“‘But, your hanner, what shall we do for the words? Though my fingers may remember the tune, my tongue does not remember the words—that is unless . . .’
“‘I give another shilling,’ said I; ‘but never mind you the words; I know the words, and will repeat them.’
“‘And your hanner will give me a shilling?’
“‘If you play the tune,’ said I.
“‘Hanner bright, your hanner?’
“‘Honour bright,’ said I.
“Thereupon the fiddler, taking his bow and shouldering his fiddle, struck up in first-rate style the glorious tune, which I had so often heard with rapture in the days of my boyhood in the barrack yard of Clonmel; whilst I walking by his side as he stumped along, caused the welkin to resound with the words, which were the delight of the young
gentlemen of the Protestant academy of that beautiful old town.
“‘I never heard those words before,’ said the fiddler, after I had finished the first stanza.
“‘Get on with you,’ said I.