DANCING DONAGHU.
Michael—or as he himself called it, "Mykle Donaghu," was brought up on a warrant for assaulting and beating James Davis.
Mr. Davis is a tall, gaunt, lank-haired, melancholy, middle-aged Englishman. Mykle, on the contrary, is a short, plump, curly-headed, bushy-whiskered, merry little Irishman. They both lodge in the same house—Mykle uppermost, and thence comes the grievance; for Mykle, when he is beery—and seldom's the time he is not—is given to dancing. Mr. Davis is a man of staid and serious habits, who goes to bed every night when the clock strikes ten, and every night—just as he gets into his first sleep—home comes sprightly Mykle, brimful of beer, and begins dancing his "Irish fandangoes" about the room overhead, till he shakes down great patches of the ceiling upon poor Mr. Davis below. Nay, it was stated by a credible witness, that he sometimes danced so vigorously as to shake down the ceilings in the adjoining house! Mr. Davis bore these irregularities as long as he could, but at last his patience, as he said, was quite entirely exhausted, and he ventured to tell Mykle that he would bear it no longer; when, what does Mykle do, but seize the poker, and threaten to "Kennedy him"[21] if he dared to interfere with his private amusements. Mr. Davis, quiet as he is, had too much spirit to let any man swagger over him in this manner; and, whilst Mykle was "shelalegh-ing about" with his poker, he attempted to take it from him; and in the attempt he received sundry thumps on the head and shoulders, which made his eyes strike fire.
Thus far was Mr. Davis's statement; and now for Mykle Donaghu:—
"Plase your honour," said he, "is it bekase a man canna dance if he's merry?—and Misther Davis, says I, is it myself that isna' to dance the bit bekase the lazy likes of ye canna get yer sleep before sun down? I shall go to the bed in reasonable time, when I like me self, Misther Davis, says I. Come out o' that, ye Irish Grecian, says he—come out o' that, and I'll give it to ye! And he pulls the coat off him, and shakes his fist in the face of me; and come out o' that, says he, again, and I'll give it t' ye. Faith, Mr. Davis, says I, and if ye will give it to me, ye sha'n't give it me for nothin, for be th' powers I shall Kennedy ye, my jewel; and I took Kennedy to myself, and he had his fists in his own hands, y'r honour, and faith it wouldn't be aisy to say which of us had the best of it," &c.
Some witnesses brought by Mr. Davis, admitted that Mr. Davis had challenged Mykle to come out of his room, and that something like a regular fight had taken place between them; and, therefore, the magistrate dismissed the warrant.
"But, Michael," said his worship, "do not let me hear any more of your tricks; drink less beer in future."—"I sholl, Sir!" said Mykle. "And, Michael, let me advise you to go home in better time in future."—"I sholl, Sir!" "And, above all, Michael, get another lodging as soon as you can; and take care that your amusements do not disturb your neighbours." "I sholl, Sir!" reiterated honest Mykle, and making a bow—so low that the tattered hat he held in his own right hand almost touched the floor, whilst his left leg mounted into the air behind—he gave his worship St. Patrick's benison, and let the office a merrier man than he entered it.