Another mile being passed,I had the satisfaction to perceive that the pursuit was given over,and in an hour more I crossed Thomond Bridge,and slept that night in the fortress of Limerick,having delivered the packet,the result of whose safe arrival was the destruction of William's great train of artillery,then upon its way to the besiegers.
Years after this adventure,I met in France a young officer,who I found had served in Captain Oliver's regiment;and he explained what I had never before understood--the motives of the man who had wrought my deliverance.Strange to say,he was the foster-brother of Oliver,whom he thus devoted to death,but in revenge for the most grievous wrong which one man can inflict upon another!
'THE QUARE GANDER.'
Being a Twelfth Extract from the Legacy of the late Francis Purcell,P.P.of Drumcoolagh.
As I rode at a slow walk,one soft autumn evening,from the once noted and noticeable town of Emly,now a squalid village,towards the no less remarkable town of Tipperary,Ifell into a meditative mood.
My eye wandered over a glorious landscape;a broad sea of corn-fields,that might have gladdened even a golden age,was waving before me;groups of little cabins,with their poplars,osiers,and light mountain ashes,clustered shelteringly around them,were scattered over the plain;the thin blue smoke arose floating through their boughs in the still evening air.And far away with all their broad lights and shades,softened with the haze of approaching twilight,stood the bold wild Galties.
As I gazed on this scene,whose richness was deepened by the melancholy glow of the setting sun,the tears rose to my eyes,and I said:
'Alas,my country!what a mournful beauty is thine.Dressed in loveliness and laughter,there is mortal decay at thy heart:sorrow,sin,and shame have mingled thy cup of misery.Strange rulers have bruised thee,and laughed thee to scorn,and they have made all thy sweetness bitter.Thy shames and sins are the austere fruits of thy miseries,and thy miseries have been poured out upon thee by foreign hands.Alas,my stricken country!clothed with this most pity-moving smile,with this most unutterably mournful loveliness,thou sore-grieved,thou desperately-beloved!
Is there for thee,my country,a resurrection?'
I know not how long I might have continued to rhapsodize in this strain,had not my wandering thoughts been suddenly recalled to my own immediate neighbourhood by the monotonous clatter of a horse's hoofs upon the road,evidently moving,at that peculiar pace which is neither a walk nor a trot,and yet partakes of both,so much in vogue among the southern farmers.
In a moment my pursuer was up with me,and checking his steed into a walk he saluted me with much respect.The cavalier was a light-built fellow,with good-humoured sun-burnt features,a shrewd and lively black eye,and a head covered with a crop of close curly black hair,and surmounted with a turf-coloured caubeen,in the pack-thread band of which was stuck a short pipe,which had evidently seen much service.
My companion was a dealer in all kinds of local lore,and soon took occasion to let me see that he was so.
After two or three short stories,in which the scandalous and supernatural were happily blended,we happened to arrive at a narrow road or bohreen leading to a snug-looking farm-house.
'That's a comfortable bit iv a farm,'
observed my comrade,pointing towards the dwelling with his thumb;'a shnug spot,and belongs to the Mooneys this long time.
'Tis a noted place for what happened wid the famous gandher there in former times.'
'And what was that?'inquired I.
'What was it happened wid the gandher!'
ejaculated my companion in a tone of indignant surprise;'the gandher iv Ballymacrucker,the gandher!Your raverance must be a stranger in these parts.Sure every fool knows all about the gandher,and Terence Mooney,that was,rest his sowl.Begorra,'tis surprisin'to me how in the world you didn't hear iv the gandher;and may be it's funnin me ye are,your raverance.'
I assured him to the contrary,and conjured him to narrate to me the facts,an unacquaintance with which was sufficient it appeared to stamp me as an ignoramus of the first magnitude.
It did not require much entreaty to induce my communicative friend to relate the circumstance,in nearly the following words:
'Terence Mooney was an honest boy and well to do;an'he rinted the biggest farm on this side iv the Galties;an'bein'
mighty cute an'a sevare worker,it was small wonder he turned a good penny every harvest.But unluckily he was blessed with an ilegant large family iv daughters,an'iv coorse his heart was allamost bruck,striving to make up fortunes for the whole of them.An'there wasn't a conthrivance iv any soart or deion for makin'money out iv the farm,but he was up to.
'Well,among the other ways he had iv gettin'up in the world,he always kep a power iv turkeys,and all soarts iv poul-trey;an'he was out iv all rason partial to geese--an'small blame to him for that same--for twice't a year you can pluck them as bare as my hand--an'get a fine price for the feathers,an'plenty of rale sizable eggs--an'when they are too ould to lay any more,you can kill them,an'sell them to the gintlemen for goslings,d'ye see,let alone that a goose is the most manly bird that is out.
'Well,it happened in the coorse iv time that one ould gandher tuck a wondherful likin'to Terence,an'divil a place he could go serenadin'about the farm,or lookin'
afther the men,but the gandher id be at his heels,an'rubbin'himself agin his legs,an'lookin'up in his face jist like any other Christian id do;an'begorra,the likes iv it was never seen--Terence Mooney an'the gandher wor so great.
'An'at last the bird was so engagin'
that Terence would not allow it to be plucked any more,an'kep it from that time out for love an'affection--just all as one like one iv his childer.