'Well,as soon as they war all come to the bridge,the boys tuck 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.
'An'his Raverince rode down to the bank of the river,close by,an'beginned 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 water,an'the ould gandher a-top iv him.Down they both went to the bottom,wid a souse you'd hear half a mile off.
'An'before they had time to rise agin,his Raverince,wid the fair astonishment,giv his horse one dig iv the spurs,an' before he knew where he was,in he went,horse an'all,a-top iv them,an'down to the bottom.
'Up they all kem agin together,gaspin' and puffin',an'off down wid the current wid them,like shot in under the arch iv the bridge till they kem to the shallow wather.
'The ould gandher was the first out,and the priest and Terence kem next,pantin' an'blowin'an'more than half dhrounded,an'his Raverince was so freckened wid the droundin'he got,and wid the sight iv the sperit,as he consaved,that he wasn't the better of it for a month.
'An'as soon as Terence could spake,he swore he'd have the life of the two gossoons;but Father Crotty would not give him his will.An'as soon as he was got quiter,they all endivoured to explain it;but Terence consaved he went raly to bed the night before,and his wife said the same to shilter him from the suspicion for havin'th'dthrop taken.An'his Raverince said it was a mysthery,an'swore if he cotched anyone laughin'at the accident,he'd lay the horsewhip across their shouldhers.
'An'Terence grew fonder an'fonder iv the gandher every day,until at last he died in a wondherful old age,lavin'the gandher afther him an'a large family iv childher.
'An'to this day the farm is rinted by one iv Terence Mooney's lenial and legitimate postariors.'
BILLY MALOWNEY'S TASTE OF LOVE AND GLORY.
Let the reader fancy a soft summer evening,the fresh dews falling on bush and flower.The sun has just gone down,and the thrilling vespers of thrushes and blackbirds ring with a wild joy through the saddened air;the west is piled with fantastic clouds,and clothed in tints of crimson and amber,melting away into a wan green,and so eastward into the deepest blue,through which soon the stars will begin to peep.
Let him fancy himself seated upon the low mossy wall of an ancient churchyard,where hundreds of grey stones rise above the sward,under the fantastic branches of two or three half-withered ash-trees,spreading their arms in everlasting love and sorrow over the dead.
The narrow road upon which I and my companion await the tax-cart that is to carry me and my basket,with its rich fruitage of speckled trout,away,lies at his feet,and far below spreads an undulating plain,rising westward again into soft hills,and traversed (every here and there visibly)by a winding stream which,even through the mists of evening,catches and returns the funereal glories of the skies.
As the eye traces its wayward wanderings,it loses them for a moment in the heaving verdure of white-thorns and ash,from among which floats from some dozen rude chimneys,mostly unseen,the transparent blue film of turf smoke.There we know,although we cannot see it,the steep old bridge of Carrickadrum spans the river;and stretching away far to the right the valley of Lisnamoe:its steeps and hollows,its straggling hedges,its fair-green,its tall scattered trees,and old grey tower,are disappearing fast among the discoloured tints and haze of evening.
Those landmarks,as we sit listlessly expecting the arrival of our modest conveyance,suggest to our companion--a bare-legged Celtic brother of the gentle craft,somewhat at the wrong side of forty,with a turf-coloured caubeen,patched frieze,a clear brown complexion,dark-grey eyes,and a right pleasant dash of roguery in his features--the tale,which,if the reader pleases,he is welcome to hear along with me just as it falls from the lips of our humble comrade.
His words I can give,but your own fancy must supply the advantages of an intelligent,expressive countenance,and,what is perhaps harder still,the harmony of his glorious brogue,that,like the melodies of our own dear country,will leave a burden of mirth or of sorrow with nearly equal propriety,tickling the diaphragm as easily as it plays with the heart-strings,and is in itself a national music that,I trust,may never,never--scouted and despised though it be--never cease,like the lost tones of our harp,to be heard in the fields of my country,in welcome or endearment,in fun or in sorrow,stirring the hearts of Irish men and Irish women.
My friend of the caubeen and naked shanks,then,commenced,and continued his relation,as nearly as possible,in the following words:
Av coorse ye often heerd talk of Billy Malowney,that lived by the bridge of Carrickadrum.'Leum-a-rinka'was the name they put on him,he was sich a beautiful dancer.An'faix,it's he was the rale sportin'boy,every way--killing the hares,and gaffing the salmons,an'fightin'the men,an'funnin'the women,and coortin' the girls;an'be the same token,there was not a colleen inside iv his jurisdiction but was breakin'her heart wid the fair love iv him.
Well,this was all pleasant enough,to be sure,while it lasted;but inhuman beings is born to misfortune,an'Bill's divarshin was not to last always.A young boy can't be continially coortin'and kissin'the girls (an'more's the pity)without exposin' himself to the most eminent parril;an'so signs all'what should happen Billy Malowney himself,but to fall in love at last wid little Molly Donovan,in Coolnamoe.
