Chapter IV: Part 4

He brought out the statue, and he went over the whole story from start to finish. How he set off on his travels and was hopeful for a while; and how despair got hold of him again.

"Let you be rejoicing now," says the Jew, "for it is near that lady you are this day. She comes down to a stream which is convenient to this place, and six waiting maids along with her, bringing a rod and line for to fish. And it is always at the one hour she is in it."

Well, M'Carthy was lepping wild with delight to hear tell of the lady.

"Let you do all I'm saying," the Jew advises him. "I'll provide you with the best of fishing tackle, and do you go down to the stream for to fish in it, too. Whatever comes to your line let you give to the lady. But say nothing which might scare her at all, and don't follow after her if she turns to go home."

The next day M'Carthy went out for to fish; not a long time was he at the stream before the lady came down and the six waiting maids along with her. Sure enough she was the picture of the statue, and she had the loveliest golden hair ever seen.

M'Carthy had the luck to catch a noble trout, and he took it off the hook, rolled it in leaves, and brought it to the lady, according to the advice of the Jew. She was pleased to accept the gift of it, but didn't she turn home at once and the six waiting maids along with her. When she went into her own house she took the fish to her father.

"There was a noble person at the stream this day," she says, "and he made me a present of the trout."

Next morning M'Carthy went to fish again, and he seen the lady coming and her six waiting maids walking behind her. He caught a splendid fine trout and brought it over to her; with that she turned home at once.

"Father," says she, when she went in, "the gentleman is after giving me a fish which is bigger and better nor the one I brought back yesterday. If the like happens at the next time I go to the stream I will be inviting the noble person to partake of refreshment in this place."

"Let you do as best pleases yourself," says her father.

Well, sure enough, M'Carthy got the biggest trout of all the third time. The lady was in the height of humour, and she asked would he go up to the house with her that day. She walked with M'Carthy beside her, and the six waiting maids behind them. They conversed very pleasantly together, and at last he found courage for to tell her of how he travelled the world to seek no person less than herself.

"I'm fearing you'll need to set out on a second journey, the way you will be coming in with some other one," says she. "I have an old father who is after refusing two score of suitors who were asking me off him. I do be thinking I'll not be joining the world at all, unless a king would be persuading himself of the advancement there is in having a son-in-law wearing a golden crown upon his head. The whole time it is great freedom I have, and I walking where it pleases me with six waiting maids along with me. The old man has a notion they'd inform him if I was up to any diversion, but that is not the way of it at all."

"It is funning you are, surely," says M'Carthy. "If himself is that uneasy about you how would it be possible you'd bring me to the house to be speaking with him?"

"He is a kindly man and reasonable," says she, "and it is a good reception you'll be getting. Only let you not be speaking of marriage with me, for he cannot endure to hear tell of the like."

Well, the old man made M'Carthy welcome, and he had no suspicion the two were in notion of each other. But didn't they arrange all unbeknownt to him, and plan out an elopement.

M'Carthy went back to the Jew, and he told him all. "But," says he, "I am after spending my whole great fortune of money travelling the territory of the world. I must be finding a good situation the way I'll make suitable provision for herself."

"Don't be in the least distress," says the Jew. "I did not befriend you this far to be leaving you in a bad case at the latter end. I'll oblige you with the loan of what money will start you in a fine place. You will be making repayment at the end of three years when you have made your profit on the business."

The young gentleman accepted the offer, and he fair wild with delight. Moreover, the Jew gave himself and the lady grand assistance at the elopement, the way they got safe out of it and escaped from her father, who was raging in pursuit.

M'Carthy was rejoicing surely, and he married to a wife who was the picture of the statue. Herself was in the best of humour, too, for it was small delight she had in her own place, roaming the fields or stopping within and six waiting maids along with her. A fine, handsome husband was the right company for her like. They bought a lovely house and farm of land with the money which was lent by the Jew; and they fixed all the grandest ever was seen. After a while M'Carthy got a good commission to be an officer, the way nothing more in the world was needful to their happiness.

M'Carthy and his lady had a fine life of it, they lacking for no comfort or splendour at all. The officer's commission he had brought himself over to England from time to time, and the lady M'Carthy would mind all until he was home. He saved up what money was superfluous, and all was gathered to repay the loan to the Jew only for a few pounds.

Well, it happened that M'Carthy went to England, and there he fell in with a droll sort of a man, who was the best company. They played cards together and they drank a great power of wine. In the latter end a dispute came about between them, for they both claimed to have the best woman.

"I have a lady beyond in Ireland," says M'Carthy, "and she is an ornament to the roads when she is passing alone. But no person gets seeing her these times, and that is a big misfortune to the world."

"What's the cause?" asks the Englishman.

"I'd have a grief on me to think another man might be looking on her and I not standing by," says M'Carthy. "So she gives me that satisfaction on her promised word: all the time I do be away she never quits the house, and no man body is allowed within."

The Englishman let a great laugh out of him at the words.

"You are simple enough!" says he. "Don't you know rightly when you are not in it, herself will be feasting and entertaining and going on with every diversion?"

M'Carthy was raging at the impertinence of him, and he offered for to fight.

"What would that be proving?" says the Englishman. "Let you make a powerful big bet with myself that I will not be able for to bring you a token from your lady and a full description of her appearance."

"I'll be winning the money off you, surely!" says M'Carthy.

"Not at all," says the Englishman. "I'm not in the least uneasy about it, for I'm full sure it's the truth I'm after speaking of how she does be playing herself in your absence."

"You'll find me in this place and you coming back." says M'Carthy. "Let you be prepared with the money to have along with you."

The Englishman took ship to Ireland, and he came to the house of the lady M'Carthy. Herself was in the kitchen making a cake, and she seen the man walking up to the door. Away she run to the parlour, and in the hurry she forgot the lovely pearl ring she took off her finger when she began at the cooking. Well, he found the door standing open, and he seen the ring on the kitchen table. It was easy knowing it was no common article would be in the possession of any one but the mistress of the house. What did the lad do, only slip in and put it in his pocket. With that the waiting maid came and asked his business, the lady M'Carthy was after sending her down.

"Oh, no business at all," says he. "But I am weary travelling and I thought I might rest at this place."

He began for to flatter the girl and to offer her bribes, and in the latter end he got her to speak. She told him all what the mistress of the house was like; how she had a mole under her right arm, and one on her left knee. Moreover she gave him a few long golden hairs she got out of the lady's comb.

The Englishman went back to M'Carthy, brought him the tokens, and demanded the payment of the bet. And that is the way the poor gentleman spent the money he had saved up for the Jew.

M'Carthy sent word to his wife that he was coming home, and for her to meet him on the ship. She put her grandest raiment upon her and started away at once. She went out to the ship and got up on the deck where she seen her husband standing. When she went over to him he never said a word at all, but he swept her aside with his arm the way she fell into the water. Then he went on shore full sure he had her drowned.

But there was another ship coming in, and a miller that was on her seen the lady struggling in the sea. He was an aged man, yet he ventured in after her and he saved the poor creature's life.

Well, the miller was a good sort of a man and he had great compassion for herself when she told him her story. She had no knowledge of the cause of her husband being vexed with her, and she thought it hard to believe the evidence of her senses that he was after striving to make away with her. The miller advised the lady M'Carthy to go on with the ship, which was sailing to another port, for maybe if she went home after the man he would be destroying her.

When the ship came into the harbour the news was going of a great lawsuit.

The miller heard all, and he brought word to the lady that M'Carthy was in danger of death.

"There are three charges against him," says the miller. "Your father has him impeached for stealing you away, and you not wishful to be with him: that is the first crime."

"That is a false charge," says she, "for I helped for to plan the whole elopement. My father is surely saying all in good faith, but it is a lie the whole time."

"A Jew has him accused for a sum of money he borrowed, and it was due for repayment: that is the second crime," says the miller.

"The money was all gathered up for to pay the debt," says the lady. "Where can it be if M'Carthy will not produce it?"

"The law has him committed for the murder of yourself: and that is the third crime," says the miller.

"And a false charge, too, seeing you saved me in that ill hour. I am thinking I'd do well to be giving evidence in a court of law, for it's maybe an inglorious death they'll be giving him," says she.

"Isn't that what he laid out for yourself?" asks the miller.

"It is surely, whatever madness came on him. But I have a good wish for him the whole time."

"If that is the way of it we had best be setting out," says he.

The lady and the miller travelled overland, it being a shorter journey nor the one they were after coming by sea. When they got to the court of law wasn't the judge after condemning M'Carthy; and it was little the poor gentleman cared for the sentence of death was passed on him.

"My life is bitter and poisoned on me," says he; "maybe the grave is the best place."

With that the lady M'Carthy stood up in the court and gave out that she had not been destroyed at all, for the miller saved her from the sea.

They began the whole trial over again, and herself told how she planned the elopement, and her father had no case at all. She could not tell why M'Carthy was wishful to destroy her, and he had kept all to himself at the first trial. But by degrees all was brought to light: the villainy of the Englishman and the deceit was practised on them by him and the servant girl.

It was decreed that the money was to be restored by that villain, and the Jew was to get his payment out of it.

The lady M'Carthy's father was in such rejoicement to see his daughter, and she alive, that he forgave herself and the husband for the elopement. Didn't the three of them go away home together and they the happiest people who were ever heard tell of in the world.

The Mad Pudding of Ballyboulteen.

BY WILLIAM CARLETON (1794-1869).

"Moll Roe Rafferty, the daughter of ould Jack Rafferty, was a fine, young bouncin' girl, large an' lavish, wid a purty head of hair on her--scarlet--that bein' one of the raisons why she was called Roe, or red; her arms and cheeks were much the colour of her hair, an' her saddle nose was the purtiest thing of its kind that ever was on a face.

"Well, anyhow, it was Moll Rafferty that was the dilsy. It happened that there was a nate vagabone in the neighbourhood, just as much overburdened wid beauty as herself, and he was named Gusty Gillespie. Gusty was what they call a black-mouth Prosbytarian, and wouldn't keep Christmas Day, except what they call 'ould style.' Gusty was rather good-lookin', when seen in the dark, as well as Moll herself; anyhow, they got attached to each other, and in the end everything was arranged for their marriage.

"Now this was the first marriage that had happened for a long time in the neighbourhood between a Prodestant and a Catholic, and faix, there was of the bride's uncles, ould Harry Connolly, a fairyman, who could cure all complaints wid a secret he had, and as he didn't wish to see his niece married to sich a fellow, he fought bitterly against the match. All Moll's friends, however, stood up for the marriage, barrin' him, and, of coorse, the Sunday was appointed, as I said, that they were to be dove-tailed together.

"Well, the day arrived, and Moll, as became her, went to Mass, and Gusty to meeting, afther which they were to join one another in Jack Rafferty's, where the priest, Father McSorley was to slip up afther Mass to take his dinner wid them, and to keep Mister McShuttle, who was to marry them, company. Nobody remained at home but ould Jack Rafferty an' his wife, who stopped to dress for dinner, for, to tell the truth, it was to be a great let-out entirely. Maybe if all was known, too, Father McSorley was to give them a cast of his office over and above the ministher, in regard that Moll's friends were not altogether satisfied at the kind of marriage which McShuttle could give them. The sorrow may care about that--splice here, splice there--all I can say is that when Mrs. Rafferty was goin' to tie up a big bag pudden, in walks Harry Connolly, the fairyman, in a rage, and shouts, 'Blood and blunder-bushes, what are yez here for?'

"'Arrah, why, Harry? Why, avick?'

"'Why, the sun's in the suds, and the moon in the high Horricks; there's a clip-stick comin' on, and there you're both as unconsarned as if it was about to rain mether. Go out an' cross yourselves three times in the name o' the four Mandromarvins, for, as the prophecy says:--'Fill the pot, Eddy, supernaculum--a blazin' star's a rare spectaculum.' Go out, both of you, an' look at the sun, I say, an' ye'll see the condition he's in--off!'

"Begad, sure enough, Jack gave a bounce to the door, and his wife leaped like a two-year-ould, till they were both got on a stile beside the house to see what was wrong in the sky.

"'Arrah, what is it, Jack?' says she, 'can you see anything?'

"'No,' says he, 'sorra the full of my eye of anything I can spy, barrin' the sun himself, that's not visible, in regard of the clouds. God guard us! I doubt there's something to happen.'

"'If there wasn't, Jack, what'd put Harry, that knows so much, in that state he's in?'

"'I doubt it's this marriage,' says Jack. 'Betune ourselves, it's not over an' above religious of Moll to marry a black-mouth, an' only for--; but, it can't be helped now, though you see it's not a taste o' the sun is willing to show his face upon it.'

"'As to that,' says his wife, winkin' with both eyes, 'if Gusty's satisfied with Moll, it's enough. I know who'll carry the whip hand, anyhow; but in the manetime let us ax Harry within what ails the sun?'

"Well, they accordingly went in, and put this question to him, 'Harry, what's wrong, ahagur? What is it now, for if anybody alive knows 'tis yourself?'

"'Ah,' said Harry, screwin' his mouth wid a kind of a dry smile, 'The sun has a hard twist o' the colic; but never mind that, I tell you, you'll have a merrier weddin' than you think, that's all'; and havin' said this, he put on his hat and left the house.

"Now, Harry's answer relieved them very much, and so, afther callin' to him to be back for dinner, Jack sat down to take a shough o' the pipe, and the wife lost no time in tying up the pudden, and puttin' it in the pot to be boiled.

"In this way things went on well enough for a while, Jack smokin' away an' the wife cookin' an' dressin' at the rate of a hunt. At last, Jack, while sittin', I said, contently at the fire, thought he could persave an odd dancin' kind of motion in the pot that puzzled him a good deal.

"'Katty,' says he, 'what in the dickens is in this pot on the fire?'

"'Nerra a thing but the big pudden. Why do you ax?' says she.

"'Why,' says he, 'if ever a pot tuk it into its head to dance a jig, this did. Thunder and sparbles, look at it!'

"Begad, and it was thrue enough; there was the pot bobbin' up an' down, and from side to side, jiggin' it away as merry as a grig; an' it was quite aisy to see that it wasn't the pot itself, but what was inside it, that brought about the hornpipe.

"'Be the hole o' my coat,' shouted Jack, 'there's somethin' alive in it, or it would niver cut sich capers!'

"'Begorra, there is, Jack; something sthrange entirely has got into it. Wirra, man alive, what's to be done?'

"Jist as she spoke the pot seemed to cut the buckle in prime style, and afther a spring that'd shame a dancin' masther, off flew the lid, and out bounced the pudden itself, hoppin' as nimble as a pea on a drum-head about the floor. Jack blessed himself, and Katty crossed herself. Jack shouted and Katty screamed. 'In the name of goodness, keep your distance; no one here injured you!'

"The pudden, however, made a set at him, and Jack lepped first on a chair, and then on the kitchen table, to avoid it. It then danced towards Katty, who was repatin' her prayers at the top of her voice, while the cunnin' thief of a pudden was hoppin' an' jiggin' it around her as if it was amused at her distress.

"'If I could get a pitchfork,' says Jack, 'I'd dale wid it--by goxty, I'd thry its mettle.'

"'No, no,' shouted Katty, thinkin' there was a fairy in it; 'let us spake it fair. Who knows what harm it might do? Aisy, now,' says she to the pudden; 'aisy, dear; don't harm honest people that never meant to offend you. It wasn't us--no, in troth, it was ould Harry Connolly that bewitched you; pursue him, if you wish, but spare a woman like me!'

"The pudden, bedad, seemed to take her at her word, and danced away from her towards Jack, who, like the wife, believin' there was a fairy in it, an' that spakin' it fair was the best plan, thought he would give it a soft word as well as her.

"'Plase your honour,' said Jack, 'she only spakes the truth, an' upon my voracity, we both feels much obliged to you for your quietness. Faith, it's quite clear that if you weren't a gentleman pudden, all out, you'd act otherwise. Ould Harry, the rogue, is your mark; he's jist down the road there, and if you go fast you'll overtake him. Be my song, your dancin'-masther did his duty, anyway. Thank your honour! God speed you, and may you niver meet wid a parson or alderman in your thravels.'

"Jist as Jack spoke, the pudden appeared to take the hint, for it quietly hopped out, and as the house was directly on the roadside, turned down towards the bridge, the very way that ould Harry went. It was very natural, of coorse, that Jack and Katty should go and see how it intended to thravel, and as the day was Sunday, it was but natural too, that a greater number of people than usual were passin' the road. This was a fact; and when Jack and his wife were seen followin' the pudden, the whole neighbourhood was soon up and after it.

"'Jack Rafferty, what is it? Katty, ahagur, will you tell us what it manes?'

"'Why,' replied Katty, 'it's my big pudden that's bewitched, an' it's out hot pursuin'--here she stopped, not wishin' to mention her brother's name--'someone or other that surely put pishrogues (a fairy spell) an it.'

"This was enough; Jack, now seein' he had assistance, found his courage comin' back to him; so says he to Katty, 'Go home,' says he, 'an' lose no time in makin' another pudden as good, an' here's Paddy Scanlan's wife Bridget says she'll let you boil it on her fire, as you'll want our own to dress for dinner; and Paddy himself will lend me a pitchfork, for pursuin' to the morsel of that same pudden will escape, till I let the wind out of it, now that I've the neighbours to back an' support me,' says Jack.

"This was agreed to, an' Katty went back to prepare a fresh pudden, while Jack an' half the townland pursued the other wid spades, graips, pitchforks, scythes, flails, and all possible description of instruments. On the pudden went, however, at the rate of about six Irish miles an hour, an' sich a chase was never seen. Catholics, Prodestants, and Prosbytarians were all afther it, armed, as I said, an' bad end to the thing but its own activity could save it. Here it made a hop, there a prod was made at it, but off it went, and someone, as eager to get a slice at it on the other side, got the prod instead of the pudden. Big Frank Farrell, the miller, of Ballyboulteen, got a prod backwards that brought a hullabulloo out of him that you might hear at the other end of the parish. One got a slice of the scythe, another a whack of a flail, a third a rap of the spade, that made him look nine ways at wanst.

"'Where is it goin'?' asked one. 'My life for you, it's on its way to meeting. Three cheers for it, if it turns to Carntaul!' 'Prod the sowl out of it if it's a Prodestan,' shouted the others; 'if it turns to the left, slice it into pancakes. We'll have no Prodestan' puddens here.'

"Begad, by this time the people were on the point of begginnin' to have a regular fight about it, when, very fortunately, it took a short turn down a little by-lane that led towards the Methodist praychin'-house, an' in an instant all parties were in an uproar against it as a Methodist pudden. 'It's a Wesleyan,' shouted several voices; 'an' by this an' by that, into a Methodist chapel it won't put a foot to-day, or we'll lose a fall. Let the wind out of it. Come, boys, where's your pitchforks?'

"The divil pursuin' to the one of them, however, ever could touch the pudden, and jist when they thought they had it up against the gravel of the Methodist chapel, begad, it gave them the slip, and hops over to the left, clane into the river, and sails away before their eyes as light as an egg-shell.

"Now, it so happened that a little below this place the demesne wall of Colonel Bragshaw was built up to the very edge of the river on each side of its banks; and so, findin' there was a stop put to their pursuit of it, they went home again, every man, woman, and child of them, puzzled to think what the pudden was at all, what it meant, or where it was goin'. Had Jack Rafferty an' his wife been willin' to let out the opinion they held about Harry Connolly bewitchin' it, there is no doubt of it but poor Harry might be badly trated by the crowd, when their blood was up. They had sense enough, howaniver, to keep that to themselves, for Harry, bein' an ould bachelor, was a kind friend to the Raffertys. So, of coorse, there was all kinds of talk about it--some guessin' this, an' some guessin' that--one party sayin' the pudden was of their side, and another denyin' it, an' insisting it belonged to them, an' so on.

"In the meantime, Katty Rafferty for 'fraid the dinner might come short, went home and made another pudden much about the same size as the one that had escaped, an' bringing it over to their next neighbour, Paddy Scanlan's, it was put into a pot, and placed on the fire to boil, hopin' that it might be done in time, espishilly as they were to have the ministher, who loved a warm slice of a good pudden as well as e'er a gentleman in Europe.

"Anyhow, the day passed; Moll and Gusty were made man an' wife, an' no two could be more lovin'. Their friends that had been asked to the weddin' were saunterin' about in the pleasant little groups till dinner-time, chattin' an' laughin'; but, above all things, sthrivin' to account for the figaries of the pudden; for, to tell the truth, its adventures had now gone through the whole parish.

"Well, at any rate, dinner-time was drawin' near, and Paddy Scanlan was sittin' comfortably wid his wife at the fire, the pudden boilin' before their eyes when in walks Harry Connolly in a flutter, shoutin' 'Blood and blunder-bushes, what are yez here for?'

"'Arrah, why, Harry--why, avick?' said Mrs. Scanlan.

"'Why,' said Harry, 'the sun's in the suds, an' the moon in the high Horricks! Here's a clipstick comin' on, an' there you sit as unconsarned as if it was about to rain mether! Go out, both of you, an' look at the sun, I say, an' ye'll see the condition he's in--off!'

"'Ay, but, Harry, what's that rowled up in the tail of your cothamore (big coat)?'

"'Out wid yez,' says Harry, 'an' pray against the clipstick--the sky's fallin'!'

"Begad, it was hard to say whether Paddy or the wife got out first, they were so much alarmed by Harry's wild, thin face and piercin' eyes; so out they went to see what was wonderful in the sky, an' kep lookin' in every direction, but not a thing was to be seen, barrin' the sun shinin' down wid great good-humour, an' not a single cloud in the sky.

"Paddy an' the wife now came in laughin' to scould Harry, who, no doubt, was a great wag in his way when he wished. 'Musha, bad scran to you, Harry--' and they had time to say no more, howandiver, for, as they were goin' into the door, they met him comin' out of it, wid a reek of smoke out of his tail like a limekiln.

"'Harry,' shouted Bridget, 'my sowl to glory, but the tail of your cothamore's afire--you'll be burned. Don't you see the smoke that's out of it?'

"'Cross yourselves three times,' said Harry, without stoppin' or even lookin' behind him, 'for as the prophecy says, Fill the pot, Eddy--' They could hear no more, for Harry appeared to feel like a man that carried something a great deal hotter than he wished, as anyone might see by the liveliness of his motions, and the quare faces he was forced to make as he went along.

"'What the dickens is he carryin' in the skirts of his big coat?' asked Paddy.

"'My sowl to happiness, but maybe he has stolen the pudden,' said Bridget, 'for it's known that many a sthrange thing he does.'

"They immediately examined the pot, but found that the pudden was there, as safe as tuppence, an' this puzzled them the more to think what it was he could be carryin' about with him in the manner he did. But little they knew what he had done while they were sky-gazin'!

"Well, anyhow, the day passed, and the dinner was ready an' no doubt but a fine gatherin' there was to partake of it. The Prosbytarian ministher met the Methodist praycher--a divilish stretcher of an appetite he had, in throth--on his way to Jack Rafferty's, an' as he knew he could take the liberty, why, he insisted on his dining wid him; for, afther all, in thim days the clergy of all descriptions lived upon the best footin' among one another not all at one as now--but no matther. Well, they had nearly finished their dinner, when Jack Rafferty himself axed Katty for the pudden; but jist as he spoke, in it came, as big as a mess-pot.

"'Gentlemen,' said he, 'I hope none of you will refuse tastin' a bit of Katty's pudden; I don't mane the dancin' one that took to its thravels to-day, but a good, solid fellow that she med since.'

"'To be sure we won't,' replied the priest. 'So, Jack, put a thrifle on them three plates at your right hand, and send them over here to the clargy, an' maybe,' he said, laughin'--for he was a droll, good-humoured man--'maybe, Jack, we won't set you a proper example.'

"'Wid a heart an' a half, your riverence an' gintlemen; in throth, it's not a bad example ever any of you set us at the likes, or ever will set us, I'll go bail. An' sure, I only wish it was betther fare I had for you; but we're humble people, gintlemen, an' so you can't expect to meet here what you would in higher places.'

"'Betther a male of herbs,' said the Methodist praycher, 'where pace is--' He had time to go no further, however; for, much to his amazement, the priest an' the ministher started up from the table, jist as he was going to swallow the first mouthful of the pudden, and, before you could say Jack Robinson, started away at a lively jig down the floor.

"At this moment a neighbour's son came runnin' in, and tould them that the parson was comin' to see the new-married couple, an' wish them all happiness; an' the words were scarcely out of his mouth when he made his appearance. What to think he knew not, when he saw the ministher footin' it away at the rate of a weddin'. He had very little time, however, to think; for, before he could sit down, up starts the Methodist praycher, an', clappin' his fists in his sides, chimes in in great style along wid him.

"'Jack Rafferty,' says he, and, by the way, Jack was his tenant, 'what the dickens does all this mane?' says he; 'I'm amazed!'

"'Then not a particle o' me can tell you,' says Jack; 'but will your reverence jist taste a morsel o' pudden, merely that the young couple may boast that you ait at their weddin'; 'for sure, if you wouldn't, who would?'

"'Well,' says he, to gratify them, I will; so, just a morsel. But, Jack, this bates Banagher,' says he again, puttin' the spoonful of pudden into his mouth; 'has there been drink here?'

"'Oh, the divil a spudh,' says Jack, 'for although there's plenty in the house, faith, it appears the gentlemen wouldn't wait for it. Unless they tuck it elsewhere, I can make nothin' o' this.'

"He had scarcely spoken when the parson, who was an active man, cut a caper a yard high, an' before you could bless yourself, the three clargy were hard at work dancin', as if for a wager. Begad, it would be unpossible for me to tell you the state the whole meetin' was in when they see this. Some were hoarse wid laughin'; some turned up their eyes wid wondher; many thought them mad; and others thought they had turned up their little fingers a thrifle too often.

"'Be Goxty, it's a burnin' shame,' said one, 'to see three black-mouth clargy in sich a state at this early hour!'" 'Thunder an' ounze, what's over them all?' says others; 'why, one would think they were bewitched. Holy Moses, look at the caper the Methodist cuts! An' as for the Recthor, who would think he could handle his feet at sich a rate! Be this, an' be that, he cuts the buckle, an' does the threblin' step aiquil to Paddy Horaghan, the dancin'-masther himself! An' see! Bad cess to the morsel of the parson that's not too hard at "Pease upon a Trancher," and it upon a Sunday, too! Whirroo, gintlemen, the fun's in yez, afther all--whish! more power to yez!'

"The sorra's own fun they had, an' no wondher; but judge of what they felt when all at once they saw ould Jack Rafferty himself bouncin' in among them, an' footin' it away like the best of them. Bedad, no play could come up to it, an' nothin' could be heard but laughin', shouts of encouragement, an' clappin' of hands like mad. Now, the minute Jack Rafferty left the chair, where he had been carvin' the pudden, ould Harry Connolly come over and claps himself down in his place, in ordher to send it round, of coorse; an' he was scarcely sated when who should make his appearance but Barney Hartigan, the piper. Barney, by the way, had been sent for early in the day, but, bein' from home when the message for him came, he couldn't come any sooner.

"'Begorra' says Barney, 'you're airly at the work, gintlemen! But what does this mane? But divel may care, yez shan't want the music, while there's a blast in the pipes, anyhow!' So sayin' he gave them "Jig Polthogue," and afther that, "Kiss my Lady" in his best style.

"In the manetime the fun went on thick and threefold, for it must be remembered that Harry, the ould knave, was at the pudden; an' maybe, he didn't sarve it about in double-quick time, too! The first he helped was the bride, and before you could say chopstick she was at it hard and fast, before the Methodist praycher, who gave a jolly spring before her that threw them all into convulsions. Harry liked this, and made up his mind soon to find partners for the rest; an', to make a long story short, barrin' the piper an' himself, there wasn't a pair of heels in the house but was busy at the dancin' as if their lives depended on it.

"'Barney,' says Harry, 'jist taste a morsel o' this pudden; divil the sich a bully of a pudden ever you ett. Here, your sowl! thry a snig of it--it's beautiful!'

"'To be sure I will,' says Barney. 'I'm not the boy to refuse a good thing. But, Harry, be quick, for you know my hands is engaged, an' it would be a thousand pities not to keep them in music, an' they so well inclined. Thank you, Harry. Begad, that is a fine pudden. But, blood an' turnips! what's this for?'

"The words was scarcely out of his mouth when he bounced up, pipes an' all, and dashed into the middle of the party. 'Hurroo! your sowls, let us make a night of it! The Ballyboulteen boys for ever! Go it, your reverence!--turn your partner--heel and toe, ministher. Good! Well done, again! Whish! Hurroo! Here's for Ballyboulteen, an' the sky over it!'

"Bad luck to sich a set ever was seen together in this world, or will again, I suppose. The worst, however, wasn't come yet, for jist as they were in the very heat' an' fury of the dance, what do you think comes hoppin' in among them but another pudden, as nimble an' merry as the first! That was enough; they had all heard of it--the ministhers among the rest--an' most of them had seen the other pudden, an' knew that there must be a fairy in it, sure enough. Well, as I said, in it comes, to the thick o' them; but the very appearance of it was enough. Off the three clergymen danced, and off the whole weddiners danced, afther them, everyone makin' the best of their way home, but not a sowl of them able to break out of the step, if they were to be hanged for it. Troth, it wouldn't lave a laff in you to see the parson dancin' down the road on his way home, and the ministher and Methodist praycher cuttin' the buckle as they went along in the opposite direction. To make short work of it, they all danced home at last wid scarce a puff of wind in them; and the bride an' bridegroom danced away to bed."

Frank Webber's Wager.

_From "Charles O'Malley."_

BY CHARLES LEVER (1806-1872).

I was sitting at breakfast with Webber, when Power came in hastily.

"Ha, the very man!" said he. "I say, O'Malley, here's an invitation for you from Sir George to dine on Friday. He desired me to say a thousand civil things about his not having made you out, regrets that he was not at home when you called yesterday, and all that."

"By the way," said Webber, "wasn't Sir George Dashwood down in the West lately? Do you know what took him there?"

"Oh," said Power, "I can enlighten you. He got his wife west of the Shannon--a vulgar woman. She is now dead, and the only vestige of his unfortunate matrimonial connexion is a correspondence kept up with him by a maiden sister of his late wife's. She insists upon claiming the ties of kindred upon about twenty family eras during the year, when she regularly writes a most loving and ill-spelled epistle, containing the latest information from Mayo, with all particulars of the Macan family, of which she is a worthy member. To her constant hints of the acceptable nature of certain small remittances the poor General is never inattentive; but to the pleasing prospects of a visit in the flesh from Miss Judy Macan, the good man is dead."

"Then, he has never yet seen her?"

"Never, and he hopes to leave Ireland without that blessing?"

"I say, Power, and has your worthy General sent me a card for his ball?"

"Not through me, Master Frank. Sir George must really be excused in this matter. He has a most attractive, lovely daughter, just at that budding, unsuspecting age when the heart is most susceptible of impressions; and where, let me ask, could she run such a risk as in the chance of a casual meeting with the redoubted lady-killer, Master Frank Webber?"

"A very strong case, certainly," said Frank; "but still, had he confided his critical position to my honour and secrecy, he might have depended on me; now, having taken the other line, he must abide the consequences. I'll make fierce love to Lucy."

"But how, may I ask, and when?"

"I'll begin at the ball, man."

"Why, I thought you said you were not going?"

"There you mistake seriously. I merely said that I had not been invited."

"Then, of course," said I, "Webber, you can't think of going, in any case, on my account."

"My very dear friend, I go entirely upon my own. I not only shall go, but I intend to have most particular notice and attention paid me. I shall be prime favourite with Sir George--kiss Lucy--"

"Come, come! this is too strong."

"What do you bet I don't? There, now, I'll give you a pony a-piece, I do. Do you say done?"

"That you kiss Miss Dashwood, and are not kicked downstairs for your pains; are those the terms of your wager?" inquired Power.

"With all my heart. That I kiss Miss Dashwood, and am not kicked downstairs for my pains."

"Then I say, done!"

"And with you, too, O'Malley?"

"I thank you," said I, coldly; "I'm not disposed to make such a return for Sir George Dashwood's hospitality as to make an insult to his family the subject of a bet."

"Why, man, what are you dreaming of? Miss Dashwood will not refuse my chaste salute. Come, Power, I will give you the other pony."

"Agreed," said he. "At the same time, understand me distinctly--that I hold myself perfectly eligible to winning the wager by my own interference; for, if you do kiss her, I'll perform the remainder of the compact."

"So I understand the agreement," said Webber, and off he went.

I have often dressed for a storming party with less of trepidation than I felt on the evening of Sir George Dashwood's ball. It was long since I had seen Miss Dashwood; therefore, as to what precise position I might occupy in her favour was a matter of great doubt in my mind, and great import to my happiness.

Our quadrille over, I was about to conduct her to a seat, when Sir George came hurriedly up, his face greatly flushed, and betraying every semblance of high excitement.

"Read this," said he, presenting a very dirty-looking note.

Miss Dashwood unfolded the billet, and after a moment's silence, burst out a-laughing, while she said, "Why, really, papa, I do not see why this should put you out much, after all. Aunt may be somewhat of a character, as her note evinces; but after a few days----',

"Nonsense, child; there's nothing in this world I have such a dread of as this--and to come at such a time! O'Malley, my boy, read this note, and you will not feel surprised if I appear in the humour you see me."

I read as follows:--

"Dear brother,--When this reaches your hand I'll not be far off. I'm
on my way up to town, to be under Dr. Dease for the ould complaint.
Expect me to tea; and, with love to Lucy, believe me, yours in haste,

"Judith Macan.

"Let the sheets be well aired in my room; and if you have a spare bed, perhaps you could prevail upon Father Magrath to stop, too."

I scarcely could contain my laughter till I got to the end of this very free-and-easy epistle, when at last I burst forth in a hearty fit, in which I was joined by Miss Dashwood.

"I say, Lucy," said Sir George, "there's only one thing to be done. If this horrid woman does arrive, let her be shown to her room, and for the few days of her stay in town, we'll neither see nor be seen by anyone."

Without waiting for a reply he was turning away, when the servant announced, in his loudest voice, "Miss Macan."

No sooner had the servant pronounced the magical name than all the company present seemed to stand still. About two steps in advance of the servant was a tall, elderly lady, dressed in an antique brocade silk, with enormous flowers gaudily embroidered upon it. Her hair was powdered and turned back, in the fashion of fifty years before. Her short, skinny arms were bare, while on her hands she wore black silk mittens; a pair of green spectacles scarcely dimmed the lustre of a most piercing pair of eyes, to whose effect a very palpable touch of rouge on the cheeks certainly added brilliancy. There she stood, holding before her a fan about the size of a modern tea-tray, while at each repetition of her name by the servant she curtseyed deeply.

Sir George, armed with the courage of despair, forced his way through the crowd, and taking her hand affectionately, bid her welcome to Dublin. The fair Judy, at this, threw her arms about his neck, and saluted him with a hearty smack, that was heard all over the room.

"Where's Lucy, brother? Let me see my little darling," said the lady, in a decided accent. "There she is, I'm sure; kiss me, my honey."

This office Miss Dashwood performed with an effort at courtesy really admirable; while, taking her aunt's arm, she led her to a sofa.

Power made his way towards Miss Dashwood, and succeeded in obtaining a formal introduction to Miss Macan.

"I hope you will do me the favour to dance next set with me, Miss Macan?"

"Really, Captain, it's very polite of you, but you must excuse me. I was never anything great in quadrilles: but if a reel or a jig----"

"Oh, dear aunt, don't think of it, I beg of you!"

"Or even Sir Roger de Coverley," resumed Miss Macan.

"I assure you, quite equally impossible."

"Then I'm certain you waltz," said Power.

"What do you take me for, young man? I hope I know better. I wish Father Magrath heard you ask me that question; and for all your laced jacket----"

"Dearest aunt, Captain Power didn't mean to offend you; I'm certain he----"

"Well, why did he dare to--(sob, sob)--did he see anything light about me, that he--(sob, sob, sob)--oh, dear! oh, dear! is it for this I came up from my little peaceful place in the West?--(sob, sob, sob)--General, George, dear; Lucy, my love, I'm taken bad. Oh, dear! oh, dear! is there any whiskey negus?"

After a time she was comforted.

At supper later on in the evening, I was deep in thought when a dialogue quite near me aroused me from my reverie.

"Don't, now! don't, I tell ye; it's little ye know Galway, or ye wouldn't think to make up to me, squeezing my foot."

"You're an angel, a regular angel. I never saw a woman suit my fancy before."

"Oh, behave now. Father Magrath says----"

"Who's he?"

"The priest; no less."

"Oh! bother him."

"Bother Father Magrath, young man?"

"Well, then, Judy, don't be angry; I only means that a dragoon knows rather more of these matters than a priest."

"Well, then, I'm not so sure of that. But, anyhow, I'd have you to remember it ain't a Widow Malone you have beside you."

"Never heard of the lady," said Power.

"Sure, it's a song--poor creature--it's a song they made about her in the North Cork when they were quartered down in our county."

"I wish you'd sing it."

"What will you give me, then, if I do?"

"Anything--everything--my heart--my life."

"I wouldn't give a trauneen for all of them. Give me that old green ring on your finger, then."

"It's yours," said Power, placing it gracefully upon Miss Macan's finger; "and now for your promise."

"Well, mind you get up a good chorus, for the song has one, and here it is."

"Miss Macan's song!" said Power, tapping the table with his knife.

"Miss Macan's song!" was re-echoed on all sides; and before the luckless General could interfere, she had begun:--

"Did ye hear of the Widow Malone,
Ohone!
Who lived in the town of Athlone,
Alone?
Oh! she melted the hearts
Of the swains in them parts,
So lovely the widow Malone,
Ohone!
So lovely the Widow Malone.

"Of lovers she had a full score,
Or more;
And fortunes they all had galore,
In store;
From the Minister down
To the Clerk of the Crown,
All were courting the Widow Malone,
Ohone!
All were courting the Widow Malone.

"But so modest was Mrs. Malone,
'Twas known
No one ever could see her alone,
Ohone!
Let them ogle and sigh,
They could ne'er catch her eye,
So bashful the Widow Malone,
Ohone!
So bashful the Widow Malone.

"Till one Mr. O'Brien from Clare,--
How quare,
It's little for blushing they care,
Down there,
Put his arm round her waist,
Gave ten kisses, at laste,--
'Oh,' says he, 'you're my Molly Malone,'
My own;
'Oh,' says he, 'you're my Molly Malone.'

"And the widow they all thought so shy,
My eye!
Ne'er thought of a simper or sigh;
For why?
But 'Lucius,' says she,
'Since you've now made so free,
You may marry your Mary Malone,
Ohone!
You may marry your Mary Malone.'

"There's a moral contained in my song,
Not wrong;
And, one comfort, it's not very long,
But strong;
If for widows you die,
Larn to kiss, not to sigh,
For they're all like sweet Mistress Malone,
Ohone!
Oh! they're very like Mistress Malone."

Never did song create such a sensation as Miss Macan's.

"I insist upon a copy of 'The Widow,' Miss Macan," said Power.

"To be sure; give me a call to-morrow--let me see--about two. Father Magrath won't be at home," said she, with a coquettish look.

"Where pray, may I pay my respects?"

Power produced a card and pencil, while Miss Macan wrote a few lines, saying, as she handed it--

"There, now, don't read it here before all the people; they'll think it mighty indelicate in me to make an appointment."

Power pocketed the card, and the next minute Miss Macan's carriage was announced.

When she had taken her departure, "Doubt it who will," said Power, "she has invited me to call on her to-morrow--written her address on my card--told me the hour she is certain of being alone. See here!" At these words he pulled forth the card, and handed it to a friend.

Scarcely were the eyes of the latter thrown upon the writing, when he said, "So, this isn't it, Power!"

"To be sure it is, man. Read it out. Proclaim aloud my victory."

Thus urged, his friend read:--

"Dear P.,--Please pay to my credit--and soon, mark ye--the two ponies
lost this evening. I have done myself the pleasure of enjoying your
ball, kissed the lady, quizzed the papa and walked into the cunning
Fred Power.--Yours,

"FRANK WEBBER.

"'The Widow Malone, Ohone!' is at your service."

Sam Wham and the Sawmont.

BY SIR SAMUEL FERGUSON (1810-1886).

"Knieving trouts" (they call it tickling in England) is good sport. You go to a stony shallow at night, a companion bearing a torch; then, stripping to the thighs and shoulders, wade in, grope with your hands under the stones, sods, and other harbourage, till you find your game, then grip him in your "knieve" and toss him ashore.