“We’ll go home by water,” says Brian O’Linn!
Anonymous.
THE TURKEY AND THE GOOSE.
Did yir honor ever hear of the wager ’tween the goose and the turkey? Oncet upon a time an ould cock-turkey lived in the barony of Brawny, or, let me see, was it in Inchebofin or Tubbercleer? faix, an’ it’s meself forgets that same at the present writin’,—but Jim Gurn—you know Jim Gurn, yir honor, Jim Gurn the nailer that lives hard by,—him that fought his black-and-tan t’other day ’gainst Tim Fagan’s silver hackle,—oh! Jim is the boy that’ll tell ye the ins and outs of it any day yir honor wud pay him a visit, ’caze Jim’s in the way of it. Well, as I was relatin’, the turkey was a parson’s bird, and as proud as Lucifer, bein’ used to the best of livin’; while the gander was only a poor commoner, for he was a Roman,[13] and oblidged to live upon what he could get by the roadside. These two fowls, yir honor, never could agree anyhow,—never could put up their horses together on any blessed p’int,—till one day a big row happened betune them, when the gander challenged the turkey to a steeplechase across the country, day and dark, for twenty-four hours. Well, to my surprise,—though I wasn’t there at the time, but Jim Gurn was, who gave me the whole history,—to my surprise, the turkey didn’t say no to it, but was quite agreeable to it, all of a suddent; so away they started from Jim Gurn’s dunghill one Sunday after mass, for the gander wouldn’t stir a step afore prayers. Well, to be sure, to give the divil his due, the turkey took the lead in fine style, and was soon clane out of sight; but the gander kept movin’ on, no ways downhearted, after him. About nightfall it was his business to pass through an ould archway across the road; and as he was stoopin’ his head to get under it,—for yir honor knows a gander will stoop his head under a doorway if it was only as high as the moon,—who should he see comfortably sated in an ivy-bush but the turkey himself, tucked in for the night. The gander, winkin’ to himself, says, “Is it there ye are, honey?”—but he kept never mindin’ him for all that, but only walked bouldly on to his journey’s end, where he arrived safe and sound next day, afore the turkey was out of his first sleep; ’caze why, ye see, sir, a goose or a gander will travel all night; but in respect of a turkey, once the day falls in, divil another inch of ground he’ll put his futt to, barrin’ it’s to roost in a tree or the rafters of a cow-house! Oh! maybe the parson’s bird wasn’t ashamed of himself! Jim Gurn says he never held his head up afterward, though to be sure he hadn’t long to fret, for Christmas was nigh at hand, and he had to stand sentry by the kitchen fire one day without his body-clothes till he could bear it no longer; so they dished him entirely. Them that ett him said he was as tough as leather, no doubt from the grief; but divil’s cure to him! what business had he to be so proud of himself, the spalpeen?
Joseph A. Wade (1796–1845).
WIDOW MACHREE.
Widow Machree, it’s no wonder you frown,
Och hone, Widow Machree—
Faith, it ruins your looks that same dirty black gown,