The Irish peasant, also, never, if he can avoid it, answers any question directly: in some districts, if you ask where such a gentleman’s house is, he will point and reply, “Does your honour see that large house there, all amongst the trees, with a green field before it?”—You answer, “Yes.” “Well,” says he, “plaze your honour that’s not it. But do you see the big brick house, with the cow-houses by the side of that same, and a pond of water?—you can’t see the ducks, becaze they are always diving, plaze your honour.”
“Yes.”
“Well, your honour, that’s not it. But, if you plaze, look quite to the right of that same house, and you’ll see the top of a castle amongst the trees there, with a road going down to it betune the bushes,—and a damn’d bad road, too, for either a beast or his master!”
“Yes.”
“Well, plaze your honour, that’s not it neither—but if your honour will come down this bit of a road a couple of miles, I’ll show it you sure enough—and if your honour’s in a hurry, I can run on hot foot,[[36]] and tell the squire your honour’s galloping after me. Ah! who shall I tell the squire, plaze your honour, is coming to see him?—he’s my own landlord, God save his honour day and night!”
[36]. A figurative expression for “with all possible speed”—used by the Irish peasants: by taking short cuts, and fairly hopping along, a young peasant would beat any good traveller.
Their superstitions are very whimsical. On returning from the election of Mayo, I asked a fellow who was trotting away by the side of the carriage, and every now and then giving a long hop, to show us his agility—(twisting his shillelah over his head like a whirligig)—“if he was going far that night.”
“Ough! no, no, plaze your honour; it is me that would not go far in this country, these times, after sunset—oh, no, no!”