"When moonlight
Near midnight
Tips the rock and waving wood;
When moonlight
Near midnight
Silvers o'er the sleeping flood;
When yew tops
With dew-drops
Sparkle o'er deserted graves;
'Tis then we fly
Through welkin high,
Then we sail o'er yellow waves."
_Book of Irish Ballads._
There lived, some thirty years since, in the eastern part of the suburbs of
New Ross, in the county of Wexford, denominated the "Maudlins," a hedge
carpenter named Davy Hanlan, better known to his neighbours by the
sobriquet of "Milleadh Maide," or "Speilstick." Davy plied his trade with
all the assiduity of an industrious man, "and laboured in all kinds of
weather" to maintain his little family; and as his art consisted
principally in manufacturing carts, ploughs, and harrows (iron ploughs not
being then in use) for the surrounding farmers, and doctoring their old
ones, the sphere of Davy's avocations was confined to no mean limits.
It was a dry, sharp night, in the month of November, and darkness had set
in long before Davy left Mount Hanover, two miles distant from his home. At
length he started forward, and had already reached the bridge of the
Maudlins, when he stopped to rest; for besides his tools he carried a
bundle of wheaten straw, which he intended for a more than usually
comfortable "shake-down" for his dear rib Winny. The moon had by this time
ascended above the horizon, and by its silvery radiance depicted in
delicate outline the hills rising in the distance, while the tender rays
mixing with, and faintly illumining the gloom of the intermediate valleys,
formed a mass of light and shade so exquisitely blended as to appear the
work of enchantment. As Davy leaned on the parapet of the bridge, a thrill
of alarm involuntarily disturbed his feelings: he was about to depart when
he heard a clamorous sound, as of voices, proceeding from that part of the
valley on which he still gazed. Curiosity now tempted him to listen still
longer, when suddenly he saw a group of dwarfish beings emerging from the
gloom, and coming rapidly towards him, along the green marsh that borders
the Maudlin stream. Poor Davy was terror-stricken at this unusual sight; in
vain he attempted to escape: he was, as it were, spellbound. Instantly the
whole company gained the road beside him, and after a moment's consultation
they simultaneously cried out, "Where is my horse? give me my horse!" &c.
In the twinkling of an eye they were all mounted. Davy's feelings may be
more easily imagined than described, and in a fit of unconsciousness his
tongue, as it were mechanically, articulated "Where is my horse?"
Immediately he found himself astride on a rude piece of timber, somewhat in
shape of a plough-beam, by which he was raised aloft in the air. Away he
went, as he himself related, at the rate of nine knots an hour, gliding
smoothly through the liquid air. No aeronaut ever performed his expedition
with more intrepidity; and after about two hours' journeying the whole
cavalcade alighted in the midst of a large city, just as
"The iron tongue of midnight had told twelve."
One of the party, who appeared to be a leader, conducted them from door to
door, Davy following in the rear; and at the first door he passed them the
word, "We cannot enter, the dust of the floor lies not behind the door."[1]
Other impediments prevented their ingress to the next two or three doors.
At length, having come to a door which was not guarded by any of these
insuperable sentinels which defy the force of fairy assault, he joyfully
cried out "We can enter here:" and immediately, as if by enchantment, the
door flew open, the party entered, and Davy, much astonished, found himself
within the walls of a spacious wine-store. Instantly the heads of wine
vessels were broken; bungs flew out; the carousing commenced; each boon
companion pledged his friend, as he bedewed his whiskers in the sparkling
beverage; and the wassail sounds float round the walls and hollow roof.
Davy, not yet recovered from his surprise, stood looking on, but could not
contrive to come at a drop: at length he asked a rather agreeable fairy who
was close to him to help him to some. "When I shall have done," said the
fairy, "I will give you this goblet, and you can drink." Very {62} soon
after he handed the goblet to Davy, who was about to drink, when the leader
gave the word of command:
"Away, away, my good fairies, away!
Let's revel in moonlight, and shun the dull day."
The horses were ready, the party mounted, and Davy was carried back to the
Maudlin bridge, bearing in his hand the silver goblet, as witness of his
exploit. Half dead he made his way home to Winny, who anxiously awaited
him; got to bed about four in the morning, to which he was confined by
illness for months afterwards. And as Davy "lived from hand to mouth," his
means were soon exhausted. Winny took the goblet and pledged it with Mr.
Alexander Whitney, the watchmaker, for five shillings. In a few days after
a gentleman who lived not twenty miles from Creywell Cremony came in to Mr.
Whitney's, saw the goblet, and recognised it as being once in his
possession, and marked with the initials "M. R.," and on examining it found
it to be the identical one which he had bestowed, some years before, on a
Spanish merchant. Davy, when able to get out, deposed on oath before the
Mayor of Ross (who is still living) to the facts narrated above. The
Spanish gentleman was written to, and in reply corroborated Davy's
statement, saying that on a certain night his wine-store was broken open,
vessels much injured, and his wine spilled and drunk, and the silver goblet
stolen. Davy was exonerated from any imputation of guilt in the affair, and
was careful, during his life, never again to rest at night on the Maudlin
bridge.