[Illustration: Initial: "Taming the Pooka"]
The west and northwest coast of Ireland shows many remarkable geological
formations, but, excepting the Giant's Causeway, no more striking
spectacle is presented than that to the south of Galway Bay. From the sea,
the mountains rise in terraces like gigantic stairs, the layers of stone
being apparently harder and denser on the upper surfaces than beneath, so
the lower portion of each layer, disintegrating first, is washed away by
the rains and a clearly defined step is formed. These terraces are
generally about twenty feet high, and of a breadth, varying with the
situation and exposure, of from ten to fifty feet.
The highway from Ennis to Ballyvaughn, a fishing village opposite Galway,
winds, by a circuitous course, through these freaks of nature, and, on the
long descent from the high land to the sea level, passes the most
conspicuous of the neighboring mountains, the Corkscrew Hill. The general
shape of the mountain is conical, the terraces composing it are of
wonderful regularity from the base to the peak, and the strata being
sharply upturned from the horizontal, the impression given is that of a
broad road carved out of the sides of the mountain and winding by an easy
ascent to the summit.
"'Tis the Pooka's Path they call it," said the car-man. "Phat's the Pooka?
Well, that's not aisy to say. It's an avil sper't that does be always in
mischief, but sure it niver does sarious harrum axceptin' to thim that
desarves it, or thim that shpakes av it disrespictful. I never seen it,
Glory be to God, but there's thim that has, and be the same token, they do
say that it looks like the finest black horse that iver wore shoes. But it
isn't a horse at all at all, for no horse 'ud have eyes av fire, or be
breathin' flames av blue wid a shmell o' sulfur, savin' yer presince, or a
shnort like thunder, and no mortial horse 'ud take the lapes it does, or
go as fur widout gettin' tired. Sure when it give Tim O'Bryan the ride it
give him, it wint from Gort to Athlone wid wan jump, an' the next it tuk
he was in Mullingyar, and the next was in Dublin, and back agin be way av
Kilkenny an' Limerick, an' niver turned a hair. How far is that? Faith I
dunno, but it's a power av distance, an' clane acrost Ireland an' back. He
knew it was the Pooka bekase it shpake to him like a Christian mortial,
only it isn't agrayble in its language an' 'ull niver give ye a dacint
word afther ye're on its back, an' sometimes not before aither.
"Sure Dennis O'Rourke was afther comin' home wan night, it was only a boy
I was, but I mind him tellin' the shtory, an' it was at a fair in Galway
he'd been. He'd been havin' a sup, some says more, but whin he come to the
rath, and jist beyant where the fairies dance and ferninst the wall where
the polisman was shot last winther, he fell in the ditch, quite spint and
tired complately. It wasn't the length as much as the wideness av the road
was in it, fur he was goin' from wan side to the other an' it was too much
fur him entirely. So he laid shtill fur a bit and thin thried fur to get
up, but his legs wor light and his head was heavy, an' whin he attimpted
to get his feet an the road 'twas his head that was an it, bekase his legs
cudn't balance it. Well, he laid there and was bet entirely, an' while he
was studyin' how he'd raise, he heard the throttin' av a horse on the
road. ''Tis meself 'ull get the lift now,' says he, and laid waitin', and
up comes the Pooka. Whin Dennis seen him, begob, he kivered his face wid
his hands and turned on the breast av him, and roared wid fright like a
bull.
[Illustration: Dennis and the Pooka]
"'Arrah thin, ye snakin' blaggard,' says the Pooka, mighty short, 'lave
aff yer bawlin' or I'll kick ye to the ind av next week,' says he to him.
"But Dennis was scairt, an' bellered louder than afore, so the Pooka, wid
his hoof, give him a crack on the back that knocked the wind out av him.
"'Will ye lave aff,' says the Pooka, 'or will I give ye another, ye
roarin' dough-face?'
"Dennis left aff blubberin' so the Pooka got his timper back.
"'Shtand up, ye guzzlin' sarpint,' says the Pooka, 'I'll give ye a ride.'
"'Plaze yer Honor,' says Dennis, 'I can't. Sure I've not been afther
drinkin' at all, but shmokin' too much an' atin', an' it's sick I am, and
not ontoxicated.'
"'Och, ye dhrunken buzzard,' says the Pooka, 'Don't offer fur to desave
me,' liftin' up his hoof agin, an' givin' his tail a swish that sounded
like the noise av a catheract, 'Didn't I thrack ye for two miles be yer
breath,' says he, 'An' you shmellin' like a potheen fact'ry,' says he,
'An' the nose on yer face as red as a turkey-cock's. Get up, or I'll lift
ye,' says he, jumpin' up an' cracking his hind fut like he was doin' a
jig.
"Dennis did his best, an' the Pooka helped him wid a grip o' the teeth on
his collar.
"'Pick up yer caubeen,' says the Pooka, 'an' climb up. I'll give ye such a
ride as ye niver dhramed av.'
"'Ef it's plazin' to yer Honor,' says Dennis, 'I'd laver walk. Ridin'
makes me dizzy,' says he.
"''Tis not plazin',' says the Pooka, 'will ye get up or will I kick the
shtuffin' out av yer cowardly carkidge,' says he, turnin' round an'
flourishin' his heels in Dennis' face.
"Poor Dennis thried, but he cudn't, so the Pooka tuk him to the wall an'
give him a lift an it, an' whin Dennis was mounted, an' had a tight howld
on the mane, the first lep he give was down the rock there, a thousand
feet into the field ye see, thin up agin, an' over the mountain, an' into
the say, an' out agin, from the top av the waves to the top av the
mountain, an' afther the poor soggarth av a ditcher was nigh onto dead,
the Pooka come back here wid him an' dhropped him in the ditch where he
found him, an' blowed in his face to put him to slape, so lavin' him. An'
they found Dennis in the mornin' an' carried him home, no more cud he walk
for a fortnight be razon av the wakeness av his bones fur the ride he'd
had.
"But sure, the Pooka's a different baste entirely to phat he was afore
King Bryan-Boru tamed him. Niver heard av him? Well, he was the king av
Munster an' all Ireland an' tamed the Pooka wanst fur all on the
Corkschrew Hill ferninst ye.
"Ye see, in the owld days, the counthry was full av avil sper'ts, an'
fairies an' witches, an' divils entirely, and the harrum they done was
onsaycin', for they wor always comin' an' goin', like Mulligan's blanket,
an' widout so much as sayin', by yer lave. The fairies 'ud be dancin' on
the grass every night be the light av the moon, an' stalin' away the
childhre, an' many's the wan they tuk that niver come back. The owld rath
on the hill beyant was full av the dead, an' afther nightfall they'd come
from their graves an' walk in a long line wan afther another to the owld
church in the valley where they'd go in an' stay till cock-crow, thin
they'd come out agin an' back to the rath. Sorra a parish widout a witch,
an' some nights they'd have a great enthertainmint on the Corkschrew Hill,
an' you'd see thim, wid shnakes on their arrums an' necks an' ears, be way
av jewels, an' the eyes av dead men in their hair, comin' for miles an'
miles, some ridin' through the air on shticks an' bats an' owls, an' some
walkin', an' more on Pookas an' horses wid wings that 'ud come up in line
to the top av the hill, like the cabs at the dure o' the theayter, an'
lave thim there an' hurry aff to bring more.
"Sometimes the Owld Inimy, Satan himself, 'ud be there at the
enthertainmint, comin' an a monsthrous draggin, wid grane shcales an' eyes
like the lightnin' in the heavens, an' a roarin' fiery mouth like a
lime-kiln. It was the great day thin, for they do say all the witches
brought their rayports at thim saysons fur to show him phat they done.
"Some 'ud tell how they shtopped the wather in a spring, an'
inconvanienced the nabers, more 'ud show how they dhried the cow's milk,
an' made her kick the pail, an' they'd all laugh like to shplit. Some had
blighted the corn, more had brought the rains on the harvest. Some towld
how their enchantmints made the childhre fall ill, some said how they set
the thatch on fire, more towld how they shtole the eggs, or spiled the
crame in the churn, or bewitched the butther so it 'udn't come, or led the
shape into the bog. But that wasn't all.
"Wan 'ud have the head av a man murthered be her manes, an' wid it the
hand av him hung fur the murther; wan 'ud bring the knife she'd scuttled a
boat wid an' pint in the say to where the corpses laid av the fishermen
she'd dhrownded; wan 'ud carry on her breast the child she'd shtolen an'
meant to bring up in avil, an' another wan 'ud show the little white body
av a babby she'd smothered in its slape. And the corpse-candles 'ud tell
how they desaved the thraveller, bringin' him to the river, an' the avil
sper'ts 'ud say how they dhrew him in an' down to the bottom in his sins
an' thin to the pit wid him. An' owld Belzebub 'ud listen to all av thim,
wid a rayporther, like thim that's afther takin' down the spaches at a
Lague meetin', be his side, a-writing phat they said, so as whin they come
to be paid, it 'udn't be forgotten.
"Thim wor the times fur the Pookas too, fur they had power over thim that
wint forth afther night, axceptin' it was on an arriant av marcy they
were. But sorra a sinner that hadn't been to his juty reglar 'ud iver see
the light av day agin afther meetin' a Pooka thin, for the baste 'ud
aither kick him to shmithereens where he stud, or lift him on his back wid
his teeth an' jump into the say wid him, thin dive, lavin' him to dhrownd,
or shpring over a clift wid him an' tumble him to the bottom a bleedin'
corpse. But wasn't there the howls av joy whin a Pooka 'ud catch a sinner
unbeknownst, an' fetch him on the Corkschrew wan o' the nights Satan was
there. Och, God defind us, phat a sight it was. They made a ring wid the
corpse-candles, while the witches tore him limb from limb, an' the fiends
drunk his blood in red-hot iron noggins wid shrieks o' laughter to smother
his schreams, an' the Pookas jumped on his body an' thrampled it into the
ground, an' the timpest 'ud whishle a chune, an' the mountains about 'ud
kape time, an' the Pookas, an' witches, an' sper'ts av avil, an'
corpse-candles, an' bodies o' the dead, an' divils, 'ud all jig together
round the rock where owld Belzebub 'ud set shmilin', as fur to say he'd ax
no betther divarshun. God's presince be wid us, it makes me crape to think
av it.
"Well, as I was afther sayin', in the time av King Bryan, the Pookas done
a dale o' harrum, but as thim that they murthered wor dhrunken bastes that
wor in the shebeens in the day an' in the ditch be night, an' wasn't
missed whin the Pookas tuk them, the King paid no attintion, an' small
blame to him that 's.
"But wan night, the queen's babby fell ill, an' the king says to his man,
says he, 'Here, Riley, get you up an' on the white mare an' go fur the
docther.'
"'Musha thin,' says Riley, an' the king's counthry house was in the break
o' the hills, so Riley 'ud pass the rath an' the Corkschrew on the way
afther the docther; 'Musha thin,' says he, aisey and on the quiet, 'it's
mesilf that doesn't want that same job.'
"So he says to the king, 'Won't it do in the mornin'?'
"'It will not,' says the king to him. 'Up, ye lazy beggar, atin' me bread,
an' the life lavin' me child.'
"So he wint, wid great shlowness, tuk the white mare, an' aff, an' that
was the last seen o' him or the mare aither, fur the Pooka tuk 'em. Sorra
a taste av a lie's in it, for thim that said they seen him in Cork two
days afther, thrading aff the white mare, was desaved be the sper'ts, that
made it seem to be him whin it wasn't that they've a thrick o' doin'.
"Well, the babby got well agin, bekase the docther didn't get there, so
the king left botherin' afther it and begun to wondher about Riley an' the
white mare, and sarched fur thim but didn't find thim. An' thin he knewn
that they was gone entirely, bekase, ye see, the Pooka didn't lave as much
as a hair o' the mare's tail.
"'Wurra thin,' says he, 'is it horses that the Pooka 'ull be stalin'? Bad
cess to its impidince! This 'ull niver do. Sure we'll be ruinated
entirely,' says he.
"Mind ye now, it's my consate from phat he said, that the king wasn't
consarned much about Riley, fur he knewn that he cud get more Irishmen
whin he wanted thim, but phat he meant to say was that if the Pooka tuk to
horse-stalin', he'd be ruinated entirely, so he would, for where 'ud he
get another white mare? So it was a mighty sarious question an' he retired
widin himself in the coort wid a big book that he had that towld saycrets.
He'd a sight av larnin', had the king, aquel to a school-masther, an' a
head that 'ud sarcumvint a fox.
"So he read an' read as fast as he cud, an' afther readin' widout
shtoppin', barrin' fur the bit an' sup, fur siven days an' nights, he come
out, an' whin they axed him cud he bate the Pooka now, he said niver a
word, axceptin' a wink wid his eye, as fur to say he had him.
[Illustration: "He'd a sight of larnin', had the King"]
"So that day he was in the fields an' along be the hedges an' ditches from
sunrise to sunset, collectin' the matarials av a dose fur the Pooka, but
phat he got, faith, I dunno, no more does any wan, fur he never said, but
kep the saycret to himself an' didn't say it aven to the quane, fur he
knewn that saycrets run through a woman like wather in a ditch. But there
was wan thing about it that he cudn't help tellin', fur he wanted it but
cudn't get it widout help, an' that was three hairs from the Pooka's tail,
axceptin' which the charm 'udn't work. So he towld a man he had, he'd give
him no end av goold if he'd get thim fur him, but the felly pulled aff his
caubeen an' scrotched his head an' says, 'Faix, yer Honor, I dunno phat'll
be the good to me av the goold if the Pooka gets a crack at me carkidge
wid his hind heels,' an' he wudn't undhertake the job on no wages, so the
king begun to be afeared that his loaf was dough.
"But it happen'd av the Friday, this bein' av a Chewsday, that the Pooka
caught a sailor that hadn't been on land only long enough to get bilin'
dhrunk, an' got him on his back, so jumped over the clift wid him lavin'
him dead enough, I go bail. Whin they come to sarch the sailor to see phat
he had in his pockets, they found three long hairs round the third button
av his top-coat. So they tuk thim to the king tellin' him where they got
thim, an' he was greatly rejiced, bekase now he belaved he had the Pooka
sure enough, so he ended his inchantmint.
"But as the avenin' come, he riz a doubt in the mind av him thish-a-way.
Ev the three hairs wor out av the Pooka's tail, the charm 'ud be good
enough, but if they wasn't, an' was from his mane inshtead, or from a
horse inshtead av a Pooka, the charm 'udn't work an' the Pooka 'ud get
atop av him wid all the feet he had at wanst an' be the death av him
immejitly. So this nate and outprobrious argymint shtruck the king wid
great force an' fur a bit, he was onaisey. But wid a little sarcumvintion,
he got round it, for he confist an' had absolution so as he'd be ready,
thin he towld wan av the sarvints to come in an' tell him afther supper,
that there was a poor widdy in the boreen beyant the Corkschrew that
wanted help that night, that it 'ud be an arriant av marcy he'd be on, an'
so safe agin the Pooka if the charm didn't howld.
"'Sure, phat'll be the good o' that?' says the man, 'It 'ull be a lie, an'
won't work.'
"'Do you be aisey in yer mind,' says the king to him agin, 'do as yer
towld an' don't argy, for that's a pint av mettyfisics,' says he, faix it
was a dale av deep larnin' he had, 'that's a pint av mettyfisics an' the
more ye argy on thim subjics, the less ye know,' says he, an' it's thrue
fur him. 'Besides, aven if it's a lie, it'll desave the Pooka, that's no
mettyfishian, an' it's my belafe that the end is good enough for the
manes,' says he, a-thinking av the white mare.
"So, afther supper, as the king was settin' afore the fire, an' had the
charm in his pocket, the sarvint come in and towld him about the widdy.
"'Begob,' says the king, like he was surprised, so as to desave the Pooka
complately, 'Ev that's thrue, I must go relave her at wanst.' So he riz
an' put on sojer boots, wid shpurs on 'em a fut acrost, an' tuk a long
whip in his hand, for fear, he said, the widdy 'ud have dogs, thin wint to
his chist an' tuk his owld stockin' an' got a suv'rin out av it,--Och,
'twas the shly wan he was, to do everything so well,--an' wint out wid his
right fut first, an' the shpurs a-rattlin' as he walked.
"He come acrost the yard, an' up the hill beyant yon an' round the corner,
but seen nothin' at all. Thin up the fut path round the Corkscrew an' met
niver a sowl but a dog that he cast a shtone at. But he didn't go out av
the road to the widdy's, for he was afeared that if he met the Pooka an'
he caught him in a lie, not bein' in the road to where he said he was
goin', it 'ud be all over wid him. So he walked up an' down bechuxt the
owld church below there an' the rath on the hill, an' jist as the clock
was shtrikin' fur twelve, he heard a horse in front av him, as he was
walkin' down, so he turned an' wint the other way, gettin' his charm
ready, an' the Pooka come up afther him.
"'The top o' the mornin' to yer Honor,' says the Pooka, as perlite as a
Frinchman, for he seen be his close that the king wasn't a common blaggard
like us, but was wan o' the rale quolity.
"'Me sarvice to ye,' says the king to him agin, as bowld as a ram, an'
whin the Pooka heard him shpake, he got perliter than iver, an' made a low
bow an' shcrape wid his fut, thin they wint on together an' fell into
discoorse.
"''Tis a black night for thravelin',' says the Pooka.
"'Indade it is,' says the king, 'it's not me that 'ud be out in it, if it
wasn't a case o' needcessity. I'm on an arriant av charity,' says he.
"'That's rale good o' ye,' says the Pooka to him, 'and if I may make bowld
to ax, phat's the needcessity?'
"''Tis to relave a widdy-woman,' says the king.
"'Oho,' says the Pooka, a-throwin' back his head laughin' wid great
plazin'ness an' nudgin' the king wid his leg on the arrum, beways that it
was a joke it was bekase the king said it was to relave a widdy he was
goin'. 'Oho,' says the Pooka, ''tis mesilf that's glad to be in the
comp'ny av an iligint jintleman that's on so plazin' an arriant av marcy,'
says he. 'An' how owld is the widdy-woman?' says he, bustin' wid the
horrid laugh he had.
[Illustration: "The Quane a-gosterin'"]
"'Musha thin,' says the king, gettin' red in the face an' not likin' the
joke the laste bit, for jist betune us, they do say that afore he married
the quane, he was the laddy-buck wid the wimmin, an' the quane's maid
towld the cook, that towld the footman, that said to the gardener, that
towld the nabers that many's the night the poor king was as wide awake as
a hare from sun to sun wid the quane a-gostherin' at him about that same.
More betoken, there was a widdy in it, that was as sharp as a rat-thrap
an' surrounded him whin he was young an' hadn't as much sinse as a goose,
an' was like to marry him at wanst in shpite av all his relations, as
widdys undhershtand how to do. So it's my consate that it wasn't dacint
for the Pooka to be afther laughin' that-a-way, an' shows that avil
sper'ts is dirthy blaggards that can't talk wid jintlemin. 'Musha,' thin,
says the king, bekase the Pooka's laughin' wasn't agrayble to listen to,
'I don't know that same, fur I niver seen her, but, be jagers, I belave
she's a hundherd, an' as ugly as Belzebub, an' whin her owld man was
alive, they tell me she had a timper like a gandher, an' was as aisey to
manage as an armful o' cats,' says he. 'But she's in want, an' I'm afther
bringin' her a suv'rin,' says he.
"Well, the Pooka sayced his laughin', fur he seen the king was very vexed,
an' says to him, 'And if it's plazin', where does she live?'
"'At the ind o' the boreen beyant the Corkschrew,' says the king, very
short.
"'Begob, that's a good bit,' says the Pooka.
"'Faix, it's thrue for ye,' says the king, 'more betoken, it's up hill
ivery fut o' the way, an' me back is bruk entirely wid the stapeness,'
says he, be way av a hint he'd like a ride.
"'Will yer Honor get upon me back,' says the Pooka. 'Sure I'm afther goin'
that-a-way, an' you don't mind gettin' a lift?' says he, a-fallin' like
the stupid baste he was, into the thrap the king had made fur him.
"'Thanks,' says the king, 'I b'lave not. I've no bridle nor saddle,' says
he, 'besides, it's the shpring o' the year, an' I'm afeared ye're
sheddin', an' yer hair 'ull come aff an' spile me new britches,' says he,
lettin' on to make axcuse.
"'Have no fear,' says the Pooka. 'Sure I niver drop me hair. It's no
ordhinary garron av a horse I am, but a most oncommon baste that's used to
the quolity,' says he.
"'Yer spache shows that,' says the king, the clever man that he was, to be
perlite that-a-way to a Pooka, that's known to be a divil out-en-out, 'but
ye must exqueeze me this avenin', bekase, d'ye mind, the road's full o'
shtones an' monsthrous stape, an' ye look so young, I'm afeared ye'll
shtumble an' give me a fall,' says he.
"'Arrah thin,' says the Pooka, 'it's thrue fur yer Honor, I do look
young,' an' he begun to prance on the road givin' himself airs like an
owld widdy man afther wantin' a young woman, 'but me age is owlder than
ye'd suppoge. How owld 'ud ye say I was,' says he, shmilin'.
[Illustration: "IF IT'S AGGRAYBLE TO YE, I'LL LOOK IN YER MOUTH."]
"IF IT'S AGGRAYBLE TO YE, I'LL LOOK IN YER MOUTH."
"'Begorra, divil a bit know I,' says the king, 'but if it's agrayble to
ye, I'll look in yer mouth an' give ye an answer,' says he.
"So the Pooka come up to him fair an' soft an' stratched his mouth like as
he thought the king was wantin' fur to climb in, an' the king put his hand
on his jaw like as he was goin' to see the teeth he had: and thin, that
minnit he shlipped the three hairs round the Pooka's jaw, an' whin he done
that, he dhrew thim tight, an' said the charm crossin' himself the while,
an' immejitly the hairs wor cords av stale, an' held the Pooka tight, be
way av a bridle.
"'Arra-a-a-h, now, ye bloody baste av a murtherin' divil ye,' says the
king, pullin' out his big whip that he had consaled in his top-coat, an'
giving the Pooka a crack wid it undher his stummick, 'I'll give ye a ride
ye won't forgit in a hurry,' says he, 'ye black Turk av a four-legged
nagur an' you shtaling me white mare,' says he, hittin' him agin.
"'Oh my,' says the Pooka, as he felt the grip av the iron on his jaw an'
knewn he was undher an inchantmint, 'Oh my, phat's this at all,' rubbin'
his breast wid his hind heel, where the whip had hit him, an' thin jumpin'
wid his fore feet out to cotch the air an' thryin' fur to break away.
'Sure I'm ruined, I am, so I am,' says he.
"'It's thrue fur ye,' says the king, 'begob it's the wan thrue thing ye
iver said,' says he, a-jumpin' on his back, an' givin' him the whip an'
the two shpurs wid all his might.
"Now I forgot to tell ye that whin the king made his inchantmint, it was
good fur siven miles round, and the Pooka knewn that same as well as the
king an' so he shtarted like a cunshtable was afther him, but the king was
afeared to let him go far, thinkin' he'd do the siven miles in a jiffy,
an' the inchantmint 'ud be broken like a rotten shtring, so he turned him
up the Corkschrew.
"'I'll give ye all the axercise ye want,' says he, 'in thravellin' round
this hill,' an' round an' round they wint, the king shtickin' the big
shpurs in him every jump an' crackin' him wid the whip till his sides run
blood in shtrames like a mill race, an' his schreams av pain wor heard all
over the worruld so that the king av France opened his windy and axed the
polisman why he didn't shtop the fightin' in the shtrate. Round an' round
an' about the Corkschrew wint the king, a-lashin' the Pooka, till his feet
made the path ye see on the hill bekase he wint so often.
[Illustration: "The Pooka Spirits"]
"And whin mornin' come, the Pooka axed the king phat he'd let him go fur,
an' the king was gettin' tired an' towld him that he must niver shtale
another horse, an' never kill another man, barrin' furrin blaggards that
wasn't Irish, an' whin he give a man a ride, he must bring him back to the
shpot where he got him an' lave him there. So the Pooka consinted, Glory
be to God, an' got aff, an' that's the way he was tamed, an' axplains how
it was that Dennis O'Rourke was left be the Pooka in the ditch jist where
he found him."
"More betoken, the Pooka's an althered baste every way, fur now he dhrops
his hair like a common horse, and it's often found shtickin' to the hedges
where he jumped over, an' they do say he doesn't shmell half as shtrong o'
sulfur as he used, nor the fire out o' his nose isn't so bright. But all
the king did fur him 'ud n't taiche him to be civil in his spache, an'
whin he meets ye in the way, he spakes just as much like a blaggard as
ever. An' it's out av divilmint entirely he does it, bekase he can be
perlite as ye know be phat I towld ye av him sayin' to the king, an' that
proves phat I said to ye that avil sper'ts can't larn rale good manners,
no matther how hard they thry.
"But the fright he got never left him, an' so he kapes out av the highways
an' thravels be the futpaths, an' so isn't often seen. An' it's my belafe
that he can do no harrum at all to thim that fears God, an' there's thim
that says he niver shows himself nor meddles wid man nor mortial barrin'
they're in dhrink, an' mebbe there's something in that too, fur it doesn't
take much dhrink to make a man see a good dale."