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!'