Humours of Irish Life Part 24

"Thrue for you," says Terence, "but how did you come to the knowledge iv my father's sowl," says he, "bein' in the ould gandher?" says he.

"If I tould you," says Jer, "you would not understand me," says he, "without book-larnin' an' gasthronomy," says he; "so ax me no questions," says he, "an I'll tell you no lies; but b'lieve me in this much," says he, "it's your father that's in it," says he, "an' if I don't make him spake to-morrow mornin'," says he, "I'll give you lave to call me a fool," says he.

"Say no more," says Terence, "that settles the business," says he; "an'

oh! is it not a quare thing," says he, "for a dacent, respictable man,"

says he, "to be walkin' about the counthry in the shape iv an ould gandher," says he; "and, oh, murdher, murdher! is it not often I plucked him," says he, "an' tundher and turf, might not I have ate him," says he; and wid that he fell into a could parspiration, savin' your prisince, an' was on the pint iv faintin' wid the bare notions iv it.

Well, whin he was come to himself agin, says Jerry, to him, quite an aisy--"Terence," says he, "don't be aggravatin' yourself," says he, "for I have a plan composed that'll make him spake out," says he, "an' tell what it is in the world he's wantin'," says he; "an' mind an' don't be comin' in wid your gosther an' to say agin anything I tell you," says he, "but jist purtind, as soon as the bird is brought back," says he, "how that we're goin' to sind him to-morrow mornin' to market," says he; "an' if he don't spake to-night," says he, "or gother himself out iv the place," says he, "put him into the hamper airly, and sind him in the cart," says he, "straight to Tipperary, to be sould for aitin'," says he, "along wid the two gossoons," says he; "an' my name isn't Jer Garvan," says he, "if he doesn't spake out before he's half way," says he; "an' mind," says he, "as soon as ever he says the first word," says he, "that very minute bring him off to Father Crotty," says he, "an' if his Raverance doesn't make him ratire," says he, "into the flames of Purgathory," says he, "there's no vartue in my charms," says he.

Well, wid that the ould gandher was let into the room agin, an' they all begined to talk iv sindin' him the nixt mornin' to be sould for roastin'

in Tipperary, jist as if it was a thing andoubtingly settled; but not a notice the gandher tuk, no more nor if they wor spaking iv the Lord Liftenant; an' Terence desired the boy to get ready the _kish_ for the poulthry "an' to settle it out wid hay soft and shnug," says he, "for it's the last jauntin' the poor ould gandher 'ill get in this world,"

says he.

Well, as the night was getting late, Terence was growin' mighty sorrowful an' down-hearted in himself entirely wid the notions iv what was going to happen. An' as soon as the wife an' the crathurs war fairly in bed, he brought out some illigant potteen, an' himself and Jer Garvan sot down to it, an' the more anasy Terence got, the more he dhrank, and himself and Jer Garvan finished a quart betune them: it wasn't an imparial though, an' more's the pity, for them wasn't anvinted antil short since; but sorra a much matther it signifies any longer if a pint could hould two quarts, let alone what it does, sinst Father Mathew begin'd to give the pledge, an' wid the blessin' iv timperance to deginerate Ireland. An' sure I have the medle myself; an' it's proud I am iv that same, for abstamiousness is a fine thing, although it's mighty dhry.

Well, whin Terence finished his pint, he thought he might as well stop, "for enough is as good as a faste," says he, "an' I pity the vagabone,"

says he, "that is not able to conthroul his liquor," says he, "an' to keep constantly inside iv a pint measure," says he, an' wid that he wished Jer Garvan a good night, an' walked out iv the room. But he wint out the wrong door, being a trifle hearty in himself, an' not rightly knowin' whether he was standin' on his head or his heels, or both iv them at the same time, an' in place iv gettin' into bed, where did he thrun himself but into the poulthry hamper, that the boys had settled out ready for the gandher in the mornin'; an', sure enough, he sunk down snug an' complate through the hay to the bottom; an' wid the turnin' an'

roulin' about in the night, not a bit iv him but was covered up as snug as a lumper in a pittaty furrow before mornin'.

So wid the first light, up gets the two boys that war to take the sperit, as they consaved, to Tipperary; an' they cotched the ould gandher, an' put him in the hamper and clapped a good whisp iv hay on the top iv him, and tied it down sthrong wid a bit iv a coard, an med the sign iv the cra.s.s over him, in dhread iv any harum, an' put the hamper up on the car, wontherin' all the while what in the world was makin' the ould burd so surprisin' heavy.

Well, they wint along on the road towards Tipperary, wishin' every minute that some iv the neighbours bound the same way id happen to fall in with them, for they didn't half like the notions iv havin' no company but the bewitched gandher, an' small blame to them for that same. But, although they wor shakin' in their skins in dhread iv the ould bird beginin' to conva.r.s.e them every minute, they did not let on to one another, bud kep' singin' and whistlin', like mad to keep the dhread out iv their hearts. Well, afther they wor on the road betther nor half an hour, they kem to the bad bit close by Father Crotty's, an' there was one rut three feet deep at the laste; an' the car got sich a wondherful chuck goin' through it, that wakened Terence within the basket.

"Oh!" says he, "my bones is bruck wid yer thricks, what are ye doin' wid me?"

"Did ye hear anything quare, Thady?" says the boy that was next to the car, turnin' as white as the top iv a musharoon; "did ye hear anything quare soundin' out iv the hamper?" says he.

"No, nor you," says Thady, turnin' as pale as himself, "it's the ould gandher that's gruntin' wid the shakin' he's gettin'," says he.

"Where have ye put me into," says Terence, inside; "let me out," says he, "or I'll be smothered this minute," says he.

"There's no use in purtending," says the boy; "the gandher's spakin', glory be to G.o.d!" says he.

"Let me out, you murdherers," says Terence.

"In the name iv all the holy saints," says Thady, "hould yer tongue, you unnatheral gandher," says he.

"Who's that, that dar call me nicknames," says Terence inside, roaring wid the fair pa.s.sion; "let me out, you blasphamious infiddles," says he, "or by this cra.s.s, I'll stretch ye," says he.

"Who are ye?" says Thady.

"Who would I be but Terence Mooney," says he, "It's myself that's in it, you unmerciful bliggards," says he; "let me out, or I'll get out in spite iv yez," says he, "an' I'll wallop yez in arnest," says he.

"It's ould Terence, sure enough," says Thady; "isn't it cute the fairy docthor found him out," says he.

"I'm on the p'int iv suffication," says Terence; "let me out, I tell ye, an' wait till I get at ye," says he, "for sorra a bone in your body but I'll powdher," says he; an' wid that he bigined kickin' and flingin'

in the hamper, and drivin' his legs agin the sides iv it, that it was a wondher he did not knock it to pieces. Well, as the boys seen that, they skelped the ould horse into a gallop as hard as he could peg towards the priest's house, through the ruts, an' over the stones; an' you'd see the hamper fairly flyin' three feet in the air with the joultin'; so it was small wondher, by the time they got to his Raverance's door, the breath was fairly knocked out iv poor Terence; so that he was lyin' speechless in the bottom iv the hamper. Well, whin his Raverance kem down, they up an' they tould him all that happened, an' how they put the gandher into the hamper, an' how he begined to spake, an' how he confissed that he was ould Terence Mooney; and they axed his honour to advise them how to get rid iv the sperit for good an' all. So says his Raverance, says he:

"I'll take my booke," says he, "an' I'll read some rale sthrong holy bits out iv it," says he, "an' do you get a rope and put it round the hamper," says he, "an' let it swing over the runnin' wather at the bridge," says he, "an' it's no matther if I don't make the sperit come out iv it," says he.

Well, wid that, the priest got his horse, an' tuk his booke in undher his arum, an' the boys follied his Raverance, ladin' the horse, and Terence houldin' his whisht, for he seen it was no use spakin', an' he was afeard if he med any noise they might thrait him to another gallop an' finish him intirely. Well, as soon as they wur all come to the bridge the boys tuk the rope they had with them, an' med it fast to the top iv the hamper an' swung it fairly over the bridge; lettin' it hang in the air about twelve feet out iv the wather; and his Raverance rode down to the bank iv the river, close by, an' begined to read mighty loud and bould intirely.

An' when he was goin' on about five minutes, all at onst the bottom iv the hamper kem out, an' down wint Terence, falling splash dash into the wather, an' the ould gandher a-top iv him; down they both wint to the bottom wid a souse you'd hear half-a-mile off; an' before they had time to rise agin, his Raverance, wid a fair astonishment, giv his horse one dig iv the spurs, an' before he knew where he was, in he went, horse and all, a-top iv them, an' down to the bottom. Up they all kem agin together, gaspin' an puffin', an' off down the current with them like shot, in undher the arch iv the bridge, till they kem to the shallow wather. The ould gandher was the first out, an' the priest and Terence kem next, pantin' an' blowin' an' more than half dhrounded: an' his Raverance was so freckened wid the dhroundin' he got, and wid the sight iv the sperit, as he consaved, that he wasn't the better iv it for a month. An' as soon as Terence could spake, he said he'd have the life iv the two gossoons; but Father Crotty would not give him his will; an' as soon as he got quieter they all endeavoured to explain it, but Terence consayved he went raly to bed the night before, an' his Raverance said it was a mysthery, an' swore if he cotched anyone laughin' at the accident, he'd lay the horsewhip across their shoulders; an' Terence grew fonder an' fonder iv the gandher every day, until at last he died in a wondherful ould age, lavin' the gandher afther him an' a large family iv childer; an' to this day the farm is rinted by one iv Terence Mooney's lineal legitimate postariors.

The Thrush and the Blackbird.

BY CHARLES JOSEPH KICKHAM (1828-1882).

A stranger meeting Sally Cavanagh, as she tripped along the mountain road, would consider her a contented and happy young matron, and might be inclined to set her down as a proud one; for Sally Cavanagh held her head rather high, and occasionally elevated it still higher with a toss which had something decidedly haughty about it. She turned up a short boreen for the purpose of calling upon the gruff blacksmith's wife, who had been very useful to her for some time before. The smith's habits were so irregular that his wife was often obliged to visit the p.a.w.n office in the next town, and poor Sally Cavanagh availed herself of Nancy Ryan's experience in pledging almost everything pledgeable she possessed. The new cloak, of which even a rich farmer's wife might feel proud, was the last thing left. It was a present from Connor, and was only worn on rare occasions, and to part with it was a sore trial.

Loud screams and cries for help made Sally Cavanagh start. She stopped for a moment, and then ran forward and rushed breathless into the smith's house. The first sight that met her eyes was our friend Shawn Gow choking his wife. A heavy three-legged stool came down with such force upon the part of Shawn Gow's person which happened to be the most elevated as he bent over the prostrate woman, that, uttering an exclamation between a grunt and a growl, he bounded into the air, and, striking his shins against a chair, tumbled head over heels into the corner. When Shawn found that he was more frightened than hurt, and saw Sally with the three-legged stool in her hand, a sense of the ludicrous overcame him, and, turning his face to the wall, he relieved his feelings by giving way to a fit of laughter. It was of the silent, inward sort, however, and neither his wife nor Sally Cavanagh had any notion of the pleasant mood he was in. The bright idea of pretending to be "kilt" occurred to the overthrown son of Vulcan, and with a fearful groan he stretched out his huge limbs and remained motionless on the broad of his back.

Sally's sympathy for the ill-used woman prevented her from giving a thought to her husband. Great was her astonishment then when Nancy flew at her like a wild cat. "You kilt my husband," she screamed. Sally retreated backwards, defending herself as best she could with the stool.

"For G.o.d's sake, Nancy, be quiet. Wouldn't he have destroyed you on'y for me?" But Nancy followed up the attack like a fury. "There's nothing the matter with him," Sally cried out, on finding herself literally driven to the wall. "What harm could a little touch of a stool on the back do the big brute?"

Nancy's feelings appeared to rush suddenly into another channel, for she turned round quickly, and kneeling down by her husband, lifted up his head. "_Och! Shawn, avourneen, machree_," she exclaimed, "won't you spake to me?" Shawn condescended to open his eyes. "Sally," she continued, "he's comin' to--glory be to G.o.d! Hurry over and hould up his head while I'm runnin' for somethin' to rewive him. Or stay, bring me the boulster."

The bolster was brought, and Nancy placed it under the patient's head; then, s.n.a.t.c.hing her shawl from the peg where it hung, she disappeared.

She was back again in five minutes, without the shawl, but with half-a-pint of whiskey in a bottle.

"Take a taste av this, Shawn, an' 'twill warm your heart."

Shawn Gow sat up and took the bottle in his hand.

"Nancy," says he, "I believe, afther all, you're fond o' me."

"Wisha, Shawn, achora, what else'd I be but fond av you?"

"I thought, Nancy, you couldn't care for a divil that thrated you so bad."

"Och, Shawn, Shawn, don't talk that way to me. Sure, I thought my heart was broke when I see you sthretched there 'idout a stir in you."

"An' you left your shawl in pledge again to get this for me?"

"To be sure I did; an' a good right I had; an' sorry I'd be to see you in want of a dhrop of nourishment."

"I was a baste, Nancy. But if I was, this is what made a baste av me."

And Shawn Gow fixed his eyes upon the bottle with a look in which hatred and fascination were strangely blended. He turned quickly to his wife.

"Will you give in it was a blackbird?" he said.

"A blackbird," she repeated, irresolutely.

"Yes, a blackbird. Will you give in it was a blackbird?"