The Collegians | Page 2

of
wit, amused themselves by forming parties at night, to wring the heads
off all the geese, and the knockers off all the hall doors in the
neighbourhood. They sometimes suffered their genius to soar as high as
the breaking a lamp, and even the demolition of a watchman; but,
perhaps, this species of joking was found a little too serious to be
repeated over frequently, for few achievements of so daring a violence
are found amongst their records. They were obliged to content
themselves with the less ambitious distinction of destroying the
knockers and store-locks, annoying the peaceable inmates of the
neighbouring houses, with long continued assaults on the front doors,
terrifying the quiet passengers with every species of insult and
provocation, and indulging their fratricidal propensities against all the
geese in Garryowen.
The fame of the "Garryowen boys" soon spread far and wide. Their
deeds were celebrated by some inglorious minstrel of the day in that air
which has since resounded over every quarter of the world; and even
disputed the palm of national popularity with "Patrick's day." A string
of jolly verses were appended to the tune which soon enjoyed a
notoriety similar to that of the famous "Lilli-burlero, bullen-a-la" which

sung King James out of his three kingdoms. The name of Garryowen
was as well known as that of the Irish Numantium, Limerick, itself, and
Owen's little garden became almost a synonime for Ireland.
But that principle of existence which assigns to the life of man its
periods of youth, maturity, and decay, has its analogy in the fate of
villages, as in that of empires. Assyria fell, and so did Garryowen!
Rome had its decline, and Garryowen was not immortal. Both are now
an idle sound, with nothing but the recollections of old tradition to
invest them with an interest. The still notorious suburb is little better
than a heap of rubbish, where a number of smoked and mouldering
walls, standing out from the masses of stone and mortar, indicate the
position of a once populous row of dwelling houses. A few roofs yet
remain unshaken, under which some impoverished families endeavour
to work out a wretched subsistence by maintaining a species of huxter
trade, by cobbling old shoes, and manufacturing ropes. A small rookery
wearies the ears of the inhabitants at one end of the outlet, and a
rope-walk which extends along the adjacent slope of Gallows-green,
(so called for certain reasons) brings to the mind of the conscious
spectator, associations that are not calculated to enliven the prospect.
Neither is he thrown into a more jocular frame of mind as he picks his
steps over the insulated paving stones that appear amid the green
slough with which the street is deluged, and encounters at the other end,
an alley of coffin-makers' shops, with a fever hospital on one side, and
a church-yard on the other. A person who was bent on a journey to the
other world, could not desire a more expeditious outfit than Garryowen
could now afford him: nor a more commodious choice of conveyances,
from the machine on the slope above glanced at, to the pest-house at
the farther end.
But it is ill talking lightly on a serious subject. The days of Garryowen
are gone, like those of ancient Erin; and the feats of her once
formidable heroes are nothing more than a winter's evening tale. Owen
is in his grave, and his garden looks dreary as a ruined church-yard.
The greater number of his merry customers have followed him to a
narrower play-ground, which, though not less crowded, affords less
room for fun, and less opportunity for contention. The worm is here the

reveller, the owl whoops out his defiance without an answer, (save the
echo's,) the best whiskey in Munster would not now "drive the cold out
of their hearts;" and the withered old sexton is able to knock the bravest
of them over the pate with impunity. A few perhaps may still remain to
look back with a fond shame to the scene of their early follies, and to
smile at the page in which those follies are recorded.
Still, however, there is something to keep the memory alive of those
unruly days, and to preserve the name of Garryowen from utter
extinction. The annual fair which is held on the spot presents a
spectacle of gaiety and uproar which might rival its most boisterous
days; and strangers still enquire for the place with a curiosity which its
appearance seldom fails to disappoint. Our national lyrist has
immortalized the air by adapting to it one of the liveliest of his
melodies;-the adventures, of which it was once the scene, constitute a
fund of standing joke and anecdote which are not neglected by the
neighbouring story-tellers;-and a rough voice