While upon the clever sayings of the Irish, I must give an anecdote which was told me by Sir John Power, of Kilfane, than whom a finer sportsman or more hospitable man never existed. It seems that the complaints made against the vulpine race by owners of poultry are not confined to England, and upon one occasion a genuine Irishman, "Pat Driscoll by name," claimed compensation for damage done to a turkey and duck. This was awarded to him, when a week afterward he waited upon the owner of Kilfane, and asked him for compensation for "a beautiful cow killed by that nasty varmen, a fox." "A fox kill a cow!" said Sir John; "impossible!" "Fait and sure he did," continued Pat. "I'll tell you how it was. My cow was feeding in the meadow close to my garden, and was eating a turnip, when up jumped a baste of a fox, and frightened her so much that bedad the poor creature choked herself." The good-humored baronet could not fail to be amused at Driscoll's ready wit, but declined paying for the loss of the animal, upon which Pat, not at all taken aback, remarked, "Well, Sir John, it's rather hard upon me; but in future, instead of advertising your meets at Kilfane or Thomastown, perhaps you will name Kilmacoy" (pronounced "Kilmycow") "as more appropriate to case."
Chapters could be filled with Irish sayings, but space prevents my giving more than one, which was told to me by a friend in whose veracity I have perfect confidence. An English gentleman dining in the house of an Irish lady, was greatly surprised at hearing the Butler ask, "please, ma'am, will I strip?" "Yes", was the reply; "all the company arrived." Turning to a neighbor, he inquired the meaning of the expression, when he found it applied to taking the covers off the dishes, and was quite foreign to the usual acceptation of the word "strip."
[ORIGINAL.]
BANNED AND BLESSED.
"And the Lord God formed man of the slime of the earth; . . . .
Cursed is the earth in thy work.
"And the word was made flesh and dwelt among us."
Bud out, glad earth, in beauty,
Ring out, glad earth, in song;
The funeral pall is lifted
That covered thee so long:
The heavy curse laid on thee
For Eden's primal wrong.
Long ages gone, the angels
Hailed thee with pure delight.
The blooming of thy day-time.
The radiance of thy night;
And e'en thy Maker named thee
As pleasant in his sight--
Soon lost that early joyance,
Brief worn that birth-day crown!
The very stars of heaven
Look sorrowfully down
On fairest flowers withered
Beneath man's sinful frown.
Blinded, and banned, and broken,
Along thy penance-path.
Thy vesture streamèd over
With the torrents of man's wrath;
Thou treadest through the ether
A thing of shame and scath.
[{307}] Lift up thy head, poor mourner,
Shake the ashes from thy brow;
Lay off thine age-worn sackcloth
And wear the purple now:
Amid the starry brethren,
Who honor hath, as thou?
The dust from off thy bosom
The Maker deigns to wear;
"The word made flesh," in heaven,
Hath given thee such share
No grandeur of thy brethren
With it can hold compare.
Blest art thou that his footsteps
Along thy pathways trod;
Blest art thou that his pillow
Has been thy grassy sod;
And blest the burial shelter
Thou gavest to thy God.
And for that little service,
Divine the meed shall be:
When "fervent heat" hath melted
The starry choirs and thee,
The moulded dust of Eden
Shall live eternally.
"The first-born of all creatures"
Doth wear it on his throne,
The vesture of humanity
By which he claims his own.
How infinite the pardon
That doth thy penance crown!
GENEVIEVÉ SALES.
March 22, 1806