Stories by English Authors: Ireland

Stories by English Authors:
Ireland

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Title: Stories by English Authors: Ireland
Author: Various
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STORIES BY ENGLISH AUTHORS
IRELAND
THE GRIDIRON BY SAMUEL LOVER THE EMERGENCY MEN
BY GEORGE H. JESSOP A LOST RECRUIT BY JANE BARLOW
THE RIVAL DREAMERS BY JOHN BANIM NEAL MALONE BY
WILLIAM CARLETON THE BANSHEE ANONYMOUS

THE GRIDIRON
BY SAMUEL LOVER

A certain old gentleman in the west of Ireland, whose love of the
ridiculous quite equalled his taste for claret and fox-hunting, was wont,
upon festive occasions, when opportunity offered, to amuse his friends
by DRAWING OUT one of his servants, exceedingly fond of what he
termed, his "thravels," and in whom a good deal of whim, some queer
stories, and, perhaps more than all, long and faithful services had
established a right of loquacity. He was one of those few trusty and
privileged domestics who, if his master unheedingly uttered a rash
thing in a fit of passion, would venture to set him right. If the squire
said, "I'll turn that rascal off," my friend Pat would say, "Throth you
won't, sir;" and Pat was always right, for if any altercation arose upon
the "subject-matter in hand," he was sure to throw in some good reason,
either from former services--general good conduct--or the delinquent's
"wife and children," that always turned the scale.
But I am digressing. On such merry meetings as I have alluded to, the

master, after making certain "approaches," as a military man would say,
as the preparatory steps in laying siege to some extravaganza of his
servant, might, perchance, assail Pat thus: "By the by, Sir John"
(addressing a distinguished guest), "Pat has a very curious story, which
something you told me to-day reminds me of. You remember, Pat"
(turning to the man, evidently pleased at the notice thus paid to
himself)--"you remember that queer adventure you had in France?"
"Throth I do, sir," grins forth Pat.
"What!" exclaims Sir John, in feigned surprise, "was Pat ever in
France?"
"Indeed he was," cries mine host; and Pat adds, "Ay, and farther, plase
your honour."
"I assure you, Sir John," continues mine host, "Pat told me a story once
that surprised me very much, respecting the ignorance of the French."
"Indeed!" rejoined the baronet; "really, I always supposed the French to
be a most accomplished people."
"Throth, then, they're not, sir," interrupts Pat.
"Oh, by no means," adds mine host, shaking his head emphatically.
"I believe, Pat, 'twas when you were crossing the Atlantic?" says the
master, turning to Pat with a seductive air, and leading into the "full
and true account" (for Pat had thought fit to visit North Amerikay, for
"a raison he had," in the autumn of the year ninety-eight).
"Yes, sir," says Pat, "the broad Atlantic"--a favourite phrase of his,
which he gave with a brogue as broad, almost, as the Atlantic itself.
"It was the time I was lost in crassin' the broad Atlantic, a-comin'
home," began Pat, decoyed into the recital; "whin the winds began to
blow, and the saw to rowl, that you'd think the Colleen Dhas (that was
her name) would not have a mast left but what would rowl out of her.
"Well, sure enough, the masts went by the hoard, at last, and the pumps
were choked (divil choke them for that same), and av coorse the wather
gained an us; and, throth, to be filled with wather is neither good for
man or baste; and she was sinkin' fast, settlin'