The Irish Fairy Book Part 20

"I cannot," said the feet-water; "I am scattered on the ground, and my path is down to the Lough."

"Open, open, wood and trees and beam!" they cried to the door.

"I cannot," said the door, "for the beam is fixed in the jambs, and I have no power to move."

"Open, open, cake that we have made and mingled with blood!" they cried again.

"I cannot," said the cake, "for I am broken and bruised, and my blood is on the lips of the sleeping children."

Then the witches rushed through the air with great cries, and fled back to Slievenamon, uttering strange curses on the Spirit of the Well, who had wished their ruin. But the woman and the house were left in peace, and a mantle dropped by one of the witches was kept hung up by the mistress as a sign of the night's awful contest; and this mantle was in possession of the same family from generation to generation for five hundred years after.

LADY WILDE.

The Quare Gander

"Terence Mooney was an honest boy and well to do; an' he rinted the biggest farm on this side iv the Galties; an' bein' mighty cute an' a sevare worker, it was small wonder he turned a good penny every harvest.

But, unluckily, he was blessed with an ilegant large family iv daughters, an' iv coorse, his heart was allamost bruck, striving to make up fortunes for the whole of them. An' there wasn't a conthrivance iv any soart or description for makin' money out iv the farm but he was up to.

"Well, among the other ways he had iv gettin' up in the world he always kep a power iv turkeys, and all soarts iv poultrey; an' he was out iv all rason partial to geese--an' small blame to him for that same--for twice't a year you can pluck them as bare as my hand--an' get a fine price for the feathers, an' plenty of rale sizable eggs--an' when they are too ould to lay any more, you can kill them, an' sell them to the gintlemen for goslings, d'ye see, let alone that a goose is the most manly bird that is out.

"Well, it happened in the coorse iv time that one ould gandher tuck a wondherful likin' to Terence, an' divil a place he could go serenadin'

about the farm, or lookin' afther the men, but the gandher id be at his heels, an' rubbin' himself agin his legs, an' lookin' up in his face jist like any other Christian id do; an', begorra, the likes iv it was never seen--Terence Mooney an' the gandher wor so great.

"An' at last the bird was so engagin' that Terence would not allow it to be plucked any more, an' kep it from that time out for love an'

affection--just all as one like one iv his childer.

"But happiness in perfection never lasts long, an' the neighbours begin'd to suspect the nathur an' intentions iv the gandher, an' some iv them said it was the divil, an' more iv them that it was a fairy.

"Well, Terence could not but hear something of what was sayin', an' you may be sure he was not altogether asy in his mind about it, an' from one day to another he was gettin' more ancomfortable in himself, until he detarmined to sind for Jer Garvan, the fairy docthor, in Garryowen, an'

it's he was the illigant hand at the business, an' divil a sperit id say a cra.s.s word to him, no more nor a priest. An', moreover, he was very great wid ould Terence Mooney--this man's father that was.

"So without more about it he was sint for, an', sure enough, the divil a long he was about it, for he kem back that very evenin' along wid the boy that was sint for him, an' as soon as he was there, an' tuck his supper, an' was done talkin' for a while, he begin'd, of coorse, to look into the gandher.

"Well, he turned it this away an' that away, to the right an' to the left, an' straight-ways an' upside-down, an' when he was tired handlin'

it, says he to Terence Mooney:

"'Terence,' says he, 'you must remove the bird into the next room,' says he, 'an' put a petticoat,' says he, 'or anny other convaynience round his head,' says he.

"'An' why so?' says Terence.

"'Becase,' says Jer, says he.

"'Becase what?' says Terence.

"'Becase,' says Jer, 'if it isn't done you'll never be asy agin,' says he, 'or pusillanimous in your mind,' says he; 'so ax no more questions, but do my biddin',' says he.

"'Well,' says Terence, 'have your own way,' says he.

"An' wid that he tuck the ould gandher an' giv' it to one iv the gossoons.

"'An' take care,' says he, 'don't smother the crathur,' says he.

"Well, as soon as the bird was gone, says Jer Garvan, says he:

"'Do you know what that old gandher _is_, Terence Mooney?'

"'Divil a taste,' says Terence.

"'Well, then,' says Jer, 'the gandher is your own father,' says he.

"'It's jokin' you are,' says Terence, turnin' mighty pale; 'how can an ould gandher be my father?' says he.

"'I'm not funnin' you at all,' says Jer; 'it's thrue what I tell you, it's your father's wandhrin' sowl,' says he, 'that's naturally tuck p.i.s.session iv the ould gandher's body,' says he. 'I know him many ways, and I wondher,' says he, 'you do not know the c.o.c.k iv his eye yourself,'

says he.

"'Oh, blur an' ages!' says Terence, 'what the divil will I ever do at all at all,' says he; 'it's all over wid me, for I plucked him twelve times at the laste,' says he.

"'That can't be helped now,' says Jer; 'it was a sevare act, surely,'

says he, 'but it's too late to lamint for it now,' says he; 'the only way to prevint what's past,' says he, 'is to put a stop to it before it happens,' says he.

"'Thrue for you,' says Terence, 'but how the divil 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 undherstand 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, blur and ages! 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 not it often I plucked him,' says he, 'an' tundher and ouns! might not I have ate him?' says he; and wid that he fell into a could parspiration, savin' your prisince, an' 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'

asy:

"'Terence,' says he, 'don't be aggravatin' yourself,' says he; 'for I have a plan composed that 'ill 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 ating,' 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 iver he says the first word,' says he, 'that very minute bring him aff to Father Crotty,' says he; 'an' if his raverince doesn't make him ratire,' says he, 'like the rest iv his parishioners, glory be to G.o.d,' says he, 'into the siclusion iv the flames iv purgathory,' says he, 'there's no vartue in my charums,' says he.

"Well, wid that the ould gandher was let into the room agin, an' they all begin'd 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 divil a notice the gandher tuck, no more nor if they wor spaking iv the Lord-Liftinant; an' Terence desired the boys to get ready the kish for the poulthry, an' to 'settle it out wid hay soft an' 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 gettin' late, Terence was growin' mighty sorrowful an' down-hearted in himself entirely wid the notions iv what was goin' to happen. An' as soon as the wife an' the crathurs wor fairly in bed, he brought out some illigint potteen, an' himself an' Jer Garvan sot down to it; an', begorra, 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 divil a much matther it signifies any longer if a pint could hould two quarts, let alone what it does, sinst Father Mathew--the Lord purloin his raverince--begin'd to give the pledge, an' wid the blessin' iv timperance to deginerate Ireland.

"An', begorra, 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 vagabond,'

says he, 'that is not able to conthroul his licquor,' 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.