A BRIGHT IDEA.

“What is light?” asked a school-master of the booby of the class. “A sovereign that isn’t full weight is light.”

FINIS.

Daniel O’Rourke’s

WONDERFUL

VOYAGE TO THE MOON.

ALSO,

Master and Man;

OR,

The Adventures of Billy Mac Daniel.

GLASGOW:

PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.


DANIEL O’ROURKE’S
Wonderful Voyage to the Moon.

People may have heard of the renowned adventures of Daniel O’Rourke but how few are there who know that the cause of all his perils, above and below, was neither more nor less than his having slept under the walls of the Phooka’s tower. I knew the man well; he lived at the bottom of Hungry Hill, just at the right hand side of the road as you go towards Bantry. An old man was he at the time that he told me the story, with gray hair, and a red nose; and it was on the 25th of June, 1813, that I heard it from his own lips, as he sat smoking his pipe under the old poplar tree, on as fine an evening as ever shone from the sky. I was going to visit the caves in Dursey Island, having spent the morning at Glengariff.

‘I am often axed to tell it, sir,’ said he, ‘so that this is not the first time. The master’s son, you see, had come from beyond foreign parts in France and Spain, as young gentlemen used to go, before Buonaparte or any such was heard of; and sure enough there was a dinner given to all the people on the ground, gentle and simple, high and low, rich and poor. The ould gentlemen were the gentlemen, after all, saving your honour’s presence. They’d swear at a body a little, to be sure, and, may be, give one a cut of a whip now and then, but we were no losers by it in the end;—and they were so easy and civil, and kept such rattling houses, and thousands of welcomes, and there was no grinding for rent, and few agents; and there was hardly a tenant on the estate that did not taste of his landlord’s bounty often and often in the year;—but now it’s another thing; no matter for that, sir, for I’d better be telling you my story.

‘Well, we had every thing of the best, and plenty of it; and we ate, and we drank, and we danced, and the young master by the same token danced with Peggy Barry, from the Bothereen—a lovely young couple they were, though they are both long enough now. To make a long story short, I got, as a body may say, the same thing as tipsy almost, for I can’t remember ever at all, no ways, how I left the place; only I did leave it that’s certain. Well, I thought, for all that, in myself, I’d just step to Molly Cronohan’s, the fairy woman, to speak a word about the bracket heifer that was bewitched; and so as I was crossing the stepping stones at the ford of Ballyashenogh, and was looking up at the stars and blessing myself—for why? it was Lady-day.—I missed my foot, and souse I fell into the water. ‘Death alive!’ thought I, ‘I’ll be drowned now!’ However, I began swimming, swimming, swimming away for the dear life, till at last I got ashore, somehow or other, but never the one of me can tell how, upon a dissolute island.

‘I wandered and wandered about there, without knowing where I wandered, until at last I got into a big bog. The moon was shining as bright as day, or your fair lady’s eyes, sir, (with your pardon for mentioning her,) and I looked east and west, and north and south, and every way, and nothing did I see but bog, bog, bog; I could never find out how I got into it, and my heart grew cold with fear, for sure and certain I was that it would be my barrin place. So I sat down upon a stone which, as good luck would have it, was close by me, and I began to scratch my head and sing the Ullagon—when all of a sudden the moon grew black, and I looked up, and saw something for all the world as if it was moving down between me and it, and I could not tell what it was. Down it came with a pounce, and looked at me full in the face; and what was it but an eagle? as fine a one as ever flew from the kingdom of Kerry. So he looked at me in the face, and says he to me, ‘Daniel O’Rourke,’ says he, ‘how do you do?’ ‘Very well, I thank you, sir,’ says I: ‘I hope you’re well;’ wondering out of my senses all the time how an eagle came to speak like a Christian. ‘What brings you here, Dan?’ says he. ‘Nothing at all, sir,’ says I: ‘only I wish I was safe home again.’ ‘Is it out of the island you want to go, Dan?’ says he. ‘’Tis sir,’ says I: so I up and told him how I had taken a drop too much, and fell into the water; how I swam to the island; and how I got into the bog and did not know my way out of it. ‘Dan,’ says he, after a minute’s thought, ‘though it is very improper for you to get drunk on Lady-day, yet as you are a decent sober man, who tends mass well, and never flings stones at me or mine, nor cries out after us in the fields—my life for yours,’ says he; ‘so get up on my back, and grip me well for fear you’d fall off, and I’ll fly you out of the bog,’—I am afraid, says I, your honour’s making game of me; for who ever heard of riding a horseback on an eagle before? ‘Pon the honour of a gentleman, says he, putting his right foot on his breast I am quite in earnest: and so now either take my offer or starve in the bog—besides, I see that your weight is sinking the stone.

It was true enough as he said, for I found the stone every minute going from under me. I had no choice: so thinks I to myself, faint heart never won fair lady, and this is fair persuadance;—I thank your honour, says I, for the load of your civility: and I’ll take your kind offer: I therefore mounted upon the back of the eagle, and held him tight enough by the throat, and up he flew in the air like a lark. Little I knew the trick he was going to serve me. Up—up—up—God knows how far up he flew. Why, then said I to him—thinking he did not know the right road home—very civilly, because why?—I was in his power entirely;—sir, says I, please your honour’s glory, and with humble submission to your better judgment, if you’d fly down a bit, you’re now just over my cabin, and I could be put down there, and many thanks to your worship.

Arrah, Dan, said he, do you think me a fool? Look down in the next field, and don’t you see two men and a gun? By my word it would be no joke to be shot this way, to oblige a drunken blackguard, that I picked up off a could stone in a bog. Bother you, said I to myself, but I did not speak out, for where was the use? Well, sir, up he kept, flying, flying, and I asking him every minute to fly down, and all to no use. Where in the world are you going, sir? says I to him.—Hold your tongue, Dan, says he; mind your own business, and don’t be interfering with the business of other people.—Faith, this is my business, I think, says I. Be quiet, Dan, says he; so I said no more.

At last where should we come to, but to the moon itself. Now you can’t see it from this, but there is, or there was in my time, a reaping-hook sticking out of the side of the moon, this way (drawing the figure on the ground, with the end of his stick.)

Dan said the eagle. I’m tired with this long fly; I had no notion ’twas so far. And my lord, sir, said I, who in the world axed you to fly so far—was it I? did not I beg, and pray, and beseech you to stop half an hour ago? There’s no use talking, Dan, said he; I’m tired bad enough, so you must get off, and sit down on the moon until I rest myself. Is it sit down on the moon? said I; is it upon that little round thing, then? why; then, sure I’d fall off, in a minute, and be kilt and split, and smashed all to bits; you are a vile deceiver,—so you are. Not at all, Dan, said he: you can catch fast hold of the reaping-hook, that’s sticking out of the side of the moon, and ’twill keep you up. I won’t, then, said I. May be not, said he, quite quiet. If you don’t, my man, I shall just give you a shake, and one slap of my wing, and send you down to the ground, where every bone in your body will be smashed as small as a drop of dew on a cabbage-leaf in the morning. Why, then, I’m in a fine way, said I to myself, ever to have come alone with the likes of you, and so giving him a hearty curse in Irish, for fear he’d know what I said, I got oft his back with a heavy heart, took a hold of the reaping-hook, and sat down upon the moon, and a mighty cold seat it was, I can tell you that.

When he had me there fairly landed, he turned about on me, and said, Good morning to you, Daniel O’Rourke, said he; I think I’ve nicked you fairly now. You robbed my nest last year, (’twas true enough for him, but how he found it out is hard to say,) and in return you are freely welcome to cool your heels dangling upon the moon like a cockthrow.

Is that all, and is this the way you leave me, you brute, you? says I. You ugly unnatural baste, and is this the way you serve me at last? Bad luck to yourself, with your hooked nose, and to all your breed, you blackguard. ’Twas all to no manner of use: he spread out his great big wings, burst out a laughing, and flew away like lightning. I bawled after him to stop; but I might have called and bawled for ever, without his minding me. Away he went, and I never saw him from that day to this—Sorrow fly away with him! You may be sure I was in a disconsolate condition, and kept roaring out for the bare grief, when all at once a door opened right in the middle of the moon, creaking on its hinges as if it had not been opened for a month before. I suppose they never thought of greasing ’em, and out there walks who do you think but the man in the moon himself? I knew him by his busk.

Good morrow to you, Daniel O’Rourke, said he; How do you do? Very well, thank your honour, said I. I hope your honour’s well. What brought you here, Dan? said he. So I told him how I was a little overtaken in liquor at the master’s, and how I was cast on a dissolute island, and how I lost my way in the bog and how the thief of an eagle promised to fly me out of it, and how instead of that he had fled me up to the moon.

Dan, said the man in the moon, taking a pinch of snuff when I was done, you must not stay here. Indeed, sir, says I, ’tis much against my will I’m here at all; but how am I to go back? That’s your business, said he, Dan: mine is to tell you that here you must not stay, so be off in less than no time. I’m doing no harm, says I, only holding on hard by the reaping-hook, lest I fall off. That’s what you must not do, Dan, says he. Pray, sir, says I, may I ask how many you are in family, that you would not give a poor traveller lodgings; I’m sure ’tis not so often you’re troubled with strangers coming to see you, for ’tis a long way. I’m by myself, Dan, says he; but you’d better let go the reaping-hook. Faith, and with your leave, says I, I’ll not let go the grip, and the more you bids me, the more I won’t let go: so I will. You had better, Dan, says he again. Why, then, my little fellow, says I, taking the whole weight of him with my eye from head to foot, there are two words to that bargain; and I’ll not budge, but you may if you like. We’ll see how that is to be, says he; and back he went, giving the door such a great bang after him, (for it was plain he was huffed,) that I thought the moon and all would fall down with it.

Well, I was preparing myself to try strength with him, when back again he comes, with the kitchen cleaver in his hand, and without saying a word, he gives two bangs to the handle of the reaping-hook that was keeping me up, and whap! it came in two. Good morning to you, Dan, says the spiteful little old blackguard, when he saw me cleanly falling down with a bit of the handle in my hand; I thank you for your visit, and fair weather after you, Daniel. I had no time to make any answer to him, for I was tumbling over and over, and rolling and rolling at the rate of a fox-hunt. God help me, says I, but this is a pretty pickle for a decent man to be seen in at this time of night; I am now sold fairly. The word was not out of my mouth when whiz! what should fly by close to my ear but a flock of wild geese; all the way from my own bog of Ballyasheenough, else how should they know me? the ould gander, who was their general, turning about his head, cried out to me, Is that you, Dan? The same, said I, not a bit daunted now at what he said, for I was by this time used to all kinds of bedevilment, and, besides, I knew him of ould. Good morrow to you, says he, Daniel O’Rourke: how are you in health this morning? Very well, sir, says I. I thank you kindly, drawing my breath, for I was mightily in want of some. I hope your honour’s the same. I think ’tis falling you are, Daniel, says he. You may say that sir, says I. And where are you going all the way so fast? said the gander. So I told him how I had taken the drop, and how I came on the island, and how I lost my way in the bog, and how the thief of an eagle flew me up to the moon, and how the man in the moon turned me out. Dan, said he, I’ll save you: put your hand out and catch me by the leg, and I’ll fly you home. Sweet is your hand in a pitcher of honey, my jewel, says I, though all the time I thought in myself that I don’t much trust you; but there was no help, so I caught the gander by the leg, and away I and the other geese flew after him as fast as hops.

We flew, and we flew and we flew, until we came right over the wide ocean. I knew it well, for I saw Cape Clear to my right hand, sticking up out of the water. Ah! my lord, said I to the goose, for I thought it best to keep a civil tongue in my head any way, fly to land if you please. It is impossible, you see, Dan, said he, for a while, because you see we are going to Arabia. To Arabia! said I; that’s surely some place in foreign parts, far away. Oh! Mr Goose: why then, to be sure, I’m a man to be pitied among you.—Whist, whist, you fool, said he, hold your tongue: I tell you Arabia is a very decent sort of place, as like West Carbery as one egg is like another, only there is a little more sand there.

Just as we were talking, a ship hove in sight, scudding so beautiful before the wind: Ah! then, sir, said I, will you drop me on the ship, if you please? We are not fair over it, said he. We are, said I. We are not, said he: If I dropped you now, you would go splash into the sea. I would not, says I; I know better than that, for it is just clean under us, so let me drop now at once.

If you must, you must said he. There, take your own way; and he opened his claw, and faith he was right—sure enough I came down plump into the very bottom of the salt sea! Down to the very bottom I went, and I gave myself up then for ever, when a whale walked up to me, scratching himself after his night’s rest, and looked me full in the face, and never the word did he say; but lifting up his tail, he splashed me all over again with the cold salt water, till there wasn’t a dry stitch upon my whole carcase; and I heard somebody saying—’twas a voice I knew too—Get up, you drunken brute, out of that: and with that I woke up, and there was Judy with a tub full of water, which she was splashing all over me;—for, rest her soul! though she was a good wife, she never could bear to see me in drink, and had a bitter hand of her own.

Get up, said she again; and of all places in the parish, would no place sarve your turn to lie down upon but under the ould walls of Carrigaphooka? an uneasy resting I am sure you had of it. And sure enough I had; for I was fairly bothered out of my senses with eagles, and men of the moons, and flying ganders, and whales, driving me through bogs, and up to the moon, and down to the bottom of the great ocean. If I was in drink ten times over, long would it be before I’d lie down in the same spot again, I know that.

Master and Man;
OR,
The Adventures of Billy Mac Daniel.

Billy Mac Daniel was once as likely a young man as ever shook his brogue at a patron, emptied a quart, or handled a shillelagh; fearing for nothing but the want of drink; caring for nothing but who should pay for it; and thinking of nothing but how to make fun over it; drunk or sober, a word and a blow was ever the way with Billy Mac Daniel; and a mighty easy way it is of either getting into or of ending a dispute. More is the pity that, through the means of his thinking, and fearing, and caring for nothing, this same Billy Mac Daniel fell into bad company; for surely the good people are the worst of all company any one could come across.

It so happened that Billy was going home one clear frosty night not long after Christmas; the moon was round and bright; but although it was as fine a night as heart could wish for, he felt pinched with the cold. By my word, chattered Billy, a drop of good liquor would be no bad thing to keep a man’s soul from freezing in him; and I wish I had a full measure of the best.

Never wish it twice, Billy, said a little man in a three-cornered hat, bound all about with gold lace, and with great silver buckles in his shoes, so big that it was a wonder how he could carry them and he held out a glass as big as himself, filled with as good liquor, as ever eye looked on or lip tasted.

Success, my little fellow, said Billy Mac Daniel, nothing daunted, though well he knew the little man to belong to the good people; here’s your health, any way, and thank you kindly; no matter who pays for the drink; and he took the glass and drained it to the very bottom, without ever taking a second breath to it.

Success, said the little man: and you’re heartily welcome, Billy; but don’t think to cheat me as you have done others,—out with your purse and pay me like a gentleman.

Is it I pay you? said Billy; could I not just take you up and put you in my pocket as easily as a blackberry?

Billy Mac Daniel, said the little man, getting very angry, you shall be my servant for seven years and a day, and that is the way I will be paid; so make ready to follow me.

When Billy heard this, he began to be very sorry for having used such bold words towards the little man; and he felt himself, yet could not tell how, obliged to follow the little man the live-long night about the country, up and down, and over hedge and ditch, and through bog and brake without any rest.

When morning began to dawn, the little man turned round to him and said, You may now, go home, Billy, but on your peril don’t fail to meet me in the Fort-field to-night; or if you do, it may be the worse for you in the long run. If I find you a good servant, you will find me an indulgent master.

Home went Billy Mac Daniel, and though he was tired and weary enough never a wink of sleep could he get for thinking of the little man; but he was afraid not to do his bidding, so up he got in the evening, and away he went to the Fort-field. He was not long there before the little man came towards him and said, Billy, I want to go a long journey to night; so saddle one of my horses and you may saddle another for yourself, as you are to go along with me, and may be tired after your walk last night.

Billy thought this very considerate of his master, and thanked him accordingly: But, said he If I may be so bold, sir, I would ask which is the way to your stable, for never a thing do I see but the fort here, and the old thorn-tree in the corner of the field, and the stream running at the bottom of the hill, with the bit of bog over against us.

Ask no questions, Billy, said the little man, but go over to that bit of bog, and bring me two of the strongest rushes you can find.

Billy did accordingly, wondering what the little man would be at; and he picked out two of the stoutest rushes he could find, with a little bunch of brown blossom stuck at each side of each, and brought them back to his master.

Get up, Billy, said the little man, taking one of the rushes from him and stridding across it.

Where shall I get up, please your honour? said Billy.

Why, upon horseback, like me, to be sure, said the little man.

Is it after making a fool of me you’d be, said Billy, bidding me get a horse-back upon that bit of a rush? May be you want to persuade me that the rush I pulled but while ago out of the bog over there, is a horse?

Up! up! and no words, said the little man, looking very angry; the best horse you ever rode was but a fool to it. So Billy, thinking all this was in joke, and fearing to vex his master, straddled across the rush; Borram! Borram! Borram! cried the little man three times, (which, in English, means to become great,) and Billy did the same after him; presently the rushes swelled up into fine horses, and away they went full speed; but Billy, who had put the rush between his legs, without much minding how he did it, found himself sitting on horseback the wrong way, which, was rather awkward, with his face to the horse’s tail; and so quickly had his steed started off with him, that he had no power to turn round, and there was therefore nothing for it but to hold on by the tail.

At last they came to their journey’s end, and stopped at the gate of a fine house: Now, Billy, said the little man, do as you see me do, and follow me close: but as you do not know your horse’s head from his tail, mind that your own head does not spin round until you can’t tell whether you are standing on it or on your heels for remember that old liquor, though able to make a cat speak, can make a man dumb.

The little man then said some queer kind of words, out of which Billy could make no kind of meaning; but he contrived to say them after him for all that and in they both went through the key-hole of the door, and through one key-hole after another, until they got into the wine-cellar which was well stored with all kinds of wine.

The little man fell to drinking as hard as he could, and Billy, no way disliking the example, did the same. The best of masters are you, surely, said Billy to him; no matter who is the next; and well pleased will I be with your service if you continue to give me plenty to drink.

I have made no bargain with you, said the little man, and will make none; but up and follow me. Away they went, through key-hole after key-hole; and each mounting upon the rush which he left at the hall door, scampered off, kicking the clouds before them like snow-balls, as soon as the words, Borram, Borram, Borram, had passed their lips.

When they came back to the Fort-field, the little man dismissed Billy, bidding him to be there the next night at the same hour. Thus did they go on, night after night, shaping their course one night here, and another night there—sometimes north, and sometimes east, and sometimes south, until there was not a gentleman’s wine-cellar in all Ireland they had not visited, and could tell the flavour of every wine in it as well—ay, better than the buttler himself.

One night when Billy Mac Daniel met the little man as usual in the Fort-field and was going to the bog to fetch the horses for their journey, his master said to him, Billy, I shall want another horse to-night, for may be we may bring back more company with us than we take. So Billy, who now knew better than to question any order given to him by his master, brought a third rush, much wondering who it might be that would travel back in the company, and whether he was about to have a fellow servant. If I have, thought Billy, he shall go and fetch the horses from the bog every night; for I don’t see why I am not, every inch of me, as good a gentleman as my master.

Well, away they went, Billy leading the third horse, and never stopped till they came to a snug farmer’s house in the country Limerick, close under the old castle of Carrigoggunniel, that was built, they says by the great Brian Bora. Within the house there was a great carousing going forward, and the little man stopped outside for some time to listen; then turning round all of a sudden, said, Billy, I will be a thousand years old to-morrow!

God bless us, sir, said Billy, will you?

Don’t say these words again, Billy, said the little man, or you will be my ruin for ever.—Now, Billy, as I will be a thousand years in the world to-morrow, I think it is full time for me to get married.

I think so too, without any kind of doubt at all, said Billy, if ever you mean to marry.

And to that purpose, said the little man, have I come all the way to Carrigoggunniel: for in this house, this very night, is young Darby Riley going to be married to Bridget Rooney; and as she is a tall and comely girl, and has come of decent people, I think of marrying her myself, and taking her off with me.

And what will Darby Riley say to that? said Billy.

Silence! said the little man, putting on a mighty severe look; I did not bring you here with me to ask questions; and without holding farther argument, lit began saying the queer words, which had the power of passing him through the key-hole as free as air, and which Billy thought himself mighty clever to be able to say after him.

In they both went; and for the better viewing the company, the little man perched himself up as nimbly as a cock-sparrow upon one of the big beams which went across the house overall their heads, and Billy did the same upon another facing him; not being much accustomed to roosting in such a place, his legs hung down as untidy as may be, and it was quite clear he had not taken pattern after the way in which the little man had bundled himself up together. If the little man had been a tailor all his life, he could not have sat more contented by upon his haunches.

There they were, both master and man, looking down upon the fun going forward—and under them were the priest and piper—and the father of Darby Riley, with Darby’s two brothers and his uncle’s son—and there were both father and the mother of Bridget Rooney, and proud enough the old couple were that night of their daughter, as good right they had—and her four sisters with bran new ribbons in their caps, and her three brothers all looking as clean and clever as any three boys in Munster—and there were uncles and aunts, and gossips and cousins enough besides to make a full house of it—and plenty was there to eat and drink on the table for every one of them, if they had been double the number.

Now it happened, just as Mrs Rooney had helped his reverence to the first cut of the pig’s head which was placed before her, beautifully bolstered up with white savoys, that the bride gave a sneeze which made every one at the table start, but not a soul said “God bless us.” All thinking that the priest would have done so, as he ought if he had done his duty, no one wished to take the word out of his mouth, which unfortunately was preoccupied with pig’s head and greens. And after a moment’s pause the fun and merriment of the bridal feast went on without the pious benediction.

Of this circumstance both Billy and his master were no inattentive spectators from their exalted stations. Ha! exclaimed the little man, throwing one leg from under him with a joyous flourish, and his eye twinkled with a strange light, whilst his eyebrows became elevated into the curvature of Gothic arches—Ha! said he, leering down at the bride, and then up at Billy, I have half of her now, surely. Let her sneeze but twice more, and she is mine, in spite of priest, mass-book and Darby Riley.

Again the fair Bridget sneezed; but it was so gently, and she blushed so much, that few except the little man took, or seemed to take any notice; and no one thought of saying, “God bless us.”

At this critical moment the bride gave a third sneeze, and Billy roared out with all his might, “God save us!” No sooner was it uttered, than the little man, his face glowing with rage and disappointment, sprung from the beam on which he had perched himself, and shrieking out in the shrill voice of a cracked bagpipe, I discharge you my service, Billy Mac Daniel—take that for your wages, gave poor Billy a most furious kick in the back, which sent his unfortunate servant sprawling upon his face and hands right in the middle of the supper table.

If Billy was astonished, how much more so was every one of the company into which he was thrown with so little ceremony; but when they heard his story, Father Cooney laid down his knife and fork, and married the young couple out of hand with all speed; and Billy Mac Daniel danced the Rinka at their wedding, and plenty did he drink at it too, which was what he thought more of than dancing.

FINIS.

THE

COMICAL TRICKS

OF

LOTHIAN TOM,

WITH A

SELECTION OF ANECDOTES.

GLASGOW:

PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.

THE
COMICAL TRICKS
OF
LOTHIAN TOM.

This Thomas Black, vulgarly called Lothian Tom, because he was of that country, was born about four miles from Edinburgh; his father being a wealthy farmer, gave him a good education, which he was very awkward in receiving, being a very wild mischievous boy.

When he was about ten years of age, he was almost killed by the stroke of a horse’s foot, which his father had who had a trick of kicking at every person that came behind him. But when Tom got heal of the dreadful wound, whereof many thought he would have died, to be even with the horse, he gets a clog, or piece of tree which was full of wooden pins, such a thing as the shoe makers use to soften their leather on, and with a rope he tied it to the couple-bauk in the stable directly opposite to the horse’s tail, then gets on the bauk, and gives it a swing, so that the pikes in the end of it, came with full drive against the horse’s backside, which made him fling, and the more he flung and struck at it, it rebounded back, and struck him again; the battle lasted with great fury for a long time, which was good fun for Tom, until his father hearing some noise in the stable, came to know the matter, and was surprised to see the poor animal tanning his own hide, with his legs all cut and bloody! he cut the rope and the battle was ended; but the poor horse would never afterwards kick at any thing that came behind him.

It happened one day that Tom went a fishing, and brought home a few small fish, which his grandmother’s cat snapt up in the dark. So Tom to have justice of the cat for so doing, catches her, and put her into a little tub, or cog, then sets her adrift in a small mill-dam, ordering her to go a fishing for herself; then set two or three dogs upon her, and a most terrible sea fight ensued, as ever was seen on fresh water; for if any of the dogs, when attempting to board her, set up their noses, baudrins came flying to that place, to repulse them with her claws; then the vessel was like to be overset by the weight of herself, so she had to flee to the other, and finding the same there from thence to the middle, where she sat mewing always turning herself about, combing their noses with her foot. The old woman being informed of the dangerous situation of her dearly beloved cat, came running with a long poll to beat off the dogs and haul her ashore. What now, says Tom, if you be going to take part with my enemies, you shall have part of their reward; then gives the old woman such a push that she tumbled into the dam over head and ears, beside her beloved cat, and would undoubtedly have perished in the water had not one of the people who was there looking at the diversion, come to her relief.

After this Tom was sent to school to keep his hand out of an ill turn; and having an old canker’d, crab-witted fellow for his dominie, they were always at variance; for if Tom had got his whips, which he often deserved, he was sure to be revenged upon his master again for it. So Tom perceived his master had a close-stool in a little closet within the school, where he went and eased himself when need was: Tom gets a penny-worth of gun-powder, and sprinkled it on the ground directly before the seat, and lays a little of it along in a train to the fireside; then perceiving when his master went into it, and as he was loosing down his breeches sets fire to the train, which blew it all about his master’s backside, which scorched him terribly, besides the fright, for which Tom was severely whipt. Yet, in a little after, he began to study revenge on his master.

So it happened one day as Tom was in the master’s house, his wife was stooping into a big meal-barrel, to bring out some meal: then he takes her by the feet, and coups her up into the barrel with her head down and her bare backside uppermost; then runs into the school, crying O master, master! the de’il’s looking out o’ your meal stand; wi’ a fat face and a black ill-farr’d mouth; yon’s just Auld Nick if he be living. So the master ran out with all speed he could, for to see what it was; and found it to be his own wife, speechless, and almost smothered to death; but as she could not tell who did it, Tom got clear off: yet he was not satisfied without some more revenge on the old fellow: and knowing his master had a fashion, when he was going to whip the boys if they would not loose their breeches willingly, he drew his knife and cut them threw the waistband behind: So Tom goes to a butcher, and gets a raw pudding, and fills it with blood and water, and puts it within the waistband of his breeches, then goes to the school next day, and as his master was sitting with his back to the fire, Tom lights a piece of paper, and sets his wig in a low, which burnt for some time unperceived, until the flames came fizzing about his ears; he first put out the flames by tramping on the wig, and being informed that Tom did it, flies to him in a rage, ordering him to loose his breeches, but Tom told him he was never so mad.—Then he drew his knife, whips poor Tom over his knee, and with a great struggle cuts the waistband of his breeches; but thro’ pudding and all, so that the blood gushed out, and Tom cried out Murder! Murder! Murder! and down he fell.

The poor Dominie ran out of the school crying and wringing his hands. Word flew about that he was sticked by the Dominie, which made the people come running from several parts of the country round about to see how it was: but upon searching him, they found the empty pudding, which discovered all the fraud. Then two men had to get horses and ride after the poor Dominie, who had by this time got two or three miles away; and when he saw them riding after him crying to stop and come back again, he ran the faster until he could run no more, but fell down on the road, and prayed them to let him go, for, if he was taken back, he was sure to be hanged: and would not be persuaded that Tom was alive, until they forced him back, and he saw him. But he would be Tom’s teacher no longer; so Tom’s father had to seek another master for him.