth . 
 
 " There were, it is true, many among both fac- 
 tions who saw the matter in this reasonable light, 
 and who wished rather, if it were to cease, that 
 it should die away by degrees, from the battle of 
 the whole parish, equally divided between the fac- 
 tions, to the subordinate row between certain 
 members of them — from that to the faint broil of 
 certain families, and so on, to the single-handed 
 play between individuals. At all events, one-half 
 of them were for peace, and two-thirds of them 
 equally divided between peace and war. 
 
 " For three months after the accident which 
 befel Rose Galh O'Hallaghan, both factions had 
 been tolentary quiet ; that is to say, they had no 
 general engagement. Some slight skirmishes cer- 
 tainly did take place on market nights, when the 
 drop was in, and the spirits up ; but in those nei- 
 ther John nor Rose's immediate families took any 
 part. The fact was, that John and Rose were on 
 the evening of matrimony ; the match had been
 
 310 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 made, the day appointed, and every other neces- 
 sary stipulation ratified. Now, John was as fine 
 a young man as you would meet in a day's tra- 
 velling ; and as for Rose her name went far and 
 near for beauty ; and with justice, for the sun 
 never shone on a fairer, meeker, or modester vir- 
 gin, than Rose Galh O'Hallaghan. 
 
 " It might be indeed that there were those on 
 both sides who thought that, if the marriage was 
 obstructed, their own sons and daughters would 
 have a better chance. Rose had many admirers ; 
 they might have envied John his happiness : many 
 fathers, on the other side, might have wished their 
 sons to succeed with Rose. Whether I am 
 sinister in this conjecture is more than I can say. 
 I grant, indeed, that a great portion of it is spe- 
 culation on my part. The wedding day, how- 
 ever, was arranged ; but, unfortunately, the fair- 
 day of Knockimdowney occurred, in the rotation 
 of natural time, precisely one week before it. I 
 know not from what motive it proceeded, but the 
 factions on both sides were never known to make 
 a more light-hearted preparation for battle. Cud- 
 gels of" all sorts and sizes, (and some of them, to 
 my own knowledge, great beauties,) were pro- 
 vided. 
 
 " I believe, I may as w ell take this opportunity 
 of saying, that real Irish cudgels must be root-
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 311 
 
 growing, either oak, black-thorn, or crab-tree — 
 although crab-tree, by the way, is apt to fly. 
 They should not be too long — three feet and a 
 few inches is an accommodating length. They 
 must be naturally top-heavy, and have around the 
 end, that is to make acquaintance with the cra- 
 nium, three or four natural lumps, calculated to 
 divide the flesh in the natest manner, and to leave, 
 if possible, the smallest taste in life of pit in the 
 skull. But if a good root-growing kippeen be 
 light at the fighting end, or possess not the proper 
 number of knobs, a hole a few inches deep, is to 
 be bored in the end, which must be filled with 
 melted lead. This gives it a widow-and-orphan- 
 making quality, a child-bereaving touch, altoge- 
 ther very desirable. If, however, the top splits 
 in the boring, which, in awkward hands, is not 
 uncommon, the defect may be remediated by 
 putting on an iron ferrule, and driving two or 
 three strong nails into it, simply to preserve it 
 from flying off; not that an Irishman is ever at a 
 loss for weapons when in a fight ; for so long as a 
 scythe, flail, spade, pitch-fork, or stone is at hand, 
 he feels quite contented with the lot of war. No 
 man, as they say of great statesmen, is more fer- 
 tile in expedients during a row ; which, by the 
 way, I take to be a good quality, at all events. 
 " I remember the fair day of Knockimdowney
 
 312 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 well : It has kept me from griddle-bread and tough 
 nutriment ever since. Hard fortune to Jack Roe 
 O'Hallaghan ! No man had better teeth than I 
 had, till I met with him that day. He fought 
 stoutly on his own side ; but he was ped then for 
 the same basting that fell to me, though not by 
 my hands : if to get his jaw dacently divided into 
 three halves could be called a fair liquidation of 
 an old debt — it was equal to twenty shillings in 
 the pound, any how. 
 
 " There had not been a larger fair in the town 
 of Knockimdowney for years. The day was dark 
 and sunless, but sultry. On looking through the 
 crowd, I could see no man without a cudgel ; 
 yet, what was strange, there was no certainty of 
 any sport. Several desultory skrimmages had lo- 
 cality ; but they were altogether sequestered from 
 the great factions of the O's. Except that it was 
 pleasant, and stirred one's blood to look at them, 
 or occasioned the cudgels to be grasped more 
 firmly, there was no personal interest felt by any 
 of us in them ; they therefore began and ended, 
 here and there, through the fair, like mere flashes 
 in the pan, dying in their own smoke. 
 
 " The blood of every prolific nation is naturally 
 hot ; but when that hot blood is inflamed by ar- 
 dent spirits, it is not to be supposed that men 
 should be cool ; and, God he knows, there is not
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 313 
 
 on the level surface of this habitable globe, a na- 
 tion that has been so thoroughly inflamed by ar- 
 denU spirits as Ireland. 
 
 " Up till four o'clock that day, the factions were 
 quiet. Several relations on both sides had been 
 invited to drink by John and Rose's families, for 
 the purpose of establishing a good feeling between 
 them. But this was, after all, hardly to be ex- 
 pected, for they hated one another with an ar- 
 dency much too good-humoured and buoyant; 
 and, between ourselves, to bring Paddy over a 
 bottle is a very equivocal mode of giving him an 
 anti-cudgelling disposition. After the hour of 
 four, several of the factions were getting very 
 friendly, which I knew at the time to be a bad 
 sign. Many of them nodded to each other, which 
 I knew to be a worse one ; and some of them 
 shook hands with the greatest cordiality, which I 
 no sooner saw, than I slipped the knot of my 
 cravat, and held myself in preparation for the 
 sport. 
 
 "I have often had occasion to remark — and few 
 men, let me tell you, had finer opportunities of 
 doing so — the differential symptomatics between 
 a Party Fight, that is, a battle between Orange- 
 men and Ribbonmen, and one between two Ro- 
 man Catholic Factions. There is something in- 
 finitely more anxious, silent, and deadly, in the
 
 314 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 compressed vengeance, and the hope of slaughter, 
 which characterize a party Jight, than is to be 
 seen in a battle between factions. The truth 
 is, the enmity is not so deep and well-grounded 
 in the latter as in the former. The feeling is not 
 political nor religious between the factions; where- 
 as, in the other, it is both, which is a mighty great 
 advantage ; for when this is adjuncted to an in- 
 tense personal hatred, and a sense of wrong, pro- 
 bably arising from a too intimate recollection of 
 the leaded black-thorn, or the awkward death of 
 some relative, by the musket, or the bayonet, it 
 is apt to produce very purty fighting, and much 
 respectable retribution. 
 
 *' In a party fight, a prophetic sense of danger 
 nangs, as it were, over the crowd — the very air 
 is loaded with apprehension ; and the vengeance 
 burst is preceded by a close, thick darkness, al- 
 most sulphury, that is more terrifical than the 
 conflict itself,- though clearly less dangerous and 
 fatal. The scowl of the opposing parties, the 
 blanched cheeks, the knit brows, and the grind- 
 ing teeth, not pretermitting the deadly gleams 
 that shoot from their kindled eyes, are ornaments 
 which a plain battle between factions cannot boast, 
 but which, notwithstanding, are very suitable to 
 the fierce and gloomy silence of that premeditated 
 vengeance, which burns with such intensity pn
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 315 
 
 the heart, and scorches up the vitals into such a 
 thirst for blood. Not but that they come by dif- 
 ferent means to the same conclusion ; because it 
 is the feeling, and not altogether the manner of 
 operation, that is different. 
 
 " Now a faction fight doesn't resemble this, at 
 all, at all. Paddy's at home here ; all song, dance, 
 good-humour, and affection. His cheek is flushed 
 with delight, which, indeed, may derive assist- 
 ance from the consciousness of having no bayo- 
 nets or loaded carabines to contend with : but, 
 any how, he's at home — his eye is lit with real 
 glee — he tosses his hat in the air, in the height 
 of mirth — and leaps, like a mountebank, two yards 
 from the ground. Tlien, with what a gracious 
 dexterity he brandishes his cudgel! — what a joy- 
 ous spirit is heard in his shout at the face of a 
 friend from another faction ! His very ' whoo !' is 
 contagious, and would make a man, that had set- 
 tled on running away, return and join the sport 
 with an appetite truly Irish. He is, in fact, while 
 under the influence of this heavenly afflatus^ in 
 love with every one, man, woman, and child. If 
 he meet his sweetheart, he will give her a kiss 
 and a hug, and that with double kindness, be- 
 cause he is on his way to thrash her father or 
 brother. It is the acumen of his enjoyment : and 
 woe be to him who will adventure to go between
 
 316 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 him and his amusements. To be sure, skulls and 
 bones are broken, and lives lost ; but they are 
 lost in pleasant fighting — they are the consequen- 
 ces of the sport, the beauty of which consists in 
 breaking as many heads and necks as you can ; 
 and certainly when a man enters into the spirit of 
 any exercise, there is nothing like elevating him- 
 self to the point of excellence. Then a man 
 ought never to be disheartened. If you lose this 
 game, or get your head good-humourly beaten to 
 pieces, why you may win another, or your friends 
 may mollify two or three skulls as a set off to 
 yours ; — but that is nothing. 
 
 "When the evening became more advanced, 
 maybe, considering the poor look up there was 
 for any thing like decent sport — maybe, in the 
 early part of the day, it wasn't the delightful 
 sight to see the boys on each side of the two great 
 factions, beginning to get frolicksome. Majflpe the 
 songs and the shouting, when they began, hadn't 
 melody and music in them, any how ! People may 
 talk about harmony ; but what harmony is equal 
 to that in which five or six hundred men sing and 
 shout, and leap and caper at each other, as a pre- 
 lude to neighbourly fighting, where they beat time 
 upon the drums of each others ears and heads with 
 oak drum-sticks ? That's an Irishman's music ; 
 and hard fortune to the garran that wouldn't have
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 317 
 
 friendship and kindness in him to join and play 
 a stave along with them ! * Whoo I your sowl ! 
 Hurroo ! Success to our side ! Hi for the O'Cal- 
 
 laghans ! Where's the blackguard to ,' I beg 
 
 pardon, decent reader — I forgot myself for a mo- 
 ment, or rather I got new life in me, for I am 
 nothing at all at all for the last five months — a 
 kind of nonentity I may say, ever since that va- 
 gabond Burgess occasioned me to pay a visit to 
 my distant relations, till my friends get that Icist 
 matter of the collar-bone settled. 
 
 " The impulse vfhich. faction fighting gives trade 
 and business in Ireland is truly surprising ; where- 
 as party fighting depreciates both. As soon as it 
 is perceived that a party fight is to be expected, 
 all buying and selling are suspended for the day 
 and those who are not up,^ and even many who 
 are, take themselves and their property home as 
 quieJcly as may be convenient. But in 21. faction 
 fight, as soon as there is any perspective of a row, 
 depend upon it, there is quick work at all kinds 
 of negociation ; and truly there is nothing like 
 brevity and decision in buying and selling ; for 
 which reason faction fighting, at all events, if only 
 for the sake of national prosperity, should be en- 
 couraged and kept up. 
 
 * Initiated into Whiteboyism.
 
 318 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTION'S. 
 
 " Towards five o'clock, if a man was placed on 
 an exalted station, so that he could look at the 
 crowd, and wasnt able to Jight, he could have 
 seen much that a man might envy him for. Here 
 a hat went up, or maybe a dozen of them ; then 
 followed a general huzza. On the other side, two 
 dozen caubeens sought the sky, like so many 
 scaldy crows attempting their own element for 
 the first time, only they were not so black. Then 
 another shout, which was answered by that of 
 their friends on the opposite side ; so that you 
 would hardly know which side huzzaed loudest, 
 tiie blending of both was so truly symphonious. 
 Now there was a shout for the face of an O'CaJ- 
 laghan : this was prosecuted on the very heels by 
 another for the face of an O'Hallaghan. Imme- 
 diately a man of the O'Hallaglian side doffed his 
 tattered frieze, and catching it by tlie very extre- 
 mity of the sleeve, drew it with a tact, known 
 only by an initiation of half a dozen street days, 
 up the pavement after him. On the instant, a 
 blade from the O'Callaghan side peeled with equal 
 alacrity, and stretching his home-made at full 
 length after him, proceeded triumphantly up the 
 street, to meet the other. 
 
 " Tliundher-an-ages, what's this for, at all, at 
 all I I wish I hadn't begun to manuscript an ac- 
 count of it, any how ; 'tis like a hungry man
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 319 
 
 dreaming of a good dinner at a feast, and after- 
 vards awaking and finding his front ribs and 
 back-bone on the point of union. Reader, is that 
 a black-thorn you carry — tut, where is my ima- 
 gination bound for ? to meet the other, I say. 
 
 "Where's the rascally O'Callaghan that will 
 place his toe or his shillely on this frieze?* 'Is 
 there no blackguard O'Hallaghan jist to look 
 criLcked at the coat of an O'Callaghan, or say- 
 black's the white of his eye ?' 
 
 " ' Throth and there is, Ned, avourneen, that 
 same on the sod here.' 
 
 « ' Is that Barney ?* 
 
 " ' The same, Ned, ma bouchal — and how is 
 your mother's son, Ned?' 
 
 "*In good health at the present time, thank 
 God and you ; how is yourself, Barney ?' 
 
 " ' Can't complain as time goes; only take this, 
 any how, to mend your health, ma bouchal.* 
 (Whack.) 
 
 " ' Success, Barney, and here's at your sarvice, 
 avick, not making little of what I got — any way' 
 — (crack.) 
 
 " About five o'clock on a May evening, in 
 the fair of Knockimdowney, was the ice i\ 
 broken, with all possible civility, by Ned and Bar- 
 ney. The next moment a general rush toojt^ 
 place towards the scene of action, and ere yjorut) \ X? V
 
 320 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 could bless yourself, Barney and Ned were both 
 down, weltering in their own and each other's 
 blood. I scarcely know, indeed, though with a 
 mighty respectable quota of experimentality my- 
 self, how to describe what followed. For the 
 first twenty minutes the general harmony of this 
 fine row might be set to music, according to a 
 scale something like this : — Whick whack — crick 
 crack — whick whack — crick crack — &c. &c. &c. 
 
 * Here yer sowl — (crack) there yer sowl- — 
 
 whack.) Whoo for the O'Hallaghans !' — (crack, 
 crack, crack.) ' Hurroo for the O'Callaghans ! 
 — (whack, whack, whack.) The O'Callaghans for 
 ever I'- — (whack.) * The O'Hallaghans for ever!* 
 — (crack.) *Murther! murtherl — (crick, crack) 
 — foul ! foul I— (whick, whack.) Blood and turf! 
 
 (whack, whick) tunther-an-ouns' (crack, 
 
 crick.) ' Hurroo ! my darlings ! handle your kip- 
 peens— (crack, crack)— — the O'Hallaghans are 
 
 going !' (whack, whack.) 
 
 " You are to suppose them here to have been 
 at it for about half an hour. 
 
 " Whack, crack — ' Oh — oh — oh ! have mercy 
 upon me, boys — (crack— a shriek of murther ! 
 
 murther ! — crack, crack, whack) my life 
 
 — my life- (crack, crack — whack, whack) 
 
 oh ! for the sake of the living Father ! — for the
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 321 
 
 sake of my wife and childlier, Ned Hallaghan, 
 spare my life.' 
 
 " ' So we will, but take this, aay how'— (whacky 
 crack, whack, crack.) 
 
 « < Oh ! for the love of God don't kill " 
 
 (whack, crack, whack.) * Oh !' ^ ' (crack, crack, 
 w h ack-- dies. ) 
 
 *' ' Huzza ! huzza ! huzza !' from the O'Halla- 
 ghans. * Bravo, boys ! there's one of them done 
 for : whoo ! my darlings-^hurroo ! the O'Halla- 
 ghans for ever!' 
 
 " The scene now changes to the O'Callaghan 
 side. 
 
 ** 'Jack — Oh, Jack, avourneen — hell to their 
 so wis for murdherers — Paddy's killed — his skull's 
 smashed I — Revinge, boys, Paddy O'Callaghan's 
 killed ! On with you, O'Callaghans — on with you 
 —on with you, Paddy O'Callaghan's murdhered 
 — take to the stones — that's it — k-eep it up — down 
 with him I Success ! — he's the bloody villain that 
 didn't show him marcy — that's it. Tundher-an'- 
 ouns, is it laving him that way you are afther— * 
 let me at him !' 
 
 " 'Here's a stone, Tom I' 
 
 " * No, no, this stick has the lead in it-^it'U do 
 liim, never fear !' 
 
 " * Let him alone, Barney, he got enough,' 
 
 ** * By the powdhers, it's myself that won't ;
 
 322 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 didn't he kill Paddy? — (crack, crack.) Take 
 that, you murdhering thief I' — (whack, whack.) 
 
 *0h ! — (whack, crack) — my head — I'm kill- 
 ed — I'm' — (crack — kicks the bucket.) 
 
 " ' Now, your sowl, that does you, any way— 
 (crack, whack) — hurro ! — huzza I — huzza I Man 
 for man, boys — an O'Hallaghan's done for — whoo I 
 for our side — tol-deroll, lol-deroll, tow, row, row 
 — huzza ! — huzza! — tol-deroll, lol-deroll, tow, row, 
 row — huzza I for the O'Callaghans.* 
 
 " From this moment the battle became delight- 
 ful ; it was now pelt and welt on both sides, but 
 many of the kippeens were broken — many of the 
 boys had their fighting arms disabled by a dislo- 
 cation, or bit of fracture, and those weren't equal 
 to more than daing a little upon such as were 
 down. 
 
 " In the midst of "the din, such a dialogue as 
 this might be heard : — 
 
 " * Larry, you're after being done for, for this 
 day.' (Whack, crack.) 
 
 " * Only an eye gone — is that Mickey ?' (whick, 
 whack, crick, crack.) 
 
 " < That's it, my darlings ! — you may say that, 
 Larry — 'tis my mother's son that's in it — (crack, 
 crack, a general huzza:) (Mickey and Larry) 
 huzza I huzza ! huzza for the O'Hallaghans I — 
 What have you got, Larry?' — (cracky crack.)
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 323 
 
 '* * Only the bone of my arm, God be praised 
 for it, verypurtily snapt across !' — (whack, whack.) 
 
 " 'Is that all ? Well, some people have luck !' 
 — (crack, crack, crack.) 
 
 " ' Why, I've no reason to complain, thank 
 God — (whack, crack) — purty play that, any way 
 — Paddy O'Callaghan's settled — did you hear it ? 
 — (whack, whack, another shout) — That's it, boys 
 — handle the shilleleys ! — Success O'Hallaghans 
 — down with the bloody O'Callaghans I' 
 
 " ' I did hear it : so is Jem O'Hallaghan — 
 (crack, whack, whack, crack) — you're not able 
 to get up, I see — tare-an'-ounty, isn't it a pleasure 
 to hear that play? — What ails you ?' 
 
 " ' Oh, Larry, I'm in great pain, and getting 
 very weak, entirely' — (faints.) 
 
 " * Faix, and he's settled, too, I'm thinking.' 
 
 " * Oh, murdher, my arm !' (One of the O'Cal- 
 laghans attacks him — crack, crack) — 
 
 " 'Take that, you bagabone !' — (whack, whack.) 
 
 " ' Murdher, murdher, is it striking a dovm 
 man you're after ? — foul, foul, and my arm broke !' 
 — (Crack, crack.) 
 
 " ' Take that, with what you got before, and 
 it'll ase you, maybe.' 
 
 " (A party of the O'Hallaghans attack the man 
 who is beating him.)
 
 324 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 "* Murdher, murdherl' — (crack, whack, whack, 
 crack, crack, whack.) 
 
 " * Lay on him, your sowls to pirdition — lay on 
 him, hot and heavy — give it to him I He sthrucK 
 me and me down wid my broken arm !' 
 
 " ' Foul, ye thieves of the world I — (from the 
 O'Callaghan) — foul I — live against one — give me 
 fair play ! — (crack, crack, crack) — Oh ! — (whack) 
 — Oh, oh, oh !' — (falls senseless, covered with 
 blood.) 
 
 "*Ha, hell's cure to you, you bloody thief ; 
 you did'nt spare me, with my arm broke. — 
 (Another general shout.) *Bad end to it, isn't 
 it a poor case entirely, that I can't even throw 
 up my caubesn, let alone join in the divarsion.' 
 
 " Both parties now rallied, and ranged them- 
 selves along the street, exhibiting a firm, com- 
 pact phalanx, wedged close against each other, 
 almost foot to foot. The mass was thick and 
 dense, and the tug of conflict stiff, wild, and 
 savage. Much natural skill and dexterity 
 were displayed in their mutual efforts to pre- 
 serve their respective ranks unbroken, and as 
 the sallies and charges were made on both 
 sides, the temporary rush, the indentation 
 of the multitudinous body, and the rebound 
 into its original position, gave an undulating 
 appearance to the compact mass — reeking,
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 325 
 
 dragging, groaning, and huzzaing — as it was, that 
 resembled the serpentine motion of a rushing wa- 
 ter-spout in the cloud. 
 
 " The women now began to take part with their 
 brothers and sweethearts. Those who had no ba- 
 chelors among the opposite factions, fought along 
 with their brothers ; others did not scruple even 
 to assist in giving their enamoured swains the fa- 
 ther of a good beating. Many, however, were 
 more faithful to love than to natural affection, and 
 these sallied out, like heroines, under the banners 
 of their sweethearts, fighting with amazing prowess 
 against their friends and relations ; nor was it at 
 all extraordinary to see two sisters engaged on 
 opposite sides — perhaps tearing each other, as, 
 with dishevelled hair^ they screamed with a fury 
 that was truly exemplary. Indeed it is no untruth 
 to assert, that the women do much valuable exe- 
 cution. Their manner of fighting is this — as soon 
 as the fair one decides upon taking a part in the 
 row, she instantly takes off her apron or her stock- 
 ing, stoops down, and lifting the first four pounder 
 she can get, puts it in the corner of her apron, or 
 the foot of her stocking, if it has a foot, and 
 marching into the scene of action, lays about her 
 right and left. Upon my credibility, they are ex- 
 tremely useful and handy, and can give migh- 
 ty nate knockdowns — inasmuch as no guard that
 
 326 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 a man is acquainted with can ward off their blows. 
 Nay, what is more, it often happens, when a son- 
 in-law is in a faction against his father-in-law and 
 his wife's people generally, that if he and his wife's 
 brother meet, the wife will clink him with the pet 
 in her apron, downing her own husband with 
 great skill, for it is not always that marriage ex- 
 tinguishes the hatred of factions ; and very often 
 'tis the brother that is humiliated. 
 
 " Up to the death of these two men, John 
 O'Callaghan and Rose's father, together with a 
 large party of their friends on both sides, were 
 drinking in a public-house, determined to take no 
 portion in the fight, at all, at all. Poor Rose, 
 when she heard the shouting and terrible strokes, 
 got as pale as death, and sat close to John, whose 
 hand she captured in hers, beseeching him, and 
 looking up in his face with the most imploring 
 sincerity as she spoke, not to go out among them ; 
 the tears falling all the time from her fine eyes, 
 the mellow flashes of which, when John's plea- 
 santry in soothing her would seduce a smile, went 
 into his very heart. But when, on looking out of 
 the window where they sat, two of the opposing 
 factions heard that a man on each side was killed ; 
 and when, on ascertaining the names of the indi- 
 viduals, and of those who murdered them, it turn- 
 ed out that one of the murdered men was brother
 
 ' THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 327 
 
 to a person in the room, and his murderer uncle 
 to one of those in the window, it was not in the 
 power of man or woman to keep them asunder, 
 particularly as they were all rather advanced in 
 liquor. In an instant the friends of the murdered 
 man made a rush to the Mdndow, before any pa- 
 cifiers had time to get between them, and catch- 
 ing the nephew of him who had committed the 
 murder, hurled him head-foremost upon the stone 
 pavement, where his skull was dashed to pieces, 
 and his brains scattered about the flags ! 
 
 " A general attack instantly took place in the 
 room, between the two factions ; but the apart- 
 ment was too low and crowded to permit of pro- 
 per fighting, so they rushed out to the street, 
 shouting and yelling, as they do when the battle 
 comes to the real point of doing business. As 
 soon as it was seen that the heads of the O'Cal- 
 lagans and O'Hallaghans were at work as well as 
 the rest, the fight was re-commenced with re-tre- 
 bled spirit ; but when the mutilated body of the 
 man who had been flung from the window, was 
 observed lying in a pool of his own proper brains 
 and blood, such a cry arose among his friends, 
 as would cake"^ the vital fluid in the veins of any 
 one not a party in the quarrel. Now was the 
 
 • Harden. 
 VOL. I.
 
 328 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 ^ork — the moment of interest — men and women 
 groaning, staggering, and lying insensible ; others 
 shouting, leaping, and huzzaing ; some singing, 
 and not a few ajble-bodied spalpeens blurting, like 
 overgrown children, on seeing their own blood ; 
 many raging and roaring about like bulls ; — all 
 this formed such a group as a faction fight, and 
 notliing else, could represent. 
 
 " The battle now blazed out afresh ; all kinds of 
 instruments were now pressed into the service. 
 Some got flails, some spades, some shovels, and 
 one man got his hands upon a scythe, with which, 
 unquestionably, he would have taken more lives 
 tlian one ; but, very fortunately, as he sallied out 
 to join the crowd, he was politely visited in the 
 back of the head by a brick-bat, which had a 
 mighty convincing way with it of giving him a 
 peaceable disposition, for he instantly lay down, 
 and did not seem at all anxious as to the result of 
 the battle. The O'Hallaghans were now compel- 
 led to give way, owing principally to the intro- 
 vention of John O'Callaghan, who, although he 
 was as good as sworn to take no part in the con- 
 test, was compelled to fight merely to protect 
 himself. But, blood-and-turf ! when he did be- 
 gin, he was dreadful. As soon as his party saw 
 him engaged, they took fresh courage, and in a 
 short time made the O'Hallaghans retreat up the
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 329 
 
 tehurch-yard. I never saw any thing equal to 
 John ; he absolutely sent them down in dozens : 
 and when a man would give him any inconveni- 
 ence with the stick, he would down him with the 
 fist, for right and left were all alike to him. Poor 
 Rose's brother and he met, both roused like two 
 lions; but when John saw who it was, he held 
 back his hand : — 
 
 " ' No, Tom,' says he, *ril not strike you, for 
 Rose's sake. I'm not fighting through ill will to 
 you or your family ; so take another direction, for 
 I can't strike you.' 
 
 " The blood, however, was unfortunately up in 
 Tom. 
 
 " ' We'll decide it now,' said he ; * I'm as good 
 a man as you, O'Callaghan; and let me whisper 
 this in your ear — you'll never warm the one bed 
 with Rose, while God's in heaven — it's past that 
 now — there can be nothing but blood between 
 us !' 
 
 " At this juncture two of the O'Callaghans ran 
 with their shillelaghs up, to beat down Tom on 
 the spot. 
 
 " ' Stop, boys !' said John, < you musn't touch 
 him ; he had no hand in the quarrel. Go, boys, 
 if you respect me ; lave him to myself.* 
 
 " The boys withdrew to another part of the fight ; 
 and the next instant Tom struck the verv man
 
 330 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 that interfered to save him, across the temple, and 
 cut him severely. John put his hand up, and 
 staggered. 
 
 " * I'm sorry for this,* he observed ; * but it's 
 now self-defence with me ;' and, at the same mo- 
 ment, with one blow, he left Tom O'Hallaghan 
 stretched insensible on the street. 
 
 " On the O'Hallaghans being driven to the 
 church-yard, they were at a mighty great incon- 
 venience for weapons. Most of them had lost 
 their sticks, it being a usage in fights of this kind, 
 to twist the cudgels from the grasp of the beaten 
 men, to prevent them from rallying. They soon, 
 however, furnished themselves with the best they 
 could find, videlicet, the skull, leg, thigh, and arm 
 bones, which they found lying about the grave- 
 yard. This was a new species of weapon, for 
 which the majority of the O'Callaghans were 
 scarcely prepared. Out they sallied in a body — 
 some with these, others with stones, and, making 
 fierce assault upon their enemies, absolutely druv 
 them back — not so much by the damage they 
 were doing, as by the alarm and terror which 
 these unexpected species of missiles excited. 
 
 " At this moment, notwithstanding the fatality 
 that had taken place, nothing could be more truly 
 comical and facetious than the appearance of the 
 field of battle. Skulls were flying in every di*
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 331 
 
 rection — so tliick, indeed, that it might with truth 
 be asseverated, that many who were petrified in 
 the dust, had their skulls broken in this great 
 battle between the factions. — God help poor Ire- 
 land ! when its inhabitants are so pugnacious, that 
 even the grave is no security against getting their 
 crowns cracked, and their bones fractured ! Well, 
 any how, skulls and bones flew in every direc- 
 tion ; stones and brick-bats were also put in mo- 
 tion; spades, shovels, loaded whips, pot-sticks, 
 churn-staffs, flails, and all kinds of available wea- 
 pons were in hot employment. 
 
 " But, perhaps, there was nothing more truly 
 felicitous or original in its way, than the mode of 
 warfare adopted by little Neal Malone, who was 
 tailor for the O'Callaghan side ; for every trades- 
 man is obliged to fight on behalf of his own fac- 
 tion. Big Frank Farrell, the miller, being on the 
 O'Hallaghan side, had been sent for, and came 
 up from his mill behind the town, quite fresh. He 
 was never what could be called a good man,* 
 though it was said that he could lift ten hundred 
 weight. He puffed forward with a great cudgel, 
 determined to commit slaughter out of the face, 
 and the first man he met was the weeshy fraction 
 of a tailor, as nimble as a hare. He immdiately 
 
 • A brave man.
 
 332 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 attacked him, and would probably have taken his 
 measure for life, had not the tailor's activity pro- 
 tected him. Farrell was in a rage; and Neal, 
 taking advantage of his blind fury, slipt round 
 liim, and, with a short run, sprung upon the mil- 
 ler's back, and planted a foot upon the threshold 
 of each coat pocket, holding by the mealy collar 
 of his waistcoat. In this position he belaboured 
 the miller's face and ej^es with his little hard fist, 
 to such purpose, that he had him in the course of 
 a few minutes nearly as blind as a mill-horse. 
 The miller roared for assistance, but the pell-mell 
 was going on too warmly for his cries to be avail- 
 able. In fact, he resembled an elephant with a 
 monkey on his back. 
 
 " < How do you like that, Farrell ?' Neal would 
 say — giving him a cuff; ' and that, and that — but 
 that is best of all. Take it again, gudgeon — (two 
 cuffs more) — here's grist for you — (half a dozen 
 additional) hard fortune to you ! (Crack, crack). 
 What ! going to lie down ! by all that's terrible, 
 if you do, I'll annigulate* you. Here's a dhuragh,\ 
 
 * Annihilate — Many of the jawbreakers — and this was cer- 
 tainly such in a double sense — used by the Hedge-School- 
 masters, are scattered among the people by whom they are so 
 twisted, that it would be extremely difficult to recognize 
 them. 
 
 f Dhuragh — An additional portion of any thing thrown in
 
 THE BATTLE OP THE FACTIONS. 333 
 
 (another half dozen) — long measure, you savage 
 — the bakers dozen, you baste ; there's five-an'» 
 twenty to the score, Sampson, and one or two 
 in.' (Crack, whack). 
 
 " < Oh! murther sheeiy!' shouted the miller 
 
 — < murther-an-age, I'm kilt foul play ! foul 
 
 play!' 
 
 " * You lie, big Nebuchodonosor, it's not — this 
 is all fair play, you big baste — ^-fmr play, Samp- 
 son : by the same a-token, here's to jog your me- 
 mory that it's the Fair day of Knockimdowney ; 
 Irish Fair play, you whale — but I'll whale you' 
 — (crack, crack, whack). 
 
 " ' Oh — oh !' shouted the miller. 
 
 " * Oh — oh ! is it ? oh, if I had my scissors 
 here, till I'd clip your ears off, wouldn't I be the 
 happy man, any how ? you swab, you' — (whack, 
 whack, crack.) 
 
 " ' Mur;.\ier — murther — murther !' — shouted the 
 miller — ' i? there no help ?' 
 
 " ' Help; is it ? you may say that — (crack, 
 crack) ; there's a trifle — a small taste in the milling 
 style, you know ; and here goes to dislodge a 
 
 from a spirit of generosity, after the measure agreed on is 
 given. When the miller, for instance, receives his toll, the 
 country people usually throw in several handsfuU of meal as 
 a DhtM-agh*
 
 S34 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 grinder. Did ye ever hear of the tailor on horse- 
 back, Sampson ? eh ? — (whack, whack) : did you 
 ever expect to see a tailor o' horse-back of your- 
 self, you baste — (crack). I tell you, if you offer 
 to lie down, I'll annigulate you out o' the face.' 
 
 " Never, indeed, was a miller, before or since, 
 so well dusted ; and I dare say Neal would have 
 rode him long enough, but for an O'Hallaghan, 
 who had gone into one of the houses to procure 
 a weapon. This man was nearly as original in 
 his choice of one, as the tailor in the position 
 which he selected for beating the miller. On en- 
 tering the kitchen, he found that he had been 
 anticipated ; there was neither tongs, poker, nor 
 churn-staff; nor, in fact, anything wherewith he 
 could assault his enemies ; all had been carried 
 off by others. There was, however, a goose in 
 the action of being roasted on a spit at the fire : 
 this was enough ; honest O'Hallaghan saw nothing 
 but the spit, which he accordingly seized, goose 
 and all, making the best of his way, so armed, to 
 the scene of battle. He just came out of an entry 
 as the miller was once more roaring for assistance, 
 and, to a dead certainty, would have spitted the 
 tailor like a cock sparrow against the miller's car- 
 case, had not his activity once more saved him. 
 Unluckily, the unfortunate miller got the thrust 
 behind, which was intended for Neal, and roared
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 335 
 
 like a bull. He was beginning to shout *foul 
 play,' again, when on turning round, he perceived 
 that the thrust had not been intended for him, 
 but for the tailor. 
 
 " * Give me that spit,' said he ; * by all the 
 mills that ever were turned, I'll spit the tailor this 
 blessed minute beside the goose, and we'll roast 
 them both together.' 
 
 " The other refused to part with the spit ; but 
 the miller, seizing the goose, flung it with all his 
 force after the tailor, who stooped, however, and 
 avoided the blow. 
 
 " * No man has a better right to the goose 
 than the tailor,' said Neal, as he took it up, and, 
 disappearing, neither he nor the goose could be 
 seen for the remainder of the day. 
 
 " The battle was now somewhat abated. Skulls, 
 
 and bones, and bricks, and stones, were, however, 
 
 still flying ; so that it might be truly said, the 
 
 bones of contention were numerous. The streets 
 
 presented a woeful spectacle : men were lying 
 
 with their bones broken — others, though not so 
 
 seriously injured, lappered in their blood — some 
 
 were crawling up, but were instantly knocked 
 
 down by their enemies — some were leaning against 
 
 the waMs, or groping their way silently along 
 
 them, endeavouring to escape observation, lest 
 voL.i. 2 4
 
 336 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 Ihey might be smashed down and altogether mur- 
 dered. Wives were sitting with the bloody heads 
 of their husbands in their laps, tearing their hair, 
 weeping, and cursing, in all the gall of wrath, 
 those who left them in such a state. Daughters 
 performed the same offices to their fathers, and 
 sisters to their brothers; not pretermitting those 
 who did not neglect their broken-pated bachelors, 
 to whom they paid equal attention. Yet was the 
 scene not without abundance of mirth. Many a 
 hat was thrown up by the O'Callaghan side, who 
 certainly gained the day. Many a song was raised 
 by those who tottered about with trickling sconces, 
 half drunk with whiskey, and half stupid with 
 beating. Many a ' whoo,' and ' hurroo,* and 
 ' huzza,' was sent forth by the triumphanters ; 
 but truth to tell, they were miserably feeble and 
 faint, compared to what they had been in the be- 
 ginning of the amusement — sufficiently evincing 
 that, although they might boast of the name of 
 victory, they had got a bellyful of beating ; — still 
 there was hard fighting. 
 
 " I mentioned, some time ago, that a man had 
 adopted a scythe. I wish from my heart there 
 had been no such bloody instrument there that 
 day ; but truth must be told. John O'Callaghan 
 was now engaged against a set of the other O's,
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 337 
 
 who had rallied for the third time, and attacked 
 him and his party. Another brother of Rose 
 Galh's was in this engagement, and him did John 
 O'Callaghan not only knock down, but cut despe- 
 rately across the temple. A man, stripped, and 
 covered with blood and dust, at that moment 
 made his appearance, his hand bearing the blade 
 of the aforesaid scythe. His approach was at 
 once furious and rapfd — and I may as well add, 
 fatal ; for before John O'Callaghan had time to be 
 forwamed of his danger, he was cut down, the 
 artery of his neck laid open, and he died without 
 a groan. It was truly dreadful, even to the oldest 
 fighter present, to see the strong rush of red blood 
 that curvaited about his neck, until it gurgled — 
 gurgled — gurgled, and lappered, and bubbled out 
 —ending in small red spouts, blackening and 
 blackening, as they became fainter and more 
 faint. At this criticality, every eye was turned 
 from the corpse to the murderer; but he had 
 been instantly struck down, and a female with a 
 large stone in her apron, stood over him, her 
 arms stretched out, her face horribly distorted 
 with agony, and her eyes turned backwards, as 
 it were, into her head. In a few seconds she fell 
 into strong convulsions, and was immediately ta- 
 ken away. Alas ! alas I it was Rose Galh ; and
 
 338 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 
 
 when we looked at the man she had struck down, 
 he was found to be her brother I flesh of her flesh, 
 and blood of her blood ! — On examining him more 
 closely, we discovered that his under-jaw hung 
 loose, that his limbs were supple ; we tried to 
 make him speak, but in vain — he too was a 
 corpse. 
 
 " The fact was, that in consequence of his 
 being stripped, and covered by so much blood 
 and dust, she knew him not; and, impelled by 
 her feelings to avenge herself on the murderer of 
 her lover, to whom she doubly owed her life, she 
 struck him a deadly blow, without knowing him 
 to be her brother. The shock produced by see- 
 ing her lover murdered — and the horror of finding 
 that she herself in avenging him, had taken her 
 brother's life, was too much for a heart so tender 
 as hers. On recovering from her convulsions, her 
 senses were found to be gone for ever! Poor 
 girl ! she is still living ; but from that moment to 
 this, she has never opened her lips to mortal. 
 She is, indeed, a fair ruin, but silent, melancholy, 
 and beautiful as the moon in the summer heaven. 
 Poor Rose Galh ! you, and many a mother, and 
 father, and wife, and orphan, have had reason to 
 maledict the bloody Battles of the Factions ! 
 
 << With regard to my grandfather, he says that
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE FACTIONS. 339 
 
 he didn't see purtier lighting within his own me- 
 mory ; not since the fight between himself and 
 Big Mucklemurray took place in the same town. 
 But, to do him justice, he condemns the scythe, 
 and every other weapon except the cudgels ; be- 
 cause, he says, that if they continue to be resorted 
 to, nate fighting will be altogether forgotten in 
 the country." 
 
 END OP VOL. In
 
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 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
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