“‘HERE, SPRING, MY MAN,’ SAYS HE.”
“God’s presence be about us!” says the Pope, thinking it was an evil spirit come to fly away wid him for the lie that he hed tould in regard ov his mule (for it was nothing more nor a thrick that consisted in grazing the brute’s teeth); but seeing it was only one ov the greatest beauties ov a greyhound that he’d ever laid his epistolical eyes on, he soon recovered ov his fright, and began to pat him, while Father Tom ris and went to the sideboard, where he cut a slice ov pork, a slice ov beef, a slice ov mutton, and a slice ov salmon, and put them all on a plate thegither. “Here, Spring, my man,” says he, setting the plate down afore him on the hearthstone, “here’s your supper for you this blessed Friday night.” Not a word more he said nor what I tell you; and, you may believe it or not, but it’s the blessed truth that the dog, afther jist tasting the salmon, and spitting it out again, lifted his nose out ov the plate, and stood wid his jaws wathering, and his tail wagging, looking up in his riv’rence’s face, as much as to say, “Give me your absolution, till I hide them temptations out ov my sight.”
“There’s a dog that knows his duty,” says his riv’rence; “there’s a baste that knows how to conduct himself aither in the parlour or the field. You think him a good dog, looking at him here; but I wisht you seen him on the side ov Slieve-an-Eirin! Be my soul, you’d say the hill was running away from undher him. Oh, I wisht you had been wid me,” says he, never letting on to see the dog at all, “one day last Lent, that I was coming from mass. Spring was near a quarther ov a mile behind me, for the childher was delaying him wid bread and butther at the chapel door; when a lump ov a hare jumped out ov the plantations ov Grouse Lodge and ran acrass the road; so I gev the whilloo, and knowing that she’d take the rise ov the hill, I made over the ditch, and up through Mullaghcashel as hard as I could pelt, still keeping her in view, but afore I hed gone a perch, Spring seen her, and away the two went like the wind, up Drumrewy, and down Clooneen, and over the river, widout his being able onst to turn her. Well, I run on till I came to the Diffagher, and through it I went, for the wather was low, and I didn’t mind being wet shod, and out on the other side, where I got up on a ditch, and seen sich a coorse as I’ll be bound to say was never seen afore or since. If Spring turned that hare onst that day, he turned her fifty times, up and down, back and for’ard, throughout and about. At last he run her right into the big quarry-hole in Mullaghbawn, and when I went up to look for her fud, there I found him sthretched on his side, not able to stir a fut, and the hare lying about an inch afore his nose as dead as a door-nail, and divil a mark ov a tooth upon her. Eh, Spring, isn’t that thrue?” says he.
Jist at that minit the clock sthruck twelve, and afore you could say thrap-sticks, Spring had the plateful ov mate consaled. “Now,” says his riv’rence, “hand me over my pound, for I’ve won my bet fairly.”
“You’ll excuse me,” says the Pope, pocketing the money, “for we put the clock half-an-hour back, out ov compliment to your riv’rence,” says he, “and it was Sathurday morning afore he came up at all.”
“Well, it’s no matter,” says his riv’rence, “only,” says he, “it’s hardly fair to expect a brute baste to be so well skilled in the science ov chronology.”
Sir Samuel Ferguson (1810–1886).
THE OULD IRISH JIG.
My blessing be on you, old Erin,