Two widows shall be grinding at the Mill of Louth (so saith the prophecy); one shall be taken and the other left.”
Thus would Barney proceed, repeating such ludicrous and heterogeneous mixtures of old traditionary prophecies and spurious quotations from Scripture as were concocted for him by those who took delight in amusing themselves and others at the expense of his inordinate love for prophecy.
“But, Barney, touching the Mill o’ Louth, of the two widows grindin’ there, whether will the one that is taken or the one that is left be the best off?”
“The prophecy doesn’t say,” replied Barney, “an’ that’s a matther that larned men are very much divided about. My own opinion is, that the one that is taken will be the best off; for St Bridget says ‘that betune wars an’ pestilences an’ famine, the men are to be so scarce that several of them are to be torn to pieces by the women in their struggles to see who will get them for husbands.’[1] That time they say is to come.”
“But, Barney, isn’t there many ould prophecies about particular families in Ireland?”
“Ay, several: an’ I’ll tell you one of them, about a family that’s not far from us this minute. You all know the hangin’ wall of the ould Church of Ballynasaggart, in Errigle Keeran parish?”
“We do, to be sure; an’ we know the prophecy too.”
“Of coorse you do, bein’ in the neighbourhood. Well, what is it in the mean time?”
“Why, that it’s never to fall till it comes down upon an’ takes the life of a M’Mahon.”
“Right enough; but do you know the raison of it?”