“But cursing,” persisted I, “is ill-natured as well as wicked.”
“Sure there’s no harm in cursing a brute beast,” said Heney, “because there’s no soul in it; and if one curses a Christian for doing a bad act, sure its only telling him what he’ll get a taste of on the day of judgment.”
“Or, perhaps, the day after, Michael Heney,” said I, laughing.
“The devil a priest in the county can tell that,” said Heney; “but, (looking at his watch,) you’re playing your pranks on me, Master Jonah! the bells should have been rung for the mowers’ dinner half an hour ago, and be d—d to them! The devil sweep them altogether, the idle crethurs!”
“Fie to yourself, Mr. Heney!” cried I: but he waited for no further argument, and I got out, I really think, the reasons which they all believe justify the practice. The French law makes an abatement of fifteen years out of twenty at the gallies, if a man kills another without premeditation: and I think the same principle may apply to the involuntary assemblage of oaths which, it should seem, have been indigenous in Ireland for some centuries past.
A BARRISTER BESIEGED.
Dinner-party at the Rev. Mr. Thomas’s—The author among the guests, in company with John Philpot Curran—General punctuality of the latter at dinner-time—His mysterious non-appearance—Speculations and reports—Diver, from Newfoundland—His simultaneous absence—The house searched—Discovery of a ghost, and its metamorphosis into Curran—A curious blockade—Its relief, and accompanying circumstances—Comments of the author.
The late Mr. Curran was certainly one of the most distinguished of Irishmen, not only in wit and eloquence, but in eccentricity: of this quality in him, one or two traits have been presented to the reader in the former part of this work; and the following incident will still further illustrate it.
The Reverend Mr. Thomas, whose sobriquet in his neighbourhood was “Long Thomas,” he being nearly six feet and a half high, resided near Carlow, and once invited Curran and myself to spend a day and sleep at his house on our return from the assizes. We accepted the invitation with pleasure, as he was an old college companion of mine—a joyous, good-natured, hospitable, hard-going divine as any in his county.
The Reverend Jack Read, a three-bottle parson of Carlow, with several other jolly neighbours, were invited to meet us, and to be treated with the wit and pleasantry of the celebrated Counsellor Curran, who was often extremely fond of shining in that class of society.