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THE COLLEEN BAWX.11'

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THE COLLEEN BAWX. 11' CHAPTER V,—(Continued.) --()" "Oyeh, he knew well what was there. T: the first time with Dan Dawley seein.' i things o' the kind1. Didn't you ever hear what happened Dan in regard of his first wife, sir ?" '•'No." "Well, aisy, an I'll tell yew. Dan was married to a, girl a'1 the Hayeses, a very; iiUthricate little creatur, that led him a mighty uneasy life from the day they mar-I riad out. Well, jit was Dan's luck she got a stich, an7 died one gornhv. an' if she did., -il, ZDI Dan made a 'pilliloo' an' a 'lavo? over her, as if he lost all belongin' to him. They bur- ied her for all, an' Dan was sittin' in his own doore, an' he twistin' a gad, to hang a little taste o' bacon hei had, an' he singin7 the 'Raving Journeyman' for himself, when, tuindther alive ■ who should walk in the do-ore to, him only his dead wife, an' she living as well as ever! Take it from me, he didn't stay long where he was. 'Eh, is that you, Cauth ?' says he. 'The very one,' says she; 'how does the world use you, Dan? 'Wisha micidlin," says Dan again. 'I didn't think we'd see you any more, Cauth/ says he. 'Nor you wouldn't either,' says she, 'only for yourself.' 'Do you tell me soy says Dan Dawley; 'how was that ?* 'There are two dags,' says she, 'that are sleeping, on the road I was goin7 in the other world, an' the noise you made cryin, over me wakened 'em, an: they riz again' me, and' would'nt let; me pass.' 'See that 1 why,' says Dan, grin- ning, Varn't thy the conthrairv pair?'* Well, after another twelvemonth, Cauth died the second time; but l'i I be your bail, it was long from Dan Dawley to cry over her this turn as he did at first. Twas all his trouble to see: wouldi be keep the women at the wake from 'keening' over (the dead corpse, or doing anything in life that would awaken the dogs. Signs ODi, she passed 'em, for he got neither Nta.le nor tidin's of her from that day to this. 'Poor Cauth,' says Dan, 'why should I cry, to have them dogs tearin' her, maybe?' "Dan Dawley was a, lucky man, said Kyrle. "Neither Orpheus nor Theseus had so much to say for themselves as he had." "f never hear talks o' them gentlemen, sir. Wor they o' these parts?" I "Not exactly. One of them was from the county of Attica, and; the other from the I county of Thrace." "I never hear of 'em: I partly guessed ¡ they wor strangers," Lowry continued with much simplicity; "but any way, Dan Dawley j was a match for the best of 'em, an' a, luckier man than I told you yet, moreover; that's in the first beginnim' of his days." Ir At this moment a number gf smart young fellows, dressed out in new felt hats, clean shoes and stockings, with ribbons flying at the knees, passed1- them on the road. They touched their hats respectfully to Mr Daly, while they recognised his attendant with a nad and; a smile, and a familiar, "Is that the way, Lowry ?" "The very way, then, lads," said Lowry, casting a. longing look after them. "GoirL" I' to Garryowen they are: now, divartin' tor the night," he added! in a half-envious tone, after which he threw the- skirt of his coat from the left to the right arm, looked dmvn zD a,t his feet, struck the ground with the end zD of his stick, and trotted on, singing— "I'm noted for dancin' a jig in good order, A min'et I'd march, an' I'd foot a good reel; In a country dance I'd still be the leading partner, < I ne'er fanltered vet from a crack on .the heel." J "My heart is wid ye, boys, this night. But I was tellin' you, Master Kyrle, about Dan Daw ley's luck Listen hether." He dried his face, which was glistening with;moisture, and flushed with exercise, in his frieze coat, and commenced his story. 'Tis not in Castle Chute the family livedi always, sir, only in ould Mr'Chute's time, he built it, an' left the Fort above, an' 111 tell you for. what reason. The ould man otall, that had the Fort before him, used: to be showing himself there at night, himself an' his wife, an' his two daughters, an' a: son, an' there were the strangest noises ever you hear, going on above stairs. The master had six or seven sarvints, ond after another, stopping up to watch him, but there is'nt one of 'em but was killed .by the spirit. Well, he was forced to quit at last on the 'count of it, an' it was then he built Castle Cfmte--the new part of it, where Miss Anne and the old lady lives now. Well an' good', if he did, he was standin' one miornin' apposit his own gate on the road side, out, and the sun shining, an' the birds singing for themselves in the: bushes, when who should he see only Daol Dawley, an' he a. little gaffer the same time, serandin' down the road for the bare lifp. 'Where to now, bd?' says Mr Chute (he was a mighty pleasant man). 'Looking for a: master, then,' says Dan Dawley. 'Why, then, never go past this gat for him,' says Mr Chute, 'if you'll do what- I bid you,' says he. What is that sir,' says the boy. So he up an' told him the whole story about the Fort, an' how something used tot be s ho win' itself there, constant, in the dead hour o' the night; 'an' have YOiUi the 'coura,o,e,' says he, 'to sit up a night, and watch it?' 'What would T get by it?' says Dan, looking him up in the face. 'I'll give you twenty guineas in the mornin', an, 'a table, an' a chair, an' a pint d whisky, anf a. fire, an' a candle, an' your dinner before you go' says Mr Chute, j 'Never say it again,' says the gorsoon, "tis high wages for one night's work, an' I never yet done,' says he, "anything that would make me in dread o' the living or the dead, ac afraid to trust myself intor the hands o' j the Almighty.' 'Very well, away with yon. I says the gentleman, 'an' 111 have your life I if you tell me a word of a lie in the n:om::r," says he, 'I will not, sir,' says the boy, 'for what ?' Well, he went there, an' he drew ¡ &.e table a-near the fire for himself, and ftot his candle, and began reading has book, I Tis the lonesomest place you ever seen, j Well, thnfc yy ciiS wo 11 <vrx till Jig Fto-sxcL I tft greatest racket that erver was going on ■afrove stairs, as if all the slates m dre roof V1- £ f^ failinu. 'I'm in$read/ says Dan, 'that C;j. J these people will cb huH; says he,, an' hardly he said the word, when the doore openedi, and in they walked, the bid gentleman with a, big wig on him, an' the wife, an' the two daughters, an' the sen. Well, they alL put elbows upon them- selves, an' stood lookin' at him out in the middle o' the floore. He said nothin' an' they said nothin', an' at last, when they were tired o Lookin, they went out an' walked the whole house, an' went up stair again. The gentleman came in the mornin' early. 'Good morrow, good boy,' says he. 'Good morrow, sir/ says the boy; 'I had a dale o' I fine company here last night,' says he, 'ladies an' gentlemen.' 'It's a, lie you're telling' me,' said Mr Chute. 'Tis not a word of a lie,' sir,' says Dan; 'there was an ould gentleman with ai big wig, an' an ould lady, an' two young ones, an' a, young gentle- man,' says he. 'True for you,' says Mr Chute, putting his hand in his pocket, and reaching him twenty guineas. 'Will you stay there another night ?' says he. 'I will, sir,' says Dan. Well, he went walkin' about the fields, for himself, and when night comes"———. "You may pass over the adventures of the second: night, Lowry, said Kyrle, "for I suspect that nothing was affected until the third." "Why, then, you just guessed it, sir. Well, the third night he said to himself, 'Escape how I can,' says 'he, "I'll speak to that ould man with the: wig, that does- be puttin an elbow on himself and lookin' at .TIe: t) Well, the ould man an' all of 'em came an 'stood opposzit him with elbows, on 'em as before. Danllgot frightened, seeing 'em stop so long in the one place, and the ould man lookin' so wicked (he was after killin' six or seven in the same Fort), an' he went down, on his two knees, am' he put his hands together, an' says he" A familiar incident of Irish pastoral life, occasioned an interruption in this part of the legend. Two blooming country girls, their hair confiined with a simple black ribbon, their cotton gowns pinned up in front, soi as to disclose the greater portion of the blue stuff petticoat underneath, and their countenances bright with health and laughter, ran out from a cottage door, and intercepted the progress of the travellers. The prettier of the two skipped! across the road, holding between her fingers a, worsted thread, while the other retained between her hands the large ball from which it. had been unwound. K yrIe paused, too well ac- quainted with the country customs toi break through. the slender impediment. "Pay your 'footing' now, Master Kyrle Daly,, before .yjoiui go farther," said one. 'Don't overlook -the wheel, sir," added the girl who. remained next the door. Kyrle searched his pocket for a shilling, while Lowry, with a half smiling, half cen- suring face, murmured- "Why, then, heaven send: ye sense, as it is ye want it this mornin' "And you manners, Mr Looby. Single your freedom, and doublet your distance, I beg a' you. Sure our purse, if you have one, is safe in your pocket. Long life an' a good! wife to! you, Master Kyrle, an' I wisht I had a better houldi than this 0' you. I wisht yciui were in('looze/ an' that I had the finding of you this morning' So saying, while she smiled merrily on Kyrle, and1 darting a scornful glance at Lowry Looby, she returned to her woollen wheel singing, as she twirled it round-- "r want no lectures from a learned master— He may bestow 'em on his silly train— I'd sooner walk through my blooming garden, An' hear the whistle of my jolly swain." To which Lowry, who received the lines, as they were probably intended, in a satiri- cal sense, replied, as he trotted forwards, in the same strain— "Those dressy an' smooth-faced young maidens, Who now look at present so gay, Has borrowed some words o' good English, An' knows not one half what they say. No female is fit to be married, Nor fancied! by no; man at all, But those who can sport a drab mantle, An' likewise a cassimere shawl." "Boop-whishk! Why, then, she's a clean made little girl for all, isn't she, Master Kyrle? But I was tellin' you—where's this I was? Iss, just. Dan Dawley going on his knees an' talking to the 'sperrit.' Well, he raised his 'two hands this way, an' 'The Almighty be betuce you an' me this night,' says he. 'Ah! that's right my good boy,' says the ould man, 'I was waiting these three nights to have yofui speak first, an' if you hadn't that time I'd have, your life equal to all the others,' says he. 'But come with me now, an' I'll make a gentleman o' you, for you're the best boy that ever I see,' says he. Well, the boy got a trembli ng, an' he couldn't folly him. 'Don't be one bit afeerd o' me,' says the ould gentleman, 'for I won't do you a ha'p'orth o' hurt.' Well, he carried Dan after him through the house, an' he showed him three crocks o' goold buried behind a doore, an' D'ye hear to me now says he, 'tell my son: to give one 0' these crocks to my daughter, an' another to you, an' to. keep the third himself; an' then I won't show myself this way any more,' says he, 'for it's the goold that does be al- ways troubling us in the ground. An' tell him if he lives,' says he, 'to give you my daughter in marriage, an' this Fort along with her.' 'Alilu! me tell him!" cries Dan Dawley. 'I'm sure I wouldn't take him such a,, message for the world.' 'Do, ayeh,' says the ould man, 'ani'. show him this ring for a token, an' tell him I'll be showing my- self be day and be night to him, until he'll give her to you.' So he vanished in the greatest tundher ever you hear. That was well an' good—well, the next mornin' Mr Chute come, an' if he did, 'Good-morrow, good boy,' says he; 'Good-morrow, sir,' s?ys Dan. Have you amy news for me after the night?' says be. T have very good news,' says Dan; 'I have three crocks o' goold for you, I got from the ould gentle- man,' says he, aid he up anf tould him all about it, an' showed! hwn the goold. 'It's ajlie jou'ra tellin' me,' says Mr Chute, 'an' I'll have life/ says: hei-'you went root- in' an' found these <?0Urself/: So Dan put a h,anid, in his. pocket, an'. out the ring and gave it into his hand. It was the ring, sir., his. father wore the day he was buried. 'I give it into you,' says Mr Chute, 'you did see them: surely. What else did,, he say to, yoiui?" Well, Dan begin lookup down an' up, an' this way, an' that way, an' didn't know what to say. 'Tell me at once,' says Mr Chute, 'an' fear nothing. Very well. He did. 'Sir,' says he, "the ould ge'ntlemaini told me, an' sure 'tis a, thing I dlon't expect—but be said I should get Miss Anne, your sister, in marriage: Well, Mr Chute stood lookin' at Dan as if he had three heads on him.. 'Give-: you my sister, you keowt of a, geoeogh. says he 'You flog Europe1 for bouldmeiss;—get out o' my sight/ says he, 'this minute, or I'll give yoiui a kick that will raise you from poverty to the highest pitch of affluence. (An' won't I get the crock o' goold, sir?' says Dan. 'Away out o' that with you,' says the gentle- man, 'tis to rob me1 you want, I believe, you .notorious delinquent.' Well, Dan was forced! to cut, but in a while after, the ould man sent for him., an' made him a, compli- ment o' "something handsome, an' put him over his business, as he is to-day with the present people, and an honest creature as cofuld be. There's more: people says that it was all a fable, an' that, Dan Dawley dremt .r of it, but this was his own story. AllJ, sure I might as well be draming, to," he added, casting a sidei glance: at Kyrle, "for it's little attention you are paying to me or my story." In this, assertion Lowry was perfectly cor- rect, for his young master's thoughts at that t moment were occupied by a far more: inter- esting subject. (To be Continued.) ;o:

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