was greatly put out to thry an’ discover some new dodge for turnin’
in the money. He bethought him at last that as there was a dale of
dhrinkin’ goin’ on in his own counthry, he’d turn the undhertakin’
factory into a place for manufacturin’ barrels to howld wine, beer,
and sperits; so he enthered into private conthracts for supplyin’ all
England wud barrels an’ casks, an’ ’tis a fine thrade he had of it so
long as the tember on the estate held out.
But at last the woods were mostly cleared, an’ then poor Rolly didn’t
know for the minute what use to make of the land, so he rode over to
his friend Spinser, an’ he towld him of his throubles.
“Couldn’t you sell the facthory to a company?” says Spinser.
“A grand idaya!” says Rolly. “But sure they’d be sindin’ over an
inspecthor to see how the land lay, an’ if they found tember was
scarce in the neighbourhood they’d never float the business in the
market.”
“Can’t you get a frind to inspect it at this side of the wather?”
says Spinser.
“Sure, they wouldn’t believe the daylight out of an Irishman!” says
Rolly, curlin’ his lip.
“I know that,” says Spinser, wud a wink, “but maybe you could get an
Englishman to do the job for you?”
“I see what you’re dhrivin’ at,” says Rolly; “an’ I’m much obliged to
you. What fee will you be axin’?”
“I’ll laive that to yerself,” says Spinser.
“All right,” says Rolly. “Let us dhraft the survey at wance.”
“I couldn’t do that,” says Spinser. “I must have my own time to think
over the job.”
“How tall will you make the threes?” axes Rolly.
“Any heighth you like,” says Spinser. “Of coorse I can see threes two
hundred feet high where a blade of grass couldn’t grow.”
“Of coorse,” says Rolly. “That’s part of your thrade.”
“I wish you could get thrade an’ money-grubbin’ out of your head
sometimes,” says Spinser, wud a sigh. “It’s partly your own thrade as
well as mine: an’ considherin’ all the time I’ve lost listenin’ to
you readin’ your ballads here, I suppose we may look upon yerself as
bein’ in the poethry line.”
“Ay,” says Rolly. “Begor,” says he, laughin’, “it’s wondherful how
aisy people’ll swally a lie when you puts it into grand langwidge.
The yarns I’ve spun ’em about the goold an’ diamonds, in ould
Virginny ’ud make your hair stand on end, if you wor only to see the
counthry wud your own eyes.”
“I partly guessed so,” says Spinser, “or we wouldn’t have had yerself
in the coffin business.”
“That’s a sore point,” says Rolly; “so the laiste said about it the
betther. The thing is now to pitch it into ’em sthrong about the
terrible big forest that surrounds my facthory. You could tell ’em
the sun never gets a chance to shine on the buildin’, an’ that we
have to work all day by candlelight.”
“Ay,” says Spinser, “or maybe moonlight ’ud sound more iligant?”
“Wisha! how the dickens could the moon get a look in if the sun
couldn’t? Moreover,” says Rolly, “the moon doesn’t shine by day.”
“Begor, I never thought of that,” says Spinser.
“I’m afraid you’d botch the job altogether,” says Rolly, “an’ a
betther plan than noatin’ a company sthrikes me. I’ll plough up all
the land, an’ sow it wud spuds.”
“Wud what?” axes Spinser.
“Spuds!” says Rolly. “Potayties! But sure I clane forgot,” says he,
“that ye never had any of ’em in these parts.”
“What are they at all at all?” axes Spinser.
“They’re roundy little balls for aitin’, an’ fine wholesome food they
are too. I’ve lived on ’em in Virginny for weeks at a time, an’ never
’ud ax for anything wud ’em, barrin’ a pinch of salt.”
“Do you ate ’em raw?” axes Spinser.
“No,” says Rolly; “you puts ’em into a pot of bilin’ wather, until
they grows soft an’ malely—regular balls of flour if they’re properly
attinded to—an’ thin you takes the skin off ’em, and swallys ’em.”
“I’m sure,” says Spinser, “they’d go well wud a red herrin’.”
“You’re right there; or wud a bit of Watherford bacon aither,” says
Rolly, smackin’ his lips.
“Do you think they’d grow here?” axes Spinser.
“What’s to hendher ’em?” says Rolly, “good soil an’ plenty of rain
is all they requires, an’ sure they can have that _galore_ here. The
land is well-manured now with native corpses, for bein’ a conthract
job, of coorse I made the coffins as slendher as a sheet of mournin’
paper; an’ as for the rain, why it rains here day an’ night all the
year round! I’ll warrant the spuds ’ud take to the ground like the
shamrock.”
“Then the sooner you gets ’em over the betther,” says Spinser, “for
I’m towld there’s no crops at all here this year.”
“I’ll send out a few ships from Youghal Harbour to-morrow,” says
Rolly, “wud an ordher on the King of Virginny.”
So wud that Sir Walther bids good-night to his frind, an’ rides back
to Youghal. The next day he goes down to the harbour, an’ he charters
half a dozen little vessels, an’ he puts ’em all undher the command
of a Captain Murphy, an’ off they starts for Virginny.
While the ships was at say, Rolly takes a thrip over to London to see
Queen Eleezabeth, an’ begor her Majesty fell complately in love wud
him now, an’ thried hard to coax him into stoppin’ at the coort. She
towld him she’d forgiven him complately about the foreman’s head,
though ever since she couldn’t manage to ate more than wan egg for
her breakfast. ’Tis like enough Sir Walther an’ the Queen would have
made a bowlt of it an’ set up shop in Virginny, only about that time
Rolly fell in love saycritly wud another party. Eleezabeth partly
guessed this, but she didn’t let on to him that she suspected him,
an’ in ordher to thry an’ make him jealous she tuk up wud another
young lord about the coort, and towld Rolly in a timper he might go
back agen to his beer-barrels in Munsther. He tuk her Majesty at her
word, an’ off he sails agen for Youghal, where he knew the ships from
Virginny were about due now.
He wasn’t long back from the coort, whin Captain Murphy arrived
with the five other ships, all loaded down to the scuppers wud new
potayties. Rolly started dischargin’ ’em at wance, an’ it wasn’t
long until he had the facthory full of iligant spuds from flure to
ceilin’. He sent round word to all the neighbourhood that “Sir Walter
Rolly, General-Undertaker to her Majesty Queen Eleezabeth, was now
dischargin’ a splendid sample of the best Virginny Champions, wan
cargo for seed an’ the rest for food.” But much to his surprise,
the deuce a man ’ud buy a stone of ’em at any price, for all the
neighbours thought it was only a new dodge of Rolly’s to desthroy ’em
by pizenin’ ’em wud the spuds. He sent round his hundhred follyers
as commercial thravellers all through Munsther; but of coorse this
only set the few people that was left alive worse than ever agen the
new spaycies of grub. He even threatened to put the undhertakin’
business into full swing wance more on his own hook; but even that
didn’t frighten the Munsther people into aitin’ the spuds, or the
“murphies,” as he called ’em afther Captain Murphy that brought ’em
over from Virginny.
All through the saison Rolly didn’t laive a stone unturned to thry
an’ induce the people to buy his potayties; an’ begor three parts of
’em rotted in the facthory.
At last, when he was almost disthracted wud disappointment, he hit on
a plan that worked meracles.
Himself and his friend Spinser, an’ Rolly’s hundred follyers, used
to go down into the Youghal market-place day afther day, an’ there
they’d form a ring an’ boil the murphies in sighth of the people,
an’ stop aitin’ ’em from mornin’ until night. By degrees the people
got thryin’ a spud now an’ again, an’ actin’ on Spinser’s advice,
Rolly supplied red herrin’s gratis. In the coorse of a few weeks all
the neighbourhood around was doin’ nothing but aitin’ the potayties
all day long in the market-place. Whin Rolly saw he had worked the
oracle, an’ that they’d now buy for seed on any terms, he jumped the
price to four times what he’d axed in the beginnin’, an’ before the
sayson was over he had sowld every seed potayty in the facthory at
his own price, besides sowin’ his own property over an’ hether wud
’em.
Thin he began chartherin’ all the ships in Youghal, an’ he started
off himself for Virginny, to enther into a heavy conthract wud the
king there.
Whin he landed in ould Virginny he went straight off to the palace
an’ paid his respects to the king—an ugly-looking but well-maynin’
Naygro wud a ring out of his nose like a conthrairey bull.
“Well, Rolly,” says the king, “what brings you here this thrip? If
it’s more goold you’re wantin’ let me tell you the diggin’s are
exhausted for the prisent. In fact, we have had a terrible bad
saison of it altogether. Even the potayties tuk the blight, an’ you
couldn’t get a sound spud for love or money in Ould Virginny this
minute.”
“O murdher!” says Rolly. “Sure that’s what brings me here—to
conthract wud you for a wholesale supply of spuds.”
“Faix, an’ you must do wudout ’em,” says the king. “Tell me,” says
he, “did you set many of ’em in your own counthry?”
“I did,” says Rolly, “an’ a good job too it seems.”
“You’re right,” says the king, “for I don’t believe there’s another
disthrict where they grows ’em in all Amerikay. You can spring the
price on the next saison’s crop.”
“Laive that to me,” says Rolly, wud a grin. “But don’t be talkin’,”
says he, “but this is a regular slap in the face for me! I have a
whole fleet of ships in the harbour, an’ of coorse they’ll be comin’
down on me for the amount of freight an’ demurrage.”
“You can get the protection of the coort,” says the king, “if that’s
any help to you.”
“I’m obliged to your Majesty,” says Rolly, “but sure they’d saize on
my property over in Munsther if I tried to play any thricks of that
kind. Maybe you have some other marketable matayrial I could load the
little vessels wud?”
“Did you ever take a blast of a pipe?” axes the king.
“Never,” says Rolly, “what is it?”
“Well, it’s a quare thing,” says the king, “that we have to be
taychin’ ye in the ould counthry all the resources of civilization.
Ye seems to have no invintion in ye at all. Here,” says he, takin’ a
black little _dhudeen_ from the rim of his crown, “take a _shough_ of
that an’ tell me how you likes it.”
“How do you work it?” axes Rolly.
“Stick it between your lips,” says the king “an’ when I lights it up
for you, dhraw in the smoke, an’ then blow it out again.”
“Blow what out?” axes Rolly.
“The smoke, of coorse,” says the king.
“That seems a quare sort of divarsion,” says Rolly—“suckin’ it in
wan minute an’ blowin’ it out the next. Couldn’t I conshume it?”
“O begor, you can fill your stomach wud it if you like,” says the
king; “but if you’ll take my advice you’ll do nothing of the sort,
for it takes a powerful smoker to swally the fumes wudout sayrious
inconvaynience. Are you ready now?” says he.
“I am,” says Rolly, stickin’ the pipe between his teeth.
“Dhraw now!” says the king, sthrikin’ a match on the leg of his
throwsers an’ howldin’ it over the bowl of the _dhudeen_.
So Rolly dhraws in a mouthful, an’ of coorse it bein’ a first offer
every morsel of the tobacco-smoke wint down his gullet.
Down he dashes the pipe on the ground, blowin’ an’ spluttherin’ an’
coughin’ like a consumptive whale.
“I towld you!” says the king, slappin’ him on the back.
“Towld me what?” coughs Rolly, as vexed as you plaize.
“Towld you not to swally the smoke,” says the king.
“’Twas a dirty thrick to play on me,” says Rolly.
“Thrick!” says the king. “I tell you there was no thrick at all in
it. Look here,” says he, takin’ another pipe out of his crown, for
the wan he gave Rolly was smashed complately. “Watch how I does it!”
An’ wud that he tucks his legs undher him like a tailor, an’ fillin’
his _dhudeen_ he starts puffin’ blasts of smoke out through the ring
of his nose. In a few minutes Sir Walter felt as if he was fixed up
the flue of a chimney wud a good turf fire undhernaith, an’ he began
coughin’ an’ spluttherin’ worse nor ever.
“Open the windy, for the love of goodness,” says he, “or you’ll be
answerable for my corpse.”
The king laughs hearty at Rolly’s onaisiness, an’ he opens the windy
an’ knocks the fire out of his pipe.
When the smoke had partly cleared off Sir Walther axes the king,—
“Now, what sort of pleasure or benefit do you get from makin’
fireworks of yerself like that?”
“Wait till you grows saisoned to it,” answers the king, “an’ you
wouldn’t give up your pipe for all the goold in the mint.”
“Tell that to the marines,” says Rolly. “Might I venture to ax what
was the stuff you wor settin’ fire to in the pipe and stinkin’ the
place wud?”
“Twist tobaccy,” says the king.
“’Tis the divil’s own twist!” says Rolly. “Do many of ye practise the
thrick in these parts?”
“Every wan of us,” answers the king.
“A wondher I never noticed any of ye on my former thrip to the
counthry!” says Rolly.
“Aisily explained,” says the king. “You wor a sthranger thin, an’ we
makes a rule of never smokin’ before sthrangers.”
“I suppose it’s this tobaccy that turns ye all so black in the skin,”
says Rolly.
“That’s a good joke,” says the king, wud a hearty laugh. “No, Rolly,”
says he, “it don’t turn us black, but it turns some of us green,
just like yerself a while back.” An’ thin he bursts out laughin’
again until he nearly shuk the ring out of his nose.
“You’re in good humour this mornin’,” says Rolly, as vexed as if some
one was afther passin’ a bad half-sovereign on him.
“Arrah, don’t be so glum in yerself!” says the king. “An’ believe me
what I’m tellin’ you, that there’s a fortune in this tobaccy for you
if you could only inthroduce it into your own counthry. I know it
wants a thrainin’, but, as I’ve said before, wance you takes to it
you wouldn’t give it up for all the goold in the mint. You’d go on
wan meal a day rather than do wudout the pipe.”
“I know you’re a thruthful man,” says Rolly, “an’ if you’re in
airnest now, of coorse I’ll go into any thrainin’ you recommend in
ordher to make money out of tobaccy, or any other mortal thing.”
“Well, my advice to you,” says the king, “is to buy a ha’penny cane
an’ cut into junks of about three inches long. Smoke wan of ’em a day
for a week, an’ thin I’ll get you some mild tobaccy an’ a new clay
pipe. I was thrained on a cane meself,” says the king.
“I’ll take you at your word,” says Rolly, “though it seems very poor
fun to me.”
“You’ll change your mind in the coorse of a week or two,” says the
King of Virginny. “Don’t throw up the sponge if the stomach kicks
agen the cane in the start.”
“I’ll give it every chance,” says Rolly; and wud that he starts out
an’ buys the cane, an’ every mornin’ for a week he had an odd puff at
it. The first few days he was as sick as a dog, an’ his face was as
green as a head of cabbage, but he sthrove on, an’ towards the end of
a week he began to take a likin’ to his smoke, an’ twas wud a light
heart he wint to the palace an’ axed the king for the loan of the
pipe wud the mild tobaccy.
The king was mighty proud at the success of his thrainin’, an’ he
loaded the pipe wud the dhriest an’ the mildest brand he could lay
howld of. Sure enough, Rolly was greatly plaized wud his _shough_,
an’ every day for another week he used go out an’ hide undher a
hedge, or in a hay-loft, an’ have a dhraw out of his new ha’porth of
clay. At the end of that week, man or mortial couldn’t keep him from
the pipe, an’ then he felt the thruth of the King of Virginny’s words.
“Begor,” says he to himself, “my fortune ’ud be made if I could only
smuggle a few cargoes of this tobaccy into the ould counthry. An’
sure it ought to be aisy enough to ‘run’ it,” says he, “if I only
goes the right way about it.”
As soon as he made up his mind to thrade on the tobaccy, he could
think of nothing but plans for dodgin’ the revenue men; an’ at last
he decided that the aisiest and most likely way ’ud be to purtend it
was potayties he was carryin’ in the ships. So he sthrikes a bargain
wud the King of Virginny, an’ buys up the whole saison’s crop. Then
he goes down to the harbour an’ he laives word at the custom-house to
have Captain Murphy, the same skipper that brought the first load of
spuds to Munsther, sent up to his lodgin’s.
As he was goin’ back home from the custom-house, who does he spy
comin’ along the sthreet but the identical Captain Murphy! They both
cotched sight of wan another in the distance at the same time, an’
Rolly was sthruck wud surprise to notice the way the skipper thried
to purtend he was doin’ nothing when his employer first spotted him.
“Depind on it,” says he to himself, “Murphy is up to some dodge; but
I’ll work it out of him or know for what.”
Well, aich man walks on until he meets the other.
“Good morra, skipper,” says Rolly.
“Good morra, sir,” says the skipper, touchin’ his cap, an’ thin
dhrawin’ his hand back undher his coat-tails again.
“Admirin’ the sighths, I suppose?” says Rolly.
“Ay, sir,” says the skipper in an onaisey sort of a way. “I wondher
is there any chance at all of gettin’ a load of the Champions this
thrip?”
“I’m afeard not,” says Rolly, “an’ it sthrikes me ye’ll all have to
go home as ye came, in ballast.”
“Well, sure,” says the skipper, “it’s as hard on you as it is on us,
sir; an’ I was goin’ to remark to you, that I don’t mind goin’ back
in ballast, an’ cryin’ off the prisent charther.”
“Begor, that’s ginerosity indeed,” says Rolly; “but I couldn’t think
of threspassin’ on you so far.”
Of coorse Sir Walther knew right well that the skipper had some dodge
in his mind whin he offered to let him off the charter so aisy.
“Maybe ’tis discovered a saycrit mine of goold-dust the fellow has,”
says he to himself.
So he looked hard at the captain, an’ as he did he saw a curl of
smoke risin’ up behind him.
“Murphy!” shouts Rolly, twiggin’ at wance the skipper’s game, “your
coat is a-fire!” An’ before you could say “knife,” Sir Walther rushes
to a pump that was handy, an’ takin’ a pail of wather off an ould
Virginny woman’s head, he throws it over the skipper an’ nearly
dhrownded the poor man.
“Are you quenched yet?” axes Rolly wud a grin.
“I am, sir,” says the skipper. “Sure, I see by the grin on you that
you’ve found me out. I confess I was taken a _shough_ of a pipe when
you first cotched sighth of me.”
“Ah!” says Rolly, “an’ that was your game, was it? To thry an’
smuggle a cargo of tobaccy home on your own account unbeknownst to
me!”
“Sure, I didn’t know you’d ever heard of the weed,” says the poor
skipper.
“Didn’t you?” says Rolly. “That’s a poor excuse, an’ a dirty wan too.
An’ so that’s what made you so ginerous in offerin’ to let me off the
charther?”
“Well, to tell the thruth, it was,” says Captain Murphy.
“Whin did you discover this tobaccy?” axes Rolly.
“Only this thrip,” says the skipper. “An’ ould squaw here whom I
dale wud for groceries, let me into the saycrit of it.”
“Does any of the other captains or crews know of it?”
“To the best of my belief they don’t,” answers Captain Murphy.
“Very well,” says Rolly. “Now act fair an’ square wud me, an’ I’ll
dale fair an’ square wud you.”
“It’s a bargain,” says the skipper.
“Well,” says Rolly, “I may tell you I’ve bought up the whole saison’s
crop of tobaccy here, an’ my idaya is to fill all the ships wud it,
an’ I think I’ll be able to scrape up enough spuds to make a few
layers of ’em for the top of aich of the ships, so we can report
ourselves in the ould counthry as bein’ loaded wud potayties an’
other green stuffs, an’ if you can keep a close tongue in your head
there’s no raison to prevint us runnin’ every pound of the tobaccy
ashore wudout payin’ a farden of duty.”
“An’ what’s to be my share of the swag?” axes Captain Murphy.
“I wish,” says Rolly, “you wouldn’t use such coorse langwidge in
spaykin’ to me. There’s no swag in it at all, only fair thradin’; an’
it isn’t onraisonable to allow a little rope to such benefacthors of
mankind as we’ll be whin the tobaccy is well inthroduced.”
“Faix!” says Captain Murphy, laughin’, “I’m afeard it’s a long
allowance of rope they’d be givin’ you, Sir Walther, if they cotched
you smugglin’ tobaccy.”
“You’re an ignorant ruffian to spayke like that to me,” says Rolly,
who always had his last end in view.
“I humbly begs pardon,” says the skipper; “but sure we’re both in the
wan boat now.”
By this time Rolly was in a fair rage, for he couldn’t stand bein’
put on a par wud a common skipper, an’ he knew the man was wudin his
rights in makin’ the remarks he did; for of coorse whin two people
conthract to do any dodge agen the law they’re to all intints an’
purposes birds of a feather. So Rolly thought ’twas best to argue no
further wud Captain Murphy, but to give him full insthructions about
loadin’ the ships an’ suchlike.
Well, in due coorse, the fleet sails out of Virginny an’ before they
thripped anchor Rolly made a last call on the king, an’ the king sent
for the Court Tobaccy-Curer, who gave Sir Walther full insthructhions
about the rearin’ an’ manufacturin’ of the weed.
“I’m greatly obliged to your Majesty,” says Rolly, before laivin’
the palace; “an’ I’ve decided to christen my first consignment of
tobaccy ‘Naygro-head,’ afther your own self; an’ more than that,”
says he, “as soon as I can get to win’ard of the gover’ment of my own
counthry, an’ secure a licence for the sole supplyin’ of the weed,
I’ll make it a rule to have a plasther cast of yerself stuck up over
every shop where they sells pipes an’ tobaccy. In that way, your
Majesty,” says he, “your picthur’ll go down to our childre’s childre
as wan of the greatest benefacthors of the human race that ever
dhrilled a hole in his nose.”
Begor, the poor king was so touched wud the beautiful langwidge
of Sir Walther that he fell on him an’ wept a flood of tears over
Rolly’s shouldher; an’ ’twas as much as about a dozen of his wives
could do to tear his arms from the neck of the great Undhertaker.
Well, there must be an end of a story some time, an’ the end of this
is dhrawin’ nigh.
Rolly’s fleet missed Cork Harbour, owin’ to change of win’, an’ the
first Irish land they got a grip of was the enthrance of the Shannon.
Sir Walther had no throuble at all in dodgin’ the Revenue officers,
an’ he landed all the cargoes of tobaccy safe an’ sound at Limerick
Quay, an’ got ’em into a warehouse wudout payin’ a single farden of
duty.
Then he started makin’ Limerick Twist, an’ down he goes to Youghal
an’ plants a few hundhred acres wud some of the hardiest leafs; an’
shortly afther, his Munsther property havin’ got into the hands of
the Cavendish family, he christened the first crop raised on the
Youghal estate, “Cavendish” tobaccy.
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VICTOR CHERBULIEZ.
_Samuel Brohl and Company._
_Meta Holdenis._
_Jean Têterol’s Idea._
16mo, paper, 25 cents; clo., 60 cents.
_A Stroke of Diplomacy._
18mo, 20 cents.
_Saints and Sinners_ (Noirs et Rouges).
8vo, paper, 50 cents.
MORTIMER COLLINS.
_Marquis and Merchant._
8vo, paper, 50 cents.
_Two Plunges for a Pearl._
8vo, paper, 75 cents.
WILKIE COLLINS.
_A Rogue’s Life._
18mo, paper. 25 cents: clo., 60 cents.
_The Yellow Mask._
18mo, paper, 25 cents; clo., 60 cents.
JOHN ESTEN COOKE.
_The Virginia Comedians._
16mo, cloth, $1.25.
_Doctor Vandyke._
8vo, paper, 75 cents; cloth, $1.25.
_The Maurice Mystery._
12mo, paper, 25 cents.
JAMES FENIMORE COOPER.