"Don't be for quitting us so airly, Felix, _ma bouchal_, it's a taring
night without, and you're better sitting there opposite that fire than
facing this unmarciful storm," said Tim Carthy, drawing his stool closer
to the turf-piled hearth, and addressing himself to a young man who
occupied a seat in the chimney nook, whose quick bright eye and somewhat
humorous curl of the corner of the mouth indicated his character pretty
accurately, and left no doubt that he was one of those who would laugh
their laugh out, if the _ould boy_ stood at the door. The reply to Tim's
proposal was a jerk of Felix's great-coat on his left shoulder, and a sly
glance at the earthen mug which he held, as he gradually bent it from its
upright position, until it was evident that the process of absorption had
been rapidly acting on its contents. Tim, who understood the freemasonry
of the manoeuvre, removed all the latent scruples of Felix by
adding--"There's more of that stuff--where you know; and by the crook of
St. Patrick we'll have another drop of it to comfort us this blessed
night. Whisht! do you hear how the wind comes sweeping over the hills? God
help the poor souls at say!"
"Wissha amen!" replied Tim's wife, dropping her knitting, and devoutly
making the sign of the cross upon her forehead.
A silence of a few moments ensued; during which, each person present
offered up a secret prayer for the safety of those who might at that
moment be exposed to the fury of the warring elements.
I should here inform my readers that the cottage of Tim Carthy was
situated in the deep valley which runs inland from the strand at
Monkstown, a pretty little bathing village, that forms an interesting
object on the banks of the romantic Lee, near the "beautiful city" of
Cork.
"I never heard such a jearful storm since the night Mahoon, the ould
giant, who lives in the cave under the _Giants Stairs_, sunk the three
West Ingee-men that lay at anchor near the rocks," observed Mrs. Carthy.
"It's Felix can tell us, if he plazes, a quare story about that same
Mahoon," added Tim, addressing himself to the young man.
"You're right there, anyhow, Tim," replied Felix; "and as my pipe is just
out, I'll give you the whole truth of the story as if I was after kissing
the book upon it.
"You must know, then, it was one fine morning near Midsummer, about five
years ago, that I got up very airly to go down to the beach and launch my
boat, for I meant to try my luck at fishing for conger eels under the
Giant's Stairs. I wasn't long pulling to the spot, and I soon had my lines
baited and thrown out; but not so much as a bite did I get to keep up my
spirits all that blessed morning, till I was fairly kilt with fatigue and
disappointment. Well, I was thinking of returning home again, when all at
once I felt something mortial heavy upon one of my lines. At first I
thought it was a big conger, but then I knew that no fish would hang so
dead upon my hand, so I hauled in with fear and thrembling, for I was
afeard every minnit my line or my hook would break, and at last I got my
prize to the top of the water, and then safe upon the gunnel of the
boat;--and what do you think it was?"
"In troth, Felix, sorra one of us knows."
"Well, then, it was nothing else but a little dirty black oak box, hooped
round with iron, and covered with say-weed and barnacles, as if it had
lain a long time in the water. 'Oh, ho!' says myself, 'it's in rale good
luck I am this beautiful morning. Phew! as sure as turf, 'tis full of
goold, or silver, or dollars, the box is.' For, by dad, it was so heavy
intirely I could scarcely move it, and it sunk my little boat a'most to
the water's edge; so I pulled back for bare life to the shore, and ran the
boat into a lonesome little creek in the rocks. There I managed somehow to
heave out the little box upon dry land, and, finding a handy lump of a
stone, I wasn't long smashing the iron fastenings, and lifting up the lid.
I looked in, and saw a weeshy ould weasened fellow sitting in it, with his
legs gothered up under him like a tailor. He was dressed in a green coat,
all covered with goold lace, a red scarlet waistcoat down to his hips, and
a little three-cornered cocked hat upon the top of his head, with a cock's
feather sticking out of it as smart as you plase.
"'Good morrow to you, Felix Donovan,' says the small chap, taking off his
hat to me, as polite as a dancing-masther.
"'Musha! then the tip top of the morning to you,' says I, 'it's ashamed of
yourself you ought to be, for putting me to such a dale of throuble.'
"'Don't mention it, Felix,' says he, 'I'll be proud to do as much for you
another time. But why don't you open the box, and let me out? 'tis many a
long day I have been shut up here in this could dark place.' All the time
I was only holding the lid partly open.
"'Thank you kindly, my tight fellow,' says myself, quite 'cute; 'maybe you
think I don't know you, but plase God you'll not stir a peg out of where
you are until you pay me for my throuble.'
"'Millia murdher!' says the little chap. 'What could a poor crather like
me have in the world? Haven't I been shut up here without bite or sup?'
and then he began howling and bating his head agin the side of the box,
and making most pitiful moans. But I wasn't to be deceived by his thricks,
so I put down the lid of the box and began to hammer away at it, when he
roared out,--
"'Tare an' agers! Felix Donovan, sure you won't be so cruel as to shut me
up again? Open the box, man, till I spake to you.'
"'Well, what do you want now'!' savs I, lifting up the lid the laste taste
in life.
"'I'll tell you what, Felix, I'll give you twenty goolden guineas if
you'll let me out.'
"'Soft was your horn, my little fellow; your offer don't shoot.'
"'I'll give you fifty.
"'No.'
"'A hundred.'
"'T won't do. If you were to offer me all the money in the Cork bank I
wouldn't take it.'
"'What the diaoul will you take then?' says the little ould chap,
reddening like a turkey-cock in the gills with anger.
"'I'll tell you,' says I, making answer; 'I'll take the three best gifts
that you can bestow.'"
(_To be continued._)
* * * * *
Why is a butcher like a language master?--Because he is a _retailer of
tongues_.
* * * * *