middlin' snarly

it got couldher,

tic❜lar early'

And his ould hoss gallopin', and heisin'

his hind-quarters, and workin'

Like a see-saw, and bumpin' and jerkin', And sent me flyin', with my head in the bottom of the cart, and my feet in the air,

And the rest of me-anywhere.

80

"So he puts out his hand'Bless my sowl!' he says, 'I thought it was gone!'

'What?' says I. 'The box,' he says, maenin' my box, and my weddin' bonnet

"O dear! he got as crabbit

As an ould buck rabbit;

And he hitched and he hunched, and he cribbed and he crunched,

Till he was all bunched

In a lump; and anyway his blades that sharp

And snaggy you might as well ha' leaned your head on the backbone of a carp.

"So I didn't care, and I sat up as straight

upon it,'

He says the box, of coorse! So I

thought I'd be a little lovin'

109

When we come to his house; and there was a falla theer standin' on the look-out.

lek shiftin' and shovin'

Lek agen him in a way. And I says, 'I'd like to be with you,' says I,

'My own husband,' I says; for I thought it better to try

Was there just a taste

90

Of anything of a husband in him. So he put his arm round my waistNot round either-for he couldn' do that

Not for the stout I am, bein' allis a gintale figger, but just like a lath-

Flat

down, and grips the hoss, and gives a big shout,

And 'Look here!' he says, 'who's goin' to

pay me?' 'Pay!'

Thinks I and this ould fool goin' seerchin' away

In all his pockets-and gev a start,
And 'Bless my heart!'

He says, 'hev I lost it? hev I lost it?'
and twisses and wriggles
Hisself into knots-and the other chap
stands and sniggles-

'it must ha' dropt out on the road comin'

It's very disthressin',' he says.

120

'Faith

then! you're a rummin,' Says the chap, and like to buss-1 'What's the use o' talkin'?' says Dan Cowle, 'I've lost my puss.

Where's your puss, Peggy? maybe,' he says, 'you'll not mind

Payin' the man,' he says-'if you'll be so kind,'

He says but oh! that creepin', and that sneakin', and that slewin', and that screwin',

Like a conger just. And 'What's a

So comfible!

But still

You'll not mistake me,

You know me, Misthriss, don't ye? and you know I wouldn' flinch,

No, not even if I was deceived—no, not an inch!

On I'd go, through the smooth and the rough, Content enough

"It was a house that if you were inside you'd see about as much sky as roof,

A surt o' mixthar o' the two, and a touch of harry-long-legses and spidersaw, it's the troof! it's the troof, The troof I'm tellin'! And the scraas 8 hangin' in rags and strings of dirt as black

You couldn' tell were they scraas, or strips tore from a rotten ould sack,

Or nettin' or somethin'. And I can tell ye the chap begun, as a body might say,

190

"And-It's too late,' he says, 'it's too late for supper, I suppose'

And ye might have sniffed and sniffed till ye straint your nose

Afore you'd ha' got a smell of supper in yandhar place—

But he turned at last, and I saw his faceWorkin', workin', workin', most terrible, And screwin' the eye, and workin' still

And-Let's sit down a bit,' he says, and he studdied the candle, if ye plaze,

and he looks up as innocent as a linnet,

200

And he says, 'That's a nice puss you've got,' he says; 'how much is there in it?'

And I tould him £4: 16s. and 21⁄2d. farlin'

So he says, 'That's a nice little bit o' money, my darlin'

Let's see it,' he says.

So I gev it to him, ye know; And he counted it out, I tell ye, every coin of it, very slow

Very slow he counted-and then-what d'ye think?

Whips it in his pocket! 'A nice lump of jink!'

Says Dan; and he snuggled up closer to me, and he began to fiddle and fiddle,

Lek tryin' to span me round the middleSome surt o' coortin'? thinks I, he's improvin', I doubt—

210

The ould villyan! He was just tryin' to find out

Had I any more stitched up in my stays!

And a man with such ways— Would you call him a man? now would ye, Misthriss? would ye, though? That was the fiddlin'-aye! he said it, he said it hisself, the ould crow! Yis, and his dirty ould mouth all of a pucker, and grippin' and nippin', And declarin' he felt the shillin's slippin'

"I says "This is no place for me,' I says; and up I jumps

'I'm off,' I says; and he rattles his ould stumps

And-Off?' he says 'Why you've not opened your box yet!'

'Clear out o' the road!' I says. 'I hevn'

seen your frocks yet,'

He says, 'nor the sheetin' nor nothin'! just give us that key

It's every bit my proppity!' he says. 'Out o' the way!'

I says, and I gript the box. But if I gript it, he gript it, and he shouted and bawled,

And backards and forrards we tugged and we hauled;

And we staggered this way, and we staggered that way,

And higgledy-piggledy, and I cannot tell what way

230

But I gev him a run in on the dresser, and

his ould back bent,

And-down he went!

"And the crockery-what there wasall smashed-well to be sure! And the turmits rowlin' on the floorSo the box was mine, and I out on the door.

'Murdher! tieves!' and he run after me full trot

'You're a robber!' he says; 'you've robbed

me! everything you got

Belongs to me-I'll bring a shuit,' he says; 'I'll bring a shuit

For damagers!' he says-the ould brute'I'll have your life!' he says,

'Ar'n' you my wife?' he says

240

'Murdher!' he says, 'murdher!'

'Murdher-your granny,'

And I left him standin' in the road; and here I am, as you see

And, Misthriss! no more weddin's, aw good sakes! no, no more weddin's for me!"

JOSEPH CAMPBELL (1881- >

THE HORSE-BREAKER

A good nag knows the sinewy grip
That rides him without spur or whip,-
And Bat Muldowney knows his mind.
Here's at you, Bat! I love your kind:
The clean-jawed man with fearless eyes:
Yourself as worthy of a prize

As what you break. To-day I spied
Him cantering by the Anner side,
And "Christ!" says I, "but there's a man,
And there's a horse." Bat lightly ran 10
The chaser round with hand and knee,
Keeping him at a jump; till he,
Weary of dyke, or post and rail,
Showed temper, jibbed, stood on his tail,
And, if he could, would throw Bat. No,
By Christ! Good nags have got to go
Where good men ride them. At the sticks
Bat faces him again. He kicks,
As Irish blood will kick, head down;
But all the horses, bay and brown,
Were they to plunge till Judgment Day,
Could not put Bartle off his way.
"Woa, beauty. Up!" . . . and at one
stride

20

The chaser's found the other side.
For good nags know the sinewy grip
That rides them without spur or whip,—
And Bat Muldowney knows his mind.
Here's at you, Bat! I love your kind.

bye, Danny!'

I'm forty years left Ennis, sir,