Chapter IX

But, indeed, for that matther, the Lord, who’d enough to contind wid those times,
Might ha’ some sort o’ notion himself how the poor people’s tempted to crimes,
Whin they’re watchin’ their own folk a-starvin’, an’ no help for it, strive as they may.
For himself set a dale by his mother, accordin’ as I’ve heard say,
An’ remembered her last thing of all in the thick of his throuble, an’ thought
To make sure she’d ha’ some wan to care her an’ heed that she wanted for nought,
An’ be keepin’ the roof o’er her head while she lived, all the same as her son--
But, ye see, he’d a frind he could trust to, an’ Micky, the crathur, had none.
An’ that same would be vexin’ his heart while he lay dyin’ there on the road;
For the sorra a sowl would be left in the world to purtect us, he knowed;
An’ I mind when the fever he had, an’ was wandh’rin’ a bit in his head,
He kep’ ravin’ continyal as how ’twas desthroyed we’d be wanst he was dead.
An’ poor Mick was that kind in his heart, he’d be put past his patience outright
Whin th’ ould mother an’ childher was frettin’ wid hunger from mornin’ till night;
An’ it’s that was the raison he done it--nought else. So, belike, if above
They’d considher the hardships he met, till it s’ desprit, bedad, he was dhruv,
An’ no hope o’ relief for the crathurs at home, mind you, barrin’ he wint
An’ let on a bit now an’ agin--they’d believe ’twas no harm that he mint;
An’ that wan sin he done, an’ he starvin’, they ’d maybe forgive an’ forget--
Och, Sisther Frances, me honey, would ye say there’s a chance for him yet?

MISS HONOR’S WEDDING

Οἷόν μ’ἀκούσαντ’ ἀρτίως ἔχει, γύναι,
Ψυχῆς πλάνημα κἀνακίνησις φρενῶν

MISS HONOR’S WEDDING

I

Ould Sir Maurice’s youngest daughther, do I mind her, Sir, did ye say?
Miss Honor is it? Och, sure the same as I’d seen her but yistherday;
And her weddin’--Ay, Sir, her weddin’ I said. How long since? Well, I dunnό,
But a matter o’ ten year back belike; anyway ’tis wan while ago.

II

We thought little enough o’ the match here below in the town; people said
Miss Honor’d a right to ha’ looked at home, if so be she’d a mind to wed.
There was plinty o’ betther than he did be afther her thin, ye’ll be bound,
An’ she reckoned the greatest beauty in the sevin counties around.
Yet she needs must take up wid a sthranger; I believe ’twas from Scotland he came.
No, Sir, I ne’er chanced to behould him, and I disremember his name--
A big man, I’ve heard tell, as yourself’s, Sir, an’ pleasant o’ speech, but a bit
Conthráry some whiles in his temper, an’ come of a quare wild set.
Not aquil no ways to Miss Honor: sure, whin she’d be ridin’ the road,
As many’s the time I’ve seen her, be the look of her no wan’d ha’ knowed
Whether ’twas to the Earl, or the Countess, or ould Andy the fiddler she bowed;
A rale lady, tho’, mind ye, some Quality thought her proud.

III

Howsomever, a sthranger or no, ould Sir Maurice was plased an’ content,
An’ they settled to have a great weddin’ down here at the endin’ o’ Lent;
An’ I mind the white sloe-flower was meltin’ from off the black hedges like hail
In the sunshine, whin back to the Castle the family came wid a dale
O’ grand company, frinds an’ relations; the house was as full as a fair.
But, a couple o’ days to the weddin’, Kate Doyle, that’s in service up there,
She run in wid a message to say they’d a kitchen-maid tuk to her bed
Wid the awfulest toothache at all, an’ her cheek swelled the size of her head;
An’ they wanted a girl be the week, an’ she’d spoke to the misthress for me--
So I slipped up that night afther supper, as proud o’ me luck as could be.