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LEGENDS AND STORIES
IRELAND.
SAMUEL LOVER,
AUTHOR OF " HA?fDY ANDY," " irE WOULD BE A GENTLEMAN', ETC., ETC.
IBigfjtt) ISfcttion.
LONDON : CHAPMAN AND HALL,
193, PICCADILLY.
CONTENTS.
Page
King O'Toole and Saint Kevin— A Legend of Glendalough .. ]
Lough Corrib .. .. .. .. .. 13
MS. from the cabinet of Mrs. .. .. .. 14
The White Trout — A Legend of Cong .. .. .. 23
The Battle of the Berrins ,. .. , ..32
Father Roach . . . . . . . . . . . . 45
The Priest's Stoiy .. .. .. .. .. 50
The King and the Bishop — A Legend of Clonmacnoise . . 59
An Essay on Fools .. .. .. .. .. 73
The Devil's Mill . . . . . , . . . . 80
The Gridiron .. .. .. .. .. ..91
Paddy the Piper . . . . . . . . . . 101
The Priest's Ghost .. .. .,. ... ..112
New Potatoes — An Irish Melody .. .. .. 117
Paddy the Sport . . , . . . . . 125
Ballads and Ballad-Singers .. .. .. .. 147
Barny O'Rierdon, the Navigator.
Chap. I. — Outward-bound ,. .. .. .. 169
II. — Homeward-bound . . . . . . 189
The Burial of the Tithe . . . . . . . . 2U
The White Horse of the Peppers. A Legend of the Boyne.
Chap. I. .. .. .. .. ... ..242
II.— The Legend of the Little Weaver of Duleek
Gate. A Tale of Chivalry .. .. 274
III. — Conclusion of the White Horse of the Peppers 288
The Curse of Kishogue. — The Sheebeen House . . . . 297
Introduction . . . . . . 307
The Curse . . . . . . 309
The Fairy Finder . . . . . . . . S18
The Spanish Boar and the Irish Bull. A Zoological Puzzle 841
Little Fairly .. .. .. .. .. .. 351
«5udy of Roundwood .. .. ,. .. ,. 381
Hegcntis ann Stories?.
KINa O'TOOLE AND ST. KEVIN.
A LEGEND OF GLENDAMTTGH.
"By that lake, whose gloomy shore Sky-lark never warbles o'er, Where the cliff hangs high and steep, Young Saint Kevin stole to sleep."
Moore.
Who has not read of St. Kevin, celebrated as he has been by Moore in the melodies of his native land, with •whose wild and impassioned music he has so intimately entwined his name ? Through him, in the beautiful ballad whence the epigraph of this story is quoted, the world already knows that the sky lark, through the intervention of the saint, never startles the morning with its joyous note in the lonely valley of Grlendalough. In the same ballad, the unhappy passion which the saint inspired, and the " unholy blue " eyes of Kathleen, and the melancholy fate of the heroine by the saint's being " unused to the melting mood," are also celebrated ; as well as the superstitious finale of the legend, in the spectral appearance of the love-lorn maiden : —
" And her ghost was seen to glide Gently o'er the fatal tide."
2 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
Thus has Moore given, within the limits of a ballad, the spirit of two legends of Glendalough, which other- wise the reader might have been put to the trouble of reaching after a more round-about fashion. But luckily for those coming after him, one legend he has left to be
" touched by a hand more unworthy "~
and instead of a lyrical essence, the raw material in prose is offered, nearly verbatim as it was furnished to me by that celebrated guide and bore, Joe Irwin, who traces his descent in a direct line from the old Irish kings, and warns the public in general that " there's a power of them spalpeens sthravaigin' about, sthrivin' to put their comether upon the quol'ty, (quality*,) and callin' themselves Irwin (knowin', the thieves o' the world, how his name had gone far and near, as the rale guide), for to deceave dacent people ; but never to b'lieve the likes — for it was only mulvatherin people they wor." For my part, I promised never to put faith in any but himself; and the old rogue's self-love being satis- fied, we set out to explore the wonders of Glendalough. On arriving at a small ruin, situated on the south- eastern side of the lake, my guide assumed an air of importance, and led me into the ivy-covered remains, through a small square doorway, whose simple structure gave evidence of its early date ; a lintel of stone lay across two upright supporters after the fashion of such remains in Ireland.
" This Sir," said my guide, putting himself in an attitude, "is the chapel of King O'Toole — av coorse y'iv often heerd o' King O'Toole, your honour ?"
"Never," said I.
" Musha, thin, do you tell me so 1" said he ; " by Gor, I thought all the world, far and near, heerd o' King O'Toole — well ! well ! ! but the darkness of man-
• The Irish peasantry very generally call the higher orders " quality."
KING O'TOOLE AND ST. KEVIN. 3
kind is ontellible. Well, Sir, you must know as you didn't hear it afore, that there was wanst a king, called King O'Toole, who was a fine ould king in the ould ancient times, long ago ; and it was him that owned the Churches in the airly clays."
" Surely," said I, " the Churches were not in King O'Toole's time ?"
" Oh, by no manes, your honor — throth, it's yourself that's right enough there ; but you know the place is called ' The Churches,' bekase they wor built afther by St. Kavin, and wint by the name o' the Churches iver more; and, therefore, av coorse, the place bein' so called, I say that the king owned the Churches — and why not, Sir, seem' 'twas his birthright, time out o' mind, beyant the flood ? Well, the king, you see, was the right sort — he was the rale boy, and loved sport as he loved his life, and huntin' in partic'lar ; and from the risin' o' the sun, up he got, and away he wint over the mountains beyant afther the deer : and the fine times them wor ; for the deer was as plinty thin, aye throth, far plintyer than the sheep is now ; and that's the way it was with the king, from the crow o' the cock to the song o' the redbreast.
" In this counthry, Sir," added he, speaking paren- thetically in an under tone, " we think it onlooky to kill the redbreast, for the robin is Gcd's own bird."
Then, elevating his voice to its former pitch, he pro- ceeded : —
" Well, it was all mighty good, as long as the king had his health ; but, you see, in coorse o' time, the king grewn owld, by raison he was stiff in his limbs, and when he got sthriken in years, his heart failed him, and he was lost intirely for want o' divarshin. bekase he couldn't go a huntin' no longer ; and, by dad, the poor king was obleeged at last for to get a goose to divart him."
Here an involuntary smile was produced by this regal mode of recreation, " the royal game of goose."
4 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
" Oil, you may laugh, if you like," said he, half- affronted, " hvty it's thruth I'm tellin' you ; and the way the goose divarted him was this-a-way : you see, the goose used for to swim acrass the lake, and go down divin for throut (and not finer throut in all Ireland, than the same throut), and cotch fish on a Friday for the king, and flew every other day round about the lake divartin* the poor king, that you'd think he'd break his sides laughin' at the frolicksome tricks av his goose ; so, in coorse o' time, the goose was the greatest pet in the counthry, and the biggest rogue, and divarted the king to no end, and the poor king was as happy as the day was long. So that's the way it was ; and all went on mighty Avell, antil, by dad, the goose got sthricken in years, as well as the king, and grewn stiff in the limbs, like her masther, and couldn't divart him no longer; and then it was that the poor king was lost complate, and didn't know what in the wide world to do, seein' he was gone out of all divarshin, by raison that the goose was no more in the flower of her blume,
" Well, the king was nigh hand broken-hearted, and melancholy intirely, and was walkin' one mornin' by the edge of the lake, lamentin' his cruel fate, an' thinkin' o' drownin' himself, that could get no divarshin in life, when all of a suddint, turnin' round the corner beyant, who should he meet but a mighty dacent young man comin' up to him.
" ' God save you,' says the king (for the king was a civil-spoken gintleman, by all accounts), ' God save you/ says he to the young man.
" ' God save you kindly,' says the young man to him back again ; ' God save you,' says he, ' King O' Toole.'
" ' Thrue for you,' says the king, ' I am King O' Toole,' says he, ' prince and plennypennytinchery o' these parts,' says he ; ' but how kem ye to know that V says he.
" ' O, never mind,' says Saint Kavin.
KINO O'TOOLE AND ST. KEVIN. 5
" For you see," said old Joe, in his under tone again, and looking very knowingly, " it ivas Saint Kavin, sure enough — the saint himself in disguise, and nobody else. 'Oh, never mind,' says he, 'I know more than that,' says he, ' nor twice that.'
" ' And who are you ?' said the king, ' that makes so bowld — who are you, at all at all ?'
" ' Oh, never you mind,' says Saint Kavin, ' who I am ; you'll know more o' me before we part, King O' Toole,' says he.
" ' I'll be proud o' the knowledge o' your acquaint- ance, sir,' says the king, mighty p'lite.
" ' Troth, you may say that,' says St. Kavin. ' And now, may I make bowld to ax, how is your goose, King O'Toole ?' says he.
" ' Blur-an-agers, how kem you to know about my goose V says the king.
" ' O, no matther ; I was given to understand it,' says Saint Kavin.
" ' Oh, that's a folly to talk/ says the king ; ' bekase myself and my goose is private frinds,' says he, ' and no one could tell you,' says he, ' barrin' the fairies.'
" ' Oh thin, it wasn't the fairies,' says Saint Kavin ; ' for I'd have you to know,' says he, ' that I don't keep the likes o' sitch company.'
" ' You might do worse then, my gay fellow,' says the king ; ' for it's they could show you a crock o' money as aisy as kiss hand ; and that's not to be sneezed at,' says the king, ' by a poor man,' says he.
" ' Maybe I've a betther way of making money my- self,' says the saint.
" ' By gor,' says the king, ' barrin' you're a coiner,' says he, ' that's impossible ! '
" 'I'd scorn to be the like, my lord!' says Saint Kavin, mighty high, ' I'd scorn to be the like,* says he.
" ' Then, what are you ?' says the king, ' that makes money so aisy, by your own account.' " ' I'm an honest man/ says Saint Kavin.
6 Legends and stories.
" ' Well, honest man/ says the king, ' and how is it you make your money so aisy ?'
" ' By makin' ould things as good as new,' says Saint Kavin.
" ' Is it a tinker you are V says the king.
" ' No,' says the saint ; ' I'm no tinker by thrade, King O'Toole ; I've a betther thrade than a tinker,' says he — ' what would you say,' says he, ' if I made your ould goose as good as new.'
" My dear, at the word o' making his goose as good as new, you'd think the poor ould king's eyes was ready to jump out iv his head, ' and,' says he — 'troth thin I'd give you more money nor you could count,' says he, ' if you did the like : and I'd be behoulden to you into the bargain.'
" ' I scorn your dirty money,' says Saint Kavin.
" ' Faith then, I'm thinkin' a thrifle o' change would do you no harm,' says the king, lookin' up sly at the old caubeen that Saint Kavin had on him.
" ' I have a vow agin it,' says the saint ; ' and I am book sworn,' says he, ' never to have goold, silver, or brass in my company.'
" ' Barrm' the thrifle you can't help,' says the king, mighty 'cute, and looking him straight in the face.
" 'You just hot it,' says Saint Kavin ; 'but though I can't take money,' says he, ' I could take a few acres o' land, if you'd give them to me.'
" ' With all the veins o' my heart,' says the king, ' if you can do what you say.'
" ' Thry me ! ' says Saint Kavin. ' Call down your goose here,' says he, ' and I'll see what I can do for her.'
" ' With that, the king whistled, and down kem the poor goose, all as one as a hound, waddlin' up to the poor ould cripple, her masther, and as like him as two pays. The minute the saint clapt his eyes an the goose, ' I'll do the job for you,' says he, ' King O'Toole!
KING OTOOLB AND ST. KEVIN. 7
" ' By Jaminee' says King O'Toole, ' if you do, bud I'll say you're the cleverest fellow in the sivin parishes.'
" ' Oh, by dad,' says Saint Kavin, ' you must say more nor that — my horn's not so soft all out,' says he, ' as to repair your ould goose for nothin' ; what'll you gi' me, if I do the job for you ? — that's the chat,' says Saint Kavin.
" ' I'll give you whatever you ax/ says the king ; ' isn't that fair ? '
" ' Divil a fairer,' says the saint ; ' that's the way to do business. Now,' says he, 'this is the bargain I'll make with you, King O'Toole : will you gi' me all the ground the goose flies over, the first offer*, afther I make her as good as new ? '
" ' I will,' says the king,
" ' You won't go back o' your word ? ' says Saint Kavin.
" ' Honor bright ! ' says King O'Toole, howldin' out his fist."
Here old Joe, after applying his hand to his mouth, and making a sharp, blowing sound (something like " thp,") extended it to illustrate the actionf.
" ' Honor bright,' says Saint Kavin, back agin, ' it's a bargain,' says he. 'Come here!' says he to the poor ould goose — ' come here you unfort'nate ould cripple,' says he, ' and it's J that 'ill make you the sportin' bird.'
" With that, my dear, he tuk up the goose by the two wings — ' criss o' my crass an you,' says he, markin' her to grace with the blessed sign at the same minute — and throwin' her up in the air, ' whew ! ' says he, jist givin' her a blast to help her ; and with that, my jewel, she
* First effort or attempt.
f This royal mode of concluding a bargain has descended in its ori- ginal purity from the days of King O'Toole to the present time, and is constantly practised by the Irish peasantry. We believe something of lack is attributed to this same sharp blowing we have noticed, and which, for the sake of " ears polite," we have not ventured to call by its right name; for, to speak truly, a slight escapement of saliva takes place at the time. It is thus hansel is given and received; and many are the virtue* attributed by the lower order of trie Irish to "fasting spittle."
8 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
tuk to her heels, flyin' like one o' the aigles themselves, and cuttin' as many capers as a swallow before a shower of rain. Away she wint down there, right forninst yon, along the side o' the clift, and flew over Saint Kavin's bed (that is where Saint Kavin's bed is note, but was not thin, by raison it wasn't made, but was conthrived afther by Saint Kavin himself, that the women might lave him alone,) and on with her undher LugdufF, and round the ind av the lake there, far beyant where you see the watherfall (though indeed it's no watherfall at all now, but only a poor dhribble iv a thing ; but if you seen it in the winther, it id do your heart good, and it roarin' like mad, and as white as the dhriven snow, and rowlin' down the big rocks before it, all as one as childher playin' marbles) — and on with her thin right over the lead mines o' Luganure, (that is where the lead mines is now, but was not thin, by raison they worn't discovered, but was all goolcl in Saint Kavin's time.) Well, over the ind o' Luganure she flew, stout and studdy, and round the other ind av the little lake, by the Churches, (that is, av coorse, where the Churches is now, but was not thin, by raison they wor not built, but aftherwards by St. Kavin,) and over the big hill here over your head, where you see the big clift — (and that clift in the mountain was made by Fan Ma Cool where he cut it acrass with a big swoord, that he got made a purpose by a blacksmith out o' Eathdrum, a cousin av his own, for to fight a joyant [giant] that darr'd him an the Curragh o' Kildare ; and he thried the swoord first an the mountain, and cut it down into a gap, as is plain to this day ; and faith, sure enough, it's the same sauce he sarv'd the joyant, soon and sud- dent, and chopped him in two like a pratie, for the glory of his sowl and owld Ireland) — well, down she flew, over the clift, and fluttherin' over the wood there at Poulanass, (where I showed you the purty watherfall — and by the same token, last Thursday was a twelve- month sence, a young lady, Miss Eaflerty by name, fell
KING O'TOOLE AND ST. KEVIN. 9
into the same watherfall, and was nigh hand drownded — and indeed would be to this day, but for a young man that jumped in afther her ; indeed a smart slip iv a young man he was — he was out o' Francis-street, I hear, and coorted her sence, and they wor married, I'm given to undherstand — and indeed a purty couple they wor.) Well — as I said — afther flutterin' over the wood a little bit, to plage herself, the goose flew down, and lit at the fut o' the king, as fresh as a daisy, afther flyin' roun' his dominions, just as if she hadn't flew three perch.
" Well, my dear, it was a beautiful sight to see the king standin' with his mouth open, lookin' at his poor ould goose flyin' as light as a lark, and betther nor ever she was : and when she lit at his fut, he patted her an the head, and ' ma vourneen,' says he, ' but you are the darlint o' the world.'
" ' And what do you say to me,' says Saint Kavin, ' for makin' her the like ? '
" ' By gor,' says the king, ' I say nothin' bates the art o' man, barrin'* the bees.'
" ' And do you say no more nor that ? ' says Saint Kavin.
" ' And that I'm behoulden to you,' says the king.
" ' But will you gi'e me all the ground the goose flewn over ? ' says Saint Kavin.
" ' I will,' says King O'Toole, and you're welkim to it,' says he, ' though it's the last acre I have to give.'
" 'But you'll keep your word thrue?' says the saint.
" ' As thrue as the sun,' says the king.
" ' It's well for you,' (says Saint Kavin, mighty sharp) — ' it's well for you, King O'Toole, that you said that word,' says he ; ' for if you didn't say that word, the divil receave the bit o' your goose id ever fly agin,' says Saint Kavin.
" Oh, you needn't laugh," said old Joe, half offended
* Barring is constantly used by the Irish peasantry for except.
10 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
at detecting the trace of a suppressed smile ; " you needn't laugh, for it's thruth I'm telling you.
" Well, whin the king was as good as his word, Saint Kavin was plaze.d with him, and thin it was that he made himself known to the king. 'And,' says he, ' King O'Toole, you 're a dacent man,' says ho ; ' for I only kem here to thy you. You don't know me,' say* he, ' bekase I'm disguised* '
" ' Troth, then, you 're right enough,' says the king, ' I didn't perceave it,' says he ; ' for indeed I never seen the sign o' sper'ts an you.'
" ' Oh ! that's not what I mane,' says Saint Kavin ; ' I mane I 'm deceavin' you all out, and that I 'm not myself at all.'
' Musha ! thin,' says the king, 'if you 're not yourself, who are you ? '
" ' I 'm Saint Kavin,' said the saint, blessin' himself.
" ' Oh, queen iv heaven !' says the king, makin' the sign o' the crass betune his eyes, and fallin' down on his knees before the saint. ' Is it the great Saint Kavin,' says he, ' that I 've been discoorsin' all this time without knowin' it/ says he, 'all as one as if he was a lump iv a gossoon ? — and so you 're a saint V says the king.
" ' I am,' says Saint Kavin.
" ' By gor, I thought I was only talking to a dacent boyf,' says the king.
" ' Well, you know the differ now,' says the saint. ' I 'm Saint Kavin/ says he, ' the greatest of all the saints/
" For Saint Kavin, you must know, Sir," added Joe, treating me to another parenthesis, " Saint Kavin ia counted the greatest of all the saints, bekase he went to school with the prophet Jeremiah.
* A person in s state of drunkenness is said to be disguised.
•f- The English reader must not imagine the saint to have heen very juvenile, from this expression of the king's. In Ireland, a man in the- prime of life is called a "stout hoy."
KING O'TOOLE AND ST. KEVIN. 11
" Well, my dear, that's the way that the place kern, all at wanst, into the hands of St. Kavin ; for the goose flewn round every individyial acre o' King O'Toole's property you see, bein' let into the saycret by St. Kavin, who was mighty 'cute* ; and so, when he done the ould king out iv his property for the glory of God, he was plazed with him, and he and the king was the best o' frinds iver more afther (for the poor ould king Avas doatin,' you see), and the king had his goose as good as new, to divart him as long as he lived : and the saint supported him afther he kem into his property, as I tould you, antil the day iv his death — and that was soon afther ; for the poor goose thought he was ketchin' a throut one Friday ; but, my jewel, it was a mistake he made — and instead of a throut, it was a thievin' horse- eelj ; and, by gor, instead iv the goose killin' a throut for the king's supper, — by dad, the eel killed the king's goose — and small blame to him ; but he didn't ate her, bekase he darn't ate what Saint Kavin laid his blessed hands on.
" Howsumdever, the king never recovered the loss iv his goose, though he had her stuffed (I don't mane stuffed with pratees and inyans, but as a curiosity), and presarved in a glass-case for his own divarshin ; and the poor king died on the next Michaelmas-day, which was remarkable. — Throth,ifs thruth I'm tellin' you; — and when he was gone, Saint Kavin gev him an illigant wake and a beautiful berrin'; and more betoken, he said mass for his sowl and tuk care av his goose."
* Cunning— an abbreviation of acute.
f Eels of uncommon size are said to exist in the upper lake of Glenda- longh : the guides invariably tell marvelous stories of them: they describe them of forbidding aspect, with manes as large as a horse's. One of these "slippery rogues" is said to have amused himself by entering a pasture on the borders of the lake, and eating a cow— maybe 'twas a butt.
LOUGH COEEIB.
These things to hear 'Would Desdemona seriously incline.
Othello.
It chanced, amongst some of the pleasantest adventures of a tour through the West of Ireland, in 1S25, that the
house of Mr. of received me as a guest.
The owner of the mansion upheld the proverbial reputation of his country's hospitality, and his lady -was of singularly winning manners and possessed of much intelligence^an intelligence arising not merely from the cultivation resulting from careful education, but originating also from the attention which persons of good sense bestow upon the circumstances which come within the range of their observation.
Thus, Mrs. , an accomplished English woman,
instead of sneering at the deficiencies which a poorer country than her own laboured under, was willing to be amused by observing the difference which exists in the national character of the two people, in noticing the prevalence of certain customs, superstitions, &c, &c. ; while the popular tales of the neighbourhood had for her a charm, which enlivened a sojourn in a remote district, that must otherwise have proved lonely.
To this pleasure was added that of admiration of the natural beauties with which she was surrounded ; the noble chain of the Mayo mountains, linking with the majestic range of those of Joyce's country, formed no inconsiderable source of picturesque beauty and savage grandeur ; and when careering over the waters of Lough Corrib that foamed at their feet, she never sighed for the grassy slopes of Hyde-park, nor that unruffled pond, the Serpentine river.
In the same boat which often bore so fair a charge, have I explored the Noble Lough Corrib to its remotest
LOUGH CORRIB. 13
extremity, sailing over the depths of its dark waters, amidst solitudes whose echoes are seldom awakened but by the scream of the eagle.
From this lady I have heard some characteristic stories and prevalent superstitions of the country. Many of these she had obtained from an old boatman, one of the crew
that manned Mr. 's boat ; and often, as he sat at
the helm, he delivered his " round, unvarnished tale ; " and, by the way, in no very measured terms either, whenever his subject happened to touch upon the wrongs his country had sustained in her early wars against England, although his liege lady was a native of the hostile land. Nevertheless, the old Corribean (the name somehow has a charmingly savage sound about it) was nothing loth to have his fling at " the invaders " — a term of reproach he had always cast upon the English.
Thus skilled in legendary lore, Mrs. proved an
admirable guide to the " lions " of the neighbourhood ; and it was previously to a projected visit to the Cave of Cong, that she entered upon some anecdotes relating to the romantic spot, which led her to tell me, that one legend had so particularly excited the fancy of a young lady, a friend of hers, that she wrought it into the form of a little tale, which, she added, had not been con- sidered ill done. " But," said she, " 'tis true we were all friends who passed judgment, and only drawing- room critics. You shall, therefore, judge for yourself, and hearing it before you see the cave, will at least rather increase your interest in the visit." And, forthwith, drawing from a little cabinet a manuscript, she read to me the following tale — much increased in its effect by the sweet voice in which it was delivered.
MANUSCRIPT
FROM THE CABINET OP MRS.
A LEGEND OP LOUGH MASK.
All tilings that we ordained festival Turn from their office to black funeral ; Our instruments, to melancholy bells ; Our wedding cheer, to a sad burial feast; Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change ; Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse, And all tilings change them to the contrary.
Komeo and Juliet.
The evening was closing fast, as the young Cormac OTlaherty had reached the highest acclivity of one of the rugged passes of the steep mountains of Joyce's country. He made a brief pause — not to take breath, fair reader — Cormac needed no breathing time, and would have considered it little short of an insult to have had such a motive attributed to the momentary stand he made, and none that knew the action of the human figure would have thought it ; for the firm footing
LOUGH MASK. 15
which one beautifully-formed leg held with youthful firmness on the mountain path, while the other, slightly thrown behind, rested on the half-bent foot, did not imply repose, but rather suspended action. In sooth, young Cormac, to the eye of the painter, might have seemed a living Antinous — all the grace of that beautiful antique, all the youth, all the expression of suspended motion Avere there, with more of vigour and impatience. He paused — not to take breath, Sir Walter Scott ; for like your own Malcolm Graeme,
Eight up Ben Lomond could he press, And not a sob his toil confess ;
and our young OTlaherty was not to be outdone in breasting up a mountain side, by the boldest Graeme of them all.
But he lingered for a moment to look back upon a scene at once sublime and gorgeous; and cold must the mortal have been who could have beheld, and had not paused.
On one side, the Atlantic lay beneath him brightly reflecting the glories of an autumnal setting sun, and expanding into a horizon of dazzling light ; on the other lay the untrodden wilds before him, stretching amidst the depths of mountain valleys, whence the sun-beam had long since departed, and mists were already wreath- ing round the overhanging heights, and veiling the distance in vapoury indistinctness : as though you looked into some wizard's glass, and saw the uncertain con- juration of his wand. On the one side all was glory, light, and life — on the other all was awful, still, and al- most dark. It was one of Nature's sublimest moments ; — such as are seldom witnessed, and never forgotten.*
Ere he descended the opposite declivity, Cormac once more bent back his gaze ; — and now it was not one
* The view from the Pass of Salruck in Cunnemara, commanding at once, on one side, the great Killery harhour, and on the other the Atlantic Ocean, once afforded me just such a magnificent prospect as the one described.
16 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
exclusively of admiration ; there was a mixture of scrutiny in his look, and turning to Diarmid, a faithful adherent of his family, and only present companion, he said, " That sunset forbodes a coming storm ; does it not, Diarmid?"
" Ay, truly does it," responded the attendant, " and there 's no truth in the clouds, if we haven 't it soon upon us."
'■Then let us speed," said Cormac — "for the high hill and the narrow path must be traversed ere our journey be accomplished." And he sprang down thb steep and shingly pass before him, followed by the \iithful Diarmid.
'Tis sweet to know there is an eye to mark Our coining — and grow brighter when we come.
And there was a bright eye watching for Cormac, and many a love-taught look did Eva cast over the waters of Lough Mask, impatient for the arrival of the ©'Flaherty. " Surely he will be here this evening," thought Eva, " yet the sun is already low, and no distant oars disturb the lovely quiet of the lake — but may he not have tarried beyond the mountains ? he has friends there," recollected Eva. But soon the maiden's jealous fancy whispered "he has friends here too" — and she reproached him for his delay ; — but it was only for a moment.
" The accusing spirit blushed " — as Eva continued her train of conjecture. " 'Tis hard to part from press- ing friends," thought she, " and Cormac is ever welcome in the hall, and heavily closes the portal after his departing footsteps."
Another glance across the lake. — 'Tis yet unrippled by an oar. The faint outline of the dark grey moun- tains, whose large masses lie unbroken by the detail which daylight discovers — the hazy distance of the lake, whose extremity is undistinguishable from the over- hanging cliffs which embrace it — the fading of the
LOUGH MASK. 17
western sky — the last lonely rook winging his weary way to the adjacent wood — the flickering flight of the bat across her windows — all — all told Eva that the night was fast approaching ; yet Comae was not come. She turned from the casement with a sigh. — Oh ! only those who love can tell how anxious are the moments we pass in watching the approach of the beloved one.
She took her harp : every heroine, to be sure, has a harp : but this was not the pedal harp, that instrument par excellence of heroines, but the simple harp of her country, whose single row of brazen wires had often rung to many a sprightly planxty ; long, long before the double action of Erard had vibrated to some fantasia from Eossini or Mayerbeer, under the brilliant finger of a Bochsa or a Labarre.
But now the harp of Eva did not ring forth the spirit-stirring planxty, but yielded, to her gentlest touch, one of the most soothing and plaintive of her native melodies ; and to her woman sensibility, which long expectation had excited, it seemed to breathe an un- usual flow of tenderness and pathos, which her heated imagination conjured almost into prophetic wailing. Eva paused — she was alone ; the night had closed — her chamber was dark and silent. She burst into tears, and when her spirits became somewhat calmed by this gush of feeling, she arose, and dashing the lingering tear-drops from the long lashes of the most beautiful blue eyes in the world, she hastened to the hall, and sought in the society of others to dissipate those feelings by which she had been overcome.
The night closed over the path of Cormac, and the storm he anticipated had swept across the waves of the Atlantic, and now burst in all its fury over the moun- tains of Joyce's country. The wind rushed along in wild gusts bearing in its sweeping eddy heavy dashes of rain, which soon increased to a continuous deluge of enormous drops, rendering the mountain gullies the channel of temporary rivers, and the path that wound
18 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
along the verge of each precipice so slippery, aa to render its passage death to the timid or unwary, and dangerous even to the firmest or most practised foot. But our hero and his attendant strode on — the torrent was resolutely passed, its wild roar audible above the loud thunder-peals that rolled through the startled echoes of the mountains ; the dizzy path was firmly trod, its clangers rendered more perceptible by the blue lightnings, half revealing the depths of the abyss be- neath, and Cormac and Diarmid still pressed on towards the shores of Lough Mask, unconscious of the inter- ruption that yet awaited them, fiercer than the torrent, and more deadly than the lightning.
As they passed round the base of a projecting crag, that flung its angular masses athwart the ravine through which they wound, a voice of brutal coarseness sud- denly arrested their progress with the fiercely uttered word of "Stand!"
Cormac instantly stopped — as instantly his weapon was in his hand ; and with searching eye he sought to discover through the gloom, what bold intruder dared cross the path of the OTlaherty. His tongue now demanded what his eye failed him to make known ; and the same rude voice that first addressed him answered, " Thy mortal foe ! — thou seek'st thy bride, fond boy, but never shalt thou behold her — never shalt thou share the bed of Eva."
" Thou liest ! foul traitor I" cried Cormac fiercely ; "avoid my path — avoid it, I say, tor death is in it!"
" Thou say'st truly," answered the unknown, with a laugh of horrid meaning ; " come on, and thy words shall be made good !"
At this moment, a flash of lightning illumined the whole glen with momentary splendour, and discovered to Cormac, a few paces before him, two armed men of gigantic stature, in one of whom he recognised Emman O'Flaherty, one of the many branches of that ancient and extensive family, equally distinguished for his per- sonal prowess and savage temper.
LOUGH MASK. 19
"Ha!" exclaimed Cormac, "is it Eminan Duth?" for the black hair of Emman had obtained for him this denomination of Black Edward, a name fearfully suit- able to him who bore it.
" Yes," answered he tauntingly, " it is Emman Dubh ■who waits the coming of his fair cousin ; you have said death is in your path — come on, and meet it."
Nothing daunted, however shocked at discovering the midnight waylayer of his path, in his own relative, Cormac answered, " Emman Dubh, I have never wronged you ; but since you thirst for my blood, and cross my path, on your own head be the penalty. — Stand by me, Diarmid ! " said the brave youth ; and rushing on his Herculean enemy, they closed in mortal combat.
Had the numbers been equal, the colossal strength of Emman might have found its overmatch in the activity of Cormac, and his skill in the use of his weapon. But oh ! the foul, the treacherous Emman — he dared his high-spirited rival to advance, but to entrap him into an ambuscade ; for as he rushed upon his foe, past the beetling rock that hung over his path, a third assassin, unseen by the gallant Cormac, lay in wait ; and when the noble youth was engaged in the fierce encounter, a blow, dealt him in the back, laid the betrothed of Eva lifeless at the feet of the savage and exulting Emman.
Eestlessly had Eva passed that turbulent night — each gust of the tempest, each flash of living flame and burst of thunder awakened her terrors, lest Cormac, the beloved of her soul, were exposed to its fury ; but in the lapses of the storm, hope ventured to whisper he yet lingered in the castle of some friend beyond the moun- tains. The morning dawned, and silently bore witness to the commotion of the elements of the past night. The riven branch of the naked tree, that in one night had been shorn of its leafy beauty ; the earth strown with foliage half green, half yellow, ere yet the
0
20 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
autumnal alchemy had converted its summer verdure quite to gold, gave evidence that an unusually early storm had been a forerunner of the equinox. Th general aspect of nature too, though calm, was cold ; the mountains wore a dress of sombre grey, and the small scattered clouds were straggling over the face of heaven, as though they had been rudely riven asunder, and the short and quick lash of the waters upon the shore of Lough Mask, might have told to an accustomed eye, that a longer wave and a whiter foam had broken on its strand a few hours before.
But what is that upthrown upon the beach ? And who are those who surround it in such consternation ? It is the little skiff that was moored at the opposite side of the lake on the preceding eve, and was to have borne Cormac to his betrothed bride. And they who identify the shattered boat are those to whom Eva's happiness is dear ; for it is her father and his attendants, who are drawing ill omens from the tiny wreck. But they conceal the fact, and the expecting girl is not told of the evil-boding discovery. But days have come and gone, and Cormac yet tarries. At length 'tis past a doubt ; and the father of Eva knows his child is widowed ere her bridal — widowed in heart, at least. And who shall tell the fatal tale to Eva? Who shall cast the shadow o'er her soul, and make the future darkness ? — . Alas! ye feeling souls that ask it, that pause ere you can speak the word that blights for ever, pause no longer, for Eva knows it. Yes ; from tongue to tongue — by word on word from many a quivering lip, and meanings darkly given, the dreadful certainty at last arrived to the bewildered Eva.
It was nature's last effort at comprehension ; her mind was filled with the one fatal knowledge — Cormac was gone for ever ; and that was the only mental con- h;.'iousness that ever after employed the lovely Eva.
The remainder of the melancholy tale is briefly told. Though quite bereft of reason, she was harmless as a
LOUGH MASK. 21
clilld, and was allowed to wander round the borders of Lough Mask, and its immediate neighbourhood. A favourite haunt of the still beautiful maniac was the Cave of Cong, where a subterranean river rushes from beneath a low natural arch in the rock, and passing for some yards over a strand of pebbles, in pellucid swift- ness, loses itself in the dark recesses of the cavern with the sound of a rapid and turbulent fall. This river is formed by the waters of Lough Mask becoming engulfed at one of its extremities, and hurrying through a subterranean channel until they rise again in the neighbourhood of Cong, and become tributary to Lough Corrib. Here the poor girl would sit for hours ; and, believing that her beloved Cormac had been drowned in Lough Mask, she hoped, in one of those half-intelligent dreams which haunt a distempered brain, to arrest his body, as she fancied it must pass through the Cave of Cong, borne on the subterranean river.
Month after month passed by ; but the nipping winter and the gentle spring found the lovely Eva still watch- ing by the stream, like some tutelary water nymph beside her sacred fountain. At length she disappeared — and though the strictest search wi"5 i^auC, the broken- hearted Eva was never heard of more ; and the tradition of the country is, that the fairies took pity on a love so devoted, and carried away the faithful girl, to join her betrothed in fairy land !
Mrs. closed the manuscript, and replaced it in
the little cabinet.
" Most likely," said I, " poor Eva, if ever such a person existed "
'"If!" said the fair reader. "Can you be so un- grateful as to question the truth of my legend, after all the trouble I have had in reading it to you ? Get away ! A sceptic like you is only fit to hear the common places of the daily press."
" I cry your pardon, fair lady," said I. " I am most orthodox in legendary belief, and question not the ex-
LEGENDS AND STORIES.
istence of your Eva. I was only about to say that perchance she might have been drowned in, and carried away by, the river she watched so closely."
" Hush, hush," said the fair chronicler — " As you hope for favour or information in our fair counties of Galway or Mayo, never dare to question the truth of a legend — never venture a 'perhaps ' for the purpose of making a tale more reasonable, nor endeavour to sub- stitute the reign of common sense, in hopes of super- seding the empire of the fairies. Gro to-morrow to the Cave of Cong, and if you return still an unbeliever, I give you up as an irreclaimable infidel.
THE WHITE TROUT.
A LEGEXD OP COXG.
Oh ! I would ask no happier hed
Than the chill wave my love lies under,
Sr.eeter to rest together, dead, Far sweeter than to live asunder.
Lalla Eookh.
The next morning I proceeded alone to the cave, to witness the natural curiosity of its subterranean river, my interest in the visit being somewhat increased by the foregoing tale. Leaving my horse at the little village of Cong, I bent my way on foot through the fields, if you may venture to give that name to the surface of this immediate district of the county Mayo, which, presenting large flat masses of limestone, intersected by patches of verdure, gives one the idea much more of a burial-ground covered with monumental slabs, than a formation of nature. Yet (I must make this remark en passant), such is the richness of the pasture in these little verdant interstices, that cattle are fattened upon it in a much shorter time than on a meadow of the most cultured aspect ; and though to the native of Leinster, this land (if we may be pardoned a premeditated bull) would appear all stones, the Mayo farmer knows it from experience to be a profitable tenure. Sometimes deep clefts occur between these laminre of limestone rock, which, closely overgrown witn verdure, have not un- frequently occasioned serious accidents to man and beast ; and one of these chasms, of larger dimensions than usual, forms the entrance to the celebrated cave in question. Very rude steps of unequal height, partly natural and partly artificial, lead the explorer of its quiet beauty, by an abrupt descent to the bottom of
24 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
the cave, which contains an enlightened area of some thirty or forty feet, whence a naturally vaulted passage opens, of the deepest gloom. The depth of the cave may be about equal to its width at the bottom : the mouth is not more than twelve or fifteen feet across ; and pendent from its margin clusters of ivy and other parasite plants hang and cling in all the fantastic variety of natural festooning and tracery. It is a truly beauti- ful and poetical little spot, and particularly interesting to the stranger, from oemg unlike any thing else one has ever seen, and having none of the noisy and vulgar pretence of regular show-places, which calls upon you every moment to exclaim "Prodigious!"
An elderly and decent looking woman had just filled her pitcher with the cleliciously cold and clear water of the subterranean river that flowed along its bed of small, smooth, and many-coloured pebbles, as I arrived at the bottom ; and perceiving at once that I was a stranger, she paused, partly perhaps with the pardonable pride of displaying her local knowledge, but more from the native peasant politeness of her country, to become the tem- porary Cicerone of the cave. She spoke some words of Irish, and hurried forth on her errand a very handsome and active boy, of whom she informed me, she was the great grandmother.
" Great grandmother ! " I repeated, in unfeigned astonishment.
"Yes, your honour," she answered, with evident pleasure sparkling in her eyes, which time had not yet deprived of their brightness, or the soul-subduing in- fluence of this selfish world bereft of their kind-hearted expression.
" You are the youngest woman I have ever seen," said I, "to be a great grandmother."
" Troth, I don't doubt you, Sir," she answered.
" And you seem still in good health, and likely to live many a year yet," said I.
" With the help of God, Sir," said she reverently.
THE "WHITE TROUT. 25
" But,'' I added, " I perceive a great number of per- sons about here of extreme age. Now, how long generally do the people in this country live ? "
" Troth, Sir," said she, with the figurative drollery of her country, " -we live here as long as we like.'"'
"Well, that is no inconsiderable privilege," said I; "but you, nevertheless, must have married very young? "
" I was not much over sixteen, your honour, when I had my first child at my breast."
" That was beginning early," said I.
" Thrue for you, Sir ; and faith, Noreen — (that's my daughter, Sir) — Noreen herself lost no time either ; I suppose she thought she had as good a right as the mother before her — she was married at seventeen, and a likely couple herself and her husband was. So you see, Sir, it was not long before I was a granny. Well, to make the saying good, ' as the ould cock crows, the young bird cherrups,' and faiks, the whole breed, seed, and generation, tuk after the owld woman (that's my- self, Sir) ; and so, in coorse of time, I was not only a granny, but a grate granny ; and by the same token, here comes my darling Paudeen Bawn*, with what I sent him for."
Here the fine little fellow I have spoken of, with his long fair hair curling about his shoulders, descended into the cave, bearing some faggots of bog-wood, a wisp of straw, and a lighted sod of turf.
" Now, your honour, it's what you'll see the pigeon- hole to advantage."
" What pigeon-hole ? " said I.
" Here where we are," she replied,
" Why is it so called ? " I inquired.
"Because, Sir, the wild pigeons often build in the bushes and the ivy that's round the mouth of the cave, and in here too," said she pointing into the gloomy depth of the interior.
* Fair little Paddy.
-6 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
" Blow that turf, Paudeen ; and Paudeen, with dis- tended cheeks and compressed lips, forthwith poured a few vigorous blasts on the sod of turf, wh.ch soon flickered and blazed, while the kind old woman lighted her faggots or. bog-wood at the flame.
"Now, Sir, follow me," said my conductress.
" I am sorry you hare had so much trouble on my account," said I.
'; Oh, no throuble in life, your honour, but the greatest of pleasure ; " and so saying, she proceeded into the cave, and I followed, carefully choosing my steps by the help of her torch-light, along the slippery path of rock that overhung the river. When she had reached a point of some little elevation, she held up her lighted pine branches, and waving them to and fro, asked me could I see the top of the cave.
The effect of her figure was very fine, illumined as it was, in the midst of utter darkness, by the red glare of the blazing faggots ; and as she wound them round her head, and shook their flickering sparks about, it required no extraordinary stretch of imagination to suppose her, with her ample cloak of dark drapery, and a few straggling tresses of grey hair escaping from the folds of a rather Eastern head-dress, some Sybil about to com- mence an awful rite, and evoke her ministering spirits from the dark void, or call some water demon from the river, which rushed unseen along, telling of its wild course by the turbulent dash of its waters, which the reverberation of the cave rendered still more hollow.
She shouted aloud, and the cavern-echoes answered to her summons. " Look ! " said she — and she lighted ihe wisp of straw, and flung it on the stream : it floated rapidly away, blazing in wild undulations over the perturbed surface of the river, and at length suddenly disappeared altogether. The effect was most picturesque and startling ; rt was even awful. I might almost say, sublime !
Our light having nearly expired, we retraced our steps
THE WHITE TROUT. 27
and emerging from the gloom, stood beside the river, in the enlightened area I have described.
"Now, Sir, said my old woman, " we must thry and sec the White Throut ; and you never seen a throut o' that colour yet, I warrant."
I assented to the truth of this.
" They say it's a fairy throut, your honour, and tells mighty quare stories about it."
" What are they ? " I inquired.
" Troth, it's myself doesn't know the half o' them — only partly : but sthrive and see it before you go, Sir ; for there's them that says it isn't lucky to come to the cave, and lave it without seein' the white throut ; and if you're a bachelor, Sir, and didn't get a peep at it, throth you'd never be married ; and sure that 'id be a murther* ? "
" Oh," said I, "I hope the fairies would not be so spiteful "
" Whisht — whishtf ! " said she, looking fearfully around; then, knitting her brows, she gave me an admonitory look, and put her finger on her lip, in token of silence, and then coming sufficiently near me to make herself audible in a whisper, she said, " Never speak ill, your honour, of the good people — beyant all, in sitch a place as this — for it's in the likes they always keep ; and one doesn't know Avho may be listenin'. Grod keep uz ! But look, Sir ! look ! " And she pointed to the stream >-" There she is."
" Who 1 what ?" said I.
" The throut, Sir."
I immediately perceived the fish in question, perfectly a trout in shape, but in colour a creamy white, heading up the stream, and seeming to keep constantly within the region of the enlightened part of it.
" There it is, in that very spot evermore," continued my guide, " and never any where else."
• A great pity. t Silence.
28 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
'■' The poor fish, I suppose, likes to swim in the light," said 1.
" Oh, no, Sir," said she, shaking her head signifi- cantly, " the people here has a mighty owld story about that throut."
" Let me hear it, and you will oblige me."
" Och ; it's only laughin' at me you'd be, and call me an ould fool, as the misthiss* beyant in the big housef often did afore, when she first kem amoung us — but she knows the differ now." s
"Indeed I shall not laugh at your story," said I," but on the contrary, shall thank you very much for your tale."
"Then sit downaminnit, Sir,', said she, throwing her apron upon the rock, and pointing to the seat," and I'll tell you to the best of my knowledge ;" and seating herself on an adjacent patch of verdure, she began her legend.
" There was wanst upon a time, long ago, a beautiful young lady that lived in a castle up by the lake beyant, and they say she was promised to a king's son, and they wor to be married : when, all of a suddent, he was mur- thered, the crathur, (Lord help us,) and threwn into the lake abowf, and so, of coorse, he couldn't keep his promise to the fair lady,- — and more's the pity.
" Well, the story goes, that she went out iv her mind, bekase av loosin' the king's son — for she was tindher- hearted, God help her, like the rest iv us ! — and pined away after him, until, at last, no one about seen her, good or bad ; and the story wint, that the fairies took her away.
" Well, Sir, in coorse o' time, the white throut, God bless it, was seen in the sthrame beyant ; and sure the people didn't know what to think av the crathur, seein' as how a white throut was never heerd av, afore nor sence ; and years upon years the throut was there, just
* The lady. t A gentleman's mansion. J Above.
THE WHITE TROUT. 29
where you seen it this blessed minit, longer nor I can tell — aye throth, and beyant the memory o' th' ouldest in the village.
" At last the people began to think it must be a fairy ; for what else could it be ? — and no hurt nor harm was iver put an the white throut, antil some wicked sinner of sojers* kem to these parts, and laughed at all the people, and gibed and jeered them for thinkin' o' the likes; and one o' them in partic'lar, (bad luck to him; — God forgi' me for sayin' it !) swore he'd catch the throut and ate it for his dinner — the blackguard !
" Well, what would you think o' the villiany of the sojer ? — sure enough he cotch the throut ; and away wid him home, and puts an the fryin'pan, and into it he pitches the purty ^'-Ue il'-'uj. The throut squeeled all as one as a Christian crathur, and, my dear, you'd think the sojer id split his sides laughin' — for he was a harden'd villian : and when he thought one side was done, he turns it over to fry the other ; and what would you think, but the divil a taste of a burn was an it at all at all ; and sure the sojer thought it was a quare throut that couldn't be briled ; ' but,' says he, ' I'll give it another turn by and by' — little thinkin' what was in store for him, the haythen.
"Well, when he thought that side was done, he turns it again — and lo and and behould you, the divil a taste more done that side wras nor the other : ' Bad luck to me,' says the sojer, ' but that bates the world/ says he ; ' but I'll thry you agin, my darlint', says he, ' as cunnin' as you think yourself,' — and so with that, he turns it over and over ; but not a sign av the fire was an the purty throut. " Well, ' says the desperate villian — (for sure, Sir, only he was a desperate villian entirely, he might know he was doin' a wrong thing, seein' that all his endayvours was no good) ; — 'well,' says he, 'my jolly little thrbut, may be you're fried enough, though you
* Soldiers.
30 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
don't seem over-well dress'd ; but you may be better than you look, like a singed cat, and a tit-bit, afther all, says he ; and with that he ups with his knife and fork to taste a piece o' the throut — but, my jew'l, the minit he puts his knife into the fish, there was a murtherin' screech, that you'd think the life id lave you if you heerd it, and away jumps the throut out av the fryin'-pan into the middle o' the flure* ; and an the spot where it fell, up rizf a lovely lady — the beautifullest young crathur that eyes ever seen, dressed in white, and a band o' goold in her hair, and a sthrame o' blood runnin' clown her arm.
" 'Look where you cut me, you villian,' says she, and she held out her arm to him — and, my dear, he thought the sight id lave his eyes.
" Couldn't you lave me cool and comfortable in the river where you snared me, and not disturb me in my duty ?' says she.
" 'Well, he thrimbled like a dog in a wet sack, and at last he stammered out somethin', and begged for his life, and ax'd her ladyship's pardin, and said he didn't know she was an duty, or he was too good a sojer not to know betther nor to meddle wid her.
" 'I was on duty then,' says the lady ; 'I was watchin' for my thrue love, that is comin' by wather to me,' says she ; 'an' if he comes while I ani away, 'an' that I miss iv him, I'll turn you into a pinkeenj, and I'll hunt you up and down for evermore, while grass grows or wather runs.'
" Well, the sojer thought the life id lave him, at the thoughts iv his bein' turned into a pinkeen, and begged for marcy : and with that, says the lady —
" 'Eenounce your evil coorses,' says she, 'you villian, or you'll repint it too late ; be a good man for the futhur, and go to your duty§ reg'lar. And now,' says
* Floor. f Arose J Stickle-back.
§ The Irish peasant calls his attendance at the confessional "going to his duty."
THE WHITE TROUT. 31
she, 'take me back and put roe into the river agin, where you found me.'
" 'Oh, my lady/ says the sojer, 'how could I have the heart to drownd a beautiful lady like you ?*
"But before he could say another word, the lady was vanished, and there he saw the little throut an the ground. Well, he put it in a clane plate, and away he run for the bare life, for fear her lover would come while she was away ; and he run, and he run, ever till he came to the cave ag.n, and threw the throut into the river. The minit he did, the wather was as red as blood for a little while, by the rayson av the cut, I suppose, until the sthrame washe> the stain away ; and to this day there's a little red ma; v an the throut's side, where it was cut*.
"Well, Sir, from that J- v out the sojer was an althered man, and reformed his ways, and wint to Ms duty reglar, and fasted three times a week — though it was never fish he tuk an fastio.' days ; for, afther the fright he got, fish id never rest an his stomach — savin' your presence. But any how, he was an althered man, as I said before ; and in coorse o* time he left the army, and turned hermit at last ; and they say he used to pray evermore/or thesowlofthe White Throut."
* The fish has really a red spot on its side.
THE BATTLE OF THE BEEEINS,
OK,
THE DOUBLE FONEBAL.
Belong to the gallows, and Be hanged, you rogue ; is this a place to roar in ? ... Fetch me a dozen staves, and strong ones — these are bat switches to them I'll scratch your heads !
I was sitting alone in the desolate church-yard of
, intent upon my " silent art," lifting up my eyes
from my portfolio, only to direct them to the interesting ruin I was sketching — when the deathlike stillness that prevailed was broken by a faint and wild sound, unlike any thing I had ever heard in my life. I confess I was startled — I paused in my occupation, and listened in breathless expectation. Again this seemingly unearthly sound vibrated through the still air of evening, more audibly than at first, and partaking of the vibratory quality of tone I have noticed, in so great a degree as to resemble the remote sound of the ringing of many glasses crowded together.
I rose and looked around — no being was near me, and
THE BATTLE OP THE BERRIXS. 33
again this heart-chilling sound struck upon my ear ; its wild and wailing intonation reminding me of the jEolian harp. Another burst was wafted up the hill ; and then it became discernible that the sound proceeded from many voices raised in lamentation.
It was the ulicctn. I had hitherto known it only by report ; for the first time, now, its wild and appalling cadence had ever been heard ; and it will not be won- dered at by those acquainted with it that I was startled on hearing it under such circumstances.
I could now perceive a crowd of peasants of both sexes, winding along a hollow way that led to the church-yard where I was standing, bearing amongst them the coffin of the departed ; and ever and anon a wild burst of the ulicaii would arise from the throng, and ring in wild startling unison up the hill until, by a gradual and plaintive descent through an octave, it dropped into a subdued wail ; and they bore the body onward the while, not in the measured and solemn step that custom (at least our custom) deems decent, but in a rapid and irregular manner, as if the violence of their grief hurried them on, and disdained all form.
The effect was certainly more impressive than that of any other funeral I had ever witnessed, however much the "pride, pomp, and circumstance," of such arrays had been called upon to produce a studied solemnity ; for no hearse with sable plumes, nor chief mourners, nor pall-bearers, ever equalled in poetry or picturesque these poor people, bearing along on their shoulders, in the stillness of evening, the body of their departed friend to its " long home." The women raising their arms above their heads, in the untaught action of grief ; their dark and ample cloaks waving wildly about, agitated by the varied motions of their wearers, and their wild cry raised in lament
" Most musical, most melancholy."
At length they reached the cemetery, and the coffin
34: LEGENDS A3Ii> STORIES.
was borne into the interior of the ruin, where the women still continued to wail for the dead, while Trt'f a duzen athletic young men immediately proceeded to prepare a grave; and seldom have I seen finer fellows, or men more full of activity : their action, indeed, bespoke so much life and vigour, as to induce an involuntary and melancholy contrast with the object on which that action was bestowed.
Scarcely had the spade upturned the green sod of the burial-ground, when the will peal of the vlican again was heard at a distance. The young men paused in their work, and turned their heads, as did ail the bystanders, towards the point whence the sound pro- ceeded.
We soon perceived another funeral procession wind round the foot of the hill, and immediately the gra-re- makers renewed their work with redoubled activity; while exclamations of anxiety on their part, for the com- pletion of their work, and of encouragement from the lookers-on, resounded on all sides ; and such ejaculations as *• Hurry, boys, hurry''" — •■ Stir vourseli, Paddy!'" — '• That's your sort, Mike'"' — "Bouse, your sowl"" tc, &c, resounded on all sides. At the same time, the second funeral party that was advancing, no sooner per- ceived the church-yard already occupied, then they directly quickened their pace, as the wail rose more loudly and wildly .^rom the train ; and a detachment bearing pick and spade, forthwith sallied from the main body, and dashed with headlong speed up the MIL In the mean time, an old woman, with streaming eves and dishevelled hair, rushed wildly from the ruin where the first party had borne their eotRn. towards the voum? athletes I have already described as working1 with '• might and main.""' and adressiug them with all the passionate intensity of her country, ^he exclaimed, " Sure you wouldn't let them have the advantage of uz, that-a-way, and lave my darlin' boy wunderhiu" about, dark an' 'lone in the long nights. Work, boys ! work '
THE IiATTI/E OP THE BIWUTITP. 35
for the baro life, and tho mother's blessing bo an you, and let my poor Paudoon have rest."
I thought tho poor woman was crazed, as indeed her nppearanco and vehemence of manner, as well as the (to me) unintelligible address she had uttered, might well ...duce mo to bcliovo, and I questioned one of the by- standers accordingly.
" An' is it why she's goin' wild about it, you're axin'?" said tho person I addressed, in evident wonder at my quostion. " Sure then I thought all the world knew that, let alone a gintleman like you, that ought to be knowledgablo : and suro she doesn't want tho poor boy to be wulkin', as of coorse he must, barrin' they're smart."
" What do you mean?" said I, "I don't understand you."
" Whisht I -whisht," said ho ; " here they come, by tho powers, and the Gallaghers at the head of them," as ho looked towards the new-comers' advanced-guard, who had now gained tho summit of the hill, and, leaping over tho boundary-ditch of tho cemetery, advanced towards tho group that surrounded the grave, with rapid strides and a resolute air.
" Giv over there, I bid you," said a tall and ably- built man of tho party, to those employed in open- ing tho ground, who still plied their implements with energy.
" Give over, or it '11 be worso for you. Didn't you hoar me, Eooney 1" said he, as he laid his muscular hand on the arm of ono of the party he addressed, and ar- rested him in his occupation.
" I did hear you," said Eooney ; "but I didn't heed you."
" I'd have you keep a civil tongue in your head," said the former.
" You're mighty ready to give advice that you want yourself," rejoined the latter, as ho again plunged th« spaao into the earth.
36 LEGENDS AND STORIES,
"Lave off, I tell you!" said our Hercules, in a higher tone; " or, by this and that, I'll make you sorry !"
" Arrah ! what brings you here at all ?" said another of the grave-makers, "breedin' a disturbance?"
"What brings him here but mischief?" said a grey- haired man, who undertook, with national peculiarity, to answer one interrogatory by making another — " there's always a quarrel, whenever there's a Gallagher." For it was indeed one of "the Gallaghers" that the peasant I spoke to noticed as being " at the head o' them," who was assuming so bold a tone.
"You may thank your grey hairs, that I don't make you repent o' your words," said Gallagher, and his brow darkened as he spoke.
" Time was," said the old man, " when I had some- thing surer than grey hairs to make such as you respect me ;"and he drew himself up with an air of patriarchal dignity, and displayed in his still expansive chest and commanding height, the remains of a noble figure, that bore testimony to the truth of what he had just uttered. The old man s eye kindled as he spoke — but 'twas only for a moment ; and the expression of pride and defiance was succeeded by that of coldnesss and contempt.
"I'd have beat you blind the best day ever you seen," said Gallagher, with an impudent swagger.
"Troth you wouldn't, Gallagher," said a contemporary of the old man : but your consait bates the world I"
" That's true," said Eooney. " He's a great man intireby, in his own opinion. I'd make a power of mon :v if I could but/ Gallagher at my price, and sell him at his own."
A low and jeering laugh followed this hit of my friend Eooney ; and Gallagher assumed an aspect so lowering, that a peasant, standing near me, turned to his compa- nion and said, significantly, " By gor, IN ed there'll be wigs on the green afore long !"
And he was quite right.
TIIK BATTLK OP TIIK NTCRMNS. 37
Tho far off speck on tho horizon, whence the pro- phetic eye of a sailor can forctel tho coming storm, is not more nicely discriminated by the mariner, than the .symptoms of an approaching fray by an Irishman ; and scarcely had tho foregoing words been uttered, than I saw tlie men tucking up their long frieze coats in a sort of jacket fashion — thus getting rid of their tails, like game- cocks before a battle. A more menacing grip was taken by the bearer of each stick (a usual appen- dage of Hibernians) ; and a general closing-in of the bystanders round tho nucleus of dissatisfaction, made it perfectly apparent that hostilities must soon commence,.
I was not long left in suspense about such a catas- trophe, for a general outbreak soon took place, com- mencing in tho centre with tho principals already noticed, and radiating throughout tho whole circle, until a general action ensued, and the belligerents were dispersed in various hostile groups over the churchyard.
L was a spectator from the topmost step of a stile leading into tho burial-ground, deeming it imprudent to linger within tho precincts of the scene of action, when my attention was attracted by the appearance of a horseman, who galloped up the little stony road, and was no sooner at my side, than he dismounted, exclaim- ing, at tho top of his voice, " Oh ! you reprobates, lave oil', I toll you, you heathens ! Are you Christians at all?"
I must hero pause a moment to describe the person of tho horseman in question. Ho was a tall, thin, pale man — having a hat, which from exposure to bad weather, had its broad slouching brim crimped into many fantastic involutions — its crown somewhat depressed in the middle, and tho edges of the same exhibiting a napless paleness; very far removed from its original black; no shirt-collar sheltered his angular jaw-bones — a narrow white cravat was drawn tightly round his spare neck — a single- breasted coat of rusty black, with standing collar, was tightly buttoned nearly up to his chin, and a nether
^° LEGENDS AND STORIES.
garment of the same, with large silver knee-1mckle% meeting a square-cut and buckram-like pair of black father boots, with heavy, plated spurs, that had scon the best of their clays, completed the picture. His horse was a small well-built hack, whose long rough coat would have been white, but that soiled litter had stained it to a dirty yellow ; and taking advantage of the liberty which the abandoned rein afforded, he very quietly turned him to the little fringe of grass which bordered each side of the path, to make as much profit of his time as he might, before his rider should resume his seat in the old high-pommelled saddle which he had vacated, in uttering the ejaculation I have recorded.
This person then, hastily mounting the stile on which I stood, with rustic politeness said, "By your leave, Sir," as he pushed by me in haste, and jumping from the top of the wall, proceeded with long and rapid strides towards the combatants, and brandishing a heavy thong whip which he carried, he began to lay about him with equal vigour and impartiality on each and every of the peace-breakers, both parties sharing in the castigation thus bestowed, with the most even, and, I might add, heavy-handed justice.
My surprise was great on finding that all the blows inflicted by this new belligerent, instead of being resented by the assaulted parties, seemed taken as if resistance against this potent chastiser were vain, and in a short time they all fled before him, like so many frightened school-boys before an incensed pedagogue, and huddled themselves together in a crowd, which at once became pacified at his presence.
Seeing this result, I descended from my perch, and ran towards the scene that excited my surprise in no ordinary degree. I found this new-comer delivering to the multitude he had quelled, a severe reproof of their " unchristian doings," as he termed them ; and it became evident that he was the pastor of the flock, and it must
THE BATTLE OF THE BERRINS. 39
be acknowledged, a very turbulent flock, he seemed to have of it.
This admonition was soon ended. It was certainly impressive, and well calculated for the audience to whom it was delivered, as well as from the simplicity of its language as the solemnity of its manner, which was much enhanced by the deep and somewhat sepulchral voice of the speaker. " And now," added the pastor, " let me ask you for what you were fighting like so many wild Indians ; for surely your conduct is liker to savage creatures than men that have been bred up in the hearing of God's word?"
A pause of a few seconds followed this question ; and, at length, some one ventured to answer from amongst the crowd, that it was " in regard of the berrin."
" And is not so solemn a sight," asked the priest, " as the burial of the departed, enough to keep down the evil passions of your hearts ? "
" Troth then, and plaze your Eiverince, it was nothin' ill-nathured in life, but only a good-nathured turn we wor doin' for poor Paudeen Moonoy that's departed ; and sure it's to your Eiverince we'll be goin' immadiantly for the masses for the poor boy's sowl." Thus making interest in the offended quarter, with an address for which the Irish peasant is pre-eminently dis- tinguished.
" Tut ! tut ! " rapidly answered the priest ; anxious, perhaps, to silence this very palpable appeal to his own interest. "Don't talk to me about doing a good-natured turn. Not," added he, in a subdued under-tone, " but that prayers for the souls of the faithful departed are enjoined by the church ; but what has that to do with your scandalous and lawless doings that I witnessed this minute ? and you yourself," said he, addressing the last speaker, " one of the busiest with your alpecn ? I'm afraid your're rather fractious, Rooney — take care that I don't speak to you from the altar,"
40 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
" Oh, God forbid that your Riverince id have to do the like, said the mother of the deceased, already- noticed, in an imploring tone, and with the big tear- drops chasing each other down her cheeks ; " and sure it was only they wanted to put my poor boy in the ground first, and no wondher sure, as your Riverince knows, and not to have my poor Paudeen "
" Tut ! tut ! woman," interrupted the priest, waving his hand rather impatiently, "don't let me hear any folly."
"I ax your Riverince's pardon, and sure it's myself that id be sorry to offind my clargy — God's blessin' be an them night and day ! But I was only goin' to put in a word for Mikee Booney, and sure it wasn't him at all, nor wauldn't be any of us, only for Shan Gallagher, that wouldn't lave us in peace."
" Gallagher !" said the priest in a deeply-reproachful tone. " Where is he ? "
Gallagher came not forward, but the crowd drew back, and left him revealed to the priest. His aspect was that of sullen indifference, and he seemed to be the only person present totally uninfluenced by the presence of his pastor, who now advanced towards him, and extending his attenuated hand in the atti- tude of denunciation towards the offender, said very solemnly —
" I have already spoken to you in the house of wor- ship, and now, once more, I warn you to beware. Eiot and battle are found wherever you go, and if you do not speedily reform your course of life, I shall expel you from the pale of the church, and pronounce sentence of excommunication upon you from the altar."
Every one appeared awed by the solemnity and severity of this address from the onset, but when the word " excommunication " was uttered, a thrill of horror seemed to run through the assembled multitude : and even Gallagher himself I thought betrayed some emotion on hearing the terrible word. Yet he evinced it but
THE BATTLE OP THE BEB.KXXS. 41
for a moment, and turning on his heel, he retired from the ground with something of the swagger with which he entered it. The crowd opened to let him pass, and openei widely, as if they sought to avoid contact with one so fearfully denounced.
"You have two coffins here," said the clergyman, "proceed, therefore, immediately to make two graves, and let the bodies be interred at the same time, and 1 will read the service for the dead"
Xo very great time was consumed in makinar the necessary preparation. The " narrow beds '"' were made, and, as their tenants were consigned to their last long sleep, the solemn voice of the priest was raised in the " De Profundis ; " and when he had concluded the short and beautiful psalm, the friends of the deceased closed the graves, and covered them neatly with fresh-cut sods, which is what Paddy very metaphorically calls
P-~ing the daisy qui.- oTer him.
The clergyman retired from the church-yard, and I followed his footsteps for the purpose of introducing myself to •'his reverence,'"' and seeking from him an explanation of what was still a most unfathomable mystery to me, namely the cause of the quarrel, which, from certain passages in his address to the people, I saw he understood, though so slightly glanced at. Accordingly, I overtook the priest, and as the Irish song has it,
To him I (Knosionslv made mv apjr-:a:hes.
He received me with courtesy, which though not savouring much of intercourse with polished circles, seemed to spring whence all true politeness emanates — from a good heart.
I begged to assure him it was not an impertinent curiosity that made me desirous of becoming acquainted ■with the cause of the fray which I had witnessed, and
42 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
he had put a stop to in so summary a manner; and hoped he would not consider it an intrusion if I applied to him for that purpose.
" No intrusion in life, Sir," answered the priest very frankly, and with a rich brogue, whose intonation was singularly expressive of good nature. It was the speci- men of brogue I have never met but in one class, the Irish gentleman of the last century — an accent, which, though it possessed all the characteristic traits of " the brogue," was at the time divested of the slighest trace of vulgarity. This is not to be met with now, or at least very rarely. An attempt has been made by those who fancy it genteel, to graft the English accent upon the Broguish stem — and a very bad fruit it has produced. The truth is, the accents of the two countries could never be happily blended ; and far from making a pleasing amalgamation, it conveys the idea that the speaker is endeavouring to escape from his own accent for what he considers a superior one ; and it is this attempt to be fine, which so particularly allies the idea of vulgarity with the tone of brogue so often heard in the present day.
Such, I have said, was not the brogue of the Rev. Phelim Roach, or Father Roach, as the peasants called him ; and his voice, which I have earlier noticed as almost sepulchral, I found derived that character from the feeling of the speaker when engaged in an admoni- tory address ; for when employed on colloquial occasions, it was no more than what might be called a rich and deep manly voice. So much for Father Roach, who forthwith proceeded to enlighten me on the subject of the funeral, and the quarrel arising therefrom.
" The truth is, Sir, these poor people are possessed of many foolish superstitions ; and however we may, as men, pardon them, looking upon them as fictions originating in a warm imagination, and finding a ready admission into the minds of an unlettered and sus- ceptible peasantry, we cannot, as pastors of the flock,
THE BATTLE OP THE BERKINS. 43
admit their belief to the poor people committed to our care."
This was quite new to me ; to find a clergyman of the religion I had hitherto heard of as being par excellence abounding in superstition, denouncing the very article in question. — But let me not interrupt Father Roach.
" The superstition I speak of," continued he, " is one of the many these warm-hearted people indulge in, and is certainly very poetical in its texture.
" But, Sir," interrupted my newly-made acquaintance, pulling forth a richly chased gold watch of antique workmanship, that at once suggested ideas of the ' bon vieux temps,'' " I must ask your pardon — I have an engagement to keep at the little hut I call my home, which obliges me to proceed there forthwith. If you have so much time to spare as will enable you to walk with me to the end of this little road, it will suffice to make you acquainted with the nature of the superstition in question."
I gladly assented ; and the priest, disturbing the nibbling occupation of his hack, threw the rein over his arm, and the docile little beast following him on one side as quietly as I did on the other, he gave me the following account of the cause of all the previous riot, as we wound down the little stony path that led to the main road.
" There is a belief among the peasantry in this par- ticular district, that the ghost of the last person interred in the church-yard, is obliged to traverse, unceasingly, the road between this earth and purgatory, carrying water to slake the burning thirst of those confined in that ' limbo large ; ' and that the ghost is thus obliged to walk
Through the dead waste and middle of the night;
until some fresh arrival of a tenant to the 'narrow house,' supplies a fresh ghost to ' relieve guard,' if I may be allowed so military an expression ; and thus, the
44 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
supply of water to the sufferers in purgatory is kept up unceasingly* "
Henee it was that the fray had arisen, and the poor mother's invocation, " that her darling boy should not be left to wander about the church-yard dark and lone in the long nights," became at once intelligible. Father Eoach gave me some curious illustrations of the different ways in which this superstition influenced his " poor people," as he constantly called them ; but I suppose my readers have had quite enough of the subject, and I shall therefore say no more of other "cases in point," contented with having given them one example, and recording the existence of a superstition, which, however wild, undoubtedly owes its existence to an affectionate heart and a poetic imagination.
* A particularly affectionate husband, before depositing the remains of his departed wife in the grave, placed a pair of new brogues in her eoflin, th.it she might not have to walk all the way to purgatory barefooted. This "Bras vouched for as a fact.
FATHER EOACH.
I focxd the company of Father Roach so pleasant, that I accepted an invitation which he gave me, when we arrived at the termination of our walk, to breakfast the next morning at the little hut, as he called the un- pretending but Beat cottage he inhabited, a short mile distant from the church-yard where we first met. I repaired, accordingly, the next morning, at an early hour, to my appointment, and found the worthy pastor ready to receive me. He met me at the little avenue, (not that I mean to imply an idea of grandeur by the term), which led from the main road to his dwelling — it was a short narrow road, bordered on each side by alder bushes, and an abrupt awkward turn placed you in front of the humble dwelling of which he was master ; the area before it, however, was clean, and the offensive dunghill, the intrusive pig, and barking cur- dog, were not the distinguishing features of this, as unfortunately they too often are of other Irish cot- tagers.
On entering the house, an elderly and comfortably- clad woman curtsied as we crossed the threshold, and I was led across an apartment, whose
Neatly sanded fioor— ■
(an earthen one, by the way,) — we traversed diagonally to an opposite corner, where an open door admitted us vnto a small but comfortable hoarded apartment, where breakfast was laid, unostentatiously but neatly, and in- viting to the appetite, as far as that could be stimulated by a white cloth, most promising fresh butter, a plate of evidently fresh eggs, and the best of cream, whose
46 LEGENDS AXD STORIES.
rich -white was most advantageously set off by the plain blue ware of which the ewer "was composed; add to this, an ample cake of fresh griddle bread, and
Though last, not least,
the savoury smell that arose from a rasher of bacor., ",vhich announced itself through the medium of more senses than one ; for its fretting and fuming in the pan, playing many an ingenious variation upon '■' fiz and whiz ! "
Gave dreadful note of pre-ira:' :n.
But I must not forget to notice the painted tin tea canister of mine host, "which "was emblazoned with the talismanic motto of
" O'Connell and Liberty ; "
and underneath the semicircular motto aforesaid, ap- peared the rubicund visage of a lusty gentleman in a green coat, holding in his hand a scroll inscribed with the dreadful words, '• Catholic rent,"
'• Untie."? ant m:st to Brunswick ears,"
which was meant to represent no less a personage than the " Great Liberator" himself.
While breakfast was going foward, the priest and myself had made no inconsiderable advances towards intimacv. Those who have mine-led much in the world, have often, no doubt, experienced like myself, how much easier it is to enter at once, almost, into friend- ship with some, before the preliminaries of common acquaintance can be established with others.
Father .Roach was one of the former species. We soon sympathised with each other ; and becoming, as it were, at once possessed of the keys of each other's freemasonry, we mutually unlocked our confidence.
Father roacS. 4?
This led to many an interesting conversation with the good father, while I remained in his neighbourhood. He gave me a sketch of his life in a few words. It was simply this : he was a descendant of a family that had once been wealthy and of large possessions in the verv county, where, as he said himself, he was " a pauper."
" For what else can I call myself,'' said the humble priest, "when I depend for my support, on the gra- tuitous contributions of those who are themselves little better than paupers ? But God's will be done."'
His forefathers had lost their patrimony by repeated forfeitures, under every change of power that had dis tracted the unfortunate island of which he was a na- tive* ; and for him and his brothers, nothing was left but personal exertion.
" The elder boys would not remain here," said he, " where their religion was a barrier to their promotion. They went abroad, and offered then swords to the ser- vice of a foreign power. They fought and fell under the banners of Austria, who disdained not the accession of all such strong arms and bold hearts, that left their native soil to be better appreciated in a stranger land.
'■ I, and a younger brother, who lost his father ere he could feel the loss, remained in poor Ireland. I was a
* This has been too often the case in Ireland. •ountry :s from the seat of government, it is only lately that the interests of Ireland have been an object to Great Britain. To ssy nothing of the earlier oppressions and confiscations, the adherents of the first Charles in Ireland were crushed by Cromwell. The forfeitures under the Common- wealth were tremendous. — " Hell or Connaught," sitll lives as a proverb. Charles IL was not careful to repair the wrongs which his subject* suf- fered for being adherents of his father ; and yet their loyalty remained unshaken to the t'ai-hiess race, in the person of the second J;ones. A new series of forfeitures then ensued under William III ; and thus, by degrees, the principal ancient families of Ireland had their properties wrested from thein, and bestowed upon the troopers of successive in- vaders; and for what?— attachment to the kings to whom they had sworn alle?iance. The Irish have often, most unjustly, been denomi- nated rebels. We shall find the truth is, if we consult history, their great misfortune has been, that they were on'.y too I032L But England, is, at length, desirous of doing Ireland justice.
48 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
sickly boy, and was constantly near my beloved mother — God rest her soul ! — who early instilled into my infant mind, deeply reverential notions of religion, which at length imbued my mind so strongly with their influence, that I determined to devote my life to the priesthood. I was sent to St. Omcr to study, and on my return was appointed to the ministry, which I have ever since exer- cised to the best of the ability that God has vouchsafed to his servant."
Such Avas the outline of Father Eoach's personal and family history.
In some of the conversations which our intimacy ori- ginated, I often sought for information, touching the peculiar doctrines of his church, ancl the discipline which its followers are enjoined to adopt.
I shall not attempt to weary the reader with an account of our arguments ; for the good Father Roach was so meek as to condescend to an argument with one unlearned as myself, and a heretic to boot ; nor to detail some anecdotes that to me were interesting on various points in question. I shall reserve but one fact— and a most singular one it is — to present to my readers on the subject of confession.
Speaking upon this point, I remarked to Father Roach, that of all the practices of the Roman Catholic Church, that of confession I considered the most beneficial within the range of its discipline.
He concurred with me in admitting it as highly ad- vantageous to the sinner. I ventured to add that I con- sidered it very beneficial also to the person sinned against.
" Very true," said Father Roach ; " restitution is often made through its agency."
"But in higher cases than those you allude to,-' said I : " for instance, the detection of conspiracies, unlaw- ful meetings, &c. &c."
" Confession," said he, somewhat hesitatingly, " does not immediately come into action in the way vou allude to."
FATHER ROACH. 49
I ventured to hint, rather cautiously, that in this kingdom, where the Roman Catholic religion was not the one established by law, there might be some reserve between penitent and confessor, on a subject where the existing government might be looked upon something in the light of a step-mother.*
A slight flush passed over the priest's pallid face — • " No, no," said he ; " do not suspect us of any foul play to the power under which we live. — No ! — But recollect, the doctrine of cnv church is this — that whatsoever penance may be enjoined on the offending penitent by his confession, his crime, however black, must in all cases be held sacred, when its acknowledgment is made under the seal of confession."
" In all ca res ?" said I.
'• Without an exception," answered he.
" Then, w add you not feel it your duty to give a murderer up \ o justice 1"
The counteivmce of Father Roach assumed an instan- taneous change, as if a sudden pang shot through him — his lip became suddenly ashy pale, he hid his face in his hands, and seenu/l struggling with some deep emo- tion. Ifeared I had oh^nded, and feeling quite confused, began to stammer out som<_ nonsense, when he interrupted me.
" Do not be uneasy," saiu *>e. " You have said nothing to be ashamed of, but you:' words touched a chord," and his voice trembled as he spoko, " that cannot vibrate without intense pain ;" and wiping away a tear that glistened in each humid eye, "I shall tell you a story," said he, " that will be the strongest illustration of such a case as you have supposed ;" — and he proceeded to give me the following narrative.
* This was previous to the passing of the Roman Catholic relief bill.
4
THE PRIEST'S STORY.
" I have already made known unto you, that a younger brother and myself were left to the eare of my mother —best and dearest of mothers ! " said the holy man, sighing deeply, and clasping his hands fervently, whils his eyes were lifted to heaven, as if love made him con- scious that the spirit of her he lamented had found its eternal rest there — " thy gentle and affectionate nature sunk under the bitter trial that an all-wise providence was pleased to visit thee with ! — Well, sir, Frank was my mother's darling ; not that you are to understand, by so saying, that she was of that weak and capricious tone of mind which lavished its care upon one at the expense of others — far from it ; never was a deep store of maternal love more equally shared than among the four brothers ; but when the two seniors went away, and I was some time after sent, for my studies, to St, Onier, Frank became the object upon which all the tenderness of her affectionate heart might exercise the little maternal cares that hitherto had been divided
*HE PRIEST*' S STORY. 51
mmngst many. Indeed, my dear Frank deserve! it all; us was the gentlest of natures combined with a mind )f singular strength and brilliant imaginariom In short, is the phrase has it. he was ' the flower of the flock, ' ind great things were expected from him. It was sometime after my return from St. Onier. while prepa- ration.? were making for advancing Frank in the pursuit Thick had been selected as the business of his life, that >very hour which drew nearer to the moment of his Fparture made him dearer, not only to us, but to all vho knew him, and each friend claimed a day that iTrank should spend with him, which always passed in •eealling the happy hours they had already spent ogerher, in assurances given and received of kindly ■ernembranees that still should be cherished, and in nutuai wishes for success, with many a hearty prophecy Tom my p»oor Frank's friends. "' that he would one day oe a great man.'
" One night, as my mother and myself were sitting at lome beside the lire, expecting Frank's return from one ji these parties, my mother said, in an unusua.iy inxlous tone, 'I wish Frank was come home.'
••What makes you think of his return so s:on??' said I.
■;iI don't know/ said she; 'but somehow, Tm un- easy about him/
■■ Oh, make yourself, quiet.' said I, •' on that subject ; we cannot possibly expect Frank' for an hour to come vet.'
*"•' Still my mother could not become c;.lm, and sh :■ thicreted about the room, became busyin doing nothing. ai;.l now-and-then would go to the door of the house to Ibten for the distant tramp of Frank's horse ; but Frame came not.
" More than the hour I had named, as the probable time of Ids return, had elapsed and my mother s anxiety had amounted to a painful pitch : and I began myself to blame my brother for so long and late an absence. Still. I endeavoured to calm her, and had prevailed on
52 LEGEND ASV STORIES.
her to seat herself again at the fire, and commenced reading a page or two of an amusing book, when sucl denly she stopped me, and turned her head to the window in the attitude of listening.
" ' It is ! it is ! ' said she ; ' I hear him coming.' " " And now the sound of a horse's feet in a rapid pace became audible. She rose from her chair, and with a deeply aspirated ' Thank God !' -went to open the door for him herself. I heard the horse now pass by the window ; in a second or two more, the door was opened, and instantly a fearful scream from my mother brought me hastily to her assistance. I found her lying in the hall in a deep swoon — the servants of the house hastily crowded to the spot, and gave her immediate aid. I ran to the door to ascertain the cause of my mother's alarm, and there I saw Frank's horse panting and foam- ing, and the saddle empty. That my brother had been thrown and badly hurt, was the first thought that sug- gested itself; and a car and horse were immediately ordered to drive in the direction he had been re- turning ; but, in a few minutes, our fears were excited to the last degree, by discovering there was blood on the saddle.
" We all experienced inconceivable terror at the dis- covery, but, not to weary you with details, suffice it to say, that we commenced a diligent search, and at length arrived at a small by-way that turned from the main road, and led through a bog, which was the nearest course for my brother to have taken homewards, and we accordingly began to explore it. I was mounted on the horse my broiher had ridden, and the animal snorted violently, and exhibited evident symptoms of dislike to retrace this by-way, which, I doubted not, he had already travelled that night ; and this very fact made me still more apprehensive that some terrible occurrence must have taken place, to occasion such ex- cessive repugnance on the part of the animal. How- ever, I urged him onward, and telling those who
the pbiest's stobt. 53
accompanied me, to folio-*- with what speed they misht, I dashed forward, followed by a faithful dog of poor Frank's. At the termination of about half a mile, the horse became still more impatient of restraint, and started at every ten paces ; and the dog began to tra- verse the little road, giving an occasional yelp, sniffing the air strongly, and lashing his sides with his tail, as if on some scent. At length he came to a stand, and beat about within a very circumscribed space — yelping oc- casionally, as if to draw my attention. I dismounted immediately, but the horse was so extremely restless, that the difficulty I had in holding him prevented me from observing the road by the light of the lantern which I carried. I perceived, however, it was very much trampled hereabouts, and bore evidence of having been the scene of a struggle, I shouted to the party in the rear, who soon came up and lighted some faggots of bog- wood which they brought with them to assist in our search, and we now more clearly distinguished the marks I have alluded to. The dog still howled, and indicated a particular spot to us ; and on one side of the path, upon the stunted grass, we discovered a quan- tity of fresh blood, and I picked up a pencil case that I knew had belonged to my murdered brother — for I now was compelled to consider him as such ; and an attempt to describe the agonised feelings which at that moment I experienced would be in vain. We continued our search for the discovery of his body for many hours without success, and the morning was far advanced be- fore we returned home. How changed a home from the preceding day ! My beloved mother could scarcely be roused for a moment from a sort of stupor that seized upon her, when the paroxysm of frenzy was over, which the awful catastrophe of the fataL night had pro- duced. If ever heart was broken, her's was. She lin cered but a few weeks after the son she adored, and seldom spoke during the perio-1, except to call upon his name.
54 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
" But I will not dwell on this painful theme. Suffice it to say — she died ; and her death, under such circum- stances, increased the sensation which my brother's mysterious murder had excited. Yet, with all the hor- ror which was universally entertained for the crime, and the execrations poured upon its atrocious perpetrator, still, the doer of the deed remained undiscovered ! and even I, who of course was the most active in seeking to develope the mystery, not only could catch no clue to lead to the discovery of the murderer, but failed even to ascertain where the mangled remains of my lost brother had been deposited.
'■' It was nearly a year after the fatal event, that a penitent knelt to me, and confided to the ear of his confessor the misdeeds of an ill-spent life ; I say of his whole life — for he had never before knelt at the confessional.
"Fearful was the catalouge of crime that was revealed to me — unbounded selfishness, oppression, revenge, and lawless passion, had held unbridled influence over the unfortunate sinner, and sensuality in all its shapes, even to the polluted home and betrayed maiden, had plunged him deeply into sin.
"I was shocked — I may even say I was disgusted, and the culprit himself seemed to shrink from the re- capitulation of his crimes, which he found more extensive and appalling than he had dreamed of, until the recital of them called them all up in fearful array before him. I was about to commence an admonition, when he interup- ted me — he had more to communicate. I desired him to proceed — he writhed before me. I enjoined him in the name of the God he had offended, and who knoweth the inmost heart, to make an unreserved disclosure of I: is crimes, before he dared to seek a reconciliation with his Maker. At length, after many a pause and convulsive sob, he told me, in a voice almost suffocated by terror, that he had been guilty of bloodshed. I shuddered, but in a short time I recovered myself, and asked how and
THE PBIEsT'S STOHT. OO
where he had deprived a fellow-creature of life ? Never, to the latest hour of my life, shall I forge: the look which the miserable sinner save me at that moiueitt. His eyes were glazed, and seemed starting; from their sockets with terror ; his face assumed a deadly paleness — he raised his clasped hands up to me in the mo?: imploring; action, as it' supplicating: mercy, and with livid and quivering- lips he gasped out — ;'Tvras I who killed your brother "
" Oh God ' how I felt at that instant ' Even now, after the lapse of years. I recollect the sensation : it was as if the blood were flowing' back upon my heart, until I felt as if it would burst ; and then, a few convulsive breathings, — and back rushed the blood again Through my tingling veins. I thought I was dying ; but suddenly I uttered an hysteric laugh, and fell back, senseless, in my s .-at.
"When I recovered, a cold sweat was pouring down my forehead, and I was weeping eopl'usly Xever, bef ire. did I feel my manhood annihilated under the influence of an hysterical anecrion — it was dreadful.
'•I found the bloodstained sinner supporting me, roused from his own prostration by a sense of terror at my emotion; for when I could hear any thing, his entreaties that I would not discover upon him were poured forth in the most abject strain of supplication. ' Eear not for your miserable life,' said I ; ' the seal of confession is upon what you have revealed to me, and you are sale : but leave me for the present, and come not to me again until I send for you.' — He departed.
" I knelt and prayed for strength to Him who alone could give it, to fortify me in this dreadful trial. Here was the author of a brother's murder, and a mother's consequent death, discovered to me in the person of my penitent. It was a fearful position for a frail mortal to be placed in : but as a consequence of the holy calling I professed, I hoped, through the blessing of Hini whom
56 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
I served, to acquire fortitude for the trial into which the ministry of his gospel had led me.
" The fortitude I needed came through prayer, and •when I thought myself equal to the task, I sent for the murderer of my brother. I officiated for him as our church has ordained — I appointed penances to him, and, in short, dealt with him merely as any other confessor might have done.
" Years thus passed away, and during that time he constantly attended his duty ; and it was remarked through the country, that he had become a quieter person since Father Eoach had become his confessor. But still he was not liked — and, indeed, I fear he was far from a reformed man, though he did not allow his transgressions to be so glaring as they were wont to be ; and I began to think that terror and cunning had been his motives in suggesting to him the course he had adopted, as the opportunities which it gave him of being often with me as his confessor, were likely to lull every suspicion of his guilt in the eyes of the world ; and in making me the depositary of his fearful secret, he thus placed himself beyond the power of my pursuit, and interposed the strongest barrier to my becoming the avenger of his bloody deed.
" Hitherto I have not made you acquainted with the cause of that foul act — it was jealousy. He found him- self rivalled by my brother in the good graces of a beautiful girl of moderate circumstances, whom he would have wished to obtain as his wife, but to whom Frank had become an object of greater interest ; and I doubt not, had my poor fellow been spared, that mar- riage would ultimately have drawn closer the ties that ;yere so savagely severed. But the ambuscade and the knife had done their deadly work; for the cowardly villain had lain in wait for him on the lonely bog-road ho. guessed he would travel on that fatal night, — and, springing from his lurking-place, he stabbed my noble Fr ank in the back.
the priest's story. 57
" Well, Sir, I fear I am tiring you with a story which, you cannot wonder, is interesting to me ; but I shall hasten to a conclusion.
" One gloomy evening in March, I was riding along the very road where my brother had met his fate, in company with his murderer. I know not what brought us together in such a place, except the hand of Provi- dence, that sooner or later brings the murderer to jus- tice ; for I was not wont to pass the road, and loathed the company of the man who happened to overtake me upon it. I know not whether it was some secret visita- tion of conscience that influenced him at the time, or that he thought the lapse of years had wrought upon me so far, as to obliterate the grief for my brother's death, which had never been, till that moment, alluded to, however remotely, since he confessed his crime. Judge then my surprise, when, directing my attention to a particular point in the bog, he said,
" ' 'Tis close to that place that your brother is buried.'
"I could not, I think, have been more astonished had my brother appeared before me.
" ' What brother !' said I.
" ' Your brother Frank,' said he ; ' twas there I buried him, poor fellow, after I killed him.'
" ' Merciful Grod !' I exclaimed, * thy will be done,' and seizing the rein of the culprit's horse, I said, 'Wretch that you are ! you have owned to the shedding of the innocent blood that has been crying to heaven for ven- geance these ten years, and I arrest you here as my prisoner.'
" He turned ashy pale, as he faltered out a few words, to say I had promised not to betray him.
" ' 'Twas under the seal of confession,' said I, that you disclosed the deadly secret, and under that seal my lips must have been for ever closed ; but now, even in the very place were your crime was committed, it has pleased God that you should arraign yourself in the face of the world — and the brother of your victim
53 LE&EXDS AXD ST0BTE3.
is appointed to be the avenger of Ms innocent blood.'
" He was overwhelmed by the awfulness of this truth, and unresistingly he rode beside me to the adjacent towa of , where he was committed for trial.
'; The report of this singular and providential dis- covery of a murder excited a great deal of interest in the country ; and as I was known to be the culprit s con- fessor, the bishop of the diocese forwarded a statement to a higher quarter, which procured for me a dispensation as regarded the confessions of the criminal ; and I was handed this instrument, absolving me from further secrecy, a few days before the triaL I was the principal evidence against the prisoner. The body of my brother had, in the interim, been found in the spot his murderer had indicated, and the bog preserved it so iir from decay, as to render recognition a task of no difficulty ; the proof was so satisfactorily adduced to the jury, that the murderer was found guiizy and executed, ten years after he had committed the crime.
" The judge pronounced a very feeling comment on the nature of the situation in which I had been placed for so many years ; and passed a very flattering eulogium upon what he was pleased to call, •' my heroic observance of the obligation of secrecy by which I had been bound.'
•• Thus, Sir, you see how sacred a trust that of a fact revealed under confession is held by our church, when even avenging a brother's murder was not sufficient warranty for its being broken.'"*
This story is a fact, ajid :te com~ cut cf the jcige ^pc^ the priest's
fidelity, I am happy to say, is true
THE KING AND THE BISHOP.
A LEGEND OP CLONJIACNOISB.
GuUdenstern — The King, Sir,
Hamlet-- Ay, Sir, what of him ?
Gull. — Is, in his retirement, marvellously distempered.
.flam.— With drink, Sir ?
Guil J\To, my Lord.
There are few things more pleasant to those who are doomed to pass the greater part of their lives in the dust, and din, and smoke of a city, than to get on the top of a stage-coach, early some fine summer morning, and whirl along through the yet unpeopled streets, echoing from their emptiness to the rattle of the wel- come wheels that are bearing you away from your metropolitan prison, to the
Free blue streams and the laughing sky
of the sweet country. How gladly you pass the last bridge over one of the canals— and then deeming your- self fairly out of town, you look back once only on its receding " groves of chimneys," and settling yourself comfortably in your seat, you cast away care, and look forward in gleeful anticipation of your three or four weeks in the tranquillity and freedom of a country ramble.
Such have my sensations often been ; not a little increased, by-the-bye, as I hugged closer to my side my portfolio, well stored with paper, and heard the rattle of my pencils and colours in the tin sketching box in my pocket. Such were they when last I started one fresh and lovely summer's morning, on the Eallinasloe coach, and promised myself a rich treat in a vi -it to
60 LEGENDS AND BTORIES.
Clonmacnoise, or " the churches," as the place is fami- liarly called by the peasantry. — Gladly I descended from my lofty station on our dusty conveyance, when it arrived at Shannonbridge, and engaging a boat, em- barked on the noble river whence the village takes its name, and proceeded up the wide and winding stream, to the still sacred and once celebrated Clonmacnoise, the second monastic foundation established in Ireland, once tenanted by the learned and the powerful, now scarcely known but to the mendicant pilgrim, the learned antiquary, or the vagrant lover of the pic- turesque.
Here, for days together, have I lingered, watching its noble " ivy-mantled " tower, reposing in shadow, or sparkling in sunshine, as it spired upward in bold relief against the sky ; or admiring the graceful involutions of the ample Shannon that wound beneath the gentle acclivity on which I stood, through the plashy meadows and the wide waste of bog, whose rich brown tones of colour faded into blue on the horizon ; or in noting the red-tanned sail of some passing turf-boat, as it broke the monotony of the quiet river, or in recording with my pencil the noble stone cross, or the tracery of some mouldering ruins,
Where ivied arch, or pillar lone, Plead haughtily for glories gone,
though I should not say " haughtily," for poor old Clonmacnoise pleads with as much humility as the religion which reared her now does* ; and which, like her, interesting in decay, appeals to our sympathies and our imagination. It is a truly solemn and lonely spot ; I love it almost to a folly, and have wandered day after day through its quiet cemetery, till I have almost made acquaintance with its ancient grave-stones.
* This was written hefore the Roman Catholic petitions had achieved " Emancipation."
THE KING AND THE BISHOP. 61
One day I was accosted by a peasant who had watched for a long time, in silent wonder, the draft of the stone cross, as it grew into being beneath my pencil; and finding the man "apt,"' as the ghost says to Hamlet, I entered into conversation with him. To some remark of mine touching the antiquity of the place, he assured me " it was a fine ovJ.d place, in the ould ancient times." In noticing the difference between the two round towers, — for there are two very fine ones at Clonmacnoise, one on the top of the hill, and one close beside the plashy bank of the river, — he accounted for the difference by a piece of legendary information with which he favoured me, and which may, perhaps, prove of sufficient importance to interest the reader.
" You see, Sir," said he, " the one down there beyant, at the river side, was built the first, and finished corn- plate entirely, for the roof is an it, you see ; but when that wa3 built, the bishop thought that another id look very purty on the hill beyant, and so he bid the masons 3et to work, and build up another tower there.
" Well, away they went to work, as busy as nailers ; troth it was jist like a bee-hive, every man with his hammer in his hand, and sure the tower was complated in due time. Well, when the last stone was laid on the roof, the bishop axes the masons how much he was to pay them, and they ups and towld him their price ; but the bishop, they say, was a neygar, (niggard,) God forgi' me for saying the word of so holy a man ! and he said they axed too much, and he wouldn't pay them. With that my jew'l, the masons said they would take no less ; and what would you think, but the bishop had the cunnin' to take away the ladthers that was reared up agin the tower.
"'And now/ says he, 'my gay fellows,' says he, ' the divil a down out o' that you'll come antil you larn manners, and take what's offered to yees,' says he ; ' and when yees come down in your price you may come down yourselves into the bargain.'
LEGENDS AND STORIES.
" "Well, sure enough, he kep his word, and wouldn't let man nor mortyel go nigh them to help them ; and faiks the masons didn't like the notion of losing their honest airnins, and small blame to [hem ; but sure they wor starvin' all the time, and didn't know what in the wide world to do, when there was a fool chanced to pass by, and seen them.
"'Musha! but you look well there,' says the inno- cent ; ' an' how are you ? ' says ho.
" 'Not much the betther av your axin,' says they.
'"Maybe you're out there,' says he. So ho ques- tioned them, and they tould him how it was with them, and how the bishop tuk away the ladthers, and they couldn't come down.
" ' Tut, you fools,' says he ; ' sure isn't it asier to take down two stones nor to put up one?'
" Wasn't that mighty cute o' the fool, sir ? And wid that, my dear sowl, no sooner said than done. Faiks the maisons begun to pull down their work, and whin they went an for some time, the bishop bid them stop, and he'd let them down ; but faiks, before he gev in to them they had taken the roof clane off; and that's the raison that one tower has a roof, Sir, and the other has none."
But before I had seen Clonmacnoise and its towers, I was intimate with the most striking of its legends, by favour of the sinewy boatman who rowed me to it. We had not long left Shamionbridge, when, doubling an angle of the shore, and stretching up a reach of the river where it widens, the principal round tower of Clonmac- noise became visible.
" What tower is that ? " said I to my Charon.
" That's the big tower of Clonmacnoise, Sir," 1
10
answered ; '•' an', if your honour looks sharp a little to the right of it, lower down, you'll see the ruins of the ould palace."
On a somewhat closer inspection, I did perceive the remains he spoke of, dimly discernible in the distance ;
THE KUTG AND THE BISHOP. 63
and it was not without his indication of their relative situation to the tower, that I could have distino-L'.ished thorn from the sober grey of the horizon behind them, for the evening was closing fast, and we were moving eastward.
"Does your honour see it yit ?" said my boat- man.
" I do," said I.
" God spare you your eyesight," responded he, " for troth it's few gintlemen could see the ould palace this far off, and the sun so low, barrin' they were used to spo_ .tin ; and had a sharp eye for the birds over a bog, or the like o' that. Oh, then it's CloDmacnoise, your honour, that's the holy place," continued he: '•'mighty holy in the ould ancient times, and mighty great too, wid the sivin churches, let alone the two towers, and the bishop, and plinty o' priests, and all to that."
"Two towers?'' said I; "then I suppose one has fallen?"
"Not at all, Sir," said he; "but the other one that vou can't see, is beyant in the hollow by the river sMe."
'•' And it was a great place, you say, in the ould ancient times ?"
" Troth it was, Sir, and is still, for to this day it bates the world in regard o' pilgrims."
"Pilgrims !" I ejaculated.
'•' Yes, Sir," said the boatman, with Lis own quiet manner ; although it was evident to a quick observer, that my surprise at the mention of pilgrims had not escaped him.
I mused a moment. Pilgrims, thought I, in the British dominions, in the nineteenth century — strange enough !
" And so," continued I aloud, " you have pilgrims at Clonmacnoise ? '
" Troth we have, your honour, from the top of the
G4 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
north and the farthest corner of Kerry; and you may see them any day in the week, lot alone the paihern (patron) dav, when all the world, you'd think, was there."
"And the palace," said I, "I suppose belonged to the bishop of Clonmacnoise ? "
" Some says 'twas the bishop, your honour, and indeed it is them that has larnin' says so : but more says 'twas a king had it long ago, afore the churches was there at all at all ; and sure enough it looks far oulder nor the churches, though them is ould enough in all conscience. All the knowledgable people I ever heerd talk of it, says that ; and now, Sir," said he in an expostulatory tone, " wouldn't it be far more nath'ral that the bishop id live in the churches ? And sure," continued he, evidently leaning to the popular belief, " id stands to raison that a king id live in a palace, and why shud it be called a palace if a king didn't live there ?"
Satisfying himself with this most logical conclusion, he pulled his oar with evident self-complacency ; and as I have always found, I derived more legendary informa- tion by yielding somewhat to the prejudice of the narrator, and by abstaining from inflicting any wound on his pride (so Irish a failing) by laughing at or endea- vouring to combat his credulity, I seemed to favour his conclusions, and admitted that a king must have been the ci-devant occupant of the palace. So much being settled, he proceeded to tell me that " there was a mighty quare story " about the last king that ruled Clonmacnoise ; and having expressed an eager desire to hear the quare story — he seemed quite happy at being called on to fulfil the office of chronicler ; and pulling his oar with an easier sweep, lest he might disturb the quiet hearing of his legend by the rude splash of the water, he prepared to tell his tale, and I, to "devour up his discourse."
" Well, Sir, they say there was a king wanst lived in the palace beyant and a sportin' fellow he was, and
the' king and the bishop. 65
Cead milefailte* was the word in the palace; no one kem but was welkim, and I go bail the sorra one left it without the deoch art doris\, — well, to be sure, the king av coorse had the best of eatin' and drinkin,' and there was bed and boord for the stranger, let alone the welkim for the neighbour — and a good neighbour he was by all accounts, until, as bad luck would have it, a crass ould bishop (the saints forgi' me for saying the word) kem to rule over the churches. ]>7ow, you must know, the king was a likely man, and, as I said already, he was a sportin' fellow, and by coorse a great favourite with the women ; he had a smile and a wink for the crathers at every hand's
turn, and the soft word, and the the short and the
long of it is, he was the divil among the girls.
" Well, Sir, it was all mighty well, untell the ould bishop I mentioned arrived at the churches ; but whin he kem, he tuck great scandal at the goings-an of the king, and he detarmined to cut him short in his coorses all at wanst , so with that whin the king wint to his duty, the bishop ups and he tell him that he must mend his manners, and all to that ; and when the king said that the likes o' that was never tould him afore by the best priest o' them all, ' More shame for them that wor before me/ says the bishop.
" But to make a long story short, the king looked mighty black at the bishop, and the bishop looked twice blacker at him again, and so on, from bad to worse, till they parted the bittherest of inimies : and the king that was the best o' friends to the churches afore, swore be this and be that, he'd vex them for it, and that he'd be even with the bishop afore long.
" Now, Sir, the bishop might jist as well have kept never mindin' the king's little kimneens with the girls, for the story goes that he had a little failin' of his own in regard of a dhrop, and that he knew the differ betune wine and wather, for, poor ignorant crathurs, it's little
* A Lundrecl thousand welcomes. t The parting cup
66 LEGENDS AND STOEIES.
they knew about whiskey in them days. Well, the king used often to send lashins o' wine to the churches, by the way, as he said, that they should have plinty of it for celebrating the mass — although he knew well that it was a little of it went far that-a-way, and that their Riverinces was fond of a hearty glass as well as himself, and why not, Sir ? — if they'd let him alone ; for says the king, as many a one said afore, and will again, I'll make a child's bargain with you, says he, do you let me alone, and I'll let you alone; manirC by that, Sir, that if they'd say nothin' about the girls, he would give them plinty of wine.
" And so it fell out a little before he had the scrim- mage* with the bishop, the king promised them a fine store of wine that was comin' up the Shannon in boats, Sir, and big boats they wor, I'll go bail — not all as one as the little drolleen (wren) of a thing we're in now, but nigh-hand as big as a ship ; and there was three of these fine boats-full comin' — two for himself, and one for the churches ; and so says the king to himself, ' the divil receave the dhrop of that wine they shall get,' says he, ' the dirty beggarly neygars : bad cess to the dhrop,1 says he, ' my big-bellied bishop, to nourish your jolly red nose — I said I'd be even with you,' says he, 'and so I will ; and if you spoil my divarshin, I'll spoil yours, and turn about is fair play, as the divil said to the smoke-jack.' So with that, Sir, the king goes and he gives ordhers to his sarvants how it wid be when the boats kem up the river with the wine — and more especial to one in partie'lar they called Corny, his own man, by raison he was mighty stout, and didn't love priests much more nor himself.
" Now Corny, Sir, let alone bein' stout, was mighty dark, and if he wanst said the word, you might as well sthrive to move the rock of Dunamaise as Corny, though without a big word at all at all, but as quite (quiet) as a
• Evidently derived from the French escrimer.
THE KBTG ASD THE BISHOP. 67
child. Well, in good time, up kem the boat?, and down runs the monks, all as one as a flock o' crows over a corn-field, to pick up whatever they could for themselves ; but troth the king was afore them, for all his men was there with Corny at their head.
" 'Dominin vobueam,' (which manes, God save you, Sir,) says one of the monks to Corny, ' we kem down to save you the throuble of unloading the wine, which the king, God bless him, gives to the church.'
" ' Oh, no throuble in life, plaze your Biverince,' says Corny, 'well unload it ourselves, your Biverince,' says he.
" So with that they began unloading, first one boat, and then another; but sure enough, every individual cashk of it went up to the palace, and not a one to the churches: so whin they seen the second boat a'most empty ; quare thoughts began to come into their heads, for before this offer, the first boatload was always sent to the bishop, afore a dhrop was taken to the king, which, you know, was good manners, Sir; and the king, by all accounts, was a gintleman, every inch of him. So, with that, says one of the monks :
" ' My blessin' an you, Corny, my sen,' says he, ' sure it's not forgettin' the bishop you'd be, nor the churches,' says he, ' that stands betune you and the divii.'
" WeD, Sir, at the word divtt, 'twas as good as a play to see the look Corny gave out o' the corner of his eye at the monk.
"'Forget yez,' says Corny, 'throth it's long afore me or my masther/ says he, (nodding his head a bit at the word,) 'wCl forget the bishop of Clonmacnoise. Go an with your work, boys,' says he to the men about him, and away they wint, and soon finished unloadin' the second boat; and with that they began at the third.
" ' God bless your work, boys,' says the bishop ; for, sure enough, 'twas the bishop himself kem down to the liver side, having got the hard word of what was goin' an. 'God bless your work,' says he, as they heaved
C3 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
the first barrel of -wine out of the boat. ' Go, help them, my sons,' says he, turnin' round to half a dozen strappin' young priests as was standing by.
" ' ]N"o occasion in life, plaze your Kiverince,' says Corny ; I'm intirely obleeged to your lordship, but we're able for the work ourselves,' says he. And without sayin' another word, away went the barrel out of the boat, and up on their shoulders, or what- ever way they wor takin' it, and up the hill to the palace.
" ' Hillo ! ' says the bishop, ' where are yiz goin' with that wine ? ' says he.
" ' Where I tould them,' says Corny.
" ' Is it to the palace ? ' says his Riverince.
" ' Faith, you jist hit it,' says Corny.
" ' And what's that for ? ' says the bishop.
" ' For fun,' says Corny, no way frikened at all by the dark look the bishop gave him. And sure it's a wondher the fear of the church didn't keep him in dread — but Corny was the divil intirely.
'; ' Is that the answer you give your clargy, you reprobate ? ' says the bishop. ' I'll tell you what it is, Corny,' says he, 'as sure as your standin' there I'll excommunicate you, my fine fellow, if you don't keep a civil tongue in your head.'
" ' Sure it wouldn't be worth your Riverince's while,' says Corny, ' to excommunicate the likes o' me,' says he, ' while there's the king my masther to the fore, for your holiness to play bell, book, and candle-light with.'
" 'Do you mane to say, you scruff o' the earth,' says the bishop, 'that your masther, the king, put you up to what you're doing ?'
" 'Divil a thing else I mane,' says Corny,
" 'You villian !' says the bishop, 'the king never did the like.'
'• ' Yes, but I did though,' says the king, puttin' in his word fair and aisy ; for he was lookin' out o' Ids dhrawin'-room windy, and run down the hill to the
TUB KING AND THE BISHOP. 69
river, when he seen the bishop go-in', as he thought, to put his couiethcr upon Oorny.
" 'So,' says the bishop, turnin' round quite short to the king — 'so, my lord,' says he, 'am I to understand this villian has your commands for his purty behavor :' '
" 'He has my commands for what he done,' says the king, quite stout ; 'and more to be token, I'd have you to know he's no villian at all,' says he, 'but a thrusty sarvant, that does his masther's biddin' '
" 'And don't you intind sendin' any of this wine over to my churches beyant ? ' says the bishop.
" 'Bad luck to the dhrop,' says the king.
" 'And what for ? ' says the bishop.
" 'Bekase I've changed my mind,' says the king.
'• 'And won't you give the church wine for the holy mass ? ' says the bishop.
" 'The mass !' says the king, eyin' him mighty sly
" 'Yes, Sir — the mass,' says his Eiverinee, colouring up to the eyes — ' the mass.'
" 'Oh, baithcrsMll!, says the king.
" 'What do you mane ?' says the bishop — and his nose got blue with fair rage.
" Oh, nothin',' says the king, with a toss of his head.
" 'Are you a gintleman?' says the bishop.
" 'Every inch o' me,' says the king.
" ' Then sure no gintleman goes back of his word,' says the other.
" 'I wont go back o' my word, either,' says the king. — ' I promised to give wine for the mass,' says he, 'and so I will. Send to my palace every Sunday moroin', and you shall have a bottle of wine, and that's pliniy ; for I'm thinkin',' says the king, 'that so much wine lyin' beyant there, is neither good for your bodies nor your sowls.'
"'What do you mane ?' says the bishop in a great passion, for all the world like a turkey-cock,
" 'I mane, that when your wine-cellar is so full,' says
70 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
the king, 'it only brings the fairies about you, and makes away with the wine too fast,' says he laughin' ; and the fairies to be about the churches isn't good, your Riverince,' says the king ; ' for I'm thinkin',' says he, 'that some of the spiteful little divils has given your Riverince a blast, and burnt the ind of your nose.'
" With that, my dear, you couldn't hould the bishop, with the rage he was in ; and says he, ' You think to dhrink all that wine — but you're mistaken/ says he — ' fill your cellars as much as you like,' says the bishop, ' but you'll die in drooth yit ; — and with that he went down on his knees and cursed the king (God betune us and harm !) and shakin' his fist at him, he gother [gathered] all his monks about him, and away they wint home to the churches.
"Well, Sir, sure enough, the king fell sick of a suddent, and all the docthors in the country round was sent for ; — but they could do him no good at all at all — and day by day he was wastin' and wastin', and pinin' and pinin', till the flesh was worn off Ids bones, and he was as bare and yallow as a kite's claw ; and then, what would you think, but the drooth came an him sure enough, and he was callin' for dhrink every minit, till you'd think he'd dhrink the sae dhry.
" Well, when the clock struck twelve that night, the drooth was an him worse nor ever, though he dhrunk as much that day — ay, troth, as much as would turn a mill ; and he called to his servants for a dhrink of grule [gruel].
" ' The grule's all out,' says they
" ' Well, then give me some whay,' says he.
" ' There's none left, my lord,' says they.
" ' Then give me a dhrink of wine,' says he.
" ' There's none in the room, dear,' says the nurse- tindher.
" ' Then go down to the wine-cellar,' says he ' and get some.'
" With that, they wint to the wine-cellar — but, jew'l
THE KING AND THE BISHOP. 71
machree, they soon run back into his room, -with their faces as white as a sheet, and tould him there was not one dhrop of wine in all the cashks in the cellar.
" ' Oh murther ! murther ! ' says the king, ' I'm dyirH f drooth,' says he.
" And then, God help iz ! they bethought themselves of what the bishop said, and the curse he laid an the king.
" ' You've no grule V says the king.
" ' No,' says they.
« < Nor W}.iay ? '
" ' No,' says the sarvants.
" ' Nor wine 1 ' says the king.
" ' Nor wine either, my lord,' says they.
" ' Have you no tay ? ' says he.
"■' 'Not a dhrop,' says the nurse-tindher.
" ' Then,' says the king, ' for the tindher marcy of heaven, gi' me a dhrink of wather'
" 'And what would you think, Sir, but there wasn't a dhrop of wather in the place.
" ' Oh, murther ! murther '.' says the king, ' isn't it a poor case, that a king can't get a dhrink of wather in his own house ? Go then,' says he, ' and get me a jug of wather out of the ditch.'
" For there was a big ditch, Sir, all round the palace. And away they run for wather out of the ditch, while the king was roarin' like madfor the drooth, and his mouth like a coal of fire. And sate, Sir, as the story goes, they couldn't find any wather in the ditch !
" ' Millia murther ! niillia murther !' cries the king, ' will no one take pity an a king that's dijin' for the bare drooth ? '
"And they thrimbled again, with the fair fright, when they heerd this, and thought of the ould bishop' 3 prophecy.
" ' Well,' says the poor king, ' run down to the Shan- non,' says he, ' and sure, at all events, you'll get wather there,' says he.
" Well, Sir, away they run with pails and noggins,
72 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
down to the Shonnon, and (God betune us and harm !) what do you think, Sir, but the river Shannon was clhry! So, av coorse, when the king heerd the Shannon was gone dhry, it wint to his heart ; and he thought o' the bishop's curse an him — and, givin' one murtherin' big screech, that split the walls of the palace, as may be seen to this day, he died, Sir, — makin' the bishop's words good, that ' lie would die of drootli yet /'
" And now, Sir," says my historian, with a look of lurking humour in his dark grey eye, " isn't that mighty wondherful — iv it's thruef
AN ESSAY ON FOOLS.
"A fool, a fool !— I met a fool i' the forest."
AS TOTJ LIKE IT.
As some allusion has been made in the early part of the foregoing story to a fool, this, perhaps, is the fittest place to say something of fools in general. Be it under- stood, I only mean fools by profession ; for, were amateur fools included, an essay on fools in general would be no trifling undertaking. And further, I mean to limit myself within still more circumscribed bounds, by treating of the subject only as it regards that immediate part of his Majesty's dominions called Ireland.
In Ireland, the fool, or natural, or innocent, (for by all these names he goes), as represented in the stories of the Irish peasantry, is very much the fool that Shakspeare occasionally embodies ; and even in the present day, many a witticism and sarcasm, given birth to by these mendicant Touchstones, would be treasured iu the memory of our beau monde, under the different
74 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
heads of brilliant or biting-, had they been uttered by a Bushe or a Plunket. I recollect a striking piece of imagery employed by one of the tribe, on his perceiving the approach of a certain steward, -who, as a severe task- master, had made himself disliked amongst the peasantry employed on his master's estate. This man had acquired a nickname (Irishmen, by the way, are celebrated for the application of sobriquets,) which nick-name was "Danger;" and the fool, standing one day amidst a parcel of workmen who were cutting turf, perceived this steward crossing the bog towards tnem : " Ah, ah ! by clad, you must work now, boys," said he, " here come3 Danger. Bad luck to you, daddy Danger, you dirty blood-sucker, sure the earth's heavy with you." But suddenly stopping in his career of common-place abuse, he looked with an air of contemplative dislike towards the man, and deliberately said, " There you are, Danger! and may I never break bread, if all the turf in the bog 'id icarm me to you."
Such are the occasional bursts of figurative language uttered by our fools, who are generally mendicants ; or perhaps it would be fitter to call them dependants, either on some particular family, or on the wealthy farmers of the district. But they have a great objection that such should be supposed to be the case, and are particularly jealous of their independence. An example of this was given me by a friend who patronised one that was rather a favourite of the gentlemen in the neighbour- hood, and a constant attendant at every fair within ten or fifteen miles, where he was sure to pick up a good deal of money from his gentlemen friends. Aware of
this fact, Mr. meeting Jimmy* one morning on
the road, and knowing what errand he was bound on, asked him where he was going ?
" I'm goin' to the fair, your honour."
* This is the name almost universally applied here to fools. Tom seems to be the one in use in England, even as far hack as Shakspeare's time : hut Jimmy is the established name in Ireland.
AN ESSAY ON FOOLS. 75
" Why, what can bring you there ?'*
" Oh, I've business there."
"What business ?"
"I'll tell you to-morrow."
"Ah ! Jimmy," said the gentleman, "I see how it is —you're going to the fair to ask all the gentlemen for money."
" Indeed I'm not : I'm no beggar — Jimmy wouldn't be a beggar. Do you think I've nothin' else to do but beg?"
""Well, what else brings you to the fair?"
" Sure I'm goin' to sell a cow there," said Jimmy, quite delighted at fancying he had successfully baffled the troublesome inquiries of the squire : and not willing to risk another question or answer, he uttered his deaf- ening laugh, and pursued his road to the fair.
From the same source I heard that they are admirable couriers, which my friend very fairly accounted for, by attributing it to the small capabi- lity of comprehension in the constitution of their minds, which rendering them unable to embrace more than one idea at a time, produces a singleness of purpose, that renders them valuable messengers. As an instance of this, he told me that a gentleman in his neighbourhood once sent a certain fool to the town of
■ , with a packet of great consequence and value,
to his banker, with a direction to the bearer not to hand
it to any person but Mr. himself, and not to return
without seeing him.
It so happened Mr. had gone to Dublin that
morning ; and no assurances nor persuasion on the part of that gentleman's confidential clerk, could induce the fool to hand him the parcel — thus observing strict obedience to the commands of his master. Biit he adhered still more literally to his commission ; for when
he was told Mr. had gone to Dublin, and that,
therefore, he could not give him the packet, he said, " Oh, very well, Jimmy 'ill go back again ;" but when
76 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
he left the office, he took the road to Dublin, in3tec homewards, having been bidden not to return with delivering it, and ran the distance to the capital, (abou one hundred and forty miles,) in so short a time, that he arrived there but a few hours after the gentleman he followed, and never rested until he discovered where he was lodged, and delivered to him the parcel, in strict accordance with his instruction.
They are affectionate also. I have heard of a fool, who, when some favourite member of a family he was attached to died, went to the church-yard, and sat on the grave, and there wept bitterly, and watched night and day ; nor could he be forced from the place, nor could the calls of hunger and thirst induce him to quit the spot for many days ; and such was the intensity of grief on the part of the affectionate creature, that he died in three months afterwards.
But they can be revengeful too, and entertain a grudge with great tenacity. The following is a ridicu- lous instance of this : — A fool, who had been severely bitten by a gander, that was unusually courageous, watched an opportunity, when his enemy was absent, and getting among the rising family of the gander, he began to trample upon the goslings, and was caught in the act of murdering them wholesale, by the enraged woman who had reared them.
" Ha ! Jimmy, you villain, is it murtherin' my lovely goslins you are, you thief of the world ? Bad scran to you, you thick-headed vagabond."
" Divil mend them, granny," shouted Jimmy, Avith a laugh of idiotic delight, as he leaped over a ditch! out of the reach of the hen-wife, who rushed upon him with a broom-stick, full of dire intent upon Jimmy's, skull.
" Oh, you moroadin' thief," cried the exasperated woman, shaking her uplifted broom-stick at Jimmy in impotent rage ; " wait, till Maurice ketches you — that's all."
AN ESSAY ON POOLS. 77
" Divil mend them, granny," shouted Jimmy—" ha ! ha ! — why did their daddy bite me ? "
The peasantry believe a fool to be insensible to fear, from any ghostly visitation ; and I heard of an instance -where the experiment was made on one of these unhappy creatures, by dressing a strapping fellow in a sheet, and placing him in a situation to intercept " poor Jimmy " on his midnight path, and try the truth of this generally- received opinion, by endeavouring to intimidate him. When he had reached the appointed spot, a particularly lonely and narrow path, and so hemmed in by high banks on each side, as to render escape difficult, Mr. Ghost suddenly reared his sheeted person, as Jemmy had half ascended a broken stile, and with all the usual terrific formulsa of " Boo," " Fee-fa-fum," &c, &c, demanded who dared to cross that path ? The answer, " I'm poor Jimmy," was given in his usual tone. " I'm Eaw-head and bloody-bones," roared the ghost. "Ho! ho! I often heerd o' you," said Jimmy. " Baw," cried the ghost, advancing—" I'll kill you— I'll kill you— I'll kill you." " The divil a betther opinion I had w you," said Jimmy. "Boo!" says Raw-head, "I'll eat you— I'll eat you." "The divil do you good with me," says Jimmy. And so the ghost was at a nonplus, and Jimmy won the field.
I once heard of a joint-stock company having been established between a fool and a blind beggarman, and for whom the fool acted in the capacity of guide. They had share and share alike in the begging concern, and got on tolerably well together, until one day the blind man had cause to suspect Jimmy's honour. It happened that a mail-coach passing by, the blind man put forth all his begging graces to induce the " quality " to " extind their charity," and succeeded so well, that not only some copper, but a piece of silver was thrown by the wayside, Jimmy, I'm sorry to say, allowed " the filthy lucre of gain " so. far to predominate, that in picking up these gratuities, he appropriated the silver coin to his own
78 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
particular pouch, and brought the half pence only for division to his blind friend ; but sense of hearing was so nice in the latter, that he detected the sound of the fall- ing silver, and asked Jimmy to produce it. Jimmy denied the fact stoutly. " Oh, I heerd it fall," said the blind man. " Then you were betther off than poor Jimmy," said our hero ; " for you heerd it, but poor Jimmy didn't see it." "Well, look for it," says the blind man. " Well, well, but you're cute, daddy," cried Jimmy; "you're right enough, I see it mow;'' and Jimmy affected to pick up the sixpence, and handed it to his companion.
" Now we'll go an to the Squire's," said the blind man, " and they'll give us somethin' to eat ;" and he and his idiot companion were soon seated outside the kitchen door of the Squire's house, waiting for their expected dish of broken meat and potatoes.
Presently Jimmy was summoned, and he stepped for- ward to receive the plate that was handed him, but in its transit from the kitchin-door to the spot where the blind man was seated, Jimmy played foul again, by laying violent hands on the meat, and leaving potatoes only in the dish. Again the acute sense of the blind man detected the fraud ; he sniffed the scent of the pur- loined provision ; and after poking with hurried fingers amongst the potatoes, he exclaimed, " Ha ! Jimmy, Jimmy, I smelt meat." "Deed and deed, no," said Jimmy, who had in the mean time, with the voracity of brutal hunger, devoured his stolen prey. " That's a lie, Jimmy," said the blind man — " that's like the sixpence. Ha ! you thievin' rogue, to cheat a poor blind man, you villian ;" and forthwith he aimed a blow of his stick at Jimmy with such good success, as to make the fool bellow lustily. Matters, however, were accommodated ; and both parties considered that the beef and the blow pretty well balanced one another, and so accounts were squared.
After their meal at the Squire's, they proceeded to
AN ESSAY ON FOOLS. 79
an adjoining village ; but in the course of their way thither, it was necessary to pass a rapid, and sometimes swollen, mountain-stream, and the only means of transit was by large blocks of granite placed at such intervals in the stream, as to enable a passenger to step from one to the other, and hence called " stepping-stones." Here, then, it was necessary, on the blind man's part, to employ great caution, and he gave himself up to the guidance of Jimmy, to effect his purpose. " You'll tell me where I'm to step," said he, as he cautiously approached the brink. " Oh, I will, daddy," said Jimmy ; " give me your hand."
But Jimmy thought a good opportunity had arrived, for disposing of one whom he found to be an over- intelligent companion, and leading him to a part of the bank where no friendly stepping-stone was placed, he cried, " step out now, daddy." The poor blind man obeyed the command, and tumbled plump into the water. The fool screamed with delight, and clapped his hands. The poor deluded blind man floundered for some time in the stream, which, fortunately, was not sufficiently deep to be dangerous ; and when he scrambled to the shore, he laid about him with his stick and tongue, in dealing blows and anathemas, all in- tended for Jimmy. The former Jimmy carefully avoided, by running out of the enraged blind man's reach. " Oh, my curse light an you, you black-hearted thraitor," said the dripping old beggar, " that has just wit enough to be wicked, and to play such a hard- hearted turn to a poor blind man ." "Ha! ha ! daddy," cried Jimmy, " you could smell the mate — why didn't you, smell the wather ? "
THE DEVIL'S MILL.
" His word is more than the miraculous harp ; He hath raised the wall, and houses too."
Tempest.
Beside the River Liffey stand the picturesque ruins of a mill, overshadowed by some noble trees that grow in great luxuriance at the water's edge. Here, one day, after making a sketch, I was accosted by a silver-haired old man that for some time had been observing me, and who, when I was about to leave the spot, approached ma and said, "I suppose it's after takin' off* the ould mil] you'd be, Sir ?"
I answered in the affirmative.
" Maybe your honor id let me get a sight iv it," said he.
" With pleasure," said I, as I untied the strings of my portfolio, and, drawing the sketch from amongst its com- panions, presented it to him. He considered it atten- tively for some time, and at length exclaimed,
" Throth, there it is to the life — the broken roof and
* "Take off" — to represent pictorially.
THE DEVIL'S MILL. 81
the wather-coorse ; ay, even the very spot where the gudgeon of the wheel was wanst, let alone the big stone at the corner, that was laid the first by himself;" and he gave the last word with mysterious emphasis, and handed the drawing back to me, with a " thankee, sir," of most respectful acknowledgment.
" And who was ' himself,' " said I, " that laid that stone 1" feigning ignorance, and desiring " to draw him out," as the phrase is.
" Oh, then, maybe it's what you'd be a stranger here V said he.
" Almost," said I.
" And did you never hear tell of L 's mill," said
he, " and how it was built?"
" Never," was my answer.
" Throth then I thought young and owld, rich and poor, knew that — far and near."
"I don't, for one," said I ; "but perhaps," I added, bringing forth some little preparation for a lunch, that I had about me, and producing a small flask of whiskey — "perhaps you will be so good as to tell me, and take a slice of ham, and drink my health," offering him a dram from my flask, and seating myself on the sod beside the river.
" Thank you kindly, sir," says he ; and so, after " warming his heart," as he said himself, he proceeded to give an account of the mill in question.
" You see, sir, there was a man wanst, in times back, that owned a power of land about here — but God keep uz, they said he didn't come by it honestly, but did a crooked turn whenever 'twas to sarve himself — and sure he sowld the pass* and what luck or grace could he have afther that V
" How do you mean he sold the pass ?" said I.
" Oh, sure your honour must have heerd how the pass was sowld, and he bethrayed his king and counthry.'
" No, indeed," said I.
• An allusion to a post of importance that was betrayed in some of tha battles between William III. and James II.
O
82 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
" Och, well," answered my old informant, with a shake of the head, which he meant, like Lord Burleigh in the Critic, to be very significant, " it's no matther now, and I don't care tal'kin' about it ; and laist said is soonest mended — howsomever, he got a power of money for that same, and lands and what not ; but the more he got, the more he craved, and there was no ind to his sthrivin' for goold evermore, and thirstin' for the lucre of gain.
"Well, the story goes that at last, the Divil (God bless us) kem to him, and promised him hapes o' money, and all his heart could desire, and more too, if he'd sell his sowl in exchange."
" Surely he did not consent to such a dreadful bargain as that ?" said I.
" Oh, no, sir," said the old man, with a slight play o1 muscle about the corners of his mouth, which but that the awfulness of the subject suppressed it, would have amounted to a bitter smile — " Oh no, he was too cunnin for that, bad as he was — and he was bad enough, God knows — he had some regard for his poor sinful sowl, and he would not give himself up to the Divil, all out ; but, the villian, he thought he might make a bargain with the oivld chap, and get all he wanted, and keep himself out of harm's way still : for he was mighty 'cute — and throth he was able for owld Nick any day.
" Well, the bargain was struck : and it was this-a-way: — The Divil was to give him all the goold ever he'd ask for, and was to let him alone as long as he could ; and The Timpter promised him a long day, and said 'twould be a great while before he'd want him at all at all ; and whin that time kem, he was to keep his hands aff him, as long as the other could give him some work he couldn't do.
" So, when the bargain was made, ' Now,' says the Colonel to the Divil, ' give me all the money I want.'
•' ' ' As much as you like,' says Owld Nick — ' how much will you have V
" ' You must fill me that room,' says he, pointin' into a murtherin' big room that he e&iptied out on purpose
the devil's mill. 83
—'you must fill that room, says he, up to the very ceilin' with goolden guineas.'
" ' And welkem,' says the Divil.
" With that, sir, he began to shovel in the guineas into the room, like mad ; and the Colonel towld liim, that as soon as he was done, to come to him in his own parlour below, and that he would then go up and see if the Divil was as good as his word, and had filled the room with the goolden guineas. So the Colonel went down stairs, and the Owld Fellow worked away as busy as a nailer, shovellin' in the guineas by hundherds and thousands.
" Well, he worked away for an hour, and more, and at last he began to get tired ; and he thought it mighty odd that the room wasn't fillin' fasther. — Well, afther restin' for a while, he began agin, and he put his shouldher to the work in airnest : but still the room way no fuller, at all at all.
" ' Och ! bad luck to me,' says the Divil, ' but the likes of this I never seen,' says he, ' far and near, up and down — the dickens a room I ever kem across afore,' says he, ' I couldn't cram while a cook would be crammin' a tur- key, till now ; and here I am,' says he ' losin' my whole day, and I with such a power o' work an my hands yit, and this room no fuller than if I began five minutes ago.'
"By gor, while he was spakin', he seen the hape o' guineas in the middle of the flure growing littler and littler every minit ; and at last they wor disappearing, for all the world, like corn in the hopper of a mill.
" ' Ho ! ho !' says Owld Nick, ' is that the way wid you,' says he ; and with that, he ran over to the hape of goold — and what would you think, but it was runnin' down through a great big hole in the flure, that the Colonel made through the ceilin' in the room below ; and that was the work he was at afther he left the Divil, though he purtended he was only waitin' for him in his parlour ; and there the Divil, when he looked down the hole in the flure, seen the Colonel, not content with the two rooms full of guineas, but with a big shovel,
84 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
throwin' them into a closet a' one side of him, as fast as they fell down. So, putting his head through the hole, he called down to the Colonel —
" ' Hillo ! neighbour,' says he.
" The Colonel looked up, and grew as white as a sheet, when he seen he was found out, and the red eyes starin' down at him through the hole.
" ' Musha, bad luck to your impudence !' says Ould Nick: 'it is sthriven to chate me you are/ says he, 'you villian ?'
" ' Oh ! forgive me this wanst,' says the Colonel, ' and, upon the honour of a gintleman,' says he, ' I'll never '
" ' Whisht ! whisht ! you thievin' rogue,' says the Divil — ' I'm not angry with you, at all at all, but only like you the betther, bekase you're so cute ; — lave off slaving yourself there,' says he, ' you have got goold enough for this time ; and whenever you want more, you have only to say the word, and it shall be your's to command.'
" So, with that, the Divil and he parted for that time: and myself doesn't know whether they used to meet often afther, or not ; but the Colonel never wanted money, any how, but went on prosperous in the world ■ — and, as the saying is, if he took the dirt out o' the road, it id turn to money wid him ; and so, in course of time, he bought great estates, and was a great man entirely — not a greater in Ireland, throth."
Fearing here a digression on landed interest, I inter- rupted him, to ask how he and the fiend settled their 1 accounts at last ?
"0, sir, you'll hear that all in good time. Sure enough it's terrible, and wondherful it is at the ind, and mighty improvin' — glory be to God !'
"Is that what you say," said I, in surprise, "be- cause a wicked and deluded man lost his soul to The Tempter !"
" Oh# the Lord forbid, your honour ; but don't be
THE devil's mill. 85
impatient, and you'll hear all. They say, at last, aftet many years of prosperity, that the owld Colonel got stricken in years, and he began to have misgivings in his conscience for his wicked doings, and his heart was heavy as the fear of death came upon him ; and sure enough, while he had such murnful thoughts, the Divil kem to him, and tould him he should go loid him.
"Well, to be sure the owld man was frekened, but he plucked up his courage and his cuteness, and towld the Divil, in a bantherin' way, jokin' like, that he had par- tic'lar business thin, that he was goin' to a party, and hoped an owld friend wouldn't inconvaynience him, that a-way ."
"Well," said I, laughing at the "put off" of going to a party, " the Devil, of course, would take no excuse, and carried him off in a flash of fire ?"
" Oh, no, sir," answered the old man, in something of a reproving, or, at least, offended tone — "that's the finish, I know very well, of many a story, such as we're talkin' of, but that's not the way of this, which is thruth every word, what I tell you ."
" I beg your pardon for the interruption," said I.
"No offence in life, sir," said the venerable chro- nicler, who was now deep in his story, and would not be stopped.
" Well, sir," continued he, " the Divil said he'd call the next day, and that he must be ready; and sure enough in the evenin' he kem to him ; and when the Colonel seen him, he reminded him of his bargain that as long as he could give him some work he couldn't do, he wasn't obleeged to go.
" ' That's thrue,' says the Divil.
" ' I'm glad you're as good as your word, any how,' says the Colonel.
" ' I never bruk my work yit,' says the owld chap, cocking up his horns consaitedly — ' honour bright,' says he.
86 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
" ' Well, then,' says the Colonel, ' build me a mill, down there, by the river,' says he, ' and let me have it finished by to-morrow morninV
"'Your will is my pleasure,' says the owld chap. and away he wint; and the Colonel thought he had nick'd Owld Nick at last, and wint to bed quite aisy in his mind.
"But, jeivel machree, sure the first thing he heerd the next mornin' was, that the whole counthry round was runnin' to see a fine bran' new mill, that was an the river side, where, the evening before, not a thing at all at all but rushes was standin', and all, of coorse, wonderin' what brought it there ; and some sayin' 'twas not lucky, and many more throubled in their mind, but one and all agreein' it was no good; and that's the very mill forninst you, that you were takin' aff, and the stone that I noticed is a remarkable one — a big coign- stone — that they say the Divil himself laid first, and has the mark of four fingers and a thumb an it, to this day.
" But when the Colonel heerd it, he was more throubled than any, of coorse, and began to conthrive what else he could think iv, to keep himself out iv the claws of the owld one. Well, he often heerd tell that there was one thing the Divil never could do, and I dar say you heerd it too, Sir, — that is, that he could't make a rope out of the sands of the sae ; and so when the owld one kem to him the next day, and said his job was done, and that now the mill was built, he must either tell him somethin' else he wanted done, or come away wid him.
" So the Colonel said he taw it was all over wid him ; ' but,' says he, ' I wouldn't like to go wid you alive, and sure it's all the same to vou, alive or dead V
" ' Oh, that won't do,' says his frind ; ' I can' wait no more,' says he.
" ' I don't want you to wait, my dear frind,' says the
THE devil's mill. 87
Colonel ; ' all I want is, that you'll be plased to kill me, before you take me away.'
" ' With pleasure,' says Owld Nick.
" ' But will you promise me my choice of dyin' one partic'lar way ?' says the Colonel.
" ' Half a dozen ways, if it plazes you,' says he.
" ' You're mighty obleegin,' says the Colonel ; ' and so,' says he, ' I'd rather die by bein" hanged with a rope made out of the sands of the sue,' says he, lookin' mighty knowin' at the owld fellow.
" ' I've always one about me,' says the Divil, ' to obleege my frinds,' says he ; and with that, he pulls out a rope made of sand, sure enough.
" ' Oh, it's game you're makin',' says the Colonel, growin' as white as a sheet.
" ' The game is mine, sure enough,' says the owld fellow, grinnin', with a terrible laugh.
" ' That's not a sand-rope at all,' says the Colonel.
" ' Isn't it V says the Divil, hittin' him acrass the face with the ind iv of the rope, and the sand (for it ivas made of sand, sure enough) went into one of his eyes, and made the tears come with the pain.
" ' That bates all I ever seen or heerd,' says the Colo- nel sthrivin' to rally, and make another offer — ' is there any thing you can't do V
" ' Nothing you can tell me,' says the Divil, ' so you may as well lave off your palaverin', and come along at wanst.'
" ' Will you give me one more offer,' says the Colonel.
" ' You dont't desarve it,' says the Divil, ' but I don't care if I do ;' for you see, sir, he was only playin' wid him, and tantalising the owld sinner.
" ' All fair,' says the Colonel, and with that he ax'd him could he stop a woman's tongue.
" ' Thry me,' says Owld Nick.
'"Well then,' says the Colonel, 'make my lady's tongue be quiet for the next month, and I'd thank you.'
88 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
" ' She'll never throuble you agin,' says Owld Nick ; and, with that, the Colonel heercl roarin' and cryin', and the door of his room was thrown open, and in ran his daughter, and fell down at his feet, telling him her mother had just dhropped dead.
'" The minit the door opened, the Divil runs and hides himself behind a big elbow chair ; and the Colonel was frekened almost out of his siven sinses, by raison of the sudden death of his poor lady, let alone the jeopardy he was in himself, seem' how the Divil had forestall'd him every way ; and after ringin' his bell, and callin' to his sarvants, and recoverin' his daughther out of her faint, he was goin' away wid her out o' the room, whin the Divil caught howld of him by the skirt of the coat, and the Colonel was obleeged to let his daughter be carried out by the sarvants, and shut the door afther them.
'' 'Well,' says the Divil, and he grinn'd and wagg'd his tail, and all as one as a dog when he's plaised — ' what do you say now ?' says he.
" ' Oh,' says the Colonel, ' only lave me alone until I bury my poor wife,' says he, ' and I'll go with you then, you vidian,' says he.
" ' Don't call names/ says the Divil ; ' you had better keep a civil tongue in your head,' says he ; ' and it doesn't become a gintleman to forget good manners.'
':Well, sir, to make a long story short, the Divil purtended to let him off, out of kindness, for three days antil his wife was buried ; but the raison of it was this, that when the lady his daughter fainted, he loosened the clothes about her throat, and in pulling some of her dhress away, he tuk off a goold chain that was on her neck, and put it in his pocket, and the chain had a diamond crass on it, (the Lord be praised !) and the Divil clam't touch him while he had the sign of the crass about him.
" Well, the poor Colonel (God forgive him !) wai
the devil's mill. 89
grieved for the loss of his lady, and she had an illigant berrin — and they sajr, that when the prayers was readin' over the dead, the owld Colonel took it to heart like any thing, and the word o' God kem home to his poor sinful sowl at last.
" Well, sir, to make a long story short, the ind if it was, that for the three days o' grace that was given to him the poor deluded owld sinner did nothin' at all but read the Bible from mornin' till night, and bit or sup didn't pass his lips all the time, he was so intint upon the Holy Book, but he sat up in an owld room in the far ind of the house, and bid no one disturb him an no account, and struv to make his heart bould with the words iv life ; and sure it was somethin' strinthened him at last, though as the time drew nigh that the inimy was to come, he didn't feel aisy ; and no wondher ; and, by dad, the three days was past and gone in no time, and the story goes that at the dead hour o' the night, when the poor sinner was readin' away as fast as he could, my jew'l, his heart jumped up to his mouth, at gettin' a tap on the shoulder.
" ' Oh, murther !' says he, ' who's there V for he was afeard to look up.
" ' It's me,' says the owld one, and he stood right forninst him, and his eyes like ooals o' fire, lookin' him through, and he said, with a voice that almost split his owld heart, ' Come !' says he.
" 'Another day,' cried out the poor Colonel.
" ' Not another hour,' says Sat'n.
" ' Half an hour V
" ' Not a quarther,' says the Divil, grinnin', with a bitther laugh — ' give over your readin', I bid you/ says he, ' and come away wid me.'
" ' Only gi' me a few minits,' says he.
" ' Lave aii your palavering' you snakin' owld sinner,' says Sat'n ; 'you know you're bought and sould to me, and a party bargain I have o' you, you owld baste,' says he — ' so come along at wansfc,' and he put out his claw
90 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
to ketch him ; hut the Colonel tuk a fast hould o' the Bible, and begg'd hard that he'd let him alone, and wouldn't harm him antil the bit o' candle that was just blinkin' in the socket before him was burned out.
'' ' Well, have it so, you dirty coward,' says Owld Kick — and with that he spit an him.
"But the poor owld Colonel didn't lose a minit (for he was cuirnin' to the ind), but snatched the little taste o' candle that was forninst him, out o' the candlestick, and puttin' it an the Holy Book before him, he shut down the cover of it, and quinched the light. With that, the Divil gave a roar like a bull, and vanished in a flash o' fire, and the poor Colonel fainted away in his chair ; but the sarvants heerd the noise, (for the Divil tore aff the roof o' the house when he left it,) and run into the room, and brought their master to himself agin. And from that day out he was an althered man, and used to have the Bible read to him every day, for he couldn't read himself any more, by raison of losin' his eyesight, when the Divil hit him with the rope of sand in the face, and afther spit an him — for the sand wint into one eye and he lost the other that-a-way, savin' your presence.
" So you see, sir, afther all, the Colonel, undher heaven, was too able for the Divil, and by readin' the good Book his sowl was saved, and (glory be to God) isn't that mighty improviri?"
The foregoing tale, we believe, is somewhat common to the legendary lore of other countries — at least, there is a German legend built on a similar foundation. We hope, however, it may not be considered totally unin- teresting, our effort being to show the different styles his sable majesty Las of cutting his capers in Germany and in Ireland.
THE GRIDIRON;
on,
PADDY MULLOWNEY'S TEAVELS IN FRANCE.
11 Soldier — Bos7cos fhromuldo boskos. Parolles — I know you are the Musko's regiment. Soldier — Boskos vaitvado. Parolles — I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue."
All's "Well That Ends Well.
Mathews, in his " Trip to America," gives a ludicrous representation of an Irishman who has left his own country on the old-fashioned speculation of " seeking his fortune," and who, after various previous failures in the pursuit, at length goes into the back settlements, with the intention of becoming interpreter-general between the Yankees and the Indian tribes; but the Indians rejected his proffered service, " the poor ignorant craytures," as he himself says, "just because he did not understand the language." We are told, moreover, that G-oldsmith visited the land of dykes and dams, for the purpose of teaching the Hollanders English, quite overlooking (until his arrival in the country made it obvious) that he did not know a word of Dutch himself ! I have prefaced the following story thus, in the hope that the "precedent," which covers so many absurdities in law, may be considered available by the author, as well as the suitor, and may serve a turn in the court of criticism, as well as in the common pleas.
A certain old gentleman in the west of Ireland, whose love of the ridiculous quite equalled his taste for claret and fox-hunting, was wont, upon certain festive occasions when opportunity offered, to amuse his friends by draw- ing out one of his servants, who was exceedingly fond
92 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
of what he termed his " thravels," and in whom a good deal of whim, some queer stories, and perhaps, more than all, long and faithful services, had established a right of loquacity. He was one of those few trusty and privileged domestics, who, if his master unheedingly uttered a rash thing in a fit of passion, would venture to set him right. If the squire said, " I'll turn that rascal off," my friend Pat would say, " throth you won't, sir ;" and Pat was always right, for if any altercation arose upon the "subject matter in hand," he was sure to throw in some good reason, either from former services, general good conduct, or the delinquent's " wife and childher," that always turned the scale.
But I am digressing. On such merry meetings as I have alluded to, the master, after making certain " approaches," as a military man would say, as the pre- paratory steps in laying siege to some extravaganza of his servant, might, perchance, assail Pat thus : — "By-the- bye, Sir John, (addressing a distinguished guest,) Pat has a very curious story which something you told me to- day reminds me of. You remember, Pat, (turning to the man, evidently pleased at the notice thus paid to himself) — you remember that queer adventure you had in France ? "
" Throth I do, sir," grins forth Pat.
"What!" exclaims Sir John, in feigned surprise, " was Pat ever in France ? "
" Indeed he was," cries mine host ; and Pat adds, " ay, and farther, plaze your honour."
" I assure you, Sir John," continues my host, " Pat }old me a story once that surprised me very much, respecting the ignorance of the French."
'•Indeed!" rejoins the baronet; "really, I always supposed the French to be a most accomplished people."
" Throth then, they are not, sir," interrupts Pat.
" Oh, by no means," adds mine host, shaking his head emphatically.
" I believe, Pat, 'twas when you were crossing the
THE GRIDIRON. 93
Atlantic?" says the master, turning to Pat with a seductive air, and leading into the "full and true account," (for Pat had thought fit to visit North America, for a " raison he had," in the autumn of the year 'ninety- eight.)
"Yes, sir," says Pat, "the broad Atlantic," — a favourite phrase of his, which he gave with a brogue as broad, almost, as the Atlantic itself.
" It was the time I was lost in crassin' the broad Atlantic, a comin' home," began Pat, decoyed into the recital, " whin the winds began to blow, and the sae to rowl, that you'd think the Colleen dhas (that was her name) would not have a mast left but what would rowl out of her.
" Well, sure enough, the masts went by the boord, at last, and the pumps were choak'd, (divil choak them for that same,) and av coorse the wather gained an us ; and troth, to be filled with wather is neither good for man or baste ; and she was sinkin' fast, settlin' down, as the sailors call it; and faith I never was good at settlin' down in my life, and I liked it then less nor ever; accordingly we prepared for the worst, and put out the boat, and got a sack o' bishkets, and a cashk o' pork, and a kag o' wather, and a thrifle o' rum aboord, and any other little matthers we could think iv in the mortial hurry we wor in — and fait there was no time to be lost, for my darlint, the Colleen dhas went down like a lump o' lead, afore we wor many strokes o' the oar away from her.
"Well, we dhrifted away all that night, and next mornin' we put up a blanket an the ind av a pole as well as we could, and then we sailed iligant ; for we darn't show a stitch o' canvass the night before, bekase it was blowin' like murther, savin' your presence, and sure it's the wondher of the world we worn't swally'd alive by the ragin' sae.
"Well, away we wint, for more nor a week, and nothin' before our two good-lookin' eyes but the canophy
94 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
iv heaven, and the wide ocean — the broad Atlantic — not a thing was to be seen but the sae and the sky ; and though the sae and the sky is mighty purty things in themselves, throth they're no great things when you've nothin' else to look at for a week together — and the barest rock in the world, so it was land, would be more welkim. And then, soon enough throth, our pro- vision began to ran low, the bishkits, and the wather, and the rum — throth that was gone first of all — God help uz — and, oh ! it was thin starvation began to stare us in the face — ' Oh, murther, murther, captain darlint,' says I, ' I wish we could see land any where,' says I.
" 'More power to your elbow, Paddy, my boy,' says he, 'for sitch a good wish, and throth it's myself wishes the same.'
" 'Oh,' says I, 'that it may plaze you, sweet queen iv heaven, supposing it was only a dissolute island,' says I, 'inhabited wid Turks, sure they wouldn't be such bad Christhans as to refuse us a bit and a sup.'
" ' Whisht, whisht, Paddy,' says the captain, 'don't be talkin' bad of any one,' says he ; ' you don't know how soon you may want a good word put in for yourself, if you should be called to quarthers in th' other world all of a suddint,' says he.
" ' Thrue for you, captain darlint,' says I — I called him darlint, and made free wid him, you see, bekase disthress makes uz all eq-ap.l — 'thrue for you, captain jewel — God betune uz and harm, I own no man any spite' — and throth that was only thrutli. Well, the last bishkit was sarved out, and by gor the watlier itself was all gone at last, and we passed the night mighty cowld. — Well, at the brake o' day the sun viz most beautiful outo' the waves, that was as bright as silver and as clear as crysthal :--but it was only the more cruel upon us, for we wor beginnm' to feel terrible hungry; when all ai wanst I thought I spied the land — by gor I thought I felt my heart up in my throat in a minit, and ' Thunder an' turf, captain,' says I, 'look to leeward,' says I.
"'What for?' says he.
THE GRIDIRON. 95
" ' I think I see the land,' says I. So he ups with his bring-'m-near — (that's what the sailors call a spy- glass, sir,) and looks out, and, sure enough, it was.
" 'Hurra ' says he, ' we're all right now ; pull away, my boys,' says he.
" ' Take care you're not mistaken,' says I ; ' naybeit's only a fog-bank, captain darlint,' says I.
" 'Oh no,' says he, ' it's the land in airnest.'
" ' Oh then, whereabouts in the wide world are Ave, captain ?' says I, ' maybe it id be in Boosia, or Proosia, or the Garman Oceant,' says I.
" ' Tut, you fool,' says he — for he had that consaited way wid him — thinkin' himself cleverer nor any one else — ' tut, you fool,' says he, ' that's France? says he.
" ' Tare an ouns,' says I, ' do you tell me so ? and how do you know it's France it is ; captain dear V says I.
" ' Bekase this is the Bay o' Bishky we're in now,' says he.
" ' Throth I was thinkin' so myself,' says I, ' by the rowl it has ; for I often heerd av it in regard of that same ;' and throth the likes av it I never seen before nor since, and with the help o' God, never will.
" Well, with that, my heart began to grow light ; and when I seen my life was safe, I began to grow twice hungrier nor ever — ' so,' says I, ' captain jewel, I wish we had a gridiron.'
" ' Why then,' says he, ' thunder an turf,' says he, ' what puts a gridiron into your head V
" ' Bekase I'm starvin' with the hunger,' says I.
" 'And sure, bad luck to you/ says he, 'you couldn't ate a gridiron,' says he, 'barrin' you wor a pelican o' the ivildhemess,' says he.
" ' Ate a gridiron ?' says I ; ' och, in throth I'm not sich a gommocli all out as that, any how. But sure, if we had a gridiron, we could dress a beefstake,' says I.
" ' Arrah ! but where's the beefstake ?' says he.
" ' Sure, coudn't we cut a slice aff the pork, says I.
96 LEGENDS A^D STQRIE8.
" ' Be gor, I never thought o' that,' says the captain. ' You're a clever fellow, Paddy,' says he, laughin'
" ' Oh, there's many a thrue word said in a joke,' says I.
" ' Thrue for you, Paddy,' says he.
" 'Well then,' says I, 'if you put me ashore there beyant,' (for we were nearin' the land all the time,) ' and sure I can ax thim for to lind me the loan of a gridiron,' says I.
" ' Oh by gor, the butther's comin' out o' the stirabout in airnest now,' says he ; ' you gommoch,' says he, ' sure I towld you before that's Prance — and sure they're all furriners* there,' says the captain.
! " ' Well/ says I, ' and how do you know but I'm as good a furriner myself as any o' thim.'
" ' What do you mane ? ' says he.
" ' I mane,' says I, ' what I towld you, that I'm as good a furriner myself as any o' thim.'
" ' Make me sinsible]' says he.
" ' By dad, maybe that's more nor I could do,' says I — and we all began to laugh at him, for I thought 'I'd pay him off for his bit o' consait about the Grarman Oceant.
; " ' Lave aff your humbuggin',' says he, ' I bid you, and tell me what it is you mane, at all at all.'
" ' Parly voo frongsay,' says I.
" ' Oh, your humble sarvant,' says he ; ' why, by gor, you're a scholar, Paddy.'
" ' Throth, you may say that,' says I.
« c Why, you're a clever fellow, Paddy,' says the captain, jeerin' like.
" ' You're not the first that said that,' says I, ' whether you joke or no.'
" ' Oh, but I'm in airnest,' says the captain — ' and do you tell me, Paddy,' says he, ' that you spake Prineh ? '
" < parly Vqo frongsay,' says I.
• Foreigners. t That is to say, " make it intelligible to me."
THE GRIDIRON. 97
" ' By gor, that bangs Banagher, and all the world knows Banagher bangs the divil — I never met the likes o' you, Paddy,' says he — 'pull away, boys, and put Paddy ashore, and maybe we won't get a good bellyful before long.'
" So, with that, it was no sooner said nor done — they pulled away, and got close in shore in less than no time, and run the boat up into a little creek, and a beau- tiful creek it was, with a lovely white sthrand — an iligant place for ladies to bathe in the summer ; and out I got — and it's stiff enough in my limbs I was, afther bein' cramp'd up in the boat, and perished with the cowld and hunger ; but I conthrived to scramble on, one way or t'other, tow'rds a little bit iv a wood that was close to the shore, and the smoke curlin' out of it, quite timptin* like.
" ' By the powdhers o' war, I am all right,' says I ; ' there's a house there ; ' — and sure enough there was, and a parcel of men, women, and childher, ating their dinner round a table, quite convaynient. And so I wint up to the door, and I thought I'd be very civil to thim, as I heerd the Frinch was always mighty p'lite intirely — and I thought I'd show them I knew what good manners was.
" So I took aff my hat, and making a low bow, says I, ' God save all here,' says I.
" Well, to be sure, they all stopt ating at wanst, and begun to stare at me — and, faith, they almost look'd me out of countenance ; and I thought to myself it was not good manners at all — more betoken from furrincrs which they call so mighty p'lite ; but I never minded that, in regard o' wanting the gridiron ; and so says I, ' I beg your pardon,' says I, ' for the liberty I take, but it's only bein' in disthress in regard of ating,' says I, ' that I make bowld to throuble yez, and if you could lind me the loan of a gridiron,' says I, ' I'd be entirely obleeged to ye.'
"By gor, they all stared at me twice worse nor
1)8 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
before ; and with that says I, (knowm what was in their minds,) ' indeed, it's thrue for you,' says I — ' I'm tatthered to pieces, and God knows I look quare enough — but its by raison of the storm,' says I, ' which dhruv us ashore here below, and we're all starvin',' says I.
" So then they began to look at each other agin ; and myself, seeing at wanst dirty thoughts was in their heads, and they tuk me for a poor beggar, comin' to crave charity — with that, says I, ' Oh ! not at all,' says I, 'by no manes — we have plenty o' mate ourselves, there below, and we'll dhress it,' says I, ' if you would be plased to lind us the loan of a gridiron,' says I, makin' a low bow.
" Well, sir, with that, throth they stared at me twice worse nor ever — and, faith, I began to think that maybo the captain was wrong, and that it was not Franco at all at all ; and so says I, ' I beg pardon, sir,' says I, to a fine owld man, with a head of hair as white as silver — ' maybe I'm undher a mistake,' says I ; ' but I thought I was in France, sir : aren't you furriners ? ' says I — ' Parly voo frongsay ? '
" ' We munseer,' says he.
" ' Then would you lind me the loan of a gridiron,' says I, ' if you plase ? '
" Oh, it was thin that they stared at me as if I had siven heads ; and, faith, myself began to feel fiusthered like, and onaisy — and so says I, makin' a bow and scrape agin, ' I know it's a liberty I take, sir,' says I, ' but it's only in the regard of bein' cast away ; and if you plase, sir,' says I, ' Parly voo frongsay ? '
" ' Yfe munseer,' says he, mighty sharp.
" ' Then would you lind me the loan of a gridiron t says I, ' and you'll obleege me,'
" Well, sir, the owld cheat began to munseer me; but the divil a bit of a gridiron he'd gi'e me ; and so I began to think they wor all neygars, for all their fine manners ; and thvoth my blood begun to rise, and says I, ' By my sowl, if it was you was in disthress,' says I,
THE GRIDIRON. 99
' and if it was to owld Ireland you kem, it's not only the gridiron they'd give you, if you ax'd it but something to put an it too, and the dhrop o' dhrink into the bargain, and cead mile failte.'
" Well, the word cead mile failte seemed to sthreck his heart, and the owld chap cocked his ear, and so I thought I'd give him another offer, and make him sinsible at last ; and so says I, wanst more, quite slow, that he might undherstand — 'Parly — voo — frongsay, munseer?'
" ' We munseer,' says he.
" ' Then lind me the loan of a gridiron,' says I, ' and bad scran to you.'
" Well, bad win to the bit of it he'd gi' me, and the owld chap begins bo win' and scrapin', and said something or other about a long tongs.*
" ' Phoo ! — the divil sweep yourself and your tongs,' says I, ' don't want a tongs at all at all ; but can't you listen to raison,' says I — ' Parly voo frongsay? '
" ' We munseer.'
" ' Then lind me the loan of a gridiron/ says I, ' and howld your prate.'
" Well, what would you think but he shook his owld noddle, as much as to say he wouldn't ; and so says I, ' bad cess to the likes o' that I ever seen — throth if you wor in my counthry it's not that a-way they'd use you ; the curse o' the crows an you, you owld sinner,' says I, ' the divil a longer 111 darken your door.'
" So he seen I was vex'd, and I thought, as I was turnin' away, I seen him begin to relint, and that his conscience throubled him : and, says I, turnin' bade, ' Well, I'll give you one chance more — you owld thief — are you a Chrishthan at all at all ? Are you a furriner ?' says I, ' that all the world call so p'lite. Bad luck to you, do you undherstand your own language 1 — Parly voo frongsay?' says I.
" ' We munseer,' says he.
• Some mystification of Paddy's, touching the French n'enUnth.
100 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
" ' Then thunder an turf,' says I, ' will you lind me the loan of a gridiron ? '
" Well, sir, the divil resave the bit of it he'd gi' me— and so with that, the ' curse o' the hungry an you, you owld negarly villian,' says I : ' the back o' my hand and the sowl o' my fut to you, that you may want a gridiron yourself yit,' says I, ' and wherever I go, high and low, rich and poor, shall hear o' you,' says I, and with that I left them there, sir, and kem away — and in throth it's often sence that / thought that it was remarkable
PADDY THE PIPEK.
" Dogberry. — Marry, sir, they have committed false reports ; moreover they have spoken untruths; secondarily, they are slanderers; sixthly and lastly, they have belied a lady ; thirdly, they have verified unjust things ; and to conclude, they are lying knaves."
Mitch Ado About Nothing.
The only introduction I shall attempt to the following " extravaganza" is, to request the reader to suppose it to be delivered by a frolicking Irish peasant, in the richest brogue, and most dramatic manner.
" I'll tell you, sir, a mighty quare story, and it's as thrue as I'm standin' here, and that's no lie : —
" It was in the time of the 'ruction* whin the long summer days, like many a fine fellow's precious life, was cut short by raison of the martial law — that wouldn't let a dacent boy be out in the evenin', good or bad ; for whin the day's work was over, divil a one of uz dar go to meet a frind over a glass, or a girl at the dance, but must go home, and shut ourselves up,
* Insurrectioa,
102 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
and never budge, nor rise latch, nor dhraw boult, antil the morning kem agin.
" Well, to come to my story: — 'Twas afther night- fall, and we wor sittin' round the fire, and the praties wor boilin', and the noggins of butthermilk was standin' ready for our suppers, whin a nock kem to the door.
" ' Whisht ! ' says my father, ' here's the sojers come upon us now/ says he ; ' bad luck to thim, the vidians, I'm af ear eel they seen a glimmer of the fire through the crack in the door,' says he.
" ' No,' says my mother, ' for I'm afther hangin' an owld sack and my new petticoat agin it, a while ago.'
" ' Well, whisht, any how,' says my father, ' for there's a knock agin ; ' and we all held our tongues till another thump kem to the door.
" ' Oh, it's a folly to purtind any more,' says my father — ' they're too cute to be put off that-a-way,' says he. ' Go, Shamus,' says he to me, ' and see who's in it.'
" ' How can I see who's in it in the dark ? ' says I.
" ' Well,' says he, ' light the candle thin, and see who's in it, but don't open the door, for your life, barrin' they brake it in,' says he, 'exceptin' to the sojers, and spake thim fair, if it's thim.'
"So with that I wint to the door, and there was another knock.
" ' Who's there ?' says I.
" ' It's me,' says he.
" ' Who are you ?' says I.
" 'A frin d,' says he.
" ' BaitkersJiin,' says I, — ' who are you at all ? '
" < Arrah ! don't you know me ? ' says he.
" ' Divil a taste,' says I.
" ' Sure I'm Paddy the Piper,' says he.
" ' Oh, thunder an turf,' says I, ' is it you, Faddy, that's in it ? '
" ' Sorra one else,' says he.
" ' And what brought you at this hour ? ' says I.
« ' By gar,' says he, ' I didn't like goin' the roun' by
PADDY THE PIPER. 103
the road,' says he, ' and so I kem the short cut, and that's what delayed me,' says he.
" 'Oh, murther ! ' says I — 'Paddy, I wouldn't be in your shoes for the king's ransom,' says I; 'for you know yourself it's a hangin' matther to be cotched out these times/ says I.
" ' Sure I know that,' says he, ' and that's what I kem to you for,' says he ; ' so let me in for owld acquaintance sake,' says poor Paddy.
" ' Oh, by this and that,' says I, ' I darn't open the door for the wide world ; and sure you know it ; and throth, if the Husshians or the Yeos* ketches you,' says I, ' they'll murther you, as sure as your name's Paddy.'
" ' Many thanks to you,' says he, ' for your good intintions ; but plase the pigs, I hope it's not the likes o' that is in store for me, any how.'
" ' Faix then,' says I, ' you had betther lose no time in hidin' yourself,' says I ; ' for, throth I tell you, it's a short thrial and a long rope the Husshians would bo afther givin' you — -for they've no justice, and less marcy, the villians ! '
" ' Faith thin, more's the raison you should let me in, Shamus,' says poor Paddy.
" ' It's a folly to talk,' says I, ' I darn't open the door.'
•"Oh then, millia murther?' says Paddy, 'what'll become of me at all at all,' says he.
" ' Go aff into the shed,' says I, ' behin' the house, where the cow is, and there there's an iligant lock o' straw, that you may go sleep in,' says I, ' and a fine bed it id be for a lord, let alone a piper.'
" So off Paddy set to hide in the shed, and throth it wint to our hearts to refuse him, and turn him away from the door, more by token when the praties was ready — for sure the bit and the sup is always welkim to the poor thraveller. Well, we all wint to bed, and Paddy hid himself in the cow-house ; and now I must tell you how it was with Paddy : —
* Yeomen.
104 LEGENDS AND STORIES.
tt
You see, afther sleeping for some time, Paddy wakened up, tliinkin' it was mornin', but it wasn't mornin' at all, but only the light o' the moon that de- saved him ; but at all evints, he wanted to be stirrin' airly, bekase he was goin' off to the town hard by, it bein' fair day, to pick up a few ha'pence Avith his pipes — for the divil a betther piper was in all the counthry round, nor Paddy ; and every one gave it up to Paddy that he was iligant an the pipes, and played ' Jinny bang'd the Weaver,' beyant tellin', and the ' Hare in the Corn,' that you'd think the very dogs was in it, and the horsemen ridin' like mad.
" Well, as I was sayin', he set off to go to the fair, and he wint meandherin' along through the fields, but ho didn't go far, antil climbin' up through a hedge, when he was comin' out at t'other side, his head kern plump agin somethin' that made the fire flash out iv his eyes. So with that he looks up — and what do you think it was, Lord be rnarciful to uz, but a corpse hangin' out of a branch of a three.
" ' Oh, the top o' the mornin' to you, sir,' says Paddy, ' and is that the way with you, my poor fellow ? throth you tuk a start out o' me,' says poor Paddy; and 'twas thrue for him, for it would make the heart of a stouter man nor Paddy jump, to see the like, and to think of a Chrishthan crathur being hanged up, all as one as a dog.
" Now, 'twas the rebels that hanged this chap — bekase, you see, the corpse had good clothes an him, and that's the raison that one might know it was the rebels — by raison that the Husshians and the Orange- men never hanged any body wid good clothes an him, but only the poor and defmceless crathurs, like uz ; so, as I said before, Paddy knew well it was the hoys that done it ; ' and,' says Paddy, eyin'