"Phew!" whistles Valentine Vulcan, M.P., weighing one of these dainty sticks in his hand. "You might get rather a nasty crack from this." I agree with him, and the sad daughter of Erin regards us sadly and sympathetically.
"Maybe," I think to myself, "she has lost a friend or a lover in one of these confounded O'Capulet and O'Montague rows. Poor girl!" And I eye her with a look wherein admiration is tempered with pity. It occurs to me that I will say something appropriate, just to show her how I, a stranger and a Saxon, feel for her. It may lead her to express her hearty detestation of these faction-fights, and of these deadly fracas with the armed constabulary. So I say, with a touch of deep indignation in my tone, "It's a shame," say I, "that such things as these"—and I nod frowningly at the shillelaghs, which Vulcan, M.P., is twirling meditatively, one in each hand, as if right and left were about to fight it out—"it's a shame that such things as these should be permitted!" The pale, sad, beautiful daughter of Erin, regards me mournfully, and then, in a tone expressive of astonishment blended with firm remonstrance, she asks,—
"An' what would the poor Boys use, an' they not allowed fire-arms?"
That was all. No smile is on the lips of Erin's pale daughter. She is apparently in earnest, though both Vulcan and myself, talking it over subsequently, unite in opinion that, perhaps, she had been availing herself of this rare and unique opportunity of "getting at" the Saxon.
So she went on recommending sticks and photographs, and did a good bit of business with our generous Vulcan, M.P., who returned, laden with gifts for various fellow-guests aboard the good SS. Cannie Donia.
What amusing nights and delightful days! The ladies—bless 'em!—all charming, and very Barkisses in their perpetual "willingness" to do anything and everything that might give pleasure and afford amusement. Two fairy-gifted maidens entertain us mightily with a capital dramatic sketch of their own composition; others follow suit, playing the piano; and a sestette perform, without previous rehearsal, glees, madrigals, part-songs, and choruses to popular plantation melodies, under the leadership of that masterly musician Tom Tolderol, whose only regret is that he has not been able to bring on board with him his sixteen-horse-power-fifty-stopped-sixteen-pedal organ (designed and made by the eminent firm of Bellows, Blower & Co., at a cost of some few thousand pounds), though, as he explains to us, he would have done so, had this musical mammoth been only compressible within the limits of an ordinary carpet bag.
However, à propos of organs, we have with us a representative of one of the greatest organs—of the Press—full of wise saws and modern instances; as jolly as a sandboy, or rather as a schoolboy out for a holiday. A sailor every inch of him, and this is saying a great deal, as he must be over six feet, and broad in proportion.
Appropriate, too, as aboard "the craft," is the presence of the Great Grand Secretary, Mr. Benjamin Boaz, A.M., P.G.M., &c., &c., and the still Greater, Grander Something Else, P.P.M., &c., Sir Jonathan Jachin, mysterious officers, Arcades ambo, of the Secret Rites of Masonry, fall of nods, winks, becks, wreathed smiles, signs, secrets, fun, frolic, and tales galore.
Ah! the happy days! And the happy evenings! What excellent "toasts" and "returnings of thanks" by my Lord Affidavit, by Sir Poseidon À Vinklo (President of the Anchorite Court), by Andrew McJason (senior of the Argonautic Firm that built the good ship Cannie Donia), and the sprightliest speech of all by Sir Charles Cheerie!
Round to Falmouth, up the Fal, "with our Fal, lal, la," as singeth our brilliant sestette to piano, or, to quote Sir Jonathan, "our P. an' O." accompaniment.