“Hopin’ soon to be back in ould England, I remain, your lovin’ subject
Essex.”
“P.S.—I hear Hugh O’Neill was seen on the top o’ the Donnybrook tram yesterday mornin’. If I have any luck the head’ll be off him before you get this.
E.”
The other letter read this way:—
“Dear Monty—This is a great place, all out. Come over here if you want fun. Divil such play-boys ever I seen, and the girls—oh! don’t be talkin’—’pon me secret honour you’ll see more loveliness at a tay and a supper ball in Rathmines than there is in the whole of England. Tell Ned Spenser to send me a love-song to sing to a young girl who seems to be taken wid my appearance. Her name’s Mary, and she lives in Dunlary, so he oughtn’t to find it hard. I hear Hugh O’Neill’s a terror, and hits a powerful welt, especially when you’re not lookin’. If he tries any of his games on wid me, I’ll give him in charge. No brawlin’ for your’s truly
Essex.”
Well, me bould Essex stopped for odds of six months in Dublin, purtendin’ to be very busy subjugatin’ the country, but all the time only losin’ his time and money widout doin’ a hand’s turn, and doin’ his best to avoid a ruction with “Fighting Hugh.” If a messenger came to tell him that O’Neill was camping out on the North Bull, Essex would up stick and away for Sandycove, where, after draggin’ the forty-foot hole, he’d write off to Elizabeth, saying that, “owing to their suparior knowledge of the country the dastard foe had once more eluded him.”
The Queen got mighty tired of these letters, especially as they always ended with a request to send stamps by return, and told Essex to finish up his business and not be makin’ a fool of himself.