Humours of Irish Life Part 5

There was a waiver lived, wanst upon a time, in Duleek here, hard by the gate, and a very honest, industherous man he was. He had a wife, an' av coorse, they had childre, and small blame to them, so that the poor little waiver was obleeged to work his fingers to the bone a'most to get them the bit and the sup, and the loom never standin' still.

Well, it was one mornin' that his wife called to him, "Come here," says she, "jewel, and ate your brekquest, now that it's ready." But he never minded her, but wint an workin'. "Arrah, lave off slavin' yourself, my darlin', and ate your bit o' brekquest while it is hot."

"Lave me alone," says he, "I'm busy with a pattern here that is brakin'

my heart," says the waiver; "and antil I complate it and masther it intirely I won't quit."

"You're as cross as two sticks this blessed morning, Thady," says the poor wife; "and it's a heavy handful I have of you when you are cruked in your temper; but, stay there if you like, and let your stirabout grow cowld, and not a one o' me 'ill ax you agin;" and with that off she wint, and the waiver, sure enough, was mighty crabbed, and the more the wife spoke to him the worse he got, which, you know, is only nath'ral.

Well, he left the loom at last, and wint over to the stirabout and what would you think, but whin he looked at it, it was as black as a crow--for, you see, it was in the heighth o' summer, and the flies lit upon it to that degree that the stirabout was fairly covered with them.

"Why, thin," says the waiver, "would no place sarve you but that? and is it spyling my brekquest yiz are, you dirty bastes?" And with that, he lifted his hand, and he made one great slam at the dish o' stirabout, and killed no less than three score and tin flies at the one blow, for he counted the carcases one by one, and laid them out an a clane plate for to view them.

Well, he felt a powerful sperit risin' in him, when he seen the slaughter he done, at one blow; and not a sthroke more work he'd do that day, but out he wint and was fractious and impident to every one he met, and was squarin' up into their faces and sayin', "Look at that fist!

that's the fist that killed three score and tin at one blow--Whoo!"

With that all the neighbours thought he was crack'd, and the poor wife herself thought the same when he kem home in the evenin', afther spendin' every rap he had in dhrink, and swaggerin' about the place, and lookin' at his hand every minit.

"Indeed, an' your hand is very dirty, sure enough, Thady, jewel," says the poor wife. "You had betther wash it, darlin'."

"How dar' you say dirty to the greatest hand in Ireland?" says he, going to bate her.

"Well, it's nat dirty," says she.

"It is throwin away my time I have been all my life," says he, "livin'

with you at all, and stuck at a loom, nothin' but a poor waiver, when it is Saint George or the Dhraggin I ought to be, which is two of the siven champions of Christendom."

"Well, suppose they christened him twice as much," says the wife, "sure, what's that to uz?"

"Don't put in your prate," says he, "you ignorant sthrap," says he.

"You're vulgar, woman--you're vulgar--mighty vulgar; but I'll have nothin' more to say to any dirty, snakin' thrade again--sorra more waivin' I'll do."

"Oh, Thady, dear, and what'll the children do then?"

"Let them go play marvels," says he.

"That would be but poor feedin' for them, Thady."

"They shan't want feedin'?" says he, "for it's a rich man I'll be soon, and a great man, too."

"Usha, but I'm glad to hear it, darlin'--though I dunno how it's to be, but I think you had betther go to bed, Thady."

"Don't talk to me of any bed, but the bed o' glory, woman," says he, lookin' mortial grand. "I'll sleep with the brave yit," says he.

"Indeed, an' a brave sleep will do you a power o' good, my darlin," says she.

"And it's I that will be a knight!" says he.

"All night, if you plaze, Thady," says she.

"None o' your coaxin'," says he. "I'm detarmined on it, and I'll set off immediately, and be a knight arriant."

"A what?" says she.

"A knight arriant, woman."

"What's that?" says she.

"A knight arriant is a rale gintleman," says he; "going round the world for sport, with a soord by his side, takin' whatever he plazes for himself; and that's a knight arriant," says he.

Well, sure enough he wint about among his neighbours the next day, and he got an owld kittle from one, and a saucepan from another, and he took them to the tailor, and he sewed him up a shuit o' tin clothes like any knight arriant, and he borrowed a pot lid, and that he was very particular about, bekase it was his s.h.i.+eld, and he went to a friend o'

his, a painter and glazier, and made him paint an his s.h.i.+eld in big letthers:--

"I'M THE MAN OF ALL MIN, THAT KILL'D THREE SCORE AND TIN AT A BLOW."

"When the people sees that," says the waiver to himself, "the sorra one will dar for to come near me."

And with that he towld the wife to scour out the small iron pot for him, "for," says he, "it will make an illegent helmet;" and when it was done, he put it an his head, and his wife said, "Oh, murther, Thady, jewel; is it puttin' a great, heavy, iron pot an your head you are, by way iv a hat?"

"Sartinly," says he, "for a knight arriant should always have a weight on his brain."

"But, Thady, dear," says the wife, "there's a hole in it, and it can't keep out the weather."

"It will be the cooler," says he, puttin' it an him; "besides, if I don't like it, it is aisy to stop it with a wisp o' sthraw, or the like o' that."

"The three legs of it look mighty quare, stickin' up," says she.

"Every helmet has a spike stickin' out o' the top of it," says the waiver, "and if mine has three, it's only the grandher it is."

"Well," says the wife, getting bitter at last, "all I can say is, it isn't the first sheep's head was dhress'd in it."

"Your sarvint, ma'am," says he; and off he set.

Well, he was in want of a horse, and so he wint to a field hard by, where the miller's horse was grazin', that used to carry the ground corn round the counthry. "This is the identical horse for me," says the waiver; "he's used to carryin' flour and male, and what am I but the flower o' shovelry in a coat o' mail; so that the horse won't be put out iv his way in the laste."

So away galloped the waiver, and took the road to Dublin, for he thought the best thing he could do was to go to the King o' Dublin (for Dublin was a great place thin, and had a King iv its own). When he got to the palace courtyard he let his horse graze about the place, for the gra.s.s was growin' out betune the stones; everything was flouris.h.i.+n' thin in Dublin, you see. Well, the King was lookin' out of his dhrawin'-room windy, for divars.h.i.+n, whin the waiver kem in; but the waiver pretended not to see him, and he wint over to the stone sate, undher the windy--for, you see, there was stone sates all round about the place, for the accommodation o' the people--for the King was a dacent obleeging man; well, as I said, the waiver wint over and lay down an one o' the seats, just undher the King's windy, and purtended to go asleep; but he took care to turn out the front of his s.h.i.+eld that had the letthers an it. Well, my dear, with that the King calls out to one of the lords of his coort that was standin' behind him, howldin' up the skirt of his coat, accordin' to rayson, and, says he: "Look here," says he, "what do you think of a vagabone like that, comin' undher my very nose to sleep?

It is thrue I'm a good king," says he, "and I 'commodate the people by havin' sates for them to sit down and enjoy the raycreation and contimplation of seein' me here, lookin' out a' my dhrawin'-room windy, for divarsion; but that is no rayson they are to make a hotel o' the place, and come and sleep here. Who is it, at all?" says the King.

"Not a one o' me knows, plaze your majesty."

"I think he must be a furriner," says the King, "because his dhress is outlandish."

"And doesn't know manners, more betoken," says the lord.

"I'll go down and circ.u.mspect him myself," says the King; "folly me,"

says he to the lord, wavin' his hand at the same time in the most dignacious manner.

Down he wint accordingly, followed by the lord; and when he wint over to where the waiver was lying, sure the first thing he seen was his s.h.i.+eld with the big letthers an it, and with that, says he to the lord, "This is the very man I want."

"For what, plaze your majesty?" says the lord.